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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Who Are You?
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"'Who are you?' he asked."
His head was spinning.
The voice echoing through the pounding headache felt utterly unfamiliar.
'What... is this...?'
Loki stared ahead.
His mind was foggy, as if he'd just awakened from a long, deep sleep.
'What happened to me? Is this a hallucination? Or... am I in the afterlife...?'
The last thing he remembered was the accident during indie game development with his junior.
After that, his vision had gone black, and nothing else came to mind.
And now, in his gradually clearing sight—
An unfamiliar space, an unfamiliar atmosphere. And unfamiliar people right in front of him.
Armor and clothing like Vikings.
Scraggly beards paired with sharp weapons in their hands.
Dozens of such men were pinning down a young girl.
It was a bizarre sight, and beside them stood an old man who looked out of his mind, tearing at his hair in terror.
Everyone stared at Loki, trembling in fear.
Their eyes held thick terror, coiled like serpents at the sight of some massive monster.
"Not going to answer?"
Even amid the confusion, his voice remained calm.
A chill laced his tone, carrying a weight that pressed heavily on the air around them.
With every word, the men recoiled in fright.
Only one—the girl—stared blankly at Loki.
"'Who are you?' I asked."
At Loki's words, the girl stammered a reply.
"I-I'm Ka... Kankun... Kankun Ragnar!"
Terrified yet pleading as she looked up at him.
Tears welled in her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.
She spoke as if making a wish upon starlight.
"I am the shrine maiden who serves you."
Loki narrowed his eyes at her words.
"Ah, the demon has been revived—!"
Loki lifted his head at the voice.
The men shrieked and shuddered, gripping their weapons aimed at Loki.
Not just Loki—the undead monsters around the temple, too.
Loki casually rested his cheek against the back of his hand.
The clink of armor transmitted through his helmet.
A perfectly natural, familiar motion.
'...Where is this?'
Even in his daze, the scene felt familiar somehow.
The game he'd designed, Ragnarok.
If he wasn't mistaken, this was Valhalla Palace, where the final boss slumbered.
'A dream?'
Maybe. Otherwise, why would he speak or act like this in such a place?
No resistance. It flowed naturally, as if it had always been his own personality.
"D-Don't mess with us!"
Then, one man bellowed.
"There's no such thing as a demon—!"
Denying reality, he trembled while clutching a massive mace.
"A puny demon like you—I'll—!"
The man charged with a shout.
Raising his mace, he lunged at Loki.
That's when their eyes met.
"...!"
The man's face froze, and Loki naturally extended his hand, snapping his fingers.
Kwachik—!
The weapon in the man's grip, his swung arm, his head filled with shock, his rigid torso.
All of it burst and vanished.
Thud.
Only the man's lower body hit the floor.
"O-One... strike?"
"My god!"
The terror in the temple deepened.
"D-Demon lord—! Quell your wrath!"
An old man in a distinctive black robe clutched his head and prostrated himself, shouting.
Loki turned his gaze to the corpse on the floor.
'...Not a dream, but reality.'
His foggy mind sharpened gradually.
And he could now recall the strange sensations from his body.
His pounding heartbeat.
The chill settling over the surroundings.
Everything screamed reality.
Yet even faced with this changed world, he felt no panic at the sight of the corpse.
It was numb, like looking at an NPC.
As if he were playing a game.
Loki lifted his head, observing everyone in the audience chamber one by one.
Hostility radiated from most of the men.
Fear, dread, but blatant murderous intent beneath it.
Naturally. Their comrade had been slain; they'd want revenge.
But two were different.
One was the old man wailing with his head in his hands. The other was the girl holding the mythic item Burtgang he'd planned and created.
'...Even in the game world?'
The one who called herself a shrine maiden.
She seemed the only one capable of conversation here.
Loki pointed at the girl, Kankun.
The men pinning her recoiled in fear at his gesture.
"Kankun, was it?"
"Y-Yes? Oh, y-yes!"
Kankun shrank back in terror.
"Come here."
As he crooked his finger, Kankun swallowed hard and tried to stand.
"C-Come... S-Sorry! J-Just a moment... Huh? Wh-What?"
But her legs gave out, and she collapsed right there.
"Y-Yes! Shrine maiden! Become the sacrifice! Appease the demon—n-no, the constellation lord's anger! Only you can save the Nod Tribe!"
The old man, Priest Shaman, bellowed.
Loki couldn't help but question the words.
What did that mean?
Shrine maiden? Wrath? Constellation? Saving the Nod Tribe?
As far as he knew, there was no such lore in the game's world.
Loki turned his head slightly to look at Shaman.
"Eek—!"
But before he could ask, their eyes met, and the priest slammed his forehead to the floor.
No conversation possible there.
"How dare you—."
Loki felt a stinging on his skin.
Thick killing intent.
It overpowered even fear, bursting forth with rage and hatred.
Where Loki turned, stood the burliest middle-aged man among them.
"Use Kankun as a sacrifice—."
A bear of a man in chainmail, wielding an axe too massive for any normal person.
The rebel who'd beheaded Kankun's father, the chieftain, and tried to take her.
Kankun's uncle.
Kudan Ragnar.
"You think we'd offer her up—!?"
His muscles swelled unnaturally, expanding.
The carpet laid before the throne tore, red threads scattering.
He charged at Loki, raising his axe with all his might.
Veins writhed over his bulging muscles—it was an all-out strike.
'...But that last guy was weak.'
Loki glanced at the man who'd died from a mere finger snap.
His upper body had exploded from the slightest force.
So—
'Control the power...'
"Ooooo—!"
Kudan's full-force strike...!
But...
Thung—!!!
"...!"
It was blocked all too easily.
Kudan's eyes bulged as he stared at the demon who'd stopped his battle axe with one hand.
The wind from his strike fluttered Loki's cape.
'What... power...?!'
Not only was his all-out blow stopped by one hand, but even as Kudan tried to wrench it free with both, the axe didn't budge.
Loki's red eyes narrowed, and he swiftly swung the back of his hand toward Kudan.
A casual gesture, like swatting a nearby insect.
Thud!
Clang!
The battle axe shattered like glass, and Kudan flew back, unable to withstand the impact.
He rolled across the floor, crashing into the wall before stopping, vomiting blood.
"Uwaaaak—!"
'Just a light push...'
Yet the effect was tremendous.
Loki looked at his hand and clicked his tongue.
And he couldn't help but be surprised.
'A scratch?'
A faint mark on the gauntlet encasing his hand.
The final boss's hand bore a small wound.
That alone showed Kudan was a renowned powerhouse—everyone stirred at his fall.
The hostile men, now stained with fear and terror, hoisted the fallen Kudan and fled.
"Ku-Kudan's down!"
"Retreat...! Retreat!"
The men vanished.
Loki looked at his hand again.
The small scratch on the gauntlet had already vanished.
The armor had regenerated itself.
Loki turned to Kankun.
Torn clothes. Despair deep in her eyes. She gripped her sword, trembling.
"First."
Loki said, gazing at the girl.
"Let's hear your story."
Now, finally, they could talk about this situation.
What had happened here, what had happened to him...
To find answers...
Loki began speaking with the girl.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Not far from the cursed temple.
Amid a forest thick with snow-laden trees, countless tents had been pitched.
Men kindled fires between the tents to fend off the cold; in others, women tended to golden armor.
All were armed to the teeth, looking utterly savage.
Their brass armor, facial makeup, the golden adornments—hallmarks of their unique culture.
This was the Partas Tribe, recently making a name among the Nod Tribe.
The tribe's great chieftain, Histon.
He removed his golden helmet, stroking his goatee with his right hand.
"Insufficient! Still far too lacking! In gold, in warriors!"
Before his eyes lay information on his tribe's warriors.
The slave who'd recorded it sighed deeply at Histon's furrowed brow.
'He can't even read, so what does he know...'
The slave, Hans, clicked his tongue inwardly but kept it hidden.
With Histon's temper, saying it aloud would get him split in two.
"S-So... what should we do...?"
Hans forced a smile and asked.
Histon shook his head.
"Hans! I aim to forge a mighty tribe! To unite all the Nod Tribe into one great horde! Nay, to build a nation of gold! So we'll swell our slaves and forces!"
"S-So how will you—."
Thwack—!
Hans's head snapped sideways as his body flew.
Nasal bones crushed. Teeth shattered and spilled from his mouth.
Histon, who'd thrown the punch, stomped on Hans's rear.
"Figure it out yourself. I've been dropping hints, and you still can't speak up!!"
"S-Sorry! I-I'll think! P-Please... don't hit me!"
Hans crawled, clutching Histon's pant leg and begging. Satisfied with the obedience, Histon lifted his foot.
"Hmph, don't test my temper again!"
"S-Sorry."
"Hm... Any tribes nearby with gold or slaves aplenty? Ones we can easily subjugate!"
Hans carefully gauged Histon's mood before continuing.
"Th-There is one nearby. Doesn't seem too powerful."
"Where?"
Gauging Histon's eyes, Hans replied.
"The Ragna Tribe!"
Kankun's tribe.