Into the Ice Palace
"How about it, Takarion."
At Ian's question, Takarion shook his head.
That night, the Mountain King breathed his last.
He had chosen death of his own will, but it couldn't be called suicide. His life had already ended when the black dragon attacked. He'd been clinging to a thread of life by stealing the vitality of lowly beasts. He'd endured as long as he could, and now it was time to go. Still, if he hadn't met Ian, he would have met a far more painful and wretched end.
You have guided the spirit of the spirit beast to the realm of the Heaven God.
The Heaven God smiles at your mercy.
You have acquired additional points.
Under Takarion's rites, the Mountain King had joined the Church of the Heavenly God and died as one of its faithful. As a result, he had safely reached the Heaven God's realm in the afterlife.
Ian smiled contentedly at the Status Window floating before his eyes. Skill points were always better in abundance. Given his tendency to dabble in all sorts of magic, he never knew when or where he'd need to spend them.
Ian's master, Eredis, had recognized his eclectic talents and encouraged him to learn a bit of everything. If she saw him now, she'd be half proud and half dumbfounded. She knew he was a jack-of-all-trades, but who would've thought he'd pick up the shaman arts of the northern barbarians?
Beyond Arcana magic, Ian now handled a mishmash of spells from every corner. It meant he was a mage who wouldn't be outdone anywhere.
"Ian. I've witnessed something truly incredible."
Takarion muttered in a voice still high on Heavenly God euphoria.
Ian found it hard to relate. Gods appearing before him wasn't a new thing. Hell, the Status Window alone was suspiciously godlike. So divine will didn't particularly move him.
But not Takarion. He was just a humble monk, living a life walled off from miracles—an ordinary believer who hadn't exactly devoted himself to the faith. He'd never heard a god's voice before.
For such a man to witness a god responding to a mortal's call... and not just any god, but one answering to guide a spirit beast's soul! The experience of ushering the Mountain King to heaven had profoundly shaken Takarion's inner world. Seeing divine mercy extend even to beasts—how could he feel nothing?
"Ian."
Takarion said with sparkling eyes.
Ian felt an eerie chill. Those eyes... where have I seen them before? Oh, right—Sir Dietri of the Saint Santiago Knights had that exact gleam.
The pure fanaticism in those clear eyes sent shivers down his spine, and seeing it on Takarion's face doubled the creep factor...
"You know, I've lived my whole life spinning absurd lies."
"What're you on about all of a sudden...?"
"I fabricated stories about saints who'd supposedly experienced my ideal paradise, as if it were real."
Takarion closed and opened his eyes.
"But reality... it's so different from what I imagined."
"..."
"I've seen the savagery of northerners, the harshness of the tundra, spirit beasts fearing death, and mages wielding mysteries."
Ian gave an awkward smile. That last one's me, isn't it???
"Ian. I want to share a truer word of the god with people."
Takarion declared in a firm voice.
"That in this world full of cruelty, divine mercy exists. That a world unchanging by lies can change—and I want to tell that story."
"Haha... looks like you've got plenty of inspiration now. Head back to the Empire and write your heart out."
At that moment, Takarion grabbed Ian's hand tightly.
"It's all thanks to you, Ian."
"..."
"From the moment we arrived in the north until now, every single instant was possible because of you."
Takarion spoke with fervent passion.
Ian understood the sentiment, but Takarion was overwhelming him. Still, he managed a word of encouragement. His personality was too kind to brush the man off coldly.
"I don't know much about theology, but you'll pull it off, Takarion."
"Kuhuk! Ian!"
Ian bolted away from Takarion. Seeing him overcome with emotion, spewing scripture left and right, Ian thought, Yep, he's a holy man through and through.
Anyway, Ian was a little curious what book Takarion would write next.
"We've won!"
"Long live the Great Chieftain! Blessings of Hrun Dal!"
Outside, the northerners were whooping and hollering in victory.
Searching the Mountain King's lair had turned up a hefty herd of yakgon—enough to match what they'd catch in the Great Hunt. They wanted to take them all, but that would ruin next year's hunt, so they settled for a fair share. It'd be a lean winter, but they wouldn't starve.
Surprisingly, the northerners didn't fight over the food. The southern and northern alliances split the yakgon evenly.
"And come winter, they'll raid us anyway."
The Great Chieftain said cynically.
Ian couldn't understand him.
"Then why not settle it now?"
The Great Chieftain chuckled.
"No need to spill blood when food's right here."
"..."
In other words: no fighting with food in hand, but war when it's gone. What are these people, wolves in human skin?
Ian thought northerners lived like beasts... but realizing they had their own ways, he could almost get it.
...Though uniting the north by subjugating one side still seemed smarter.
With food secured, the northerners prepared to descend the sacred mountain. But Ian still had business: finding the Northern God's abode.
Shamans like Fyra cooperated eagerly. Ian had already left his mark across the north. Referrals from acquaintances opened doors, including shaman aid.
"You must be Ian! Helga told me about you!"
"Pleased to meet you."
Among the jumble of shamans—some recommended by Helga—were a few standouts, but most were useless.
"You lack the qualifications to meet Hrun Dal..."
"Pardon?"
"If she decides to invite you, you'll meet her without fail!"
...Yeah, shamans were basically Hrun Dal's priests. Emphasizing "faith" and "will" was par for the course.
"..."
Ian consulted them but gained nothing. "Wander with faith"? Takarion could say that.
Grumbling, Ian prepared to roam the sacred mountain.
[Ian.]
The phoenix Winnie chirped.
[What now?]
"Gonna wander the mountain."
[There's a place I want to show you. Can we go?]
Of course. Ian nodded—until her caveat.
[Just you, Kira, and me. The three of us.]
Why those three? The reason was obvious: Winnie's time was running out.
Ian nodded gravely.
"Yeah. Let's go."
He told his companions he'd be back soon, just with Kira and Winnie.
"Hm..."
Sharp Belenca got it immediately.
"What?! Just with Miss Kira? Then poor lonely Belenca Knight will be—"
"Shut it."
Belenca kicked Takarion (playfully?) and waved.
"Go on. Don't take too long."
"Back in a day."
Ian climbed with Kira. The mood was awkward. They hadn't been alone like this since she joined.
Thankfully, Winnie broke the ice.
[Straight up this path, Ian.]
"What's up here?"
Winnie chirped.
[The summit.]
Ian was inwardly impressed. Damn, now we're summiting. How do we get down?
[I'll wait here.]
"Got it."
Ian headed to the peak alone. Cold wind clawed his cheeks, but he barely noticed, attuned to the overflowing voices of mystery around him.
The vast summit. A sea of drifting clouds. A bright but chill sun... The sacred mountain's peak was breathtakingly beautiful.
Plop.
Something fell from his pocket: an Arcana card from the deck. Number 21. The World.
Ian bent to pick it up.
Then...
"...Huh?"
Darkness swallowed everything.
Clutching the card, Ian stared around blankly. Sheer cliffs, an impossibly towering ice castle. A hallucinatory landscape, like a mad surrealist painter's fever dream—dreamlike yet overwhelming.
Ian murmured unconsciously.
"Ice Palace..."
The northerners' afterlife. He was certain he'd found it.
A voice echoed from somewhere.
[You've come, servant of the Sun Keeper.]
A scantily clad woman with sprouting wings fluttered down before him.
Ian spoke in Maronius.
"[Who are you?]"
[Oh ho. As the Sun Keeper's servant, you don't know me. I am Valkyrie. I guide the dead to the Ice Palace.]
The self-proclaimed Valkyrie spread her wings wide.
Ian flinched. Am I... dead?
The Ice Palace was the afterlife. Mortals couldn't enter—except in myths, where living heroes visited the dead's realm. This was his case.
[You're alive, so you can't stay long.]
Valkyrie extended her hand. Led by it, Ian soared through the sky.
She deposited him in the ice castle's heart and vanished.
The walls were adorned with paintings: some like Arcana cards, others primitive like those in Hrun Dal's shrine.
"You're here."
A chill ran down Ian's spine at the voice behind him.
A woman with silver hair cascading to her feet painted expressionlessly.
"Hm. Not bad."
She set down her brush, muttering, and showed him the painting: a black-haired, black-eyed man with a raven on his shoulder, holding a long staff.
...Me?
Ian blinked at the portrait. It matched his features, but older—thirties? Forties?
"What's this?"
Pure curiosity prompted the question.
The long-silver-haired woman—the Northern God, Hrun Dal—answered brightly.
"You, of course. Ian Eredis Raven."
Hrun Dal rose.
"Welcome to my palace, mage."