The Frost Elves' Agony
“Achoo!”
I let out a sneeze.
Someone cursing me or what?
Nah, probably not.
Who'd curse me anyway?
Park Ji-hoon was probably burning with loyalty right now, and Park Haya shedding tears of gratitude.
It had to be praise.
I could practically hear the invisible cheers of adoration reaching me from afar.
Whatever the case.
Next up is a massive episode. The perfect chance to hunt down a bunch of avatars.
Episode 3.
Unlike the previous ones, this was on a grand scale.
Maybe that's why there was still a bit of downtime before it kicked off.
Earth-side prep was done.
Time to get back to the main gig.
“Are you alright?”
Floor 2 of God's Tower.
Seria asked with a worried look as she watched me sneeze.
“I'm fine.”
I brushed it off casually and glanced around.
Mana density far thicker than before.
The majesty of an A-rank floor upgrade.
And not just that.
I narrowed my eyes at Seria.
“You've changed.”
Her aura was different.
If it used to feel like sharp ice shards, now it was a massive iceberg—heavy and immense.
A subtle glow emanated from her skin, and her eyes held deeper intensity.
This wasn't just ordinary training results.
Only one possible cause.
“The Nectar—you've been drinking it steadily?”
“Yes. One cup every morning, just as you instructed, Master.”
As expected.
I stroked my chin.
Truth be told, I hadn't felt any effects from the Nectar myself.
Even chugging it like water, it was just a tasty drink—no stat boosts or anything.
Simple reason.
My talents are already maxed out.
I'd pumped every stat to the limit during character creation.
The vessel was full; pouring more just made it overflow.
But Seria and Angragon were different.
They were still growing.
Nectar was the crystallized essence of divine power.
The more they drank, the more it forcibly unlocked their latent potential, expanding their very vessel.
“Kyaaang!”
Before I knew it, Angragon had flown over and perched on my shoulder.
He'd grown quite a bit too.
From fist-sized to about puppy-sized now.
Even the sheen of his scales was different.
Definite results.
I pondered for a moment.
Maybe feed some to Park Ji-hoon and Park Haya too.
Avatars are human at the core. If the gods use Nectar to empower theirs without side effects, it should be fine.
Besides, Park Ji-hoon was an S-rank Awakener, and Park Haya the Spirit Lord.
Heaven-blessed prodigies; they'd handle it no problem.
Hell, they might get too strong.
If Nectar works on humans, it'll be huge for checking avatars and gods.
Decided to think positive.
I stood up.
Stretched my body.
Crack.
The cheerful pop of joints aligning.
“Get ready.”
Seria adjusted her bow at my words.
Avriel floated by my side in holy sword form.
Angragon wagged his tail, brimming with fighting spirit.
“Where to, Master?”
Seria's question got a curt reply.
“Outside the tower.”
“……Pardon?”
Seria's eyes went wide.
“You mean mainland Asgard? No, that's impossible! Too dangerous!”
She hurriedly blocked my path.
The tower's stairwells were protected zones under the system.
But outside the tower, the gods' domain of Asgard was lawless wilderness.
Teeming with wild beasts, prowled by hyena-like gods eyeing territories—a savage jungle of eat-or-be-eaten.
Far too early for a newbie god fresh on floor 2.
“I know it's dangerous.”
I replied flatly.
“But I've got reasons to go.”
I stared straight at Seria.
“Guide me to the Frost Tribe.”
“……!”
Seria froze.
Her people.
The homeland she was meant to protect but had to abandon due to weakness.
“Why…… there?”
“I need worshippers.”
I said it straight.
“My floor's perfect. Buildings, resources, environment—all A-rank. But one thing's missing: ‘residents’ to live there.”
An empty golden city.
I needed people to fill it.
Ideally a loyal, combat-strong race.
Summoned beasts from the shop had limits.
Purchased ones don't grow.
Fixed output.
Mostly common, low-intellect, non-evolving types.
And they couldn't leave the tower.
But Seria's expression chilled at my words.
Her hand gripped her bow tight.
“……Worshippers.”
Her voice trembled.
“You plan to drag them here…… and burn them as offerings?”
Misunderstanding.
But a reasonable suspicion.
Hadn't even Heimdall advised it?
Gather worshippers, sacrifice them for Nectar.
That was the norm here—the gods' standard power-up method.
Despair and betrayal flashed in Seria's eyes.
Thinking the master who took her in would ultimately fuel his fire with her family.
“Stupid talk.”
I chuckled.
“Do I look like a beggar to you?”
“……Pardon?”
“Burn living elves for a few drops of Nectar? I don't do cheap shit like that.”
I shrugged.
“You saw how I use it.”
Seria's mouth hung open blankly.
Yeah.
This guy was the freak who'd blown a million Nectar like water to deck out the floor.
Even sharing a cup daily with her.
Mysterious Nectar flowing like an endless spring.
No need to squeeze worshippers dry.
“Th-then why……”
“To bring them here to live.”
I pointed to the golden city of floor 2.
“Feed them, house them, train them. Turn them into my soldiers.”
Relocation.
Meaning: bring her entire tribe to this paradise.
Seria's pupils shook.
“B-but…… our tribe is proud. They won't abandon their homes easily. Besides, that territory's currently ruled by the ‘Frost God.’”
“Has to be now.”
I spoke heavier.
“If we don't grab them now, the Frost Tribe gets wiped out.”
“……Wiped out?”
Memories from before regression.
During the floor 50 raid.
The ‘Frost God’—that floor's owner—had spat words that stuck with me right before dying.
—Kukuku! How'd that fool Seria die? Should've told her I burned her tribe as offerings ages ago! Would've loved to die seeing her despairing face. What a shame!
He'd mocked.
Cackling about missing Seria's broken expression.
Back then, I'd dismissed it as loser's spite.
It's true.
Hadn't Heimdall told me?
Ways to get Nectar.
One: burn offerings, refine into Nectar.
Seria must've made a deal with the Frost God.
Guard the floor as mid-manager, and he'd protect her tribe's safety.
Or return their territory.
Bold-faced lie.
I knew it was fake, but couldn't sit idle.
She'd promised.
To reclaim their land.
But that alone wasn't enough.
Reclaim it to an empty tribe? Worse than breaking the promise.
Seria would despair even more.
So.
Save them all.
I moved the instant I decided.
Northern Asgard.
A frozen hellscape whipped by eternal blizzards.
Territory ruled by the Frost God.
Whiiir!
A flesh-carving gale blew in.
“Halt!”
Before the gates ringed by massive ice walls.
Soldiers in ice armor leveled spears, blocking the way.
“This is the domain of the Frost God, Cryos. Outsiders forbidden.”
Killing intent thick in the air.
Too many.
Full assault's a no-go.
If Cryos or his elites showed, we'd be annihilated.
But I didn't flinch.
Backing off here was the worst play.
Instead, I tilted my chin up, looking down arrogantly.
“Step aside.”
“What?”
“Deaf? I said open the way.”
The soldiers' faces twisted.
First time anyone's strutted so boldly in a low-tier god's turf.
“You wanna die that bad?!”
As they gripped weapons and charged—
Vmmm!
I drew the staff from my robes.
The Typhoon Staff that Tears Enemies to Shreds.
The blue gem at its tip spun furiously, whipping up a storm.
Kwaaaa!
Fierce winds slammed the soldiers.
Spears rattled, helmets flew.
Overwhelming pressure forced them back.
“Y-you're……”
“I am the herald of the almighty ruler of all creation, the great Storm God Heimdall, come to this place.”
Problem I couldn't solo.
So I borrowed Heimdall's name.
Thud!
I slammed the staff down.
“You dare block His herald?”
At Heimdall's name, the soldiers' pupils quaked like an earthquake.
Asgard's apex predator.
Pinnacle of nature itself!
No low-tier god could touch him.
“L-lies! Why would Lord Heimdall come to this backwater……”
“Can't tell from this staff?”
I shoved it in their faces.
Whooo!
Whirling wind blades.
Savage aura ready to rip space apart.
Then—
A grizzled soldier in the rear screamed.
“Gasp!”
He paled, dropping to his knees.
“Th-that's…… a divine artifact! It's the staff Lord Heimdall treasures!”
“What?”
“Saw it in my youth! No imitation could match this!”
The old soldier trembled, kowtowing.
“Mercy, lord! We didn't know!”
The mood flipped.
Holding a divine artifact meant representing that god's will.
Especially using it.
Summoning a typhoon.
No better proof of a herald.
Touching me was declaring war on Heimdall.
Frost God Cryos?
A low-tier god Heimdall could erase with a flick.
Soldiers dropped spears, prostrating.
“Forgive us!”
“O-open the gates! Hurry!”
Creeeak!
The massive ice gate swung open.
I snorted and strode in.
Seria followed dazedly.
“Master…… incredible……”
“Just bluffing.”
I shrugged.
But the moment we passed the gates, my relaxed expression hardened.
“……”
A nose-stinging stench.
Burning flesh.
A massive altar dominated the plaza's center.
Crimson flames roared.
And atop it—
“Aaaagh!”
“Save us! It burns!”
People.
Elves, chained and writhing in the blaze.
Pale skin, silver hair.
Undeniably Frost Tribe.
“Wh-what is this…… aaah……!”
Seria's legs buckled.
She clamped her mouth.
It was hell.
Dozens of elves burning alive.
Their screams and agony rose, sucked into the crystal orb atop the altar.
Golden liquid.
Nectar.
Refined from faith and life force—the gods' drink.
Heimdall's ‘most efficient way to get Nectar’ unfolding right before my eyes.