Who Are You?
My head spun. Amid a pounding headache that felt like it would split my skull, a voice echoed—utterly unfamiliar.
What… is this…?
Loki stared ahead. His mind was foggy, as if awakening from an endless sleep.
What happened to me? Am I hallucinating? Or is this the afterlife…?
His last memory was developing an indie game when an accident struck alongside his junior. After that, his vision had gone black, and nothing remained. Now, as his sight slowly cleared—
An unfamiliar space. An alien atmosphere. And unfamiliar figures facing him.
Armor and garb like Vikings. Filthy beards and sharp weapons in hand. Dozens of such men pinning down a single girl.
It was a bizarre sight, and beside them stood an old man who seemed out of his mind, clutching his head in terror.
All eyes turned to Loki. All bodies trembled in fear. Their gazes held a thick terror, coiling like serpents at the sight of some colossal monster.
"Not speaking?"
Even in the confusion, his voice remained calm. A chill laced it, carrying a weight that pressed down on the air itself. With each word, the men recoiled in fright.
Only one—the girl—stared blankly at Loki.
"Who are you?"
At Loki's command, the girl stammered a reply.
"I-I'm Ka… Kankun… Kankun Raguna!"
Terror-stricken yet pleading as she looked up at him, tears welled in her eyes and traced down her cheeks. Like a child wishing upon starlight, she whispered,
"I am the shrine maiden who serves you."
Loki narrowed his eyes at her words.
"Ah, the devil has revived—!"
Loki lifted his head at the cry. The men shrieked, trembling as they gripped their weapons, aiming not just at him but at the undead monsters surrounding the temple.
Loki rested his cheek lightly against the back of his hand. The clink of armor transmitted through his helmet—a gesture as natural as breathing.
…Where is this?
Even in his haze, the scene felt familiar. The game he had designed, Ragnarok. If memory served, this was Valhalla Palace, where the final boss slumbered.
A dream?
Perhaps. Otherwise, why would he speak or act in such a peculiar manner here? No resistance. It flowed naturally, as if it had always been his own temperament.
"D-Don't mock us!"
One man bellowed then.
"No such devil exists—!"
Denying reality, he shuddered yet clutched his massive mace.
"I'll slay a pathetic devil like you—!"
The man charged with a roar, hoisting his mace high toward Loki.
Their eyes met.
"……!"
The man's face froze. Loki casually extended a hand and snapped his fingers.
Crack!—
The weapon in the man's grip, his swinging arm, his head frozen in shock, his rigid torso—all exploded into oblivion.
Thud.
Only the lower half of the corpse hit the floor.
"In… one strike?"
"Mercy!"
Terror deepened among those in the temple.
"Oh, devil—quell your wrath!"
An elder in a ragged black robe clutched his head and prostrated himself, crying out.
Loki glanced at the corpse on the floor.
…Not a dream, then. Reality.
His foggy mind sharpened. And with it came the uncanny sensations from his body: a pounding heart, the chill settling around him. All proof of reality.
Yet no dismay at this altered world, no horror at the corpse. It felt like viewing an NPC—numb, as if playing a game.
Loki surveyed the figures around him one by one. Most men radiated hostility: fear, dread, but blatant murderous intent.
Naturally. With a comrade slain, they'd crave vengeance.
But two were different. The elder wailing with head in hands. And the girl clutching the mythical item Brurtgang he himself had planned and created.
…Even the game world feels just like this?
The one who called herself a shrine maiden. In this chaos, the only one who might converse.
Loki pointed at the girl, Kankun.
The men pinning her recoiled at his gesture.
"Kankun, was it?"
"Y-Yes? Y-Yes!"
Kankun shrank in fear.
"Come here."
As he crooked a finger, she swallowed hard and tried to rise.
"C-Come… S-Sorry. J-Just a moment… Huh? Wh-What?"
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed again.
"Y-Yes! Shrine maiden! Become the sacrifice! Appease the devil—no, the Constellation! Only you can save the Nod tribe!"
The elder—priest Shaman—shouted desperately.
Loki couldn't help questioning the words. What did it mean? Shrine maiden? Wrath? Constellation? Saving the Nod tribe?
As far as he knew, no such lore existed in his game's world.
Loki turned slightly to eye Shaman.
"Eek—!"
But before a question formed, their eyes met, and he slammed his forehead to the floor. No chance for talk.
"How dare you—."
Loki felt a prickling on his skin. Thick killing intent, overriding even fear—pure rage and hatred.
His gaze shifted to the burliest man among them: a bear-like figure in chainmail, wielding an axe too massive for most men. The rebel who beheaded Kankun's father, the chieftain, and tried to take her. Kankun's uncle.
Kudan Raguna.
"Use Kankun as sacrifice—?!"
His muscles swelled unnaturally. The carpet before the throne tore, red threads scattering.
He charged at Loki, axe raised with full might. Veins writhed over bulging muscles—his all-out strike.
…But that last man was weak.
Loki glanced at the corpse he'd dispatched with a mere finger snap. Upper body obliterated by the lightest effort.
So—
…Control the strength…
"Raaargh—!"
Kudan's full-powered strike…!
But…
Thud!!!
"……!"
It was blocked effortlessly. Kudan gawked at the devil halting his battle-axe with one hand.
Loki's cloak fluttered in the wind pressure.
What… power…?!
Not just stopped—despite Kudan's two-handed tug, the axe wouldn't budge.
Loki's red eyes narrowed. With a flick of his wrist—like swatting a fly—
Thud! Crash!
The battle-axe shattered like glass. Kudan flew back, rolling across the floor until slamming into the wall, vomiting blood.
"Gaaargh—!"
Just a light push…
Yet the effect was profound. Loki eyed his hand and clicked his tongue in surprise.
A scratch?
A tiny mark marred the gauntlet. The final boss's hand wounded.
Proving Kudan's renown as a powerhouse, everyone stirred at his fall. The hostile men, now fear-stricken, hoisted the fallen Kudan and fled.
"Ku-Kudan has fallen!"
"Retreat… Retreat!"
The men vanished.
Loki checked his hand again. The gauntlet's scratch had vanished—self-regenerating armor.
He turned to Kankun. Ragged clothes. Despair deep in her eyes. Clutching her sword, trembling.
"First."
Loki regarded the girl.
"Let's hear your story."
Now, perhaps, they could talk about this situation—what had happened to him, and why.
To find answers…
Loki began conversing with the girl.
Not far from the cursed temple, amid snow-laden woods thick with evergreens, countless tents dotted the landscape.
Men kindled fires against the cold between tents; women elsewhere polished golden armor.
All armed, they looked utterly savage. Brass armor gleaming gold, faces painted gold—they bore a distinct culture of golden ostentation.
The Partas Tribe, rising swiftly against the Nod folk.
Chieftain Histon Partas removed his golden helm, stroking his goatee with his right hand.
"Insufficient! Still far too few! Gold, warriors—everything!"
Before him lay reports on his tribal warriors. The slave recording them sighed inwardly at Histon's scowl.
Can't even read, so what does he know…
Slave Hans clicked his tongue silently. Outwardly, he held it in—Histon's temper would cleave him in two otherwise.
"Wh-What then shall we do…?"
Hans forced a smile.
Histon shook his head.
"Hans! I aim to forge a mighty tribe! Uniting all Nod clans into one great horde! Nay, a golden nation! We'll swell our slaves and forces!"
"S-So how exactly—"
Thwack!
Hans's head snapped sideways as his body flew. Nose crushed. Teeth shattered and sprayed.
Histon stomped his rear.
"Figure it out yourself! I've hinted enough—yet you can't speak up?!"
"S-Sorry! I-I'll think! P-Please… don't hit!"
Hans crawled, clutching Histon's pant leg, begging.
Satisfied with the obedience, Histon lifted his foot.
"Hmph. Never test my temper again!"
"S-Sorry."
"Hm… Any tribes nearby with gold or slaves? Ones ripe for subjugation?"
Hans eyed Histon carefully before continuing.
"N-Nearby, there's one. Not very powerful, it seems."
"Where?"
Gauging his mood, Hans replied.
"The Raguna Tribe!"
Kankun's tribe.