Chapter 6: A Slave's Bloody Reckoning
Deep within the thick, shadowy forest.
“...Hah!”
Histon Partas opened his eyes. He let out a startled scream and thrashed about in shock.
But he couldn't move his body.
“Grrraaah... What... is this? Where... am I...? No way... a d-dream?”
Histon thought it had all been a nightmare. In that nightmare, everything had come to an end. He'd lost his arms to a terrifying demon and both his legs as well.
Histon rolled his eyes. He groaned at the pain radiating from his body and struggled to force out words through mumbling lips.
“...Is... anyone... there...?”
“......”
Then, his gaze caught a familiar man hanging upside down. Blond hair, blue eyes, sunken cheekbones, and broken teeth. It was the slave, Hans.
“Oh, ah, Hans! H-Hans! This is great. Hans!... Save me. Spare... my life!”
“......”
Hans simply stared at Histon with an impassive face. Then he lightly slapped Histon's cheek a few times, as if checking whether he was conscious or not.
Outrage boiled up in Histon at the absurd behavior, but he couldn't move his fists. So he tried to kick him with his feet... but there was nothing where his legs should have been.
“......!”
Sensing something was off, Histon rolled his eyes again. He realized it wasn't Hans hanging upside down—it was himself. He couldn't help but flinch in horror.
“Wha...t...!”
“...Because of you, I lost everything.”
“H-Hans! What... are you talking about!”
“...What am I talking about?”
Hans picked up a nearby stone and smashed it hard against Histon's skull.
Thwack!
Histon's body, hanging like a sandbag, swung wildly.
“What am I talking about?”
“Argh! H-Hans, you bastard! You want to die...!”
“Is that what you have to say right now!”
Gritting his teeth, Hans kept bashing Histon's head with the stone.
Thwack!
“That's right. Remember! What you did!”
Thwack!
“What you did to me...!”
Thwack!
“And what you did to my family...!”
Thwack!
For a while, the sound of tenderizing meat with a rock echoed through the forest. Histon hung there, thick blood oozing from his wounds, while Hans glared at him, teeth clenched, staring at his own hand. The stone in his grip had shattered. Even his fingers were bent out of shape, probably broken somewhere.
With no strength left to swing, Hans glared at Histon in frustration.
“Damn it...! Is your face made of rock or something? So damn tough...!”
“S-Spare... me!”
“Spare you? Ha!”
Hans pulled a leather pouch from his belt. He smeared the purple powder inside onto Histon's bloodied face.
“That's right, you begged! Not you—but me and my family...!”
Histon groaned, realizing what the powder was, and thrashed desperately to shake it off.
“But what did you do? Right in front of my eyes, you killed my father, used my little brother as monster bait...!”
He forced the leather pouch into Histon's small mouth.
“You killed them! What did I do wrong? Because I'm a southern noble? Sure, I'm a noble, but I've lived for the kingdom, for the people! And yet, with some ridiculous false charge... you plundered us, made me a slave, and took my precious family...!”
Then, treating Histon's mouth—like the pouch hanging from it—as a target, he kicked it several times with his foot.
“I lost them! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!”
Thud! Thud!
As Hans kicked, Histon's body twitched and jerked.
“You monster! Taking hits from rocks like that and still fine. But that's even better! Because you're so tough, tougher than a cockroach, I can take my revenge to my heart's content!”
Hans glanced around. Spotting odd movement in the bushes, he hurriedly backed away from Histon, mounted his pre-loosed horse, and rode off.
“...Die slowly, the same way you made my family die by your hand.”
Histon shook his whole body, struggling futilely, but it was firmly fixed in place—he couldn't budge an inch.
With his swollen eyes, Histon stared at the black shadows. Something slowly emerged.
Green skin, long nose, short and squat like a dwarf. A monster clad in beast hide and wielding a stone spear. Goblins.
They sniffed at the purple powder on his face, noses twitching toward the helpless Histon. Then, grinning with bared teeth as if they'd found a tasty meal, thick drool dripped from their mouths. Histon's face paled.
“Ugh... H-Hans! Hans...! S-Spare... Aaaargh!”
“......”
Hans tightened the reins at the sound of Histon's screams echoing from afar. He gazed blankly up at the sky.
Histon's screams endlessly reverberated through the forest. Gradually, they weakened... and then suddenly cut off.
“...Is it over?”
A sense of relief washed over him. Some said revenge was hollow, but that was wrong. Hearing Histon's voice of utter despair was the best feeling in the world.
Revenge could feel this exhilarating! The only regret was not inflicting even more pain.
Hans shook his head with a bitter smile.
“Now... what should I do?”
...Should I just die?
With his revenge complete, his life's purpose was gone. He'd lost his most precious family, so he had no will to live left. Even if he wanted to survive, he doubted he could escape this frozen wasteland alone. And returning to the kingdom? He was practically a slave there anyway.
“Come to think of it, that demon... would he kill me?”
The one who'd freed him and given him the chance to kill Histon with his own hands. He had to repay that debt. Hans had never liked owing anyone.
“...I think old tales said demons like human souls. So... do I just offer mine?”
After hesitating for a while, Hans gripped the reins and headed toward Valhalla Palace.
Loki learned some interesting facts from meeting Histon Partas.
Abilities like game skills. The people of this world called them Divine Gifts.
They seemed to believe these powers were born from blessings of the gods.
An intriguing concept, but even more fascinating was how the inhabitants of this world behaved toward him.
Loki looked ahead.
Hundreds of people had gathered before him, all bowing toward Loki. With heads pressed to the ground and hands clasped, they worshipped him with utmost reverence, like devotees before a god.
Most were from the Raguna Tribe, but there were others too. Warriors in brass armor whom Loki had slain just recently. Even the Partas tribesmen were doing the same.
“What does this mean?”
At Loki's question, Shaman, the Nod tribe's priest beside him, answered.
“The Nod people live in a world where the strong rule. The plundered become slaves, and the plunderers become masters. O Constellation of Sin.”
Shaman bowed his head slightly and continued.
“The Nod tribe has served the Constellation of Sin for generations. Now that our master has awakened, we shall serve him as is our true duty.”
Nords who sinned through plunder. To wash away their sins and receive salvation, they swore loyalty and served the Constellation of Sin.
That was written in the Nod scriptures.
“Raguna and Partas tribes. All of them.”
It also meant that those whose lord had awakened but not judged them would mercifully accept them.
“We pledge our loyalty to you here and now.”
Loki needed to find a way back home. If he couldn't, he'd have to stay here. In that case, building a stronghold was wise.
And these people before him would play that role.
In this moment, a new force was born under the northern constellation.
Loki's red eyes flickered as he regarded the man who had come to Valhalla Palace.
The visitor wasn't just from the Nod tribe.
Long, dry golden blond hair and blue eyes. Swollen, bruised skin like he'd been beaten. He looked to be in his mid-40s, maybe early 50s at most. It was Hans, the slave who'd taken Histon—the one Loki had meant to kill.
Gazing at Hans standing in the center of the grand hall on the red carpet, Loki shifted his eyes to Shaman with a silent question of What is this?
“Well... he says he came to repay a debt of gratitude.”
Loki looked at Hans.
“A debt? What kind...?”
Loki trailed off. The face seemed familiar somehow.
“Ah, right! The guy who came to rescue that screaming fool—Histon! Hm, I didn't think I'd see you again.”
With every word Loki spoke, Hans flinched.
He'd come here ready to die, having given up everything. But facing the demon directly, even that courage evaporated—he just wanted to turn tail and run.
“Don't tell me you're here to repay me for sparing him? Quite the loyal one.”
Loki eyed Hans with interest.
“So, is that man... still alive? If he is... ”
Loki reached into empty air. Space warped, and a red vial appeared in his hand. He shook it, then tossed it to Hans.
Hans caught it reflexively and staggered.
“It's a potion of recovery. Not sure how effective it'll be... but it should save someone on the brink of death.”
...Probably.
Truth be told, he mainly wanted to test it. Lacking a subject, Histon would do.
“Um... I'm sorry.”
Then Hans spoke.
“Histon is dead.”
“I see.”
Well, those wounds were hard to survive.
“I... killed him.”
“......”
Another surprising turn.
Loki felt a sense of deflation.
“Weren't you trying to save him?”
“I took him to kill him.”
“......”
This world is full of complications...
With no knowledge of Hans's circumstances, Loki wondered if the world was insane—plundering, seizing, enslaving, killing, all treated as normal.
Well, I'm no picture of sanity myself.
“Then...”
Loki raised a finger. The claw-like gauntlet pointed at Hans.
“You drink it.”
“Pardon?”
“You look badly hurt... Drink it.”
“But...”
Hans smiled bitterly. No potion, no matter how regenerative, could heal old wounds.
“If I drink it, it'll just be a waste of good potion...”
“Drink it.”
“......”
At Loki's firm command, Hans hesitated, then uncorked the vial and drank. As the last drop entered his body, something happened.
“Gaaargh!”
“......”
He vomited blood and collapsed forward. His body convulsed violently.
And... crack!
Bones ground and shifted. Misaligned ones snapped back into place. Some bones that had pierced the skin were regenerating rapidly. Bones broken from punching Histon, never properly treated, realigned, hardened, and fused.
Gradually, his body's balance restored, visibly healing before their eyes.
Watching, Loki stroked his chin in astonishment.
Once the recovery finished, Hans, still prone, panted heavily and stared at his hand.
“Healed...? The hand that broke hitting Histon... it's back to normal.”