An Enemy...? "Yun Sirin... Isn't It?"
Loki stared at Helga in a daze.
Black-and-white energy swirled around her dress, enveloping her in heavy plate armor. A horned circlet helmet covered her eyes, gauntlets and sabatons encased her limbs. And a pitch-black greatsword.
No, no. That was definitely the Helga avatar. It was Yun Sirin.
The skills and summoned items were the same.
But... why?
"Lady Helga. Your orders...!"
At the Black-and-White Church follower's words, Loki ground his teeth.
Helga... even that name...!
Did that mean her soul wasn't Yun Sirin's?
'But she reacted to my name.'
Then why didn't she recognize him?
'Has too much time passed...?'
Yun Sirin had wandered for over three hundred years. From a human perspective, three centuries was an eternity—had she forgotten him?
"That's an order. Fall back. You can't beat him."
Helga commanded her followers to retreat and leveled her greatsword at Loki.
"It's not too late. Back off. Or I'll kill you."
Back off...?
Was she joking?
If he retreated now, what had all his suffering been for? What was the point of building his forces, waging wars against other nations, committing all those atrocities?
It had all been for the one woman standing before him...!
What was he supposed to do if he lost even that purpose?
"......"
The cold eyes visible through her circlet glared sharply at him. No joke.
"Back off? You call that words right now? I've toiled for years for this moment. I can't do that."
As Loki took a step forward, Helga's eyes narrowed.
"Then I'll bury you with the undead who died by your hand."
At her words, Loki felt a chilling aura from behind. Turning, he saw monsters in human form. Their skin melted away, writhing in agony as they seized his arms and legs, then coiled around his body like serpents, layer upon layer.
Dozens of undead tore at his flesh, their hateful glares burning.
Loki glared at the undead.
'These bastards...!'
They were the assassins he'd burned alive not long ago.
'And not ordinary undead.'
One of Helga's skills, no doubt. The pressure was immense. An ordinary person would have been crushed into a pulp.
Helga approached Loki, bound everywhere but his face by the undead, and pressed her greatsword to his brow.
"Who are you? Who sent you? The Holy Church?"
Massive distrust filled her cold, glaring eyes.
"What are you talking about?"
"...Trying to deceive me again?"
"Deceive?"
"...Yes."
"Kim Hoon. Surely you don't forget—"
"I don't know."
"......"
As if reacting to Helga's icy voice, the undead squeezed tighter.
'She doesn't know?'
But if she truly didn't, she wouldn't react like this.
Then another question arose. If she knew, why the hostility...?
"Why... do you look at me with those eyes, Sirin."
Her gaze was so hollow. Helga's body twitched.
'Sir...in? How does he know that name...?'
Helga glanced between her drawn greatsword, her armor, and the mysterious man held by the wraiths, confusion mounting.
'Kim Hoon? Who... was that?'
She didn't know. But his words stirred unfamiliar emotions. Excitement, anticipation. Agitation, worry, anxiety... all twisting into fear.
An unpleasant feeling. So unpleasant she wanted to flee from this man.
But why did it feel this way? She asked herself repeatedly.
No answer came. Of course not. She didn't know the man named Kim Hoon.
She had to forget!
She clawed at her hair. Her head throbbed. Faint memories surfaced from the aching depths—hellish events on the continent...!
"Unpleasant."
"......"
"So... please... "
Helga lifted her face to Loki. Dew gathered at the edges of her hollow golden eyes.
"...Disappear from my sight."
As if on cue, the undead swarmed over Loki's body completely.
Those wraiths would hold him for a week. She could just leave him like that.
Helga propped her staggering body with her greatsword. Worried, her followers approached.
"Lady Helga!"
"What did that bastard do...!"
"No. It's nothing."
Helga raised her head, sweat beading coldly. The mass of flesh-wraiths kept compressing endlessly.
"Let's... get out of here quickly."
Overwhelmed by the unknown emotion, she raised her greatsword. As Helga stepped away, something gripped her hand.
"......!"
"Lady Helga!"
Helga turned to see who held her. A hand emerging through the now bone-like flesh mass. Loki's hand.
"I... won't... let... go."
A faint voice. The flesh swelled as if about to burst.
Helga shook it off desperately, putting distance between them.
"I won't... let you go."
The wraith-flesh tore apart, and something stepped through the gap.
"I don't know what you've endured or how you've survived."
A ram's skull helm and jet-black armor, a golden spear—Gungnir—in his right hand.
"If you truly want to leave, then go. But..."
Red light blazed from the ram helm's eyes.
"If you're suffering... I'll uncover what it is and free you with everything I have!"
Loki glared at Helga.
Helga was unconsciously rejecting him. She was afraid. Terrified.
For the past three hundred years, she'd been alone.
'Yes, I... am alone.'
Summoned alone to the continent, her first goal had been one thing: find that one man.
The only one she could rely on. The one she trusted and could lean on in this unfamiliar world. The man she'd believed in and followed.
To find him... she'd wandered the continent for decades.
For her, originally human, this world was terrifying. Unfamiliar people with their traditions, religions, mindsets, values. They discriminated by race, hunted heretics for differing faiths.
Nobles treated people as tools; slaves fared worse than livestock.
Grotesque, savage monsters hounded her aggressively.
She felt disgust for this alien world. But she endured. Her game avatar's powers let her fend off real threats.
The hardest part was her fading sense of self. The sensation of losing herself, being eroded by the game character. Living as avatar Helga, not Yun Sirin.
She endured, clinging desperately. To do so, she needed someone to lean on—and humans were first.
She relied on them. Their values differed, but she understood, trusted, followed. She strove to adapt and preserve her identity.
But they betrayed her. Used her for selfish gain and discarded her.
Each betrayal eroded her identity into darkness.
Next, other races. More trustworthy than humans—purer, honest, passionate.
But... they were annihilated by humans. Enslaved, hunted, reduced to tools for human lusts.
Watching friends slaughtered before her eyes, she lost all anchors.
Nowhere to lean. No one to rely on.
Her heart blackened further.
She discarded parts of herself, chose others. She trusted only herself.
Even her purpose—to find the man she'd relied on—faded. His voice, face, personality, memories. Even his name.
The environment was too harsh, the hellish circumstances too grueling. Three hundred years—far too long to remember.
"Free...?"
Helga repeated Loki's word.
"Nonsense."
Free her? From what? Humans? This endless wandering?
Impossible.
"That's why I want to talk to you."
Helga gripped her greatsword tighter at Loki's words.
"One more arrogant word, and I'll really kill you."
"......"
"I don't know what you want."
"......"
"But if you intend something, you'll have to subdue me first."
Helga pulled her greatsword into stance. Precise, trained movements.
All life around her withered. Grass dried to dust; trees rotted dead.
Black aura flowed from her.
-Kieeeek!
It took human forms. Wraith Summon. One of Helga's skills: curses lingered after dealing damage.
Loki gripped his golden spear, Gungnir, eyeing the wraiths.
'What was the wraith skill effect? Lifesteal on enemy...'
HP drain, damage reduction, 2% slow. And it stacked. Allowing multiple hits would be dangerous.
She meant to kill him.
'Trouble. She's completely forgotten.'
Loki took a defensive stance with Gungnir.
His refusal to yield made Helga grit her teeth.
"You'll regret this."
With those words, her form vanished.
When Loki registered her, she was right before him, greatsword raised in an upward swing, torso twisted.
"...Fast."
Loki swung Gungnir desperately; the rising blade clashed with the golden spear.
The ground cratered around them. Earth shattered, dust swirling like fog.
Loki swept the spear shaft to shove Helga back, creating distance—but she rebounded instantly, clinging like a shadow.
Each swing of her greatsword, blocked by his spear, exploded, shaking the land.
'...Dangerous.'
Purely defending, Loki pondered. Her attacks were fiercer than expected. He could block or dodge, but barely.
One mistake, and he'd take sustained hits.
'If she grabs me—'
Then Helga swung. Loki parried with Gungnir—but she released the hilt.
'Dropped her weapon?'
The greatsword spun through the air, evading his blade. She spun, kicking his solar plexus.
Thud—!
His Demon God set chestplate cracked; wraiths seeped through the gap.
"Damn...!"
Loki flew back from the blow. Wraiths spread over his body, seizing limbs, binding movement.
Each time, dark red light flickered on Helga.
'...Lifesteal and slow.'
Subtle, but the wraiths restrained him.
'What the hell? Martial arts...?'
Loki stared at Helga, stunned. Swordsmanship aside, hand-to-hand?
Not skill-driven motions, but internalized technique.
'Impressive.'
Helga had wandered for three centuries, hunted by the continent's rulers, the Holy Church. She'd mastered swordplay, martial arts—whatever it took.
'Self-taught?'
Loki brushed off the dust.
'Can't go easy on her.'
Loki approached Helga slowly, eyes fixed on her.