The Walls of Asgard
Thud…! Thud…! The cart carrying Loki rattled roughly over the uneven ground.
“Atchoo-!”
Salat, riding beside him, let out a small sneeze from the biting cold she’d never felt before.
“Cold?”
At Loki’s question, Salat subtly shook her head. Even wrapped in fur, she couldn’t get used to the chill.
They had left the Ronia Kingdom behind days ago, traversing an endless icy plain.
Where on earth are we headed? And… do I even belong with these people?
As those doubts swirled in Salat’s mind, Loki draped his crow cloak over her. The feather mantle warmed her body instantly. The heat seemed to melt away her anxiety bit by bit.
“Oh! We’ve finally arrived!”
At the Berserker’s exclamation, Salat turned her gaze. Her mouth fell open slightly.
‘A cliff?’
No, it was a wall. A massive barrier of ice, unknown rocks, and metal encircled the coastline connected to the continent.
Clang-! Clang-!
Still under construction, laborers dangled from the wall, hammering away.
‘Dwarves?’
She couldn’t help but be astonished. Among the workers weren’t just humans—dwarves were there too.
‘N-no, slaves?’
Did they enslave other races here too—
“You idiots! Do it right!”
No. The dwarves were the ones barking orders at the humans.
Flags bearing serpents and wolves fluttered atop the wall, where Nord warriors in white-scaled armor and masks patrolled. Their aura dwarfed Ronia’s regular army.
‘M-my goodness!’
Being with Loki had sparked Salat’s curiosity about the Nords. Whenever they visited territories, she’d heard the locals’ opinions.
—Uncouth barbarians living in tribal savagery, devoid of civilization.
—Ignorant, uncultured brutes who only knew fighting.
But the sight before her shattered those tales. Look at that majestic wall! No uncivilized folk could build such a thing. Not even a great empire could erect one easily.
‘The nation of Asgard…!’
It really existed!
As Salat gaped, Loki placed a hand on her head.
“We’ve arrived.”
Salat, nestled in his arms, looked up at him.
“This is home at last.”
Home? An unfamiliar word. Yet one that stirred longing, slipping from Loki’s lips.
Salat watched as a massive gate between the walls slowly opened.
…Can I really live here?
“Rest well.”
At Loki’s words, Salat nodded. Home. Such a warm word.
They returned home.
The rattling cart transformed into a luxurious carriage upon entering the frozen land.
Inside sat Loki and Salat, with Helga across from them, and Kankun riding alongside as escort.
Salat sank into the plush seat, poking it with her fingers and bouncing her hips.
‘So soft and squishy!’
She’d thought she’d never feel this again…!
She glanced sideways. Loki read a book, arms crossed.
Its title: Holy Church’s Azelan Constellation and the Fallen Angels.
“Um… may I open the window?”
Loki glanced at her and nodded silently.
Salat opened the carriage window. White buildings and colorful market streets unfolded before her.
“Come on-! Buy some!”
“Fresh bella fruits just in from the continent!”
Nords with turquoise hair hawked luxury goods. Amid the shouting, she spotted continentals who weren’t Nords, and dwarves drinking beer on inn terraces.
“…Wow!”
A scene unlike the Hanes Empire. A street where other races mingled?
Perhaps nostalgia tugged at her—tears welled in Salat’s eyes.
Then she saw patrolling Nords, and skeletons bowing to them.
‘Wha—undead too?!’
As Salat stared in shock, the skeleton met her gaze and waved.
‘It even greeted me!?’
Not mindless spirits?!
Amazement overwhelmed her. Stone buildings everywhere. Streets with small parks and people playing chess.
…Who were these people? The ones who called Nords backward savages?
This rivaled an imperial capital.
Kankun, watching from across, covered her mouth and giggled at Salat’s reactions. Helga smiled softly at her.
Salat turned to see their destination: a majestic palace by a lake.
“…A-are we going there?”
Pointing at Valhalla Palace, she asked. Loki nodded.
“Yes. That’s where you’ll stay for now.”
“……”
For now…? Realization dawned on Salat. She was an outsider. Not a Nord comrade, nor a citizen of this strange Asgard.
Loki had no obligation to protect or care for her.
‘R-right. I’m… just a stranger.’
Moreover, a Hanes Empire princess. Hunted by the Holy Church—if word spread that Loki sheltered her, conflict was inevitable.
‘I’ll just be a burden to him.’
As Salat lowered her gaze, trembling faintly, Loki spoke while reading.
“That was when you had somewhere to go.”
“……??”
Salat looked at him.
“If you’ve nowhere to go, just stay.”
“I-is that… okay?”
“The palace won’t vanish for one more family member.”
“…Thank you.”
The carriage arrived at the palace.
Creak-.
The door opened to Nord warriors lined up in welcome.
‘H-he really is a king!’
Salat recalled Aum Linia calling Loki the Nord king.
‘…Come to think of it, they called him “Constellation” too.’
Constellation… meaning a god?
Recalling Loki’s overwhelming presence—not demonic, surely divine—Salat nodded in understanding.
“Welcome back, my master.”
A dwarf emerged from the warriors, kneeling before Loki.
His neat suit and precise movements marked him as the palace butler.
“Did you enjoy your excursion?”
Not ‘travel’ or ‘adventure,’ but ‘excursion.’ Fitting for the dwarf’s view of the being before him.
“Yes. And I gained good results.”
Loki was highly satisfied. Mission accomplished—he could now live quietly here with Helga.
But if Yun Sirin sought revenge on the Holy Church, and they targeted her—
‘War.’
A perfect game to stave off boredom.
As that thought crossed his mind, Loki recalled a letter. From Monk Alex.
He pulled it from his inventory and showed it to the dwarf.
“Reran.”
Salat’s ears perked up.
“Yes, master.”
“Can you restore this?”
Dwarf Reran examined the bloodstained letter, its contents obscured.
“May I open it?”
“Yes.”
Reran opened it, revealing blood-smeared paper.
“…For restoration, alchemy will be needed.”
“So it’s possible.”
“Yes. Though it’ll take time.”
“How long?”
“About three weeks should suffice.”
“Not long. Restore it.”
“Understood.”
Reran bowed.
“And please guide my companions.”
Loki headed into Valhalla Palace. Reran kept bowing until he vanished, then turned to the group.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Reran, butler of this Valhalla Palace. Please, make yourselves at home—.”
His gaze reached the dark elf, and words failed him.
“……!”
The dark elf girl covered her face with both hands, turning away.
As if avoiding him, Reran said in a trembling voice,
“Pr, prin—”
“No.”
Salat cut him off. Reran shut his mouth.
Salat parted her fingers slightly, peering at him, and said firmly,
“Don’t say it.”
Reran hesitated, opening and closing his mouth, then continued.
“…Pleased to meet you, miss.”
He placed a hand on his chest and bowed.
“I’ll show you to your rooms.”
‘…They know each other?’
From the palace window, Loki watched Salat and Reran pretend to be strangers. They had their reasons.
Curious, but he wouldn’t pry. They’d tell him someday. Or not—it didn’t matter. They were comrades already.
‘Comrades, huh?’
Loki smiled faintly. This place was truly becoming his home, his roots. The emptiness he felt was fading as he took root here.
“Lord Loki.”
He turned. A familiar face at the corridor corner: a middle-aged blond man with blue eyes—Hans, who’d stayed to handle duties.
Exhausted Nord warriors trailed him.
“Oh! Hans. Long time no see. Back from training?”
“Pardon? Ah! I was overseeing mountain training…”
Loki scanned Hans up and down. More clerk than soldier. He’d handled admin, but his main role was training Asgard’s troops.
“You suit training soldiers more than paperwork. Weren’t you Ronia nobility?”
“Well… demoted for various reasons.”
“A noble training troops?”
“I was in the military, at least.”
“…But hopeless with a sword?”
“Haha! Swordplay was my weakness. Still, I had command experience…”
Loki nodded in understanding.
“Enjoy your trip?”
“Yes, it was fun.”
“Good. Now then—”
Hans smiled slyly. Loki’s face hardened.
A cart of documents rolled from the corner.
“Time to resume duties.”
“……!”
A peaceful day passed in Asgard.
Deep in a dense forest, despair reigned.
“Aaaargh-!”
Ash’s eyes rolled back. Kneeling, a torch seared his back.
He writhed to resist, but his limbs were bound.
Torture. Days of it.
Not just him.
“Urgh-!”
Pol too. His back burned by torch.
As their flesh cooked in agony, the holy knight with the torch said to his comrade,
“Hey, holy water.”
He doused their backs, cooling the burns and healing them.
Healed just enough not to die, then more torture.
“Two hours till full recovery—shall we resume then?”
“St-stop… please. I’m royalty! A prince! Torturing royalty violates continental law—!”
“Defying me now?”
The knight glared down. Ash clutched his leg in terror.
“P-please stop. I beg you!”
“Sudden politeness? Haha! What a clown. Real prince?”
Begging after so little torture? This was eastern Ronia’s leader? He’d somehow survived years without western Ronia swallowing him. First in line for the throne, after all.
“I-I’ll do anything…!”
“No grit, no dignity. What do you have?”
“Th-that’s…”
As the knight menaced with the torch, Pol grabbed his leg.
“St…op.”
“…Oh! This one’s got potential. Grit. Loyalty.”
The knight admired Pol. Ash, as prince, got lighter torture; others didn’t. The knights liked Pol: unyielding under pain, protecting his prince.
Compared to this so-called prince—
“……”
Lips clamped, eyes darting. Hoping his torture went to the mage. Obvious.
‘Pathetic trash.’
“Shall we play more?”
“N-not healed yet! It hurts too much! Just a bit longer—!”
Ash whimpered.
“No. Your attitude grates.”
“B-but—!”
“Or tell us something interesting. Might delay your session.”
As if he could think of anything now. Ash’s eyes darted wildly, scrambling for knight-bait.
Nothing.
“Tch, no street smarts even?”
The knight looked bored, raising the torch again.
Ash recalled their first meeting. Their campfire. The heretic wanted poster in their hands. The ‘dark elf’ on it.
“……!”
Ash shouted.
“Dark elf!”
The knight tilted his head.
“Th-the dark elf you’re after!!”
Yes, a familiar portrait on their poster. The dark elf girl he’d fancied.
“I-I know where that girl is!”