The Nords, once the fabled and esteemed land with Gods and power, became one of the few tribes that suffered tremendous loss and turned into nothing more than a vanished culture of the past.
But even for such a nearly extinguished culture, they left us with vast knowledge of survival guides, animal hunts, beast and demon hunt guides, and fascinating tales of old heroes facing all kinds of trials. But more importantly, unearthly secrets that have yet left us without an answer, burying our curiosity even more than before.
Nearly ages before the times of the Red War, during the thriving era of the Age of The Maiden, the Nords originally emerged from the northern lands, a region separated away from the Land's Beyond and the Forbidden Lands, a place they called Midgard where the giant tree of Yggdrasil was rooted, one of the many World trees that homed this world in mystery and chagrin.
There, they honed their religions and culture in peace. It's believed that the doctrine behind their beliefs varies from the Maidens of the Land's Beyond, harboring a completely different spectrum of Gods, such as the name of the Allfather, Odin, the God of Thunder, Thor, and the newly crowned king of Asgard. The legendary war between the Æsir–Vanir War, and more importantly, its magic and its crux like how the Vanir steered fate into their own hands, which until this very day, was never understood and remained shrouded in mystery.
It's like they had their world, completely diverse and divergent from the people who praised the Maiden's godhood, and therefore, didn't bother to uncover the other lands, their myths or history. They simply chose to isolate themselves in peace, and indeed, a reasonable point of view.
But much like the lesser Titans, they were a community that eventually lost everything to none other than the Red Emperor and his children of the Chaos Legion. Like the Titans, they lost their home, their days of glory, and their spark of hope, as it went down to the ashes to become nothing more than a relic of the old world, alongside their Gods, slain one by one by the emperor's hand.
To their eyes, the Red Emperor was indeed Ragnarök itself, bringing down a rain of fire and blood upon Asgard and all the nine realms, as he washed away the Tree to mere wood and ashes, chaos and death on an unprecedented scale. One of the many crimes the emperor in red and his children committed upon the lost civilization of the northern lands.
Only history remains and what's left of them as they hurriedly escaped from their dear homes, a mere tribe of the original million numbers, simply scorched away in a few months to ten thousand, a shame and a defeat that Vikings only know of that shall forever bury their minds and books for eons to go, until the day their last existence looms over this world, and only songs of their youth speak of their ancient legend.
But somehow, they still lived and survived the terrible fate as they escaped to the cold mountains, west to the Land's Beyond, where they nested in ephemeral peace for the ages to come.
Besides the rumored danger of demons, Wyverns, and unknown creatures that inhabited these mountains, the Nords were relentless with their unwavering biological strength and the might of their culture. They rightfully took the cold mountains as their own home, like the bandits they are.
Most cryptozoology books those days are scraps of information collected by researchers of Inexmine Academy, hunting down those otherworldly creatures, their anatomy, their weaknesses, and strengths, all foretold by the Nords.
The mountains also gave them a strategic advantage over the neighboring kingdoms. As they settled on the summit of their soaring mountains, they practically saw the whole world. Therefore, they had the upper hand in knowing their enemies' possible schemes and developing counterattacks against them before they could strike back.
In addition, the towering mountains were obscured by heavy snowy mist that gave a disadvantage for the opposing kingdoms to observe the Nords' movements, further hindering their battle positions.
Surprisingly, they stood over centuries over the cold mountains. Some say they cower behind these icy cliffs like cowards they are, while others foolhardily took the chance to further develop their nation into a more prosperous tribe.
However, that didn't last for long as One of the few historical events that took place was the clash between the lesser Titans and The Nords' last tribunal clan which would bring their eventual fall.
The tale told thus far:
At first, they were a peacefully united tribe that aimed for a similar destination, to survive and flourish. Since many Nords, the Titans also lost their homes and gods. sharing the same fate and the same end. something the Nords felt pity for and therefore, banded together as a community. However, this aligned goal wouldn't last long as the Titans were recognized to have such discontent, aggravating feelings of pride due to their immense knowledge in smithing and unmatched strength beyond human strength, which made the Nords feel lesser and pathetic, a sense of jealousy more fitting to say. While in nature it seemed harmless and simply displeasure, it wasn't for the Nords, and they took it unvarnished.
Over the years, this irritating behavior caused suspense between the Nords' chiefs. As a sense of upcoming betrayal from their partnership with the Titans, to identify the possible outcome, they created rather prejudiced cooperation between the two cults, such as increased labor work and constant harassment.
Even the Titans' position as Smith masters barely helped in threatening the Viking arbitrary system. They had taken the liberty to steal the very weapons they forged and use them against them to corner them as prisoners.
The mystery remains whether the Titans wanted to overthrow the Vikings or not. But what is true is how the Vikings became an ever more vicious one-sided tribe, how cold-blooded they treated the Titans, and how unforgiving they took the rights of their fellow nomadic tribe who once were aligned much in goal. And what became of them now is nothing more than a self-centered goal with a mind of uncertainty and doubt.
This reflected how the Vikings were once persecuted by the Elves during the early days foundation of society. Rather than moving forward to the future, they kept on looking to the past as an excuse to justify their actions are right. But others believe there is more to the story, more than meets the eye. more than jealousy and enmity. Perhaps, a sentiment of the past, a sin they committed that led to their doom.
But such a rule wouldn't last long. During the last centuries of their rule, the perfect order started the supposed ethnic cleansing against the world's many nations. There is no exception, the Viking as well.
The Titans took this moment as a means of escape. Muradin the Unbroken and the Unchained, known for his immense rebellious spirit, set explosives on mountain peaks and started a snowfall storm that caused quite a havoc upon the Viking's homes. While at the same time destroying their arsenal workshop where they stored most of the finest weapons, such as fragments of Odin's sword, which he had inherited from Sigmund, and these fragments, Regin forged a mighty sword, named "the Wrath." Eventually the Titans escaped with nothing in their hands but hammers they once used to smith. A cunning plan and well executed.
But recalling Giantbeard Fodrarlun once said, "I'd rather be pierced by those angelic death birds than die as a slave," freedom overvalued their lust for gold and power.
This legend would be recalled as the Wrath of Muradin. During this period, many strong-witted Titans were once again blessed with tremendous strength, enough to hold a Warhammer that no human could ever carry with one hand and perform all kinds of battle arts. Just like they did in the old days.
Fortunate for the Titans, they managed to avoid the perfect order massacre after their downfall at the hands of the Assayer rebellion and soon joined the newly formed united republic, residing in the Dragon's Fire Mountains.
As for the Vikings, they suffered much after Sudden Titan's betrayal. Their feared vision came true, losing their main arsenal craftsman and some of their supplies due to the war.
They were at a disadvantage, but that did not destroy their culture entirely as they managed to recover using their once cooperative knowledge of a time when they and the dwarfs were a united clan to restore their homes.
But this was all for naught, as the hollowed ones, much like the barbarians themselves, invaded the western mountains, emerging from the Hollowed Kingdom and almost entirely wiping out the whole culture in a rather few hours.
A full-scale genocide against the men, women, and children, only for the corpses left to rot or join among their ranks.
Indeed, a fate worse than death.
A price to pay after they gave the same treatment to the neighboring lands, republics, Titans, and alike.
In the end, the remaining survivors of the massacre succumbed to slavery at the hands of The United Republic (since they sided with the Titans and were against the Assayer church ideology), who, in a way, were more merciful to them than the perfect order was.
But then again... who is to say whether such an ending is hopeful or dismal?
Much like I am...
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Two years later...
It was the winter of (Date...). The snowstorm had just blanketed the land as we, the Miners of Gumtar Fort, continued the extraction procedures, unfazed by the chilling breeze.
The snow danced on our skin as it swirled around the mining grounds. The vast expanse of arctic hills and earth stretched out, obscuring the view into a desolate, cold landscape. The whisper of the cold mist brushed against our ears, hinting at a bleak and eerie presence that gnawed at our minds, but we were too engrossed to pay it much attention. It was the same cold that forewarned me of impending solitude and despair, reminiscent of a past time when I was supposed to meet my end...
At least, that's how I felt.
The towering walls of Gutmar marked the borders of the mining grounds on the western outskirts. Stepping inside, one would find oneself in a vast, dimly lit cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling and floor, adorned with shimmering, phosphorescent moss that bathed the chamber in a gentle, eerie glow. The air was cool, carrying a faint scent of earth and minerals.
These Enchanted Mines formed a labyrinthine network of tunnels and chambers, their walls adorned with veins of precious gems that sparkled like stars in the night sky. Crystals of various hues and sizes jutted from the rock, casting prismatic rainbows on the ground. The sound of trickling water echoed through the tunnels, evidence of underground rivers that had carved these magnificent caverns over centuries. If not for the lanterns that disrupted the view and ambiance, I could have lingered here for as long as I pleased.
As our fellow Nordic brethren sang their famous poems with great fervor, their faces marked with the dust of labor, they moved through the mines with hammers and pickaxes, extracting precious ores and gemstones that made Eldertop famous throughout the fantasy realm. They worked under the watchful eye of the Republic Soldiers who for all intent and purposes, shed no mercy nor tear.
I stood there, gripping the pickaxe and delving as deeply as I could into the ores, lost in my thoughts and the relentless work.
And here I was, aimless, hollow, mindless, as opaque as the snow that enveloped me like a cocoon. Hollowed...
Sometimes, I would feel like I am in a deep sleep. Unbeknownst to me, the sands of time shifted imperceptibly. A quiet hush descended upon the night as if nature itself held its breath, unwilling to disturb this peaceful scene. The Eternal darkness, illuminated by a seigneurial lily light and where I was so far to reach yet determined to leach onto.
I can see it still even in my awake. I can see the light ever so brightly shined through these dark tunnels.
"OI! ᛖᛗᛈᛏᚤ! MOVE THAT STUFF BACK TO THE STORAGE NOW!"
I turned around, hearing one of the workers calling me to finish the task quickly.
ᛖᛗᛈᛏᚤ, a title I had been addressed with since joining the miners four years ago. In Nordic, it meant "the empty one," as they saw me as a hollow boy devoid of emotion or thought when we first met.
More like a walking corpse...
I didn’t mind; I had been empty ever since I learned the truth. Or, to be precise, ever since I became aware of my true nature.
As for how I ended up in this situation instead of being sent off to the United Republic, it was simple: I had nowhere else to go. I had lost every connection, no gold to thrive or luxuriate, and I was as lost as the Nord who had lost his home and the people he held dear to. I was left alone to wither and decay in this wretched world.
The only reason I remained tied to this world was my mother's wish: to live. I didn’t understand it.
To live, as in breathe life again and fight back? Or to smile through life's misfortunes as if they had never happened? Both choices seemed pointless to me. Why should I squander such a wish on someone like me? A monster who didn’t deserve a second chance, more suited for punishment than divine mercy.
During those two years, I slowly recollected my memories, grasping who I was and why I had been reincarnated into this world, cursed with this existence.
Foolishly, I had believed that this life might have been a mercy from some unknown gods. After all the misfortunes I had suffered, the constant seasonal misery, and the overwhelming desire for eternal death and peace, I thought I would be rewarded.
But how foolish I was. How foolish to believe this whimsical dream was a reward.
Looking back at who I was, I wasn't rewarded with retribution or a gracious second chance. Instead, I was cursed and condemned for eternity.
The beast I was, the monster I had become, and the prideful demon I carried with contempt. The countless lives I had ruined and wasted, the raw torture and misery I had inflicted on others as their screams begged for my death.
I began to hear their voices, the voices of the past haunting me, demanding that I die and release the world from the Leaf's grip, from this so-called second chance.
My scar served as a reminder of the inherent duality in my existence, raising questions of morality and ethics, blurring the lines between life and death, heaven and hell. Could a creature damned to consume the life force of others ever find redemption or purpose in this world? I grappled with the notion of moral relativity, a concept as elusive as the ever-shifting sands of this world's landscapes.
Through my encounters with the enigmatic Elder Gods, I confronted the idea of divinity and its capricious nature. Were there higher powers orchestrating the events of our lives, or were we left to navigate the murky waters of existence on our own? The inscrutable motives and manipulations of the Elder Gods were a testament to the ambiguity of cosmic forces, leaving me to question the very concept of a benevolent deity.
In the end, I learned that life, like the darkened corridors of the Land's Beyond and the cosmos, is filled with paradoxes and uncertainties. It is a tapestry woven from the threads of fate and choice, order and chaos, morality and ambiguity. As I traversed this shadowed realm, I sought not only power but also wisdom, a deeper understanding of the philosophical questions that have haunted humanity for millennia.
And now, in this world, I found a reflection of the eternal struggle to find meaning in a world shrouded in darkness. I continued to ponder these profound questions, even as I walked the path of immortality and sought to unravel the enigma of existence in the ever-twisting spiral of time.
Through these last two years, I have yet to come to a conclusion. Do I serve my time here as a sinner or a redeemer? What do I want?
So, without a goal or a caretaker, I was better off working in the mines, as dictated by the Wardens, as a helping hand. It was during this time that Wilmik the Heavy decided to take me in, one of the last surviving chiefs of the Nordic Empire and a well-respected figure among his people.
I was told that he was one of the most prominent warriors who had fought back the Hollowed Ones when they invaded his homelands. He managed to save what remained of his dying culture and brokered a peace treaty with the Republic, in which women and children were spared from arrest and slavery.
But nothing came without a price. In exchange, the majority of the Nords, to put it simply, an infantry battalion, were sold into slavery. This ensured that there would be no deception or treachery, as the Republic kept a watchful eye on the remaining Nordic citizens.
It wasn't exactly an equitable deal; it was more like a desperate attempt to keep the Nord’s alive, even if it meant sacrificing their honor.
To meet such a historical figure, who had lived nearly a thousand moons before my birth, was a unique moment to cherish. But for some reason, I didn’t care. In fact, there were other historical figures who played major roles in the history of the Nords, both in the old world and this one. I simply regarded it as inconsequential.
I observed my surroundings as if they were snow, a blank canvas. I roamed around like a child lost in an eternal prison of a pale, barren wasteland. I no longer had a name to identify myself with, no distinguishing characteristics, no desires to pursue. In an indirect way, I was no different from the Hollowed Ones, because I was hollow.
All the trauma, the frenzy, the nightmares, the disbelief and belief, the past and the voices—they all clung to my head like a prisoner's mask, chained forever to remember all the crimes I had been accused of, with a punishment worse than damnation: to be alive and remember everything.
"OI!! Ashen one! Are you keeping your gears turning?"
This was Hodor, with short hair and a thick beard, both white and golden. He was unlike the others, having helped me during my early days in the bastion.
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"...," I remained silent, ignoring him.
"Again, with that dead reaction... GIVE YOURSELF MORE LIFE! Like how Thor returned from the Helm to fight the serpent! Reenergize yourself and find vitality! Come on!" Hodor shouted excitedly.
"I will take note of that," I spoke indifferently.
Hodor was always the type who wouldn’t stop talking, mostly about weapons, mythical creatures, and even a bit about the white imperial's technological devices, though most of it sounded like superstition. He once suggested that the Golom centurions were actually relics from the time of the Nords.
Regardless, while some of his motivational speeches sounded cringy, I couldn't help but be fascinated by how realistic they were. Hodor had told me many tales and legends from his culture's time, spanning centuries and nearly a million years ago. These stories were reminiscent of the tales from my world about gods, often conveyed through poems. There were parallels, and while I didn't know all the mythos, I recognized a few characters and developments.
It was a strange coincidence to see similar gods exist in this world. Perhaps we weren't so different from other worlds after all, with a few exceptions and a predetermined end.
Another feature Hodor possessed was his chanting ability; he sang all kinds of famous Viking songs, most famously my mother's favorite role. He told tales of the Old Norse gods as if he had memorized their stories by heart, much like Mimir if I were to compare him to a historical figure.
The Nords would gather around a fire, and Hodor would regale them with tales and legends. I usually wouldn't join, but sometimes Hodor insisted that I be part of the crowd. I eventually did, but from a distance; I had never been fond of crowds.
He was a devoted man, to his people and his culture. He always tried to revive the songs of the old legends, motivating his people to stand on their feet and live to fight another day.
"I SAID MOVE YOUR SNOWY ASS, NORD!"
"FUCK YOU, REPUBLIC DOG! I HAVE BACK PA-"
"Arrest him! Now!"
As Hodor rambled on, a fight broke out between one of the Nord miners and a Republic soldier. They wore classical infantry armor, short-sleeved mail tunics, helmets with cheekpieces, and mail aventails. The armor was of golden and white color, with a lion sigil on the chest piece, the signature of the Assayer Church and the royal family. The higher-ranking officers wore heavier steel plates around their gauntlets and leg pieces, with thicker chest pieces.
Despite the title of an undivided nation, the United Republic continued its chauvinistic nature from the old days of perfect order. They treated their antagonistic adversaries as heretics, subjecting them to kicks, torture, and all kinds of abuse, such as whips and heated iron bars.
Much like what they were about to do to this poor Nord. They used excuses like demonstrating a lesson or two about ethics or what happens when you cross the Republic.
But everyone here, me, Hodor, and the other Nords saw how the Republic enjoyed this demonic act of persecution. The true monsters were themselves.
A fight broke out between the Wardens and the rebellious Nord. Unfortunately, none of the other brethren joined the brawl, not out of fear of the torment, but out of fear of losing something more precious than honor: their children and women, who were at risk of being hanged if they resisted. This information had come from the Republic as a warning sign; the more they fought back, the more chaotic their people's fate would become.
Therefore, they simply followed orders, like dogmatic bandits. They despised this treatment, but it was a necessary evil to save their people from the brink of extinction.
The Nords had lost their will to resist the injustice, settling into a life of pitiful acceptance, their only solace being mead and meals. They wheeled their destiny and resigned themselves to an inevitable end.
The songs and legends could never salvage what was lost.
In all honesty, I would rather die than live in this purgatory. But then again, who was I to judge such a fate when I had no one to protect? When I was all alone in this abyss of a world.
"Another one was taken...," Hodor sighed, annoyed and disgusted by the arbitrary treatment.
"..."
"Anyways!" Hodor quickly shifted from his melancholic mood. "You've grown some muscles, boy! Last I remember, you were a stick."
"So, you say..."
"Those extra hours of work you volunteered for must have helped you!" Hodor smirked, though it faded as he asked, "But aren't you pushing yourself too hard?"
"Perhaps. But I don’t mind. It distracts me..."
It was true; over the last few years spent in this prison, my overall physical condition had improved significantly. It was as if I had undergone a transformation, becoming physically robust. This was likely due to the strenuous mining workouts, lifting heavy ores and stones, combined with genetics. Milwak's forceful private lessons also played a role.
I was accustomed to having a feeble and fragile body, but this one felt foreign as if I had stolen it by force.
(There's nothing that can be done about it anymore...)
"How's training going with you?"
"I guess fine? I don't know..."
"Well, at least he isn't making you carry mountains of iron and steel ore on your back anymore! Hahaha!"
"Right."
"Come on, lad!" Hodor shouted as he pushed me, hoping to revive my spirit. "We ought to see you as a future slayer, right?"
"Hm..."
"Be a little more confident, lad! You've got this!" Hodor gave an encouraging smile, but I remained as lifeless as a corpse.
After packing the cart, Hodor left to retrieve more ores, and I volunteered to arrange them correctly on the cart.
Any lone wolf would have felt grateful for such a good companion who stood by their side in times of need, as Hodor was doing for me. However, I didn't feel a sense of indebtedness. If anything, I felt resentment. I simply wanted to be left alone, buried in my sorrow and despair.
I didn’t want sympathy, support, or a savior.
(I really... just want to die...)
Suddenly, I was alerted by a bag of ore that was thrown behind me. I looked back to see none other than Dragotin.
"Still hollowed, ᛖᛗᛈᛏᚤ?"
Dragotin Romani, a Viking with a braided hairstyle, was known in the old days as a Wyvern slayer, having killed over three Wyverns, making him akin to a dragon slayer. He was a well-respected figure among the Nords but was also known for being extremely bigoted toward anyone who wasn't a Nord. Like myself. He also despised Milwak's leadership and decisions which to some extent may agree with his views. However, if it weren't for his egotistical and arrogant behavior, I might for a moment respect him just a little.
The man wants only glory for himself. and undetermined will to stay alive and on top of everyone.
I stood up and began packing the ores that had been thrown on the cart, as I had been instructed.
"Are you deaf or something?" Dragotin asked sarcastically, irritation manifesting as his smiles quickly faded.
I simply ignored him with indifference. He grunted, and it seemed like he was about to approach, possibly to harm me.
"OI! GOLD BOY! DID YOU FORGET TO COMB YOUR HAIRLESS HEAD?"
He was interrupted by Hodor, who made fun of Dragotin's appearance, further irritating him. The surrounding miners began to laugh.
"Shut it you old fat tattler!"
"Hahaha! But that's my signature. I think it suits me well. Don't you think so, lads?"
The crowd continued to watch the exchange, laughing and bowing in approval.
"Still, that belly of yours won't save you when the Hollowed Ones come after you!" Dragotin tried to fight back.
"Have you ever fought one?" I broke my silence, interrupting the uproar, and asked quietly.
"Of course.!" He stuttered "But even of not! what's so hard about them? They're just undead." Dragotin boasted proudly.
"Then you're a fool to assume that."
"You little shit!"
"OI! DRAGOTIN! That's enough," Hodor intervened before the situation escalated.
"Golden boy..I'll tell you this once," I said coldly after finishing filling the cart, "Your home and my home were completely annihilated and ravished by the Hollowed Ones without mercy. Soon, they will come back for us, and no matter how much we fight, no matter how much we resist... we're all going to be consumed by them, only to join their ranks. One way or another..."
The entire crew in the mine fell silent, including Dragotin, as they were hit with the sudden realization of how they had lost their homes and how stranded and homeless they were now.
"You might not agree with me... but we are all already Hollowed, in the first place."
Just moments before Dragotin lost his composure completely, the guards finally arrived and ordered everyone back to work, putting an end to the impending chaos. The Nords had witnessed a brutal genocide of their culture at the hands of the same demons that had ravaged my home. They had witnessed the merciless slaughter, but they hadn't seen an entire world torn apart, with creatures from the void devouring everything that was alive or dead, good or evil, light or dark.
And instead of ascending to the blissful skies of Valhalla, their souls were either sent into the void of nothingness or reincarnated with the same memories, condemned to experience it all again.
Life was nothing more than a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. That was the curse of being alive. And worst of all, I was the only one who knew how it would all end.
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We just finished our shift for today and took a night break in one of the wooden shacks purposefully built as a cafeteria. On occasion, we are tasked with shifts of at least ten to eight hours in mining operations, unless the workers receive some form of punishment, which can extend their workday to over ten hours. Miners can volunteer for extra work in exchange for shorter hours the following day. This was something I did frequently during those two years, mainly to avoid Milwak's forced training and as a source of distraction from the perpetual madness brewing inside my head.
Leaving the mines is a rare occurrence for me, only happening when the times demand it.
However, I came back to the dorm temporarily for personal business.
"He should be here by now..." I muttered as a cloud of cold breath escaped my mouth and briefly took the form of a cloud.
As I was about to leave, I encountered Altonio, a renounced thief from the republic who had unfortunately been caught and transported here to work, saving him from the Terrible's fate that awaited such sinners. He appeared more stressed than usual, sweating and looking distracted, as if someone were pursuing him.
The moment our eyes met, he trembled in fear and quickly averted his gaze, hurrying along his path. He carried a rather light leather bag.
"Bingo," I muttered, smiling sadistically. "Let the curtains fall."
"My, my, Altonio..." I said mischievously. "Shouldn't you be hurrying to the cafeteria? You know the food is about to be stolen before you even have a chance to steal it yourself."
"What?!" Altonio said fearfully. "Fuc—fuck off, Hollowed Kid!"
He shouted as he quickly passed me and entered the dorms.
I chuckled as I left the dorm, only to be intercepted on the way to the cafeteria by a Republican soldier.
"You there!" he called out boastfully. "Is there someone in the dorm?"
"Yeah, Altonio" I replied calmly.
"Fucking mor—" the soldier muttered bitterly, looking away for a moment. Then he hesitated about what to say next. "Run along, kid! The cafeteria food won't be free for too long. We're already running short."
I simply nodded and hurried past him while he continued toward the dorms. After some time and distance separated us, I discreetly followed him back to the dorms without being noticed.
As the soldier entered, presumably to confront or escort Altonio from the dorms, I stayed outside and circled around to a window that served as an opening to the bedroom. I was close enough to hear their conversation. The heavy snow and the dark night provided ample cover for me to remain hidden and eavesdrop on the mystery behind their meeting.
"Altonio! You moron!" the soldier spoke angrily while attempting to whisper his anger.
"What?! I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Someone was here, and they could have discovered your secret!"
"It's nobody! Ignore them!" Altonio tried to dismiss his worries, but the tremor in his voice suggested otherwise.
"Whatever! Just don't advertise it for everyone to see," the soldier sighed worriedly.
"What are you even doing here? Dragotin told you I've got this!"
"Yeah, and then all the goods got stolen again! Good one, jackass!" The soldier's tone grew sullen as he spoke. "I'm here to escort you partway, then you're on your own. Marlon and Samuel are stationed as well, so don't keep them waiting."
"I know! Dragotin told me everything about the new plans, and—"
"I said shut up, dumbass!" The soldier now shouted in anger. "Don't you want people to hear you yapping?"
Altonio remained cowardly and silent, seeking protection from those who held higher power, such as Dragotin and the Republican soldiers.
"Anyways, the captain wanted me to inform you and Dragotin that the new base of operations is the warehouse in the forest ahead."
"That place?!" Altonio spoke in shock. "But it's dangerous! It's filled with wolves and—"
"Wolves scare you?" The soldier spoke sarcastically. "You're even more chicken than I initially thought. Anyways, yeah. If you have problems, the Bastion prison will be your answer."
"No! Please not that place!" Altonio begged, his voice trembling with fear, likely recalling some traumatic experience.
"Don't worry, chicken shit. Like I said, Marlon and Samuel will be waiting for you there. They are your backup. Besides, this will work in your favor and Dragotin's once we somehow manage to eliminate Milwak."
At that moment, I made a quick tap on the wooden walls as the two were arguing.
"Huh?!" The two shuddered in fear at the sound.
"Grab the bag and leave through the window! I'll find the culprit!" The soldier whispered to Altonio, who had already left the dorm silently, moving further away with hesitant steps.
"Who's there?!" The soldier shouted as he approached the window behind which I was concealed. "Show yourself!"
"Three... two..." I counted down in my mind, only for it to be interrupted.
"Oh! Sorry, Sir!" Galvan spoke sheepishly; his voice came from inside. "I was taking a piss and minding my own business! Do you need something from—"
"What the hell are you doing here?!" The soldier spoke angrily.
"Huh? I just said I was taking a piss!" Galvan's tone grew harsher.
"Save your breath! You're going to the prison!"
"Wait! What?! Republican dog! Don't trou—"
As the voices faded into the distance, I seized the opportunity to slip inside the dorms and head to Altonio's bed. There, at the bottom of the bunk, was the same bag I had seen him carrying earlier—a bag filled with food rations like dry meat and beans.
"The plan is set in motion," I muttered as I took his bag and left the dorm, heading toward the cafeteria, where the show was about to begin.
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The cafeteria was fairly small, much like any tavern one would normally encounter. It was packed with a crowd, a balladeer inspiring the rest to sing along with him. The stench of beer and rotting meat hung in the air, serving as the main source of nutrition. A cask was tucked away in the back corner, and a fireplace illuminated the interior of the shack.
I sat near the fireplace, gazing intently at the shimmering, rising flames, recalling memories while sipping on a dried soup, although it offered little satisfaction.
The moment I arrived at the bastion two years ago, I attempted to warn the Republic soldiers about the impending threat and to search for possible survivors.
I wasn't provided with much information, but from what I heard, nearly ten individuals had survived the menace, most of them children, and they had all been sent to the United Republic.
Some infantry legions were dispatched to the western grounds to eradicate the Hollowed threats. Surprisingly, they handled the matter with ease, as if they were dealing with nothing more than a few goblin threats. However, since the western grounds were part of the Republic nation and the massacre was unexpected, the ministry and the church had to get involved.
While they continued to celebrate the defeat of the Hollowed Ones, I knew that this was far from over. The fact that they hadn't encountered the Glaive Black Knight and the Leshen spoke volumes about the possibility of an impending trap. I tried to warn them repeatedly about the real danger that was bound to resurface, but my efforts were in vain. The Republic generals dismissed my warnings, saying, and I quote, "These are nothing more than your nightmares, child. What you went through was indeed tragic, causing you to have bad dreams, but it doesn't mean your visions are accurate. We have ensured that every Hollowed One there was killed and dealt with."
(Dreams, most certainly. At this point, it's impossible to simply dismiss it as just a dream...)
But then I questioned myself. Why was I warning them in the first place? Would fighting to change the inevitable fate?
(What's better? Living in ignorance and enjoying what's left of life before the impending end? Or learning the truth and spending your last moments on a futile attempt to save the world, only to discover that there's no escape from such an inevitable conclusion?)
It seemed that neither choice was great, to begin with. So, why... why did I care?
Therefore, I gave up on the matter and spent the remaining moments of my miserable existence in chains.
Still, I hated myself for contemplating such dark thoughts instead of making an effort to seek answers or an escape.
But... I simply didn't feel like doing anything anymore. I lacked the motivation to find a purpose. This sense of desolation had always been a part of me, but it had recently come to the forefront of my mind, especially after my mother had passed away.
I just wanted to be left alone and to die alone. Yes, that was and still is my desire. The peaceful darkness illuminated by that white lily rose brought a sense of tranquility, far removed from the chaotic and frenzied visions of both worlds that had plagued me for as long as I could remember.
I know... I know for a fact that I could end it all right here and now. I could reach that hypnotic fantasy in just a few minutes.
Yet... here I am... still hesitating to even lift that sword and end it all. Why? What's stopping me?
Is it me? Or the crystal? Or my mother's last wish? Or perhaps it's simply how fate intended it to be?
I don't understand...
“Come on Dragotin! Leave the game for us to play as well!”
“Sorry Lads! But somebody gotten work my upcoming shift” Dragotin said audaciously. “I am already working my ass off on the second and fourth day! I deserve a break.”
“Fuck off! I already lost two games! Give me a chance to win!”
“Well?” Dragotin smirked. “Guess you got to get lucky! Haha!”
“If luck is on your side always! Can you save us from the food problem we are always having?!”
“Maybe I can! If I killed a dragon, then I could solve that with ease! If Only Milwak would listen to me.”
The crowd's raucous laughter rang through the air, a chorus of mockery that served only to amplify their admiration for Dragon and his perceived "luck." Yet, should we not refer to it as something more deliberate, like his intricate schemes?
From the very first moment I crossed paths with Dragotin, an unsettling intuition whispered that something lay beneath his facade. No matter how diligently he concealed his trembling essence beneath the proud mask he wore, I could still perceive it—clear as the soul laid bare.
Ever since I unraveled the mysteries of my past self, I've uncovered not only the dark secrets I once harbored but also the many curses that now course through my veins. The soul gaze ability is among them.
In that bygone world, I possessed a supernatural gift—the power to intercept the emotions of others in the present moment. It's the sole vestige that followed me into this new world, alongside my memories.
Just prior to my arrival at the cafeteria, when I observed Altonio and that soldier, both exuded an ethereal mist that seemed to envelop their very beings. It danced around them, from their toes to their heads, suffused with a crimson hue—a manifestation of their profound and tumultuous emotions. Be it stress, anger, or hatred.
Only I can discern such mists, only I can decipher the emotions that others try to conceal. Coupled with my innate deductive abilities to comprehend the intricacies of the human psyche, this power became my magnum opus.
It is a power I once abused so recklessly in my previous life, and I have no intention of relinquishing it now. With it, I could unmask the liars among us, unraveling mysteries in the briefest of moments, and fathom the vast spectrum of human emotions in all their shades. The only enigma beyond my grasp was always my own emotions—an ironic twist of fate.
I remain ignorant of why this gift remained dormant until my mother's passing or if I had possessed it all along, oblivious until now.
Nonetheless, I find myself akin to a madman, rather than discarding this power for fear of its misuse, I savor it. It is akin to a potent elixir, further fueling my insatiable curiosity.
Henceforth, I delved deep into Dragotin's shadowed truths, peeling back the layers of his complex character.
I unraveled the profound pride that lay at his core, a towering monument to his own ego. It was evident how desperately he clung to it, a facade he wore to conceal his vulnerability—a vulnerability that made him appear, in my eyes, as nothing short of a coward.
His nature was insidious, a labyrinthine network of deception that he wove around himself. The threads of deceit, meticulously spun, now lay bare for my discerning gaze. The layers of his lies, like a crumbling façade, were exposed to the world.
Each secret, once meticulously concealed, dissolved into the open as if it had always been public knowledge. Every detail, every revelation, transformed into a piece of artwork, a mosaic of truth and deception for all to behold. The viewers, like eager spectators at a spectacle, gathered to listen, to gossip, to dissect the enigma that was Dragotin.
Today, I intended to unleash this cacophony of revelations upon the world, to expose the intricate tapestry of his deceptions, and let the world bear witness to the man he truly was.
Just then, Altonio made his presence known, alerting the crowd.
"Let the show begin..." I muttered to myself.
"Antonio!" Dragotin called out to him in welcome. "Come on! The gang wants to gamble a few rounds. Care to join?"
"Eh, Bo—I mean, Dragotin," Altonio looked intense and fearful. "We've got a probl—"
"Dragotin!"
I interrupted Altonio mid-speech, filled with anger and determination.
Dragotin and the rest of Nord's gang heard a shout in the distance. They turned back to see the hollow boy speaking with enraged eyes.
"What do you want, rat?"
"To leave me alone," I said coldly.
"Finally decided to speak up, huh? Maybe you're more than just a little mama's—"
"I've had enough of your prejudiced, bullshit demeanor. The fact that you're harassing someone just because they're racially different, not to mention a kid, is proof enough that you're as dense as an ogre acting like a big shot."
The whole crowd fell silent as they turned back to Dragotin, looking indignant and annoyed after being ridiculed by a kid.
"Do you have a death wish, kid?" Dragotin said wickedly as he stood up and looked down at me, clearly irritated by my comment, looking for another round of beating.
"I do. But I'd rather be killed by a goblin than by a golden pretty boy."
Dragotin held me by the collar as he said cruelly,
"I guess I'll have to do a little more than—"
"But let's coax this death wish, shall we?" Knight said quietly. "Why not gamble on it?"
"Why the heck would I want to gamble with a republican dog like you?"
"So, if you win, you could end me there, fair and square."
Dragotin looked confused but then understood the context. If he were to kill me here and now, not only would he get his wish, but he'd also get into major trouble. But if he were to buy me off, he would essentially make me his pet.
He could do anything with me.
Dragotin smiled, releasing Knight as he said cheekily,
"By all means, let's gamble!"