Erland blinked rapidly, clearing the spots from his eyes.
When his vision eventually cleared, he found himself in a room with six other people. It was a small and unadorned space, just large enough to comfortable hold the seven of them without being crowded. The wall opposite Erland held a window with a view of Yggdrasil, glowing faintly green in the midnight sky. The walls and floor were made of a strange blue stone, and the roof was simple and wooden.
Erland’s nose quickly started to itch, followed by his shoulder blades. It rapidly progressed to his entire body.
It kept growing.
Erland let out an involuntary grunt. His gaze was drawn to two of the room’s occupants.
The first was a light-skinned black woman with a small afro and light green eyes. Her arms were caked with mud up to her biceps, and her legs up to the middle of her calves. She was wearing khaki shorts and a black crop top. Currently, she had an annoyed expression.
The itch grew almost painful when she met Erland’s eyes for a brief moment.
If his gaze hadn’t been drawn inexorably to the man next to her, he would have noted her surprise at seeing him.
The man was fairly tall, roughly a head taller than Erland. His skin was almost unnaturally pale. He had a long flowing mane of hair dyed an outlandish pink, with eyes somehow colored to match. He had high cheekbones and full, attractive features. His clothing was finest white silk, with a v-neck shirt ending just over his belt, revealing a substantial amount of pastel tattoos.
Erland’s itch crossed over into an ache at the sight of the man. A deep, bone-searing ache.
“Where’s the exit?” he croaked out. He couldn’t bear this for long.
“Right behind us,” a masculine voice replied from his right side.
Without responding or even looking, Erland spun and stumbled out of the room.
“Baldr recruited one of the northern barbarians?” he heard a feminine voice say from across the circle as he left. “I didn’t think their lands were good for anything other than fertilizer.”
“Nonsense,” replied a cultured and lilting masculine voice. “They have excellent… livestock… as well.”
He felt like his skin was on fire. It took physical effort to not turn around and attack the man and woman. As he walked further down the corridor the feeling faded slightly. By the time he reached the first doorway, he was aware enough to read its label. ‘Leonel Fleur’ it read. ‘Rajendra Sankar’ was the name on its opposite across the hall.
Erland found his room was the last one. It was the only one that lacked a twin across from it. The end of the hallway opened up into an open-air commons, but Erland ignored it for now. The doors lacked handles of any kind, but when Erland put his hand to his door it swung inward before he could even push.
He stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. He immediately collapsed to the floor, panting heavily. His instincts were warring inside of him. His nose insisted that he run back and attack the man. His legs demanded that he run as far away as possible.
It took him hours to bring himself under control.
Eventually his stomach won over both of them. It let out a ravenous growl that brooked no argument.
For some reason, Erland found that hilarious.
After his slightly hysterical laughter had resided he finally looked around. The room that he supposed Yggdrasil had grown just for him had almost everything.
The interior resembled a log cabin. In fact, the only metal he saw anywhere in the room all resided in the fully equipped kitchen. He wandered over to it immediately.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
As he made breakfast he noted the rest of the room. There was a lounge, the walls lined with bookshelves. His bedroom area held an enormous, plush bed. The strangest portion of the room to him appeared to be a gym. Weights and strange contraptions lined the back wall opposite the bed.
He did notice a distinct lack of tables.
After he had already finished cooking his breakfast.
With a light chuckle, Erland headed out to see if the commons had an eating area. The door opened outwards without the need for him to lift a finger. Intrigued, Erland turned and watched as it closed itself as well.
The commons was massive. And occupied.
There was indeed a dining area, a large table that sat next to a massive paneled window. A larger communal lounge with even more books occupied the other side of the room. Several of his fellow competitors were already eating breakfast.
What truly surprised him was the presence of Baldr’s Einherjar, attending to the other chosen. He even spotted one bringing a plate of food from a large kitchen at the back. Snorting at his wasted efforts of making his own food, Erland chose a spot away from the other competitors and started eating.
The man and woman from earlier weren’t there, thankfully. He had never experienced such an overwhelming desire to fight someone before. Erland put the strange experience from his mind. He was never one to dwell on things that made him uncomfortable.
“So you’re the F-Tier?” called a man from the far end of the table.
Erland smiled to himself. His nose hadn’t even twitched at the presence of the other champions. The man wasn’t worth the effort of provoking.
“That’s me!” he replied cheerily. “How are Baldr’s champions this fine morning?”
Three men and a woman were lounging at the far end of the table. They wore finery and signaled to the servants like lifetime royalty, effortless and entitled. Erland couldn’t be sure of their Tiers, but from their seating arrangement and ages he could guess.
The oldest sat at the head of the table, looking to be in his fifties. His brown mustache and hair were graying and his expression seemed habitually serious. The man on his right bore a strong resemblance to him, most likely his son. On his left was a blonde young woman, possibly in her thirties.
The last was the man who had called to Erland. He was clearly the youngest, around Erland’s age. It looked like he would respond, but the woman seated next to him jumped in instead.
“Are you really one of the barbarians of the north?” she asked. Her tone suggested that this was unbelievable and possibly scandalous. “Is that why you’re only F-Tier?”
“Yes, I’m from the north,” he said. “Not sure about being a barbarian, though. I don’t know how to cut hair.”
The man at the head of the table’s mustache twitched. His son’s expression transformed into a scowl.
“I’m surprised you even have barbers in the wastes,” the woman said. “How progressive. Do you know how to bathe as well?”
“Bathe?” he said, still grinning. “Never heard of it.”
The woman let out an exasperated snort and shook her head dismissively.
When the conversation lapsed, Erland found an opportunity for mischief. He ignored the utensils laying next to his plate. Instead, he picked up the steak he had prepared himself and began eating it by hand. A moment later he heard a disgusted noise coming from the other end of the table. Letting out a satisfied laugh, he put the steak down and started eating normally.
“Your efforts at misdirection would be better spent on our enemies,” a familiar lilting voice whispered in his ear.
A fierce, almost sickening grin pulled the corners of Erland’s mouth tight into a smile. He felt goosebumps ripple up his arms. Slowly, he turned around.
There in front of him was the Top Tier Player from earlier. He had an appraising look on his face initially, but when he saw Erland’s grin he recoiled in surprise. After an interminable silence, their tableau was broken by a cleared throat from the other end of the table.
They both looked over to find the others all bowing.
“Sir Leonel,” said the old man. “I am Magnus Edwards, at your service. These are my sons, Callum and Kasper, and Callum’s wife Amelia. It is a pleasure to meet you, and an honor to serve the same Aesir as you, sir.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is for you,” Leonel said. His eyes drifted back to Erland. “Now, fuck off, if you would be so kind.”
Magnus stiffened, bristling for a moment. He very quickly realized how powerless he was in this situation, however. They gathered themselves and swept from the room in a huff.
“You have it too, don’t you?” Leonel asked once the room was cleared. “You’re a Player hunter.”
A bolt of lightning shot through Erland’s body.
“Fascinating,” Leonel said. He disappeared in a blink, and Erland heard his voice from over his shoulder once more. “I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you.”
Erland was left reeling. The implications rolled through his head like waves. Before he could grapple with the possibilities, his Player interface lit up with text once more.
‘Prepare for transport to challenge space.
3…
2…
1…’
He barely managed to squeeze his eyes shut before disappearing in a flash of light.