The air was biting cold that night.
A relentless wind swept through the valleys and ridges of the mountain range, mercilessly slipping through the gaps in their clothing.
Still, it was a relief that the snowstorm that had raged for days had finally subsided. Under the clear night sky, the funeral procession for the great chieftain made its way forward.
At the head of the procession, Daelon instinctively reached to stroke his chin, then instead took Lucia’s hand as she walked beside him.
“Huh? Da-Daelon?”
“Your hand is cold.”
“Well, it is freezing out here, isn’t it? But your hand is so warm, Daelon!”
“We have a long way to go. It’s best to keep your hands and feet warm.”
Daelon gently opened Lucia’s palm with his thumb and conjured a small flame with his magic.
The flame, glowing a soft crimson, wasn’t hot. It crackled gently, providing a comforting warmth.
After creating the makeshift hand warmer, Daelon resumed his place at the front. From the pocket of his mind, Arvor grumbled in a mockingly annoyed tone.
[Honestly, with the constant displays of affection… Is that some kind of cultural thing from your homeland? I get it with the native High Orcs, but what about the rest of us?]
What’s his problem now? Has he been getting too comfortable lately?
Daelon considered opening the portal to Arvor’s space but decided against it. It wasn’t the right time to pick a fight, not during the chieftain’s funeral procession.
And upon reflection, he thought he understood why Arvor was so irritable.
‘Are you sulking because I fed you the essence of Ztanc?’
[…]
‘Everyone makes mistakes. It’s unfortunate you couldn’t digest it and ended up throwing up, but you can clean it up easily with your control over the space, can’t you?’
[Still, I’d appreciate it if you refrained from force-feeding me strange essences in the future. For some reason, it’s far more taxing than when you wield me as a weapon.]
‘Fine. I’ll keep that in mind.’
Daelon nodded agreeably. Though he treated Arvor like a tool, he was still a companion for the long journey ahead.
Lately, Arvor had been proving more useful than before.
If he had some kind of trauma about being force-fed, it wasn’t too much trouble to be considerate of that.
Crunch. Crunch.
Their feet sank into the snow that had piled up over the past few days. The procession moved beyond the village boundary, heading toward the burial valley.
They crossed the valley where a bloody battle had taken place just days before, entering the sanctuary basin surrounded by cliffs.
They passed by the sanctuary, now a heap of stones.
Skirting the slowly cooling lava lake, they left a trail across the white snow, cutting straight through the sanctuary basin.
At the narrow path opposite the entrance from the burial valley, the great chieftain Tarum spoke.
“I heard humans gather as many people as possible to say goodbye to family or friends.”
“That’s right.”
“High Orcs are different. Only family can witness a High Orc’s final moments. When a great chieftain dies, the chieftains and special guests gather to send them off. The great chieftain is family to all tribes.”
In the darkness, Tarum’s black eyes glistened. A hint of moisture gathered in his large eyes. Daelon spoke.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying! Warriors don’t cry! It’s just dust in my eyes!”
Tarum shouted, rubbing his eyes furiously.
Daelon chuckled, patting Tarum’s back. The height difference was too great to reach his shoulder.
“Still… it’s rare to have so few people.”
Tarum murmured quietly, rubbing his eyes. Daelon sighed softly and glanced back.
At the front were he and the great chieftain Tarum, followed by Daelon’s companions and the chieftains carrying the stone coffin.
Altogether, they numbered less than twenty.
For the funeral of the leader of the World’s Teeth Mountains, it was a modest gathering.
Had more than half the chieftains not perished in the recent battle, the procession would have been twice as large.
“At least with you all here, Sstumpha won’t be lonely.”
Shaking off the bitter mood, Tarum said, leading the procession deeper into the narrow path.
Whooosh…!!
As they ventured further, a fierce wind greeted them, and the temperature plummeted rapidly.
Felber cast a spell to dampen the cold, and Lucia invoked a battle prayer to invigorate them.
Even Daelon considered drawing on the power of dragon blood, but suddenly the wind subsided, and their view opened up.
Hooong…
Before them lay the endless tundra of the north.
At the eastern edge of the Char Kingdom, where the World’s Teeth Mountains stretched endlessly northeast, they stood at the end of the path jutting out between sheer cliffs, as if cut by a dull blade of a god.
Clouds roiled beneath their feet, and beyond, the starry night sky met the white tundra of the north.
It was as if the universe was descending to greet the earth, leaving the group awestruck.
[The body of the Ashen Warrior has been discovered.]
Daelon was no exception.
He dismissed the notification hovering in his vision, taking in the breathtaking view that no monitor’s pixels could capture.
Somewhere in that endless tundra, hidden by clouds, were the demons of Ssum, who had manifested to invade this continent.
They weren’t visible now, but it wouldn’t be long before they met.
“Welcome to the First Sanctuary, everyone.”
Tarum said, pulling back his hood.
He strode forward, stopping before a small stone cairn overlooking the northern lands.
“The First Sanctuary is a place only the great chieftain and their successor may visit. But since our friend Sstumpha’s resting place is no more, his body will return to earth and wind here.”
Tarum gestured, and the chieftains carrying the stone coffin stepped forward, setting it down before the cairn.
Placing his one remaining hand on the coffin, Tarum began to speak, his breath visible in the cold air.
“Long ago, when demons roamed this land, the Great Ancestor descended to lead the High Orcs and other races.”
A breeze fluttered his empty left sleeve, a scar he kept as a reminder, despite Felber’s offer to restore it.
“After tearing through hundreds of demons, his sword broke, and his axe shattered. The Great Ancestor had a choice: return to the heavens, having fulfilled his role, or remain to drive out the demons completely.”
Fwoosh.
A purple flame bloomed in Tarum’s hand.
“The Great Ancestor chose to stay, sacrificing his life to banish the evil gods. Great Chieftain Sstumpha followed in his footsteps. May his body return to earth and wind, and his soul feast and fight in the Great Ancestor’s heavenly sanctuary.”
Tarum fell silent.
The purple flame enveloping the coffin began to consume it from the bottom up.
The dust from the burning coffin drifted away on the wind, disappearing into the clouds.
The coffin was as large as Sstumpha himself, so it would take some time to turn completely to dust.
Daelon scratched his nose carefully, turning his gaze to avoid disrupting the solemn atmosphere.
Beside the Great Ancestor’s cairn lay an ashen corpse.
Unlike the other bodies they had recovered, this one was posed in a fighting stance, eyes wide open.
[Ashen Warrior’s Corpse]
It was around the hundredth cycle.
The corpse before him was the result of a cycle where, after a hundred attempts with no sign of success, Daelon had retreated to the mountains to practice endlessly.
He spent that cycle sparring and hunting with the High Orcs until the final invasion, when he first witnessed the game’s insane difficulty.
It was also the first time he befriended the warlike High Orcs, who couldn’t resist food and battle.
‘Absorb the corpse.’
Moving subtly, Daelon reached out, focusing his will as the corpse dissolved.
As the body transformed into light and flowed into his fingertips, an unprecedented sense of fulfillment surged within him.
[You have absorbed the Ashen Warrior’s Corpse. Inheriting abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: ]
What? Why did the notification cut off?
In a world that no longer felt like a game, could there really be a bug left? Even as he thought it, Dalen found it hard to believe. He blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Blink.
Blink.
And when he opened his eyes again—
“What the hell?”
The funeral procession he had been part of just moments ago had vanished, replaced by an entirely different scene.
It was a snowy mountain.
Not the Teeth of the World range, but the very mountain where every character began their journey.
The snow was piled up to his ankles, and the only sign of human presence was a solitary cabin.
At least, that’s how it should have been.
“Ah… it’s been a long time.”
Except for the towering man standing there, surveying the snowy landscape with a cloud of white breath.
The man, a head taller than Dalen, was inspecting the axe and drying rack in the backyard with a deliberate gaze.
It wasn’t a look of nostalgia. It was more like a sense of duty, as if he was doing something he was meant to do.
Dalen subtly reached for his waist. Thankfully, his axe was still there.
Just as he was about to speak, the giant man cut him off.
“It was an unforgettable sight. There was a time I tried to forget it. But even after ten years of rolling with mercenaries on the battlefield, and spending even longer holed up in the mountains, it would appear in my dreams whenever I thought I’d forgotten.”
“…”
“It wasn’t nostalgia. There was nothing here for me to miss. I spent more than half my life with high orcs, so it wasn’t familiarity either. It was only after I established my own domain that I realized this snow-covered mountain was the origin of everything for me.”
The man scratched his chin, then turned his gaze to Dalen.
Dalen, who had been about to scratch his own chin, paused for a moment under that gaze.
Only for a moment, though. He wasn’t the type to hold back from scratching an itch just because someone was watching.
The man chuckled, a low, unsettling sound.
Dalen considered returning the smile to unsettle him in turn, but decided against it. Instead, he spoke.
“Dalber.”
“…So you know my name.”
Of course I do. I created this character.
Standing at about two and a half meters tall, with muscles like boulders barely contained by rough leather clothing, Dalber had bronzed skin and long, tied-back gray hair—features Dalen had carefully customized.
The countless scars and the stark white tattoos covering his body were acquired through gameplay.
“I waited a long time. In the Well of Eternity, where even the concept of time is lost. Unable to enjoy the grace of forgetfulness granted to humans, I waited and waited for the day I would set foot on this snowy mountain again.”
He clenched his bronzed fist.
The air trembled with that simple motion.
The snow melted in a radius of several meters around him, and the ground rumbled as if an earthquake had struck.
With his left foot forward and his right foot angled back, the man raised his lightly clenched fist, aiming it at Dalen, and spoke in a voice that rumbled like a low boil.
“Come, you who have crossed the timeline, foretold by the Well of Eternity. Let me judge with my own hands if you truly have the right to see the end of all this.”
Dalen naturally placed his hand on the axe head and slowly stepped back with his right foot.
Tapping the axe head with his index finger, he sighed softly and muttered.
“Well, this is a mess.”
A mirror match against my old character.