Beowulf, Where Did Your Heroism Come From?

As the vast night remained enchanting, just as Skadi also fell into a deep sleep, the 'magic mirror' deep within her mind began to glow faintly.

Queen Scathach of the Queen of the Shadow Country murmured, "Is that little girl... asleep?"

In the dark world of piled-up hills and shadows, Scathach, sitting in a hall made of countless boulders, was slightly excited. Her full body deformed as she hugged herself, and her raised legs swayed and rocked.

Skadi and Scathach are not the same person, but they share the same origin and have an extremely close connection. As long as Skadi falls into a sleep, Scathach can use the power of the 'runes' she obtained from her to briefly enter Skadi's body and borrow the body of the Snow Mountain Goddess.

However, under normal circumstances, the Snow Mountain Goddess will not fall into a deep sleep.

Unless winter has already arrived.

Spring is approaching—

"Wild Hunt ... Rovi? What an exciting and powerful figure!" Scathach licked her red lips, turning her gaze to the throne behind her, a throne higher than her own.

That was the position of her friend, a Underworld God from another land, who guided her to see through life and death and become a transcendent being who transcends life and death.

The founder of the Shadow Country.

Queen of the Shadow Country Scathach of the Land of Shadows merely took over the management of this dark land after she fell into slumber.

"My friend..." Scathach tossed her long hair. "I can sense it. The day you wake up isn't far off!"

Nothing more was said that night.

The next day.

As dawn broke, Rovi opened his eyes, feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep.

The mental relief made him yawn even more.

On the other side of the extinguished campfire, Skadi, who had already woken up, stared intently at him with her dark purple eyes.

"Good morning," Rovi said.

"You're sleeping so soundly!" Skadi couldn't help but say.

"If you can't sleep soundly and comfortably, then what's the point?" Rovi got up.

"You're sleeping comfortably, but I'm not comfortable at all..." Skadi suddenly felt troubled thinking about this.

She didn't know why she had the brain fart to share a coat with Rovi last night, but at first they were just back to back, and late at night, she inexplicably slipped into his arms.

The fast-sleeping Rovi was completely unaware, and such a harmless event was unlikely to wake him.

Skadi, however, huddled in Rovi's arms, her heart pounding more than ever before, her anxiety lasting all night.

She endured the torture all morning before carefully escaping—of course, the goddess wouldn't admit that she didn't want to leave.

"Here you go!" Skadi handed the cloak to Rovi.

Rovi reached out and took it, covering himself with it without any hesitation. "Let's eat something, and then we'll set off!"

Do you want to eat something else?

The goddess of the snow mountain slightly widened her eyes.

You are a god, and I am a god too, what do we eat...?

"It smells so good!" A moment later, the campfire was lit again, and the aroma of roasted meat filled the air. Skadi took small bites of the meat, which was roasted to a crispy exterior and tender interior, with a happy expression on her face.

I feel... healed.

Rovi: "?"

Am I really that good at cooking?

He took a bite himself and almost choked to death.

Too much salt...

So when he looked at Skadi, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her.

Even this tastes delicious.

What does this child eat every day?

Although I know that Scandinavians are not only bold in their behavior, but also not particular about food, as long as they have plenty of meat and alcohol.

But he didn't expect the food here to be this 'simple'.

Even gods are like that.

Do they not know what salt is?

Rovi tossed the meat to Fafnir, the hunting dog that had been eyeing it for a while. Fafnir immediately opened its mouth, swallowed it whole, and showed a satisfied expression.

"We should get going after we finish eating," he said.

Scandinavia, a land where people gather and where the sparks of civilization shine brightest.

Whether in the present or in later Mythic Age, Northern Europe, located in the northern part of the world, has always been synonymous with vast land and sparse population. The land here stretches far and wide, and the seas are vast, but the number of people living here has never been large. However, not many does not mean there are none. In fact, there are also countries formed by humans, city-states and traditional civilization settlements here.

That is Scandinavia, the region where the Nordic countries of later generations, Sweden and Norway, are located.

The environment here is also different from other places. Spring is longer, the vegetation is more lush, and the geographical environment is more suitable for people to live in.

Soon, Rovi could see that the bare land was covered with lush green vegetation, and in the light and shadow of the rising sun, villages were scattered and wisps of smoke rose from their chimneys.

Rovi pulled on the reins, halting his advance at a high point.

"Watch out—"

As Rovi turned his head and spoke, the Pegasus beneath him simultaneously let out a roar, its twelve pairs of outstretched wings retracted at the same time, its eight legs swayed and merged into four limbs, and the hyena at its feet also swayed and shrank its size.

The horse's back suddenly narrowed, and Skadi, though she had expected it, was still startled. She instinctively wrapped her arms around Rovi's back and steadied herself through the cold, hard armor.

Rovi didn't take it to heart, after all, there was still a layer of armor between them, but Skadi's face instantly turned red.

"How rude..."

"Who's being rude?" Rovi glanced sideways, somewhat puzzled.

Of course, it was my own rudeness that was the problem.

Skadi took a deep breath and stopped talking, but her tightly clasped hands refused to let go.

So Rovi just laughed and was about to head towards the populated area when he suddenly stopped and looked into the distance.

The spirits in the wind wandered the fields, bringing him news once again.

They said, "Someone is calling your name."

"Someone is begging for your help."

"King of the Wild Hunt, Lord of the Storms, Commander of the Spirit Army... God who rules over the Storm Giants." Before the dark and deep temple, before the altar that was not recognized by anyone, someone whispered such a name.

This was a gaunt, old man dressed in a black robe, his body emaciated. At this moment, he was introducing something to a tall, robust young man. "He came from Jotunheim underground. He is the messenger of Ymir, the giant who created the world and all things. He brought life to all things and hope to all things!"

"The gods in the sky are nothing but rebels. Ymir, the true king of the giants, will punish them."

"Young people, believing in Ymir is the most correct and just path!"

An old man is preaching.

But the young man beside him did not respond; he simply stared intently at the altar before him.

That is not Ymir's altar.

The altar is for the worship of 'Storm and Wild Hunt and Spirit of the Thousand'.

The young man— Beowulf —had personally witnessed the terrifying scene when the King of the Wild Hunt descended, and he had also seen countless monsters fleeing in panic after being swept away by the storm.

The village chief of that village returned and told Beowulf that the Wild Hunt was both a god and a demon. He looked down on all things, bringing death to demons and to humans. Death was the destiny of all things, and no one was an exception.

Seeing that the old village chief was safe and sound, Beowulf, who was not originally from that small village, quickly took his leave.

Beowulf was born into a distinguished family. His father was a powerful warrior, and his mother was the daughter of King Kit. With this bloodline, Beowulf himself was the undisputed heir to the kingdom and a Prince.

But despite his noble birth, he harbored the ambition to become a powerful warrior and hero, so little Ji went on a journey.

While broadening his horizons and honing his martial arts skills, he also hopes to defeat monsters from all over the world and gain enough fame for himself.

This had been going very smoothly before.

Just like the old village chief in that village, Beowulf visited the reclusive hero, met the many people and demigods, improved his martial arts, and finally felt that he was capable of defeating powerful monsters, and became famous far and wide.

Then Rovi arrived.

Then most of the monster ashes were scattered by the King of Storms.

Looking around, it was difficult to find another powerful monster.

Possessing the skill to slay dragons yet having no dragons to slay, this is probably Beowulf's current predicament.

The young soldier felt rather lost.

He walked alone to Scandinavia, which was not far from his homeland. Yet, Beowulf felt unwilling to return to his homeland.

He longed to become a powerful hero, renowned far and wide—an ideal he could never let go of.

That's why I was drawn here by this old preacher.

Because he said 'giant'.

Giants—they're monsters too, right!?

However, instead of seeing the giant, he saw the altar to the King of Storms.

Beowulf scoffed at the old man's words.

Although the King of the Wild Hunt rules and controls the giants, according to the old village chief, he is not a giant at all.

Rather, he is a demon king with divine qualities.

It is a deity with Demonic Nature.

However, after thinking it over, Beowulf decided not to leave immediately.

"The messenger of Ymir, the King of the Wild Hunt, who devoutly worships him." The old man's expression was rather kind, yet under the dim light of the cold hall, it appeared quite terrifying. "You will be able to obtain what you desire."

What is it that I seek?

Beowulf, following his words, knelt down and prayed.

He said, "Homage to the King of the Wild Hunt..."

The Wind Spirit relayed his words to Rovi, who was nearby, and Rovi responded in kind.

This is a story that has been recorded in later generations...

The bewildered hero prayed to the God of Storms of the high heavens, asking the gods and demons to answer the questions in his heart.

In the dimly lit hall, candlelight flickered, and a single, faint light shone forth simultaneously.

Rovi has arrived.

His body was still near Scandinavia, but his consciousness simultaneously entered this place, entering Beowulf's mind.

He said, "You were looking for me?"

Beowulf snapped to attention. The surrounding area was vast, like a world filled with endless snow, yet there was no trace of coldness or chill.

Before them, the mist dissipated, revealing a towering throne upon which sat King of Giants of steel, his cold machinery churning.

"Please tell me—how to become a hero." The young hero took a deep breath, knowing that the gods and demons had answered his request.

"A hero?" The ' Wild Hunt,' clad in armor and wielding Storm Spear, seemed to let out a low chuckle. "What do you consider a hero?"

"He banishes demons, his fame spreads far and wide, and he possesses extraordinary courage and martial prowess!"

Beowulf's answer was resolute.

But he was met with a denial. "That's your hero, not the world's hero."

My hero?

A hero of the world?

Beowulf was stunned. Unlike the Greeks, whose heroes were chosen by the gods, the heroes of the Norse were never anyone else. Those with extraordinary courage were heroes, and those with great strength were also heroes.

This is everyone's perception.

Because the Nordic countries are a land that reveres the strong and the brave.

The stronger a being is, the higher their status; the stronger a being is among humans, the more respect they receive.

But in the eyes of this Wild Hunt... it seems that's not the case?

"There are many kinds of courage. Daring to be the first among the crowd is courage, and daring to take responsibility is also courage. There are also many kinds of strength. Fighting monsters with one's own strength is strength, and uniting people and making the country prosperous is also strength."

"Even monsters are a combination of courage and strength. They dare to indulge their desires without fear of being defeated, and their power can oppress a region without anyone resisting."

"Do you want to become that kind of 'hero'? Just to become famous in one place? Just to become famous in one region?"

Beowulf fell into thought.

"The demons of this world have been swept away by my storm, but the demons in the hearts of men are never lacking." Rovi pressed his advantage, saying, "Beowulf, tell me your answer."

"I—will still be a hero." Beowulf took a deep breath. "A hero whose name will be known far and wide!"

It is impossible to be swayed by a few words!

Beowulf traveled to many places and encountered many setbacks, but he still persevered and came here. His determination is beyond doubt.

Being famous far and wide does not necessarily mean one is associated with evil.

"To gain fame far and wide is not only about seeking recognition, but also about promoting good deeds!"

The two are never in conflict.

Rovi laughed, "If that's the case, then let me see your resolve!"

"In the name of the Wild Hunt, I bestow upon you the spark of the storm!"

A spark appeared and fell into Beowulf's palm. He was stunned for a moment. "Your courage and strength will become the energy source for the fire to burn, and the burning flame will provide you with great strength and wisdom."

Go ahead—

"Hero!"

Beowulf suddenly came to his senses and awoke, returning to the present world where he still stood in the quiet soil.

The old man beside him exclaimed in surprise, "You..."

Looking at the fire in Beowulf's hand, he suddenly exclaimed excitedly, "You've received the Wild Hunt's blessing? I knew it, great Ymir..."

"Ah!" Before the old man could finish speaking, Beowulf punched him and knocked him unconscious.

"Ymir? I haven't seen any Ymir!"

Beowulf grinned. "Such a misleading Heretical Cult should be burned down!"

The old village chief was right.

The Wild Hunt is neither a god nor a demon; it is both a god and a demon.

Gods and demons both reside in the human heart.

Wild Hunt

They're just people!

Only humans can offer help; only humans can offer blessings.

'In his dialogue with God, the young Beowulf posed this question.'

The young hero faced his path squarely, a path strewn with thorns and littered with wreckage.

The flame of civilization has been passed down to humankind.

'Light will illuminate the path ahead.'

' The Nibelungenlied '

Rovi withdrew his gaze from the distance and remained silent.

He had originally intended to deal with the so-called giant Ymir's impersonation of him... but now, he suddenly felt that, conversely, using their existence to make contact with the 'heroes' of this era might also be a good option.

The flame has been spread with the giants.

Even if it spreads a little more... it will never matter.

Beowulf was the first, and Rovi did not intend for him to be the last.

This kind of sentiment, which was expressed in Greece, is perfectly natural to do again here.

The difference is that in Greece he was a sage and a mentor, while now he is a god.

' Divine General gave fire to all things, and all things will shine, offering it to the one true God, the one true Lord of Ten Thousand Armies.'

'Introduction to World Religions'

—So, what's next?

"It's time to move into populated areas!"

Rovi pulled on the reins and strolled in.