Because I Am Surtr

"You can choose to stay. That young girl is fond of you. You helped them defeat the invading giant beasts and opened up fields for them, clearing the pollution and hidden dangers in the ore veins. You saved her twice and her people thrice. With just a nod, this town will be yours to own from now on."

Swords have words, but their words are not heard by six ears.

And the maiden's words were only spoken to the sword.

"She doesn't love me; she only loves my power. She merely desires assistance, and by using this assistance, she hopes to prosper, along with her town."

"Isn't your power a part of you? Liking you for your power is no different from liking you for your wisdom, character, or appearance. Why do you reject it so vehemently?"

"Perhaps for others, but not necessarily for me." The maiden gently clenched her fist, and stones and weeds burned and melted before her. A path filled with flowing fire immediately extended from her feet, then stretched towards the distance.

"Power is a fine cosmetic. Ineloquence becomes aloofness under its adornment. Prudence becomes deep thoughtfulness. Foolish shortsightedness is mistaken for focus and persistence. Laziness and recklessness are seen as bravery and calculated waiting—I know very well what kind of person I am. In my past life, people like me were called losers, trash, societal parasites. And now, I'm merely wearing a layer of makeup that's difficult to wash off."

"But you still saved that town. You fought against beasts far stronger than you were then, you endured filth and psychological germophobia, cleaning the corruption and filth from the earth's veins. You set aside your pride and personally tilled the wasteland, carving out land with a shovel and pickaxe before the first snow fell, enough to feed the entire town—the blood and sweat you shed were by no means false. There's no need for you to be so self-deprecating."

"You are a strong person in yourself."

"Strong? I don't think so. I simply don't care if I'm alive." The maiden stepped over lava, the intense heat washing over her feet—a cold wind blew from afar, and the molten fire beneath her feet instantly solidified without a sound. "This life is like a mayfly's dream. Perhaps tomorrow when I open my eyes, I will lose all my power. Perhaps I will return to that apartment and face that great fire again with my frail body. Perhaps... perhaps there are many possibilities."

"I am not afraid of bleeding, because death is something that will inevitably belong to me. I am not afraid of sweating, because fatigue is something that will inevitably belong to me. I am not afraid of filth, nor do I care about my self-esteem, because dirt and shame are things that are destined to belong to me. But I am afraid of loss, because I cannot be sure if love and affection will belong to me."

"I am a coward, Laevateinn. The only thing I learned in my past life was not to flatter myself. And at least up until now, no person or thing has proven it wrong."

The cold wind grew fiercer, and snowflakes quietly began to fall from the sky. The desolate land was dusted with white, and the path that was already unclear became even more so.

"You don't believe in your strength. You don't believe in your wisdom. You don't believe in the experience and blood you've accumulated. You don't believe you are already completely different from your past self. Is that it?"

"The me of my past life was so mediocre. It's hard for me to make much progress in this life either. Flame, shell, dream—I can name at least a thousand people who, after gaining all that I possess, would undoubtedly do better than me. I know myself, Laevateinn. I know where I should be."

"But have you ever considered that perhaps, besides you, no one else would be qualified to draw me?"

"That is something you decide, not me. Laevateinn, my past views remain unchanged—I do not believe that justice will naturally triumph over evil. I do not believe that effort will always be rewarded. I do not believe my tomorrow will be better than today. Even if you leave me right now, taking all my power, skills, and knowledge with you. I will calmly face the end of freezing to death alone in the snow, my bones gnawed by insect beasts. Because from the very beginning, I was prepared to lose everything, to have nothing."

The sword remained silent for a long time, and the snowflakes falling from the sky grew more numerous. Soon, the light snow turned into heavy snow. The heavy snow transformed into a fierce storm.

And the maiden continued forward.

Forward, moving forward aimlessly.

At the height of the storm's fury, the maiden's ears were filled with the sword's whisper.

"You are so pitiful, Surtr."

"I don't deny it, and besides you, there isn't another person in this world to pity me."

"...You are so pitiful."

Miss Surtr blinked, as if some vague memory was churning in her mind, then vanished like ice shards before they could surface like swimming fish. She felt a sense of familiarity, a sense of melancholy. A sense of cold, yet within the cold, there was a warmth.

Warmth.

The only warmth beside her was the burning sword.

Laevateinn.

Laevateinn always stayed silently by her side.

Sometimes, when she was alone, she would even feel as if Laevateinn would speak. However, prolonged awkwardness and silence proved that she was merely experiencing mental strain.

Ah... I've gotten sidetracked, sidetracked. Back to the main topic—the maiden shook her head, her consciousness returning to clarity. Her gaze then shifted downwards, from the high altitude, to observe the ground.

She stood quietly atop a tall building, at the convergence of wind and clouds. She looked down from the building, witnessing the scene of a parent and child reuniting—W had fulfilled her promise. When Surtr arrived near Misha's mark, she saw Misha, Misha's father, and Alex—the former Reunion cadre FrostNova—with his mask removed. Father, daughter, son, the three of them reconciled and embraced each other.

A happy family, a good ending. This boss, the most unglamorous in Reunion, finally had a place to belong. Perhaps in the future, Alex could be seen on Rhodes Island's treatment list. But it was likely that, as in the game, scenes of confrontation with Rhodes Island would no longer occur.

This was a good thing, a cause for celebration.

"So W can be reliable sometimes after all."

She praised softly, descending silently from the convergence of clouds and wind—as she landed on the building's rooftop, she slightly shifted her heel. The slight shift in her stance allowed a gust of wind to sweep past her.

She reached out and caught it.

"Jack-in-the-box." Miss Surtr's lips twitched. The small box before her popped open to reveal a clown with an exaggerated smile—this was truly a normal jack-in-the-box, not W's second skill that planted proximity mines in the game. She then closed the box again and put it in her pocket.

"I made it myself. Not bad, right?"

W's voice rang out. The Sarkaz woman with white hair and red streaks was leaning quietly against a pillar on the building's rooftop. She gazed into the distance where the sarcophagus was located, her eyes filled with nostalgia and confusion.

"If you don't mind, keep it. Someone as rigid as you should find some fun for yourself occasionally."

Rigid? Surtr didn't think so. However, she didn't intend to argue about such an insignificant detail—the flame-haired Sarkaz nodded. Even she could detect the unnaturalness in W's voice. She heard a hint of sorrow, a hint of hesitation. And, a desire to leave.

W seemed to be planning to leave.

"Persephone has woken up. Aren't you going to see her?" Surtr didn't beat around the bush, asking directly.

"I thought I would, but now I'm not sure." She turned her head, looking down at the city below—the streets that were once under the threat of Cataclysm, filled with fear, chaos, and violence, were now orderly and harmonious. People were lining up, guided by drones, heading to various shelters. Military police and 'concerned citizens' who had been wearing masks not long ago were maintaining order, punishing violence, treating the injured, and transporting supplies—a city like this, even in Victoria or Yan, was rarely seen when facing a Cataclysm.

"I originally wanted to find her, to grab her by the collar, to choke her and demand—why wasn't she there when Princess Theresia was assassinated? Why were there no guards around the Princess at that time? Why did the Princess, who was the world's top Arts Caster, fall to such a group of low-level assassins?"

"That's what I wanted to ask her... and then, no matter how she answered, I would punch her in the stomach or stab her. Anyway, you're here, so I wouldn't be able to kill her even if I wanted to, right?"

Surtr really wanted to say, "Kill her all you want," but considering that the worldline would eventually converge to the one where Persephone didn't die, and running through multiple loops was too boring, she decided not to respond.

And this was taken as a default attitude.

W shook her head.

"But as I walked down this main street, seeing what she did, seeing this city on the verge of collapse improve under her hand. Even to the point now where, even if you didn't intervene, this city could largely be saved from the Cataclysm. I hesitated."

"If Her Highness were here, facing the same scene, she would surely do exactly as Persephone is doing. Or, to be more fair, perhaps Her Highness wouldn't even do as well as she? After all, even I cannot deny her talent. There are things she can indeed do better than anyone else."

"Then... can Persephone, who is doing what Her Highness would do, be considered an extension, a remnant, or even... an inheritor of Her Highness?"

"You can understand something like this too, Surtr. After all, you have already reached the pinnacle of the world. Even if you were to fade from this world now, the traces you've left behind would not disappear. People would fear you, worship you, and write you into the stories and legends of various civilizations. The marks you left in battle would become sacred sites, and places where you once stood would have altars or monuments built... Even if you are not here, the traces you left behind can represent your will and beliefs. And those who imitate you, doing what you would do, can they not also be considered your continuation?"

Surtr didn't answer—she seemed somewhat surprised. But W didn't notice her expression.

No, W couldn't focus on anything right now. W just lowered her head, speaking in a whisper.

"Talking so formally doesn't suit me at all. But..." W's face became contorted, yet she finally relaxed her brow with a long sigh.

"...I hesitated."

"Her Highness is gone, and no matter how many people I kill, she won't come back. But if she still has an inheritor, if her ideals, her path, are still being walked by someone. Then Her Highness... could she be considered to be living in another way? I'm not too sure about this. But I won't destroy it either."