The sun has fallen.
This is not an exaggerated statement, but a factual description.
The sun hanging in the sky has fallen down.
In that instant, the giants inhabiting all corners of the Lostbelt simultaneously raised their heads and roared to the heavens. The shackles of control they received from the Queen, the faceless mask Mystic Codes covering their faces, suddenly shattered completely. The era without a king, the days spent in shallow slumber, all vanished with the masks' destruction. They awoke.
No longer manipulated by instinct alone, the giants roared.
In a language incomprehensible to humans, they praised the king who brings the end.
'Oh King.'
"Oh King."
"OH KING!"
"The Sword of Flame."
"Surtr!"
"Grant the continuation of battle."
"Give conflict its face."
"The distant gods have not yet perished; the vast earth has not yet burned."
"Grant the inheritance of Ragnarok."
"The moment of joy, the moment of the end."
"Come, destroy. Everything in the world was born to be destroyed."
The giants clamored, spewing maddened words. As beings alive in the world, they sought the death that life resists.
The sun disappeared.
The sun fell.
Li Mo saw it—that gigantic sun landed upon the earth, becoming a giant.
The giant was so colossal, as if reaching out could touch the sky.
The giant was so scorching, the meteorites falling from its body destroyed everything.
The giant was so malevolent, an aura of destruction swept across the entire world.
Its gaze fell upon Li Mo. Even from a great distance, Li Mo could be certain it was looking at him.
"ODIN!!!"
An angry tone spread from the giant's mouth, its voice propagating throughout the entire Lostbelt.
Perhaps, Ophelia, with whom it had a connection, was once someone it cared for. It had promised to show that girl the flame that would end all things in the world. But now, the giant's attention was entirely on Li Mo.
That young mage, that mage dressed in white, that mage whose body emanated the aura of "Odin."
"Odin."
He is the All-Father in Norse mythology, the most troublesome enemy for Surtr.
Surtr devoured Fenrir, devoured the sun, becoming the absolute end. Yet even so, he was sealed by Odin into the sun, even at the cost of Odin's and many other gods' deaths. But for him, for the Flame Giant King, the inability to destroy the world itself was the greatest agony.
Moreover, within the seal, he could only witness with his own eyes the world heading towards its demise, being pruned by Human Order.
Ah, how pitiful. Rather than being discarded by Human Order, it would be better to be destroyed by oneself. At that time, Surtr's feeling was like the pain of having a carefully prepared little cake not eaten, but thrown away instead.
But that wasn't the key point.
The important thing was, were his actions within "Odin's" calculations? In its eyes, that young mage was equated with Odin.
Knowing he was Surtr, yet still granting release. How arrogant, how disdainful, how... hateful.
The giant landed upon the earth. It raised the Sword of Flame in its hand—that was "Laevateinn," a divine construct.
When Surtr grips Laevateinn, it is the end-times destruction mechanism that will annihilate the world.
The Sword of Flame cleaved down. The temperature of the entire world rose because of it. Flames gathered, becoming a powerful heatwave that directly surged towards the original location of the Fantasy Tree.
That heatwave incinerated everything in its path, turning all into ashes. Snow and ice, giant trees, icy magical beasts—all were the same.
But the heatwave was blocked before a rainbow.
The seven-colored Bifrost spanned the space in between, blocking the heatwave entirely. The heatwave was absorbed; the seven-colored light of the Bifrost grew even more dazzling. Surtr could clearly feel that his slash had been converted into energy and transported away by some means.
—And the destination of that transportation was not the castle where Skadi resided.
Surtr knew where the endpoint of the Bifrost was, for it was precisely where his gaze reached.
At some point, the endpoint of the Bifrost had changed to the distant location of the Fantasy Tree.
That is, where Li Mo stood.
Deceived again.
Deceived again!
Surtr didn't know what that mage intended to do, but he knew his actions were once again within the other's expectations.
Ah, anger.
Surtr had never felt he could be angered to this degree. Upon leaving Sigurd's body, the disdainful expression on that face fueled boundless rage.
The giant moved.
Continuing to attack might only provide more nourishment for the other. So, advance then.
He had killed Him once.
So he could kill Him a second time.
Suppressing his raging flames, the Flame Giant King advanced.
He was the symbol of the end, the Giant King destined to destroy the world. Even if the All-Father were reborn, he could not be stopped.
He was a walking volcano, a walking heatwave, annihilating the ecology of everywhere he passed.
That was a natural disaster.
Faced with a natural disaster, the response is often disaster relief. In the Norse Lostbelt, those who undertake this responsibility are often the Valkyries.
To those who know Norse mythology, they know them as Valkyries, as *Choosers of the Slain*. But to the people of the Norse Lostbelt, they are divine messengers.
Thanks to the establishment of the Bifrost, Skadi's power had much to spare. Knowing Surtr would be unsealed, she had long made preparations. Under her command, the Valkyries were prepared for migration—mainly villagers near Surtr's location and the Fantasy Tree area needed relocation. They would be moved to the relatively safer south.
With the Valkyries present, neither giants nor icy magical beasts posed a threat. The sole threat, Surtr, was also drawn by Li Mo, heading north—the exact opposite direction of the villagers' movement.
The Norse Lostbelt now had two clearly demarcated factions. One was led by Surtr and the giants, but aside from the giants themselves, the rest were hardly a threat. Even Surtr paid no heed to those giants; the ones gathering at his feet were consumed by the flames.
The other side was the faction of Scathach-Skadi.
Of course, there was a third party in this Lostbelt.
"What on earth is that? A giant from mythology? So huge?"
Considering himself the only Servant in the Norse Lostbelt, Napoleon gazed at the distant scene. The flame giant, wielding the Sword of Flame, advanced northward. Why was it heading there? Napoleon didn't know the answer.
But then, tremors interrupted Napoleon's thoughts.
"Why do these giants look even uglier without their masks? Hey hey, you can't go over there. The villagers are migrating!"
As an Archer, Napoleon summoned his cannon. "I've been fed and sheltered; I can't just let you pass."
Even knowing those divine messengers were there to help, he still made this choice.
This was Napoleon's choice.