Chapter 49 – Wanderer of the Shining Realm
Perfect silence, I thought, exhaling softly as I started walking through the marble corridor. My boots clicked lightly against the floor, the sound oddly grounding.
This was Our Asgard, the crown of Aeternum Sanctum.
The realm I had built with my own idea… and HIME's endless patience.
And right now, it looked more breathtaking than ever.
The air shimmered faintly, filled with a soft golden radiance that didn't come from any lamp or magic source. It was ambient, like the place itself emitted divinity. Every wall reflected the light in rippling hues—white, gold, and a faint trace of blue—like sunlight caught in crystal water.
When I'd designed this place, the theme had been simple: "Pinnacle of Light."
A symbol of immortality, purity, and perfection.
Back then, it was just for aesthetic purposes—high-tier visual flair for the ultimate guild control room.
But now?
Now it felt real.
As if the code that once made it had grown skin, breath, and soul.
I stepped into the main promenade, where the floor stretched for hundreds of meters, flanked by floating archways that spiraled upward into infinity. Outside the transparent walls, the view of the floating island glimmered—clouds rolling beneath, sunlight filtering through.
Asgard wasn't just a hall.
It was a continent of light suspended in the sky.
Below lay nothing but endless clouds. Above—radiance eternal.
If there was ever a place that felt like a god's throne, this was it.
And I had built it with too much free time and caffeine.
Honestly, what kind of lunatic makes an entire floating citadel just for a guild UI hub? Oh right. Me.
I passed beneath a grand archway, entering one of the side corridors. My eyes swept over familiar places—rooms I hadn't visited in years.
To my left, the Treasury Gate—sealed with a radiant lock of divine energy, humming softly in recognition of my presence.
That door alone represented more wealth than a divine class item.
Inside?
Enough gold to bury a god, in jewel and pearl. Literally quadrillions of Yggdrasil gold pieces, stacked in shimmering layers, reflecting across miles of ornate chambers.
The treasure room also held our crown jewels—eleven World-Class Items.
Some of them we'd bled for, like aeternum sanctum. Others, we'd found by pure accident during exploration.
And, in true Three Burning Eyes fashion, some had probably been "acquired" through morally flexible trading.
Still counts as found treasure if the other guy doesn't notice, right?
Among them, I remembered:
The Voodoo Effigy, capable of redirecting damage to another.
The Olive Branch, capable of growing life anywhere.
The Mirror of Reversal, the one I'd used to become Lust.
And so on...
All safely In innermost inside.
I smiled faintly. Yeah. Still the best loot collection in the history of Yggdrasil.
Next came the Library of Infinite Scrolls and Tomes, another masterpiece of HIME's organization mania.
Shelves stretched endlessly into the horizon, each stacked with glowing tomes, scrolls, and crystal tablets.
Millions of items—spells, research notes, ancient scripts—all neatly catalogued.
The faint hum of enchantments made the air vibrate softly, like the whisper of turning pages.
If I had a gold coin for every hour HIME spent rearranging these by "historical aesthetic alignment," I'd have… well, still a quadrillion gold coins, but you get the idea.
Somewhere in there was the scroll I once used to crash an entire dungeon.
A good memory.
A terrifyingly expensive one, but still a good memory.
I took a turn down the western passage, leading toward the Attendants' Quarters.
I didn't plan to visit directly—I could already imagine the chaos if they suddenly realized I was inspecting them—but I still wanted to picture each of them in their workspaces.
After all, I'd designed those rooms myself.
Verrin the Demon Chef.
His kitchen was practically an armory. Cauldrons forged from abyssal steel, ovens enchanted with hellfire, and knives so sharp they could probably cut data itself.
The smell that came from there was always suspiciously pleasant—half heavenly, half deadly.
Every dish had buffs and poison hidden in perfect balance.
Last time I'd tried one of his "specials," I'd temporarily gained +30 agility and a mild existential crisis.
Celion the Angelic Builder.
His workshop was a cathedral of marble and blueprints. Golden feathers always drifted through the air, and constructs shaped like cherubs carried stone slabs twice their size.
He could rebuild anything. From a simple catedral, to a super mega fortress.
He was the reason Aeternum Sanctum could survive any invasion.
Maybe He Can rebuilt half the guild hall even after our old member accidentally detonated his forge.
Fynne the Fae Tailor.
A pink-haired menace with scissors sharper than pride and a personality twice as terrifying as her smile.
Her atelier glowed with silk threads that floated through the air like strands of starlight. Every piece she made was enchanted—stealth armor, phantom robes, illusory mantles.
And maybe if she "customized" my outfit, I couldn't sit down for an hour because the pants kept phasing through furniture.
Drakar the Heteromorphic Jeweler.
A stoic lizard-like craftsman who treated gems like living beings. His forge glowed with molten crystal, where he forged soul-bound artifacts—items that literally fused with the wielder's essence.
Half his creations looked cursed, the other half were cursed.
But his work? Flawless.
Kael the Healer of Dawn.
His chamber was the calmest place in Asgard—sunlight filtering through glass walls, flowers growing even without soil.
He radiated holiness so pure it made undead NPCs in their max level, physically uncomfortable to stand near him.
I can test poison resistance potions near his room just to annoy him.
Rynir the Watcher.
His domain was a strange one—filled with floating gears, crystal clocks, and stars that moved like living things.
The Time Chamber of Asgard.
He could manipulate the local time ratio of Aeternum Sanctum, even pause or accelerate weather systems.
He can made it rain inside Muspelheim for "balance." Maybe.
Myrr the Songweaver.
Her music filled the guild base constantly, a resonance that stabilized mana flow through every floor.
Her harp wasn't wood—it was data itself, a living conduit that tuned the guild's systems. Without her songs, half the Sanctum's enchantments would probably implode.
Her concerts were… chaotic. She can sang in seven different magic languages at once and caused a dimensional echo in Alfheim.
And then there was Ethael the Shadow Spy.
Her quarters were the one place in Asgard that wasn't bright.
It was quiet, black, and infinite—a room that seemed to fold in on itself.
Her very presence was enough to bend data space, and now, here in this new world, that ability likely surpassed even mine.
I smiled faintly. "She'll love this world," I muttered. "So many secrets to eat."
After a while, I found myself standing on the outer balcony of This citadel.
The wind rushed past, carrying faint motes of gold light that sparkled against the horizon. Beneath me, the massive floating island glowed from within, like sunlight trapped in crystal veins.
I leaned against the railing, looking out at the world.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself just… breathe.
Everything we had built—every code, every hour, every experiment—it was still here.
But now it was alive.
Asgard wasn't just a digital fortress anymore.
It was beautiful.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
All around me, life pulsed in rhythm with something greater—something organic.
Maybe this was what I needed.
To walk. To remember. To see the world we'd created, now reborn.
For a long time, I just stood there, letting the light wash over me.
Whatever this world had become, whatever new rules it played by—Aeternum Sanctum must be ready.
My people must be ready.
And so must I.
End of Chapter 49 – Wanderer of the Shining Realm