Damn it.
I never even thought about who—or what—this body actually belongs to.I've been running around like this is completely normal. How did it even come to this? This isn't me.
"Yes! Exactly! So get out already."
Out…How am I supposed to do that?!
"How should I know?! You're the asshole who just barged in!"
I'm lying on my back, arms and legs spread, staring at the sky. Something moves beside me. Astrid. She slowly sits up, brushing snow off her back and massaging her temple.
"Hey! Can you hear me?! Are you okay?!"
Yeah, yeah…Alright, annoying voice. I need to think about how to sort this out—so shut up for a second.
I sit cross-legged, rest a hand on my chin, my gaze empty as it drifts toward the forest. Cold wind hits my face. Leaves rustle somewhere behind me.
"So you're saying this is your body?" I ask quietly.
"Yes! How many times do I have to repeat myself?! Are you slow or just stupid?!"
I don't want to speak out loud—Astrid mustn't hear this. But there's one thing I need to know.
"That woman… from the small hut south of here. The one who was shaking like she was about to die. Why was she so afraid of me?"
"Hm? Ahhh! I know who you mean."The voice in my head suddenly sounds annoyed."Not interested. That's a private matter."
I narrow my eyes. Of course. So you won't cooperate. Fine. Then I'll just keep doing what I've been doing.
"Go ahead. I don't need you," his voice turns cold, almost condescending."But without me, you'll meet a quick end—even with my body."
A stabbing pain spreads through my head—the same one from just before I first heard him.And then—silence.
"Strange…" I mutter.
Astrid looks over at me, the baby still in her arms.
"What's wrong, Boss?"
Honestly? A lot.But I can't tell her any of it. She'd think I'm insane—or sick. Or both.
"Nothing." I stand up and stretch. A soft crack echoes."Come on. Let's keep going."
She nods.
"Alright."
…
Finally, we arrived.
Before us stretched an imposing cityscape—massive buildings towering into the sky like fortresses from another world. And by "huge," I don't mean just big—they were colossal, like skyscrapers built in the style of ancient Viking halls. The streets were alive: merchants, taller than any human, carried goods on their backs the size of entire boats, or dragged them along on rattling carts.
Children—also enormous—ran laughing across the wide plazas, chasing a ball that looked more like a rolling boulder to me. The sounds of the city blended into a living rhythm: hammering metal, shouting vendors, the thunder of wagon wheels. Everything felt raw, honest, and strangely familiar—like an old Viking settlement from a show like Vikings, scaled up to another world entirely.
"Hey, Princess! How was your trip?" one of the merchants called, wiping sweat from his brow as he hoisted a massive sack off his cart.
"Big Sister Astrid!! Help! Niron stole my ball!" one of the children squeaked, running toward her with arms raised in protest.
Astrid knelt down without hesitation, gently patting the child's head and flashing the merchant a wide, confident smile.
"All good. I brought someone special with me."
Then she leaned in, looking the child straight in the eyes—serious, but with a teasing grin.
"And as for Niron… tell him if he messes with you again, I'll execute him personally. Got it?"
The child's eyes widened. He giggled—and ran off like he'd just been handed the ultimate trump card.
"You're pretty popular around here, huh? Almost makes me jealous," I said casually as we walked through the city.
She glanced at me, then lowered her head. Not forced. Not fake. Just… real. Something in her eyes suddenly felt empty. Like people who smile, but have already checked out inside.
"Oh, come on, Boss. It's only because I'm the king's daughter. Nobody actually cares about me."
She said it like it was nothing. Just tossed it out there. But it wasn't nothing. There was something behind it. The way she said it—I recognized that tone. That casual, resigned way of downplaying things that actually hurt. Like she'd stopped taking it seriously herself because nobody else ever did.
I know that feeling.Not exactly like this—but close.
That you're only someone because of X. Never because of who you are. Never because you actually matter.
And even though I haven't known her long, she didn't seem like the kind of person who'd say something like that. Strong. Clear-headed. Confident.Maybe it's all just a façade.
Then we arrived.
No castle. No golden gates. No towering walls with banners in the wind. Instead—just… a massive hut. Wide, long, tall like a damn warehouse, the thatched roof so thick it looked like it was layered with hay bales. It resembled an oversized farmhouse—but somehow still radiated authority.
Astrid stepped forward and pushed the door open—which, given her size, looked more like opening a barn gate.
And then we were inside.
The air was heavy. Smoke, sweat, mead, fire—everything mixed into a dense stench that hit you straight in the face.
Before us stretched a vast hall. A long table in the center, flanked by dozens of massive chairs—so large I could've pitched a tent on one. Along the walls: slaves. Chained. Humans. Dirty. Emaciated. Eyes empty.
And everywhere in the room: giants. Not the simple village idiots from the gate—but warriors. Fur armor, scars, weapons like tree trunks. Elite fighters, if you will.
And at the far end of the hall, on a raised platform—a throne. Not gold, but dark wood and bone decorations, crudely assembled yet imposing.
And seated upon it—
the king.
Even sitting down, it was obvious: this man was a monster. Easily 25 meters tall, his presence filling the entire hall. A long, wild beard streaked with gray reached his chest, hair braided and draped over broad shoulders. In his right hand, he held a mug of mead the size of a barrel to me.
He studied me for a moment. No words. No expression. Just that piercing stare, as if he were looking straight through me, checking whether there was anything of value inside my head.
Then he stood.
Each step made the hall vibrate. Dust trickled from the ceiling beams. Even the other giants paused—as if this man standing up was a natural disaster.
"Astrid," he murmured. Barely audible—yet it echoed through the hall.
⸻[WARNING: MASSIVE THREAT APPROACHING]⸻
…Excuse me?
Sure, he looked dangerous. Big, broad, Viking-god energy and all. But massive threat?
I glanced up at him—and then I saw it.
⸻[ANCIENT GIANT: Ragnar Ingvarsson — Level 890]⸻
WHAT?! LEVEL 890?!
I blinked.
I'm level 983. And this guy is damn close. No wonder the system is panicking.
Suddenly, that sharp pain stabbed into my skull again.
"I told you, you idiot," a voice whispered. It was him again—the owner of this body."Good luck. Hahahah."
Then Astrid raised her hand.
"Father—" she began, her voice uncertain—but he cut her off immediately.
"This man… his presence is unmistakable. Astrid, do you even know who you've brought here?!"The king's voice thundered through the hall—heavy, powerful, furious, and yet… confused?
I raised my hands slightly, trying to de-escalate. My gaze stayed fixed on him. He was cautious. Ready to split me in half if I made a single mistake.
This wasn't a place for big speeches or cool remarks. I had to choose every word carefully—like back in my old job, where one wrong sentence could lead to consequences you couldn't undo.
"My apologies, Your Majesty. I did not come here to provoke you or cause trouble." I breathed steadily."My name is… Korran Dars—"
Silence.
The warriors behind the king lost all composure. One dropped his spear. Another sank to his knees as if gravity had doubled. Helmets were removed. Eyes widened. Even the slaves… froze.
The king stared at me. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose, like someone catching the scent of something ancient—something long buried.
He turned back toward his throne, walked to it in silence, and sat down, the mug still in his hand, as if it had suddenly grown heavier.
"Dars…" he repeated, more to himself than anyone else. The name lingered in the air—like something that should never have been spoken again.
"The revolution… so it failed, as I heard." His voice was calm, almost disappointed—like mourning an old friend who didn't make it.
The revolution. Again?I frowned inwardly. Hey, voice. I know you're there. What does he mean by that? What did you do?!
…Nothing. Of course the coward stays silent.
The king looked at me, then snorted."We haven't had a Dars here in a long time."
He raised his arms, a wide, almost manic grin spreading across his face.
"GOOD WORK!" he shouted, turning to Astrid."Well done, my girl. Come here, dear."
She hesitated, then walked toward him. He bent down slightly—a gesture that, for a 25-meter giant, felt like an earthquake—and placed a hand on her head. Gently. Surprisingly so. He stroked her hair like a father proud of his daughter for the first time in weeks.
Then he straightened, his voice booming:
"TONIGHT, WE CELEBRATE!"
He turned to the other giants and snapped his fingers.
"Hey! You useless bastards—get our guest something to drink! NOW!"
Then he looked at me.
Not casually. His gaze struck me like a spear, straight through the chest—like he already understood something I hadn't even fully realized myself.
"Next time," he said quietly, his words sharp enough to echo through the hall,"…you will not fail. My friend."
My friend.
Astrid was probably right.This man seems… composed.
Is that a good thing? No idea. But standing in his shadow doesn't feel like safety.
It feels like a warning—politely wrapped.