Fate: I Heard After Death, You Can Ascend to the Throne of Heroes?-Chapter 300: Drawing a Wolf, Drawing a Snake, and Burning a Tree!

Chapter 300 - Drawing a Wolf, Drawing a Snake, and Burning a Tree!

When you think about it, this is the Age of Gods, so everything seems to make sense.

On the contrary, for Promise, who is still thinking about bloodlines, morals and ethics, he might actually be the real "outsider" in this era.

The young Sigurd looked curiously at his nominal younger brother, who was standing there in silence.

To be honest, he didn't know what Promise was thinking, but Sigurd didn't particularly care.

After all, he had always felt that his younger brother was a bit mysterious.

"Come on, Nor!"

With that, Sigurd tossed a wooden sword to Promise, his expression eager as he said, "Let's spar! Today, I will definitely beat you!"

Hearing this, Promise glanced at the wooden sword in front of him and couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sigurd blankly as he said. "Why do we even need to fight? If you were one or two years older, the wind from your sword swing alone would have been enough to blow me away."

As he spoke these words, Promise's expression visibly darkened.

This was already the third time he had performed Heroic Spirit simulation, and this time he had even been tricked by Odin, growing up from infancy to now. Yet, his physical strength still hadn't improved.

In short, in the age of gods, in this era where magical energy is off the charts, if it weren't for the protection granted by the Servant Class Card, even breathing would be akin to suicide for Promise.

Thus, even in the Age of Norse Gods, he was still as fragile as a leaf in the wind.

But despite his words, Promise stood up from under the morning shade of the tree, picked up the wooden sword from the ground, and looked at the eager Sigurd with a faint smile on his face.

If you're going to fight, do it early, because in a couple of years, I really won't stand a chance~~

Thinking of this, Promise gripped the sword and walked toward Sigurd.

Although his body hadn't been strengthened, he had at least been taught by the centaur sage Chiron and had learned a bit of everything from the many Greek heroes.

So, when it came to technique, Promise was at the top of his game.

If he couldn't even beat a young, not-yet-fully-grown demigod hero, even his usually god tempered, and patient Teacher Chiron, would probably not be able to help but run over and lecture Promise.

After a while, he was able to disarm Sigurd, sending his wooden sword flying.

He pointed his sword at Sigurd's throat.

Looking at Sigurd, who, due to his age, wore the usual expression of stubborn refusal to admit defeat—far from the maturity he would show in the future—Promise couldn't help but laugh.

Seeing this, Sigurd also started laughing.

Then, as the two of them sat together under the ancient tree, Sigurd gazed into the distance, looking toward Midgard, the realm of humans.

After a brief silence, Sigurd suddenly asked, "Nor, what do you want to do when you grow up?"

Hearing this, Promise did not answer immediately, instead, tilted his head to look at him,

Seeing the longing and brightness in his eyes, he asked, "What about you?"

"Me?" Sigurd laughed, his voice clear and bright as he replied, "Of course, I want to become a great hero, just like my father!"

The name Sigmund echoed throughout Midgard, so it was no surprise that Sigurd, his own child, having grown up hearing tales of his father, harbored such dreams.

"As for me... since I'm already here, I might as well wander around, paint a few pictures, and see if I can burn down that tree."

Promise answered in a casual tone, as if he were talking about something utterly mundane.

Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly added, "Especially that wolf and that snake—I really want to paint them both."

The legendary demon wolf that devours the heavens and the earth, the terrifying beast that swallowed Zeus, the King of the Gods—Fenrir, the God-Slaying Wolf!

And the serpent that encircles the world, who fought a mortal combat with Thor, the god of Thunder, and perished with the strongest fighting force in Greece—Jörmungandr, the World Serpent!

"Burning trees, painting, wolves, and snakes... what kind of nonsense is this?" Sigurd was utterly confused by Promise's so-called dreams.

Then, he shook his head and said, "Forget it. If you ask me, it's simpler to just follow in my father's footsteps and become a hero whose name resounds across Midgard!"

Sigurd flashed a bright smile, stood up, and extended his hand to Promise. As he spoke."Come on, in a couple of years, we'll return to Midgard together. By then, the Valkyries will surely descend and bring us victory!"

The Valkyries, the choosers of the slain.

They wear feathered helmets, don exquisite battle armor, and ride white steeds back and forth between Asgard and Midgard, fulfilling the mission bestowed upon them by the king of gods, Odin: to seek out the souls of glorious heroes in the human realm.

In Norse mythology, they also symbolize victory in war.

It is said that when they appear, they bring victory to the heroes they choose, and they will stay by the chosen hero's side until the other person dies.

And then, they guide their heroic souls to the grand halls of Valhalla.

Promise looked at Sigurd's outstretched hand in front of him and the smile on his face.

In such a situation, what else could he say?

After all, ten years had already passed.

So, Promise had no choice but to reach out and take his hand.

Then, the two of them returned to the cave, where they met their nominal foster father, the dwarf Mime.

Mime looked at the two people who came back and after Sigurd greeted him, he nodded slightly and then turned to attend to his own tasks.

Promise looked at Mime's retreating figure, as if remembering something, and then glanced at Sigurd beside him.

Incidentally, Sigurd was also a "patricide," and the father he killed was none other than his foster father, the dwarf Mime.

Though this act was more out of necessity, as the dwarf Mime had initially taken in Sigurd with ulterior motives and schemes.

And under the circumstances at that time, if Sigurd hadn't killed Mime, he would have been killed by him instead.

The root of it all was a curse and a treasure that even the gods could not resist.

A blessing that grants the possessor all the wealth in the world.

A curse that dooms the possessor to a lifetime of misfortune.

The cursed golden ring—the Rhinegold!

It turned out that the dwarf named Mime had a brother, and that brother's name was Fafnir, the very dragon that was later slain by Sigurd!

Fafnir wasn't a dragon at first.

His transformation into one was the result of the curse of the Rhinegold.

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In Norse mythology, there is a river called the Rhine, inhabited by many nymphs who guard the river's greatest treasure—the Rhinegold.

Initially, the dwarf Fafnir was drawn to the nymphs, yearning for love, and approached them. But he was quickly captivated by the Rhinegold.

Upon learning the news that whoever possessed the Rhinegold would gain the world's greatest wealth and power, Fafnir decisively abandoned love and stole the gold... Well, the main reason he gave up on love was that all of his advances were all rejected by the nymphs.

After obtaining the Rhinegold, Fafnir forged it into the cursed golden ring.

The theft of the Rhinegold and the weeping of the Rhine nymphs quickly spread throughout Midgard and even across the nine realms of Yggdrasil.

Everyone...Gods, elves, and giants alike all came to know of it.

By this time, Fafnir, who had been completely consumed by the curse of the Rhinegold, had lost his mind.

To eternally protect his power and wealth, he was utterly devoured by the curse, transforming into the mindless dragon Fafnir, who devoured all who sought to take the ring.

Mime, the dwarf, was one of them.

Even though his initial intention had been to free his brother from his torment.

But when he saw the glow of the Rhinegold, he too was bewitched, becoming obsessed with obtaining it.

And this was the true reason he had taken in Sigurd.

Just as Promise was pondering all this,

"Nor, a batch of excellent materials has arrived today."

Mime suddenly called out and stopped Promise, even offering him a smile as he said, "Would you like to join me in forging?"

Mime was an exceptionally skilled dwarf, having lived for countless years.

To describe his strength in a simple way, this dwarf possessed the ability to forge divine weapons.

The weapon Sigurd would use in the future to slay the eveil dragon Fafnir, the prototype of the sword in the stone story pierced by Odin's spear of eternity Gungnir—the holy sword Gram (Gramr), was reforged by Mime using iron from the underworld, with a scabbard made from the leaves of Yggdrasil.

Dwarves live their entire lives forging; they are born to craft.

Thus, when Promise accidentally displayed the knowledge of forging from the greek mythology, passed down from his teacher, the Greek god of craftsmanship Hephaestus, along with divine techniques,

Mime's attitude toward this child sent by the Norn of the Future changed.

From moment onwards, he was no longer as indifferent as he was to Sigurd, but was rather kind an friendly.

In fact, Mime had been diligently teaching Promise his forging techniques.

The only thing that troubled him and made him regretful was Promise's physical weakness.

After all, now way..he was just too weak ...

As time went by, Promise's strength remained that of an infant.

This left Mime constantly worried about whether Promise would ever have the strength to lift a hammer and forge.

"Sure, I'll come."

Promise nodded, snapping out of his thoughts, and turned around to find the hammer forged from the feather-stone that never sinks in water... Well..because his strength was too weak, so Mime had spent a long time crafting this hammer, which Promise could barely use.

He walked over to Mime and joined him in forging.

Together, they worked on crafting weapons for Sigurd.

Mime was very dedicated to this task, but Promise knew it was all in vain.

Because Sigurd's fate was already sealed from the moment he was born.

He couldn't wield any weapon except the one destined for him—the broken holy sword that had yet to be reforged.

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