< 159. Guest of the Northern Temple of the Gods >
*
The North Sea in winter is not friendly to sailors. Rough waves, biting cold, and storms that disrupt visibility with snow and wind. Yet, Leia’s Flagship remains unscathed by the sea winds, and Guimerin’s maritime charts never lose their way, no matter the waters.
And Diemonica’s body remains unaffected by the natural cold. Fernandez, clad in a simple tunic and priestly robe, carefully grasped the doorknob.
It was night. Through a small crack in the window, the icy North Sea wind howled menacingly. Large snowflakes began to scatter, sticking to the window bars and piling up.
Inside the cabin, Abel lay asleep on the bed. The confident, provocative woman had fallen asleep before dawn. Fernandez, holding the greatsword leaning against the door, quietly opened it.
-Whhooosh…
The rough wind and snowflakes clung to his body. His sweat-drenched hair quickly turned cold. But oddly, this was just what he needed now. His slightly feverish body and mind needed to cool down.
Careful not to wake Abel, Fernandez closed the door and stepped outside.
*
He walked slowly toward the stern. The snowstorm left the area deserted. Thanks to his body, which could ignore the blizzard, it was the perfect night for a stroll.
Arriving at a clearing where he could swing his sword without issue, Fernandez unsheathed his greatsword and placed it on the ground. His loosened body had cooled down. He gripped the cold hilt tightly and drew the blade.
Snowflakes scattered. The near-gale-force wind tousled his hair wildly. It was a dark night, with even the magical lights dimmed. Few people were around, and only the sound of the wind filled the air.
His lips curled slightly. Happiness? A sense of accomplishment? Perhaps. It felt like a hallucination conjured by his immature body. A reckless fever.
He was not like the other priests, devoid of desire. Rather, he was honest about his own desires. But he was no hedonist. His desires lay in a more distant, more obscure place.
All his desires had to align with his sense of purpose. They had to. This was his penance, and his path was no different from that of a seeker.
-Do you regret it?
‘No.’
-Then it doesn’t matter, does it?
‘That’s not it either.’
The sword extended. The broad blade of the greatsword felt heavy against the wind’s resistance. But Diemonica’s body didn’t register this weight as a burden.
-Whhooosh!
The greatsword swung lightly, carving a wide arc. The light from the magical lamp reflected off the blade, making the snowflakes sparkle brilliantly.
‘Honestly, I don’t know either.’
-I felt the same when I first got married.
‘You’re me, Faijashi. At least back then, you were. Don’t talk nonsense.’
He raised the sword and paused briefly. His eyes tracked the falling snowflakes. His superhuman reflexes allowed him to perceive each snowflake’s movement, following the wind’s flow.
Like in his battle with Malerun, his senses expanded. He could feel the movements around him, the physical properties of objects. His brain heated up, but Diemonica’s body made it possible.
-Whhooosh!
The sword danced again. Cutting through the air, the snowflakes split in half. Left, right, and then a half-turn without hesitation—a single, fluid motion.
-Whhooosh!
The greatsword cleaved through the snow. Five strikes flowed seamlessly, without a break in rhythm. Greatsword techniques rely on rotation and fluidity, differing from the focused, single-strike style of Elf swordsmanship.
‘Of course, it’s enjoyable. Happy, even. That someone in this world, someone who knows my past, loves me completely. Naturally, it brings joy.’
-Then why?
‘Because that goodwill is part of my plan. The current situation, people’s favor, the relationships around me—all of it unfolds within the framework I designed.’
He couldn’t accept people’s goodwill at face value. Fernandez had to endlessly doubt everyone who showed him kindness.
He failed to protect his wife, killed his own son with his hands, hung countless heroes and saints on stakes, and ultimately contributed to the world’s destruction. He was a villain.
Thus, he couldn’t genuinely accept any goodwill directed at him. Even if the other person’s intentions were pure and free of ulterior motives.
‘Isn’t that the result I intended?’
To make them like him, to show him favor. Wasn’t that what he had orchestrated? Like with Kirhas, wasn’t it because of his schemes?
Most likely, yes. Much of his scheming began by instilling a sense of debt in his allies. To prevent betrayal and to bind them more deeply to him.
Thus, Abel. And Kirhas’s favor felt excessive.
-You live a tiring life.
‘That’s your way of life, Faijashi.’
-No. It’s *your* way of life. For someone reflecting on the past, it’s too bothersome a method. You want to repent and deny the past. That’s your defense mechanism.
‘Is that wrong?’
-Who said it’s wrong? It’s a misconception. And snap out of it—that’s not self-objectivity, just self-loathing. What *I* did was merely a struggle for survival and desire.
‘In my past life, I did many things just to survive.’
-So, are you going to kill yourself? The past can’t be changed. But the future can.
And fortunately, we returned to the past to change the future. Listening to Faijashi, Fernandez’s eyes slowly closed. Snowflakes fell on his hair, melting quickly from the heat of his body.
Cold water dripped from the ends of his hair, hitting the bridge of his nose. At the same time, Fernandez’s wrist twisted slightly, altering the direction of the greatsword.
‘Right. We can change it. At the end of that path lies our…’
‘May there be salvation.’
Returning to the past to change the future. That meant the death of memory, Faijashi. Both Fernandez and Faijashi knew it. It meant he would fade away as an old specter from another dimension, another world.
So, may there be salvation for ‘us.’ Even if the path to the future is different. At the end of this road, may both of them laugh together.
-*Kwaaddddduk!*
Space is torn apart. Once. The falling snowflakes split in half, scatter, and crumble. The greatsword cuts through space, through the snowflakes in between. Or rather, it slices through regret, remorse, self-reflection, and disgust, all of it.
-*Kwaaddddduk!*
Twice. Swinging from below to above, again. As if cutting through time itself, not just snow, wind, or empty space.
-*Ugeuk.*
His wrist twists sharply in the opposite direction, and the ligaments swell under the strain. The injured muscles burn, then cool in the winter wind. The blade flips, and this time, it swings from above to below.
Down, then sideways, again. From left to right. Slashing diagonally upward, spinning once before plunging down. A single sword dance unfolds in less than half a breath.
The wind is severed, and from its edge, a new wind rises. From Fernandez and the greatsword’s movements. Slowly, faster. More fiercely!
-*Kwaaddddduk!*
And then. When Fernandez, drenched in sweat and snow, gasps and opens his eyes. A moment of silence passes. A moment without snow or wind. Under the perfect windless zone created by the greatsword, Fernandez glares into the darkness with half-open eyes.
‘My head has cooled.’
-Have you rested enough?
‘Fortunately.’
-*Srrrung.*
After sheathing the blade, snow begins to fall on him again. The throbbing in his wrist and forearm quickly subsides. His heart pulses, circulating the Blood of Diemonica throughout his body. Torn muscles and swollen ligaments find their place in an instant.
Diemonica’s body doesn’t suffer from this level of exertion. Fernandez twists his body, fiddling with his wrist.
-*Clap, clap, clap.*
Then, applause is heard. Fernandez pauses for a moment, turning his head toward the direction of the sound beyond the fluttering snow.
In the dark night, only a pair of white hands clapping is visible in the faint glow of magical lights. Fernandez narrows his eyes and glares below.
They’re not white hands. They’re bones. Fernandez slowly places his hand on the sword hilt, assuming a stance. Soon, from below the shadows, a whistle is heard.
“A sturdy warrior, indeed. Very impressive.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I’ve been called by many names, friend.”
A man slowly walks out from the shadows. Messy, unkempt hair, a bare body adorned with elaborate tattoos. A massive, muscular build reminiscent of Diemonica. Half of his body is crudely pieced together with bones and exposed flesh.
Clearly not human. Fernandez frowns at the sticky aura emanating from the man’s body. A demigod, or perhaps a half-god.
A blue light glows in the man’s eyes. He staggers into the light.
“Clown, hypocrite, trickster, shapeshifter… I’ve been called so many names. Sometimes I even get confused myself! Haha, friend. So, let’s talk about something more important than my name right now.”
As if prompting, Fernandez nods. The man smirks and stops just out of reach of Fernandez’s sword. He casually sits on a snow-covered flower bed, swinging his legs.
“I’ve been waiting for you to leave the domain of the ‘Holy Temple of the Gods.’ From here on, it’s the North Sea. Outside the Temple’s domain. Your gods can no longer help you.”
“I never acted expecting their help from the beginning.”
“Is that so? Mumto… Oh, I never thought it was possible, but when you killed Mumto. Was it entirely your own strength? From what I heard, you lost all your precious blessings?”
“They were just tools. So, who are you? How do you know about that incident?”
“Because I was there.”
The man’s eyes burn. He raises a bony finger and snaps it.
“The divine essence of death. The divine essence of death that he swallowed was me. Well, not just me, but my power was there too. Wandering the world, suddenly swallowed whole… It felt disgusting.”
Well, thanks to you, I’m free now! The man chuckles.
“If you’ve found freedom, then that’s that. What do you want from me?”
“I’m from the Northern Temple of the Gods, friend. And it seems you and I share the same goal?”
“Goal?”
“After a thousand years, I returned to my homeland… and it was a complete mess. So terrifying that I left before even setting foot. Don’t you have an interest in it too?”
Sadarkelisa. Fernandez narrows his eyes, and the man bursts into laughter.
“Yes, yes! If one is difficult, would two be any easier? Someone who’s taken down a Great Demon is more reliable, no? In this harsh world, you must have someone you want to kill too. I’m the same. Luckily, this time, you and I dislike the same person.”
“And you’re sure it’s not you?”
“Oh, absolutely not, friend. I hate demons as much as you do! And other ‘gods’ too.”
The man giggles and lowers his voice.
“Even those who worship those gods. All of them, the ones you’re itching to kill, are all over the northern lands.”
“Who is it?”
“The brat Erik. Oh, your expression is priceless! Haha. He’s trying to burn the world and return it to the glory of ‘Valhalla.’ Let’s stop him.”
Erik, that name again. Fernandez frowns and slowly sheathes his sword. It’s a story worth hearing. Seeing this, the man’s smile deepens.
“In return, I’ll give you back what you’ve lost.”
“What is it?”
“Ana? About the Northern Temple of the Gods. The one-eyed giant Botan, that bastard, dragged away all the dead warriors, boasting he’s the best… But originally, ‘death’ was my domain among our brothers.”
The man snaps his fingers and points at Fernandez’s chest.
“Under my domain, ‘death.’ So. This body. Will remain as your friend.”
The man slowly stands and tosses something small to Fernandez. Catching it, he sees it’s a delicate twig glowing with a faint purple light.
“Be careful. It’s a very delicate friend.”
“What is this?”
“My most cherished mistletoe. As long as you hold it, death will avoid you. In a more concrete way than the blessings of the southern ‘God of Warriors.’”
The man slowly walks back into the darkness. His presence fades, then vanishes. Like a winter breeze passing by, a whisper is heard.
“Compared to those ‘great’ warriors of the Einherjar that the one-eyed fool keeps, you seem better, friend. Call me ‘Loft’ if you wish.”
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
