Here is the first proper chapter of this.
Conflict was the natural state of the Fields of Folkvangr.
After all, it was here that the familia members, under their goddess' gaze, sought to prove themselves worthy of representing her.
Failing to live up to that standard, even as often whimsical as Lady Freya's opinions were, was not something that was tolerated either. The expectations were not laid out clearly, but were still there. Formed by the will of the familia. No, even that was undercutting the true intensity behind it. It was the will of those most extreme in their devotion and efforts. The ones most determined to gain strength and stand above the pack set the standard, for failing to match them consigned those of weaker will to ignominy.
Ottar had often heard those unknowingly say within his hearing range that the Freya Familia was filled with maniacs.
Ottar was not sure he could truthfully disagree, and it was most likely this sort of gradual drift in how they all competed for their goddess' approval that led to it.
Yet, he did not particularly care.
"Grre."
"Kehhh-aaaaahhhhhhh!"
Ottar's small grunt was soon overtaken by Heith's struggling cry that broke off into a scream. The wooden sword he wielded overpowering the simple mace she'd taken to wielding. The wooden sword connected with her side, but kept going. The body of the seventeen-year-old adventurer was lifted and tossed back, a blast of wind following her while tearing up the ground to create a small storm of grass and dirt. Her form landed a good twenty meters away, with her soon curling up around her ribs in pain.
The others present had a moment of shocked silence as they looked at the sole Level 4 among them be tossed away so, their eyes drifting back to Ottar in terrified stillness at what a casual, single armed swing of his did.
It made him frown, and so he ordered in a low bark, "Andhrímnir, protect your leader."
That prompted them to act. The past days drilling some expectations into them. A good ten of the thirty members darted at him, all aiming to strike at the same time box him in.
Good.
It still failed, naturally, but that was hardly the point.
Even restricting his speed, fighting alone against greater numbers of enemies was what he was most used to. He slipped to one side, parrying a blade strike and a single punch sending a level 3 ten meters away. Footwork then put him behind another, and a hand grasping the back of their head slammed them face first onto the ground.
They kept coming at him, but merely competent teamwork wasn't enough against Ottar.
A Level 3 female weretiger tried to use a shield to defend while trying to grab onto him to weigh him down.
Ottar used the rebound of his wooden sword off the shield to spin while lowering his center of gravity, ducking under her lunge and striking her in the solar plexus with the hilt.
A Level 2 male dark elf unleashed a good series of sword swing against him, covering for a Level 2 male hume bunny chanting.
Ottar met all the blade strikes, deflecting them. Within three strikes, he spotted an opening and a quick counterattack missed yet left the fighter off balance and reeling. Allowed Ottar to use his foot to flick a rock at the hume bunny, who suffered Ignis Fatuus at the disruption. A quick offensive then showed the dark elf was lacking in defense.
A half elf shot an arrow while two humans attacked. One of the humans merely Level 1 and the elf Level 2, their attack was painfully off-balance. The archer was too slow to aim and support his higher ranked comrades. The second human proved Level 3 though, and ended up tossing multiple throwing daggers between strikes.
Ottar took advantage of the gaps. Deft positioning and a timely dodge left a throwing dagger sinking into the archer's soldier, and reaching for a dagger left an opening in his defense as Ottar's strike blew through his flimsy one-handed defense to crack the hand drawing the dagger. When the other human tried to defend, Ottar got him in the ankle and then a throw tossed him onto the other.
They came one after another, but it didn't take more than three exchanges for any to fall. Even limiting himself, the gap in experience stood out. Especially against this group, which made up the healers, herbalists, and supporters of the Freya Familia.
"Amateurish," he muttered, unleashing a stronger strike that once again released a wave of air that sent those closest flying. Their attempts to avoid or mitigate the shockwave, "Petty."
So few had true will behind their strikes.
He turned his eyes on the score that had held back, some trying to heal or prepare some assault, but the fear and hesitation in their eyes only emphasized their lacking will.
"Not fighting shall not help you," Ottar told them as he took a step forward.
More than his words, it was the step forward that prompted them to act. They launched at him. Desperation and sheer pattern recognition overwhelming their usual instincts in the face of a superior opponent and the habits formed by years as the backline of the familia.
Good.
That had been something he'd been aiming for, even if not with words. For the week he'd been training the Andhrímnir, he had acted a certain way even if never explaining it. If they weren't attacking, he was.
They did not want him to attack.
Their efforts still failed. Now it was the least combat capable of their number attacking, and twice the number – more since some of the initial attackers had recovered and joined in – did not make up for it. Ottar did not understand nor have the patience for any soft training. He expected willpower. The strength to push through hardship. For them to use this combat where he restrained himself as a tool for growth.
Growth was rarely easy, and should never be expected to be so.
Every second, Ottar landed another blow on one of them.
A cow demi-human had her weak grip on her spear broken with a whack of his sword, and then found herself tossed to the ground.
A human fell to his knees after a thrust to the solar plexus almost left him puking.
He disarmed a human female, and then used the dropped shield as a throwing disc that sent an elf female archer falling to the ground.
A pallum panicked and failed when a simple raised leg caught them and made them fall.
A level 3 Renard tried to use her body to defend another chanting mage, but a simple push sent her into the mage to break the chant.
Again. Again. Again.
Most of the Andhrímnir were struggling on the floor but a minute later. Some clasping injuries. Others were merely gasping on the ground, struck by fear. Most of those standing were chanting spells to try and heal the injured. Or at least trying to appear so, many of them trembling and trying to look anywhere but at him. A few standing were backing away from him, fear once again overcoming them.
Ottar stared at the sheep demi-human who stood before him with a dagger raised. A simple level 1 that he recognized as an herbalist. Her arms and eyes were trembling, and even Ottar didn't know whether it was courage that led her to stay standing against him or her legs simply refusing to move from overwhelming instinct.
"Good," Ottar still said, nodding at her. Whether fear or courage, to remain standing was still important. He still stepped forward, adding, "Yet you must still act."
He didn't reach her. He instead had to defend from a quick barrage of strikes. His sword deflected half a dozen mace blows in an instant; a combination far crisper and more experienced than any of the others. He also used the hilt to deflect a punch, and then raised his other to catch the follow up.
Heith met his gaze; teeth being gritted and golden flames seeming to flicker off of her.
"Finally finished your chanting?" he asked her, unsurprised. It was exactly because Heith was not an opponent to be taken out by the earlier strike that he had done so. The time it took her to reappear made clear her purpose. "You need to either be faster or manage a method of movement while doing so, one way or another."
"Yes, captain," she gritted out, jumping back to make a short distance.
It allowed Ottar to make a point of looking at the others. All of the fallen Andhrímnir were rising, wounds disappearing the same golden flames as Heith till both were gone. Not a single magic circle, so…
"Earth Gullveig," he commented, looking back at Heith. The sustained, automatic healing of this spell was much more demanding in Mind than the single instance healing of Zeo Gullveig. "Are you going to attack?"
Heith didn't answer, but she resignedly made a stance that made clear it was so. The others were also doing the same. The protection of arguably the most protective and invulnerable healing spell being applied to them by their leader leading to another burst of – resigned – courage.
Ottar nodded, raising his sword as he intoned stoically, "Good. The most important aspects of combat for healers is willpower and endurance. Others need to worry about avoiding injuries. The better your healing, the less you need to be the same. Mind capacity, physical endurance, and the sheer will to keep fighting in the face of pain and fear is what determines when you drop. Hone those into something unbreakable, and you shall remain standing."
He knew this, as he himself arguably utilized such abilities in battle when Stortus Ottar provided him Healing Power.
Heith's eyes weren't as dead as they usually were, but only due to sheer ire as she growled out at him, "Stop putting your own ridiculous standards on others!"
Ottar stared at her.
"Make me, Vana Mardoll."
That caused her to yowl like a cat demi-human and jump at him, forcing the others to follow.
"W-What is this?"
"Did we get attacked when we were gone?"
"No, is that-"
"Ottar?"
"And Heith?"
"The healers too."
"What the hell did he do to them?"
As members of the Freya Familia started to trickle back into the familia home of Folkvangr, they were struck by what they came to find. Even beaten and exhausted from an impromptu week in the Dungeon with little preparation, they couldn't help it. The scene was enough for them to delay some much-needed healing, eating, and resting.
Their captain – the King that had recently qualified to level up – standing before a war zone where the familia's healers were strewn about.
Ottar himself noted them, but turned back to where Heith was on her knees.
Breathing as if she was about to die, she still managed to raise a hand to wipe again her bloody nose and gasp out, "T-There. People are….people are coming back. They'll n-need healing, and…and like this we can't even heal ourselves much less others! Are you satisfied, you maniac captain?!"
Ottar stared for a moment, before asking softly, "Are you?"
"W-What?!" she demanded, much less softly.
"Are you satisfied with what you have managed here?" Ottar asked simply.
"I…am a healer," Heith said, gasping out and body sinking. "All of us are. The Fields of Folkvangr are not for us to train. Not anymore. This is our role. Healers."
"Mmmmm," Ottar merely said, the humming growl coming from deep into his throat. "Gather tomorrow at noon for me."
Despite the implication of more training, the time given still made the ones still cognizant enough to listen slump in relief.
Considering it was only approaching evening today, that was the longest break he's given them all week. For the first four days, he'd spent twelve hours every day training them. The last three days, he trained them for eighteen hours a day. Admittedly, not all of them. Between the unavoidable differences in stamina, experience, and expectations inherent in a group like this alongside their numbers, some were able to handle more and switches occurred. He'd left that to Heith to organize, as their leader. So long as they kept up a number that were also exerting proper effort, he allowed them their time to rest.
Admittedly, it was the second requirement that caused them the most trouble. Exerting proper effort. As earlier had shown, putting 100% of your effort into something and resisting mental fatigue was difficult. While there wasn't a first-class adventurer alive who hadn't had to fight a day and a night without rest, even that didn't mean they put in full effort. An inability to put your full focus and effort into something for long periods of time was an unavoidable limitation. The sort of willpower necessary to surpass your limits even moreso.
That didn't mean one couldn't hone their mental power, however.
An important thing to do too, as it was often in moments of mental weakness or lacking focus that critical mistakes were made.
As he'd already decided that he intended to hone their mental focus alongside their physical endurance, he had obviously targeted such moments. Such weaknesses. If they didn't attack him, he would attack them. If they didn't put proper effort and focus into attacking him, he punished them. If they lost their will entirely, he would seek out the other members of the Andhrímnir.
To straddle that line between pushing their physical and mental states to the limit but not outright breaking their will…
Even Ottar knew that the past week had no doubt been hellish for the entirety of their number that had grown used to not being on the Fields of Folkvangr themselves.
Yet, he did not shy away from the effort.
"Tomorrow, Vana Mardoll," he told her, turning around to look at the newly returned Freya Familia members.
Roughly a week after just about every fighter in the familia had surged to the Dungeon with frustrated indignation in their hearts. About what he expected. Even with Rivira offering supplies, he doubted many of the familia utilized such. No, they didn't go down there to make money. They went down there to vent their frustrations, push themselves even a step further on their journeys. Merely grabbing what food and potions they could, they went down to fight until they couldn't fight anymore.
A week sounded right for the third-class members of their familia.
"Only come forward if you have a serious wound," Ottar declared loudly, enough for his voice to spread across the large familia grounds. "The Andhrímnir have training of their own. If you cannot manage your fitness yourselves, that is now the lesson you need to learn. I expect Vana Mardoll to have the time and energy to push herself. None in this familia are to be denied the opportunity to seek strength, even the healers and supporters. This is nonnegotiable. Understood?!"
Whatever their feelings towards him, all the fighters listening snapped to and answered, "Sir!"
Ottar nodded and walked inside, ignoring Heith's weak glower at his back.
He was soon within the washroom, allowing cold water to run over his body. Made no difference to him. He was more focused on using a hand to run along his body, pressing and touching every muscle and bone.
He was properly healed now. The battle against Balor had left him on the precipice of death, despite his victory. He'd dragged himself out of the Dungeon with broken bones, torn muscles, torn and bleeding skin, so deprived of Mind that every thought made him feel like blacking out, and a bone-deep exhaustion that almost left his heart about to stop. The fact that the other executives had attacked him upon his return hardly helped.
Healing spells and potions hadn't been enough to ameliorate it all entirely. He'd slept eighteen hours right after, and over ten for the next four days. The last three he'd restricted himself to five to ensure his body could handle some light stress.
Training the Andhrímnir had also slowed his healing down, but it was over now.
"I am ready," he said to himself, turning the water off.
The wait was over.
He slept well that night, allowing himself some luxury in sleeping as long as desired.
He woke with the dawn, however. Dressing quickly, he went to the kitchen. The Andhrímnir number who served as cooks paled at the sight of him, but the other non-familia member cooks were used to him and merely made way.
Ottar worked quickly. Flour. Milk. Salt. He kneaded the dough, before moving and chopping a wide array of nuts, seed, and other fillings. Mixing them in, he cooked into a hard tack biscuit. He ignored the cooks shaking heads at his result, merely wrapping them up.
He then returned to his room, stashing the food into a pack. He went through the other essentials quickly. Once that was done, he put his readied pack away.
He then turned to the closet where he kept his weapons. He eyed the remains of the Supreme Black Sword, but shook off any regret. It had served admirably when he needed it. He instead focused on what he could use. Drawing them one by one to examine them.
A broadsword. Solid, but left behind when he went to face Balor for a reason. It likely wouldn't have survived Udaeus' once it drew its sword, much less Balor. Still, workable for the short term.
Dual blades. Both sized to where others might consider them broadsword, but several characteristics marked them so. His preferred weapon types against other adventurers.
A few odds and ends in terms of weapons. Daggers. Several hatchets. Spikes he could drive by hand into enemies.
No battleaxe though. Nor a hammer. Both of those he'd taken against the Udaeus, and not a weapon survived.
He turned to his armor. A small breastplate only meant to cover his heart. Gauntlets to allow some unarmed deflection and parrying. Once again, not things he took against the Udaeus as his own defense was probably superior then what they could offer, but something he wore out of habit. Preferred habit, at least. While he had surpassed what most equipment available could withstand, and that was going to get worse today, he could sustain a vain hope that eventually the smiths might close the gap and provide something he could trust.
Unlikely, but possible and very much preferable.
Until then, he would continue carrying many weapons and relying little on armor as he could trust neither.
Inventory complete, Ottar moved to a series of chests that he also had. He opened one to review the ores he kept inside. Adamantite mainly, but also some mithril and orichalcum.
The two years he'd had to wait to face Balor had been tedious and far from inspiring, but none could say he hadn't at least used the time to build up some reserves of funds and materials.
Satisfied, he closed the chest before picking up two of them, hefting them onto his shoulders, and leaving.
The front desk attendant at the Goibnu Familia workshop froze at the sight of Ottar entering.
Ottar dropping the heavy chests right onto the counter got him moving though, while also making others in the workshop look.
"Ore," Ottar said simply, it being enough to explain everything.
The captain – master, they called him – of the familia that came to the front while commenting, "So, you're making some custom orders? Should have expected it after you had a great feat, eh Breaker."
Ottar did not respond to the unofficial nickname the Goibnu familia gave him for how often he broke weapons, instead informing him stoically, "Yes, but I also need purchase some first-class equipment."
"Mmm, that's going to be troublesome," the mustached old man commented. "What are you looking for?"
"A great hammer and a great axe. First-class."
"Regretfully, no can do," the man claimed though. "We've had just about all our stock purchased in the past few days. Every first-class piece of equipment not a showpiece is being purchased. We have a war hammer we had prepped for Dvalinn, but you just purchased that war axe a month ago and Berling bought a replacement for his two weeks ago."
Ottar gave a displeased hum, but didn't say anything.
"What orders do you want?"
Ottar quickly gave a prepared order. A replacement greatsword. Dual greatswords. War hammer. War axe. Gauntlets. Greaves. Small breastplate.
"The works, huh," the smith muttered. He sighed. "Unfortunately, it will take some time. Alongside our stock being empties, orders have come in. A lot of them. I can prioritize a few pieces considering, but I can't claim with integrity to be able to have them ready by our usual time standards."
"But there might be a solution," another smith said, sliding in with a large smile at Ottar. Despite the blank gaze he received in return. "It is only fair that we give a congratulatory present for reaching Level 8. I am sure we can work something out. Especially since I doubt your need for equipment is going to decrease. I am sure we can work something out."
Ottar just looked at him a moment before looking back to the master and saying bluntly, "I'll place an order what you can manage, and look elsewhere."
Ottar's errands hardly went different throughout the morning.
He had to go to several other options for equipment. One shop that represented the mages of Altena. Another that took orders from the dwarf kingdom of Vul Lodir, which had a quality smithing familia.
Both acted the same way. Not a surprise though. For all Ottar knew he had a reputation for breaking all his equipment, he also ensured they could be replaced where possible. He did not ask for any complicated enchantments, and usually brought in the ores and drops needed to forge them. Simple yet quality equipment that could be pumped out quickly was what he sought, and it was good business to anyone he went to.
Tsubaki Collbrande was not alone in seeking exclusivity from him in terms of equipment supply.
It wasn't only smiths that acted so either though.
"Here you go, King," Dian Cecht said loudly, laughing happily as he put the box before Ottar and opened it for him. Inside was several bottles as well as a bag and other containers. "Three elixirs, one High Mind Potion, and a Moly Potion. Quality unsurpassed, I assure you. Their bottles too. We also have a bag from the deformis spider silk you provided. It has multiple compartments with protection and softening enchantments provided from my own Dea Saint's Mystery. Even on your hip, you need not worry about any of these breaking. Nothing short of a direct attack of a first-class adventurer or equivalent monster would manage that."
Ottar nodded and asked, "The cost?"
"2,100,000 valis, even after the materials you provided," Dian informed, although rubbed his hands together as he said, "But we can work out a deal. You need such things, and I'm sure you'll be reaching new floors to with all kinds of new plants and drops that we would be happy to utilize for your benef-"
"2,100,000 valis," Ottar said as he dropped the amount of the table, grabbed the items, and was out of there before the god could blink.
It was tiring.
He still had more to do though.
Valka's Crimson Chambers – the familia home of the Hephaestus Familia – was surprisingly silent as Ottar arrived, but that was not his concern. He was quickly sent where he needed to go to. He soon knocked on the office before him.
And a voice called out, clearly having been alerted to him, "I would have preferred an appointment, but I suppose I can grant you at least this. Enter."
Ottar wasn't bothered by the response, and instead walked in and met the eye of Goddess Hephaestus, who smirked.
"Sir Ottar, I suppose congratulations are in order," the goddess said, smirk still there. "Level 8. I am shocked and impressed. I did not expect it."
"You were informed of my intent towards Balor," Ottar replied simply, although his gaze did harden. "Informed others too."
"Once you declare yourself like that, you give up the right to secrecy. You did not say for me to remain quiet," Hephaestus pointed out, chuckling. "Although I did not expect you to succeed either, so you did get one over on me. I hope you can be satisfied with that."
Ottar merely stared.
The goddess started back, still smiling.
Truly, a goddess who knew her and her familia were about as untouchable as Orario would allow.
"Ehhhh, why are you two staring at each other like that?!"
Ottar had noted the additional presence in the room, but he'd only had eyes for Hephaestus so far. That voice calling out clearly broke it now. Even the goddess' shoulders slumped, the tension cut.
He turned to look at the speaker. It was another goddess. That was undeniable, despite the less than impressive state. Many gods and goddesses were so, after all, but their auras always made clear.
This goddess was at a side table, half sprawled in a chair. Black hair and blue eyes were immediately apparent, alongside a white dress. She was also short, and had a bottle of wine in her hand. Which her eyes flickered to before looking back at Ottar. The slight flush in her face made clear it was at least partially empty.
Ottar did not recognize her, which rather said a lot despite his disinterest as he often accompanied Lady Freya to the God Banquets.
"Hestia," Hephaestus groaned out, grasping her head. Tension gone. "I know I let you stay, but couldn't you have just kept quiet or gone in the other room like I suggested? You've already been bumming around for over three months now, and you decide to do this?! It's been a week where I've been distracted, but we have to have a much-needed talk."
"Ah, it's fine. It's fine," the goddess claimed as she stood and marched before Ottar. Straightening up proudly, she puffed out her chest before declaring, "I am Hestia, Goddess of Hearth and Home. Descended to create the strongest familia to ever exist."
"Large talk from someone who hasn't even tried to recruit someone since she descended," Hephaestus muttered.
"Well, it's not like I'm such a bad friend that I'd try to recruit your children. But now that someone is visiting," Hestia said brashly, before turning back to Ottar. Crossing her arms and nodding confidently, she continued, "Ottar, was it? What do you say to joining my familia? I'm sure we're going to take off any day now. Once we get going, we'll go straight to the top. Goddess' intuition!"
Ottar stared at the small goddess before him blankly.
Which she clearly felt intimidated by, as she started trembling while muttering, "Wow, you're tall. Thought the wine was making me see wrong, but…"
Ottar still stared.
This was not what he expected when coming here, and he didn't know how to feel about it – beyond obvious disdain for any concept of betraying Lady Freya.
"Hestia…just sit down," Hephaestus tiredly said. "Actually, apologize first and then sit down."
"What? Why?"
"Think clearly. I know you've been spending more time eating on my couch than anything, but think through the alcohol," the divine smith said in a slow voice, as if to a child. "Think about why the last week has been busy, and what names you've heard…Ottar."
It took a full five seconds for the goddess to light up.
"Oh yeah, you're the one that leveled up. The King! Of the…Freya Familia," the goddess said, trailing off as it came to her. Apparently even she felt chagrined as she realized what she'd done. Although she only knocked her head softly before continuing, "Aha, sorry. My bad. I should probably apologize to Freya. Haven't seen her since I came down."
"Because you've been hiding out like a NEET."
"That's because Loki no-tits started teasing me."
"And this is going to change that?"
Ottar often found himself befuddled by social situations, so he at least was used to moving on when he didn't understand, "Goddess Hestia? I think Lady Freya mentioned you once recently. She claimed she wanted to welcome you to the lower world."
"Not sure if that's a good thing, coming from Freya. She can be…whimsical," the goddess said, making Ottar's frown deepen. "B-But I'll still visit! We just aren't from the same area, so I'm unused to seeing her except coincidentally. She tends to like to play around at such times."
"I will gladly hand you off to Freya," Hephaestus moaned, hands on her face.
"Hephaestus~."
"Just sit back down," the divine smith ordered, pointing at the chair. The goddess sat back down sulkily. The one he actually came to see now turned back to him and bluntly continued, "Now, is there a reason you came to me?"
Deciding there was no reason to be anything but blunt, Ottar informed her, "I wish to request a custom order from you."
"Rejected," the goddess denied without hesitation, smiling again. "Just like the other times you've asked."
He stared, but barreled on, "You informed the Loki familia of both the Udaeus' drop and my intent to face Balor."
"I did, but this and that are entirely different things," she retorted, smirking again. "One can call that revenge for forcing Tsubaki and some of my kids to face the Udaeus for your own desires. You then actually told Tsubaki to focus on leveling up. Now, there might be benefits of both that I can acknowledge, but…you interfered with my familia. It feels like you touched my things without permission. It's not polite to do such to a lady, Sir Ottar."
Ottar, like many times, did not know how to respond to that.
"As for my forging a weapon," she continued, looking at him with her single eye half-lidded. "That's just a personal standard. Even if I held back, a weapon forged by me would be a cheat for an adventurer. It's not something I'd do without some…enticing reasons."
"And what would such reasons be?" Ottar asked. "What do I need to do?"
"Not quite what I meant, but if you are insistent," the divine smith replied, leaning forward with a smile again. "It's a ~secret~. I can't make it so easy, Sir Ottar, even in light of your leveling up."
"I see," Ottar said, face blank. "I shall leave you then, Lady Hephaestus."
"Oh, are you going to make any other orders from my familia members?"
"Unfortunately, no, Lady Hephaestus," Ottar answered, locking eyes with her. "I placed orders elsewhere, and I am not in the mood anymore."
As untouchable as the Hephaestus Familia – and as little as Ottar usually cared for such things –, even Ottar felt at times that he needed to make his displeasure known.
Not even this familia could demand he give them business.
"Thank you for your time, Lady Hephaestus," Ottar said, giving her a polite bow before turning and starting away.
"That's good," Hephaestus said though, refreshing smile on her face that made him stop in his retreat. "Tsubaki is actually already in the Dungeon, leading some of our Level 1's and weaker 2's. We've also got several expeditions being planned. You really motivated her, so we'll be on limited production for a while. We wouldn't have been able to meet your orders anyway, Sir Ottar."
Ottar looked over his shoulder at the goddess for several seconds.
She gave a beatific smile, saying, "Thank you for your time, Sir Ottar."
"Understood," Ottar finally said as he continued walking.
"Bye bye," Hestia let out, voice cheerful from the drink. "I'll visit Freya soon, 'kay."
Ottar left feeling frustrated anew. Admittedly, it was better than the way the other familia's had acted, even if he knew not how. Still…her smile at the end irked him.
People often left him confused and frustrated, however, so it was best he got moving.
Well, after picking up one more thing
Demeter came quite quickly.
It was expected. The rest of her familia kept their distance whenever he showed up at their land outside the walls of Orario. Not a surprise. To a familia made solely of Level 1's, farmers at that whose falna were more declarative than anything, Ottar was practically a monster. They only relaxed when she was watching over him.
"Time to pick another one, it appears," she commented lightly as she came to a halt next to him.
"Yes," Ottar answered simply, not looking away.
He instead kept his eyes and attention on the numerous flower bushes. His hands also kept moving. Not even needing tools to cut off the dead bits to shape the bushes and keep them healthy. The flower maintenance was done in but minutes, despite the large section he was in.
"You've gotten better at that," the goddess of agriculture said with a giggle. "I still remember the way you all but randomly tore off pieces when you were still small."
"Even I can pick out obvious signs of ill-health," Ottar claimed, eyes still examining. He then pointed at one, asking, "This one?"
"Um," Demeter let out, hesitating as her smile grew strained. "How about this one?"
Ottar nodded, looking at the one she pointed to.
"I…do not see a difference, Lady Demeter."
"You will one day," the goddess said, lifting her hands into fists before her chest as she tried to show an encouraging energy. "I believe in you, Ottar."
Ottar didn't respond to that.
Much like with cooking, gardening was a hobby he had picked up. As a child, both Mia and Freya had told him about hobbies and how they were important. These were two that he picked up, despite hardly seeing the point. He kept them up too. Found purposes for them. Made his own rations for the Dungeon. Picked only the most beautiful flower in the entire section he maintained to present to Freya when the time called for it.
Not even his own lack of talent at either prevented it.
Going on twenty-five years of gardening, and not once had Demeter ever approved his choice of flower to present to Freya.
Ottar truly just didn't understand some things others took for granted.
"I thank you regardless, Lady Demeter," Ottar said after he picked the flower, bowing to the goddess. "Your assistance is invaluable."
"It is no trouble," she replied back, giggling still. "It also allows me to see a cute side to you. That's rare, Mr. King."
"Mmmmm," Ottar let out, his only response to yet another thing he didn't know how to react to. "I shall have need of you for the next few weeks."
"No problem. Your flowers will be kept in tip top shape. My promise."
Finally, only an hour or so to noon, Ottar walked back into Folkvangr. Preparations done. Flower clasped behind his back.
And so he walked all the way to the highest point to knock on the door there.
"Come in, Ottar," a smooth voice called out, expectations in her voice.
He entered. Lady Freya laying on her side on a lounge chair, head propped up on one hand. She was wearing a white dress that revealed the beauty of her figure and skin generously.
He got close to bow, "Lady Freya."
"My dear Ottar," she replied, looking over him with a smile hinting at much hidden knowledge. "Oh, what might you be holding behind your back?"
"A gift, Lady Freya," he said as he handed her the flower.
"Oh, how beautiful," she said, taking it with a smile despite this having been done countless times before. Although maybe exactly because of that, her smile turned melancholic. "So, it is time?"
"It is, my Lady."
"Must you?"
"…yes."
Her eyes turned to him, but finally she nodded and ordered, "Then remove your shirt and kneel."
Ottar did so.
A week he had spent recovering. Allowing his body to heal from the ordeal that was a Grand Feat at his level. A battle with Balor that had literally altered the entire floor and broken through to the 50th floor. A week in which all Orario reacted to his victory.
It was time he properly leveled up to 8…and then go back into the Dungeon for the next adventure.
He felt her fingers touch his back. The soft warmth of her blood etched onto his skin. Her power sinking further to create a bridge between his soul and her will.
"I shall finish up any final touchups of your status as a Level 7," she spoke, voice brisk and serious now that we were at this point. "Bare few points for Agility and Dexterity, a bit more for Magic. Oh~, you have progressed in your skills."
Ottar hummed.
Ottar knew not how it was for other familia. He obviously had no personal experience with another god, and the rumor mill of Orario was quite unreliable. In Lady Freya's case at least, she could use her ability to see the soul to spot developing skills and spells. Watch their growth to – hopefully – proper manifestation.
"The one that's been developing since you were Level 5 has progressed again. First time since you fought Zald," she explained, referencing the skill that had been developing for over fifteen years by this point. "Still not complete yet. A second skill has started developing too. This one feels smaller, however. I believe it is related to your developmental abilities. It feels similar to Stortus Ottar."
Ottar took that in silently.
"Your second spell has also finally progressed too. The first time since you became Level 6…although honestly it's more of a twitch."
That made Ottar frown. Unlike spells, one only had limited spell slots. That meant only a single spell was able to develop at a time. Ottar had developed a second spell slot as a Level 3, and a spell had started developing. As a Level 5, a stronger spell had replaced it, only to summarily stop developing. Only taking up the slot.
He had long since given up on gaining a second spell because of it, so to hear even a slight progression…
What experience or thought recently had finally managed to touch that stagnant spell?
"Much more quantifiable gains in developmental abilities," Freya said, voice pleased and smug. "Your Magic Resistance went up to E, and Crush went up to F."
That pleased him too. Especially right before leveling up. While it was less of a strict limit, one could only efficiently gain so many ranks in Developmental Abilities per level. At some point, it just took more and more. He also hadn't improved them as much as hoped as a Level 7, so two final rank ups was pleasing news.
"Starting the level up," Freya said, her voice serious again. "Prepare yourself."
Only two gods had ever done a Level up to 8, and now Freya was to become the third.
Ottar breathed, and with that breath came a hurricane. Power. A golden flood that ran through his body. His own soul getting swept up, and expanded.
It was enough to overwhelm a regular man ten times over.
Not Ottar though. He had prepared for this. He had prepared himself. Years spent building himself up diligently. So, he just took deep breaths. Stopped caring about time, and merely kept his body calm and accepting the new power. Slowly brought it under control. His soul raging against the tide that would sweep it away.
Eventually, he opened his eyes.
"Congratulations, Ottar," Freya all but purred, her own satisfaction surpassing even his own. "You are officially Level 8."
He breathed out. "Thank you, Lady Freya."
"Now, we still have more to do," she continued, still smug even as her fingers moved again and more of her power sank into his soul. "You have no small amount of excelia suited for improving your strength and endurance basic abilities. Should I?"
"No, my Lady," he denied. "I must accustom myself to the base abilities of Level 8. I have received enough of a boost. We can increase it further once I've adapted."
"Yes, yes…Oh, yes~. Your third spell slot has been unlocked, and a spell has already started developing."
That surprised him. Although, it also made sense. While spell slots were limited and it was extremely common for adventurers to not have three – it was rarer when a low leveled adventurer did have all three –, one could unlock them by a variety of measures. Grimoires and leveling up were the most common. He had gained one at Level 3, so he was aware of that. Unlocking a third followed the pattern.
It was just that the sheer magnitude of reaching the highest of levels ensured that getting more slots at Level 7, 8, or 9 was not something anyone relied upon due to practical considerations.
"Good," was the only thing he could say.
"Now, for your developmental abilities. I assume you want to take a new one?"
"Yes," was his immediate response.
Most higher leveled adventurers eventually had a level where they didn't gain a DA. It was partly as it was genuinely possible to not earn one, if your abilities didn't align well. More often, it was a purposeful choice. The efficiency of ranking them up decreased the more you had already done so inside a level. If an adventurer fell behind as a Level 5 or 6, it was sensible to not adding a DA that would benefit you less than properly raising your core ones. It was a common move, even if many had lost an understanding of the actual reasons.
Ottar had been told personally though by –
"There are five core aspects of an adventurer, my little piggy –"
He banished the thought, and forced his mind back on track.
Ottar hadn't gotten one when he leveled up to 7 at the Great Feud. It was unfortunate. He had kept up with his DA's, but the circumstance of when Lady Freya did it before the monsters arrived prevented a talk on it. She had defaulted to the common practice and speed over just giving him one.
It was a mistake.
An understandable one that he would never blame her for, but still a mistake.
It would not be repeated here.
Developmental abilities were important. More than many adventurers gave them credit for. While most often less dramatic than skills or spells, they were reliable. Each one practically a minor skill, that could be reliably gained and improved if they fit the adventurer.
Especially at higher levels, DA's started mattering more, in his opinion.
"What are my options, my Lady?" he asked.
"Let's see…You yet can obtain Healing Power and Spirit Healing. Fist Strike too," she murmured in response, exploring whatever intangible space provided the gods the information inside the falna. "My, you obtained the basic qualifications for Tamer, but like Mixing, the basic qualifications are not enough anymore."
Not a surprise either. Another reason higher levels often skipped a DA was as the options did get smaller. What you could get at 2 or 3 stopped when you got higher. Too minor compared to your proper abilities to be imprinted upon your status anymore.
"Oh, you also qualify for…Spirit Pleasure?"
"That's…"
Zeus and Hera had provided records of many DA's both common and rare. Both requirements and effects. Some they kept to themselves though.
Ottar himself only knew due to…who he had known, and he knew only of the two that had Spirit Pleasure before their fall.
The Silence, Alfia.
The Empress…Cerea.
It was a DA that was only available at later levels. Cer – the Empress had gotten it at Level 6. Alfia at Level 7. What its effects were was unknown to him. All he got was that it was one that affected body constitution in some way. Like Strong Body, which was itself a rare and valued DA that had once had Zeus try to recruit him as a new Level 3.
Ottar had not expected this.
So, he merely grunted and asked, "What about Supreme Fist?"
"...no. Not available."
That was frustrating, as that was his hope.
Supreme Fist and Supreme Light were two matching DA's, only available past Level 5. They allowed the vast enhancement of a single strike at the cost of a great amount of stamina and a long cooldown. Physical blows for the former, and magic spells for the latter. A DA earned by those who managed to defeat great foes in single, great strikes.
Zald's use of Supreme Fist had been what allowed him to defeat Ottar in a single blow in their first clash during the Feud, and had sent Ottar to his knees the second time.
They had been valuable enough that the Zeus Familia had all but tailored their fighting styles to try and finish opponents in a single blow. Ottar also understood the value. While an endurance-based fighter, he was not immune to wishes to be able to wipe out stubborn opponents in one burst. It would have very nicely filled what he considered a lack of such overwhelming, burst strike power.
Although it was probably exactly that which prevented him from earning it. Skills or spells could grant one's wishes, at times. DA's were not so. They were what an adventurer was and did. Not what they hoped to be or wanted to do.
They didn't fill in what you lacked, but enhanced what you had.
"So, your options are Healing Power, Spirit Healing, Fist Strike, and..." Freya spoke, only for her voice to turn stuff as she no doubt remembered who had once had the final option. "..Spirit Pleasure...Which do you seek, Ottar?"
Ottar had considered this plenty beforehand, even with the preferred option not available.
Healing Power and Spirit Healing were out. While he valued both immensely, Stortus Ottar made this decision the best. It granted him both, and enhanced all his DA's. Healing Power's automatic healing at the cost of Mind and Spirit Healing's Mind regeneration had been so essential for his endurance-based combat build – and the torturous training he'd done as a Level 5– that he gained them by skill. Now, he did only gain them to a degree – based on his level. It was, at least previously, the equivalent of H-rank. He would love to have either of those to a higher rank, but the skill also enhanced all his DA's so long as he was in battle.
Another DA simply was more efficient.
Fist Strike was what he had decided on. It was a basic and common DA, but reliable. Enhancing the blows of particularly powerful unarmed strikes. Simple, but with how often Ottar's weapons had proven not able to live up to his physical capabilities, of only more importance with his level up.
Spirit Pleasure threw a twist into such thoughts. A relatively DA with effects he didn't know, and some DA's were far harder to raise in rank than others, but one that was rare and a high-level exclusive one. One didn't even need to remark on its previous users, and what that implied about it.
The reliable choice that fit his current difficulties…or the rare and unknown one that was a gamble?
Ottar marched out of his goddess' chambers resolved.
He went to his room. Calmly put on his usual adventuring outfit. Strapped the kit of rations and potions he had previously prepared to his belt. He then went into his armory, and loaded himself up with all that he could carry. A broadsword. Dual blades. A war hammer. He slipped a small hatchet onto his belt as replacement for a proper axe. Six spikes went into holders on his waist. He slipped on gauntlets, greaves, and his small breastplate.
By the time he left, Ottar was armored for war against the Dungeon.
Those who saw him also knew it, and cleared the way.
It wasn't till he stepped out the front door and saw the gathered Andhrímnir that he stopped his purpose-filled walk. He looked up at the sky. Noon. Exactly as timed.
"C-Captain," Heith said as she saw him.
"Vana Mardoll," he returned, then looking at the rest. "Andhrímnir…I am heading into the Dungeon. I shall check upon return, but for now, your training with me is complete. It is now up to you."
That seemed to leave them baffled, shock and confusion also showing on their faces.
"We-We're…done?" Heith asked.
"For now," he answered, looking at her. "I expect your own efforts to continue, however. Especially you, Vana Mardoll. I intend to have you step up when our familia has secured a round against the Goliath."
"That again," she retorted, her short-lived relief replaced by frustration again as her hands curled into fists. "I know the Udaeus and Balor had hidden techniques and drops if faced alone, but there's no guarantee the Goliath will too! And why me?! I'm a healer. It's-It's not my role to fight like this!"
Ottar stared for a moment, finally telling her bluntly, "None other is more suitable for this than you. Of that, I am sure."
"You-Gah, you can't be talked to," she burst out, tugging on her twin tails. "You're a maniac with no understanding of other people."
Probably true, but Ottar was unmoved regardless.
"Continue training," he told them, eyes sweeping over the group of healers. "We in this familia seek strength enough to not bring disgrace to our goddess. That includes you all. I want everyone to keep progressing. I ask not total obedience nor respect, but I shall not accept complacency."
"Gah," Heith let out again, but finally just seemed to give up. Her dead eyes once again showed. "If you expect such from us, you should at least give proper advice. You haven't done anything but rampage against us in spars this entire week."
Ottar frowned at that. Honestly, he figured that the best way. It was how he had once been trained too, as unpleasant as it was. If anything, he hadn't strapped magic items onto them that –
He shook off that thought again.
If he had to give some advice though, with what he just did…
"Work on your developmental abilities," he ordered them. "Too few specifically train them, and such will have a cost. You should expect to only be able to rank them up a certain amount of times efficiently each level."
"Um…what should they be?"
He turned to Heith, and questioned, "Which do you have, and at what rank?"
It was outrageous to ask publicly like this, most aspects of status were carefully guarded, but Heith just sighed and gave in by answering, "Mage, rank G. Healing Power, rank I. Healing, rank G."
Ottar stared.
She bristled, exclaiming indignantly, "I was not a dedicated healer when I got Healing Power!"
Deciding to just ignore the person with potentially the most efficient healing spell having a passive healing ability, Ottar explained, "You are not unacceptable, but your goal should still be to raise Healing Power to H or one of the other two to F. Stop healing yourself with your spell, for the former. For the latter…seek to learn concurrent chanting."
He turned to the rest.
"Level 2's should have theirs to H before trying to level up, and Level 3's should have both as H or one at G. Preferably both," he elaborated. "Skills and spells are signs of talent, passion, and experience, but developmental abilities illustrate effort. They are what you can control, and become increasingly important as you level up."
That got them looking at each other, unsure.
Although eventually a Level 1 raised their hand and asked, "And how about us Level 1's?"
Ottar stared, finally asking, "What do you need advice on?"
Most were silent, but one eventually spoke up, "What should we do if we are struggling against Killer Ants?"
Some looked away awkwardly at asking such a thing to Ottar, but he merely answered bluntly, "Switch weapons. Goblins, kobolds, and other early monsters are simple. Any weapon can be used. Killer ants are the first enemy with a high defense against a certain weapon type the Dungeon throws at you, but far from the last. If you intend to specialize in a specific weapon, your answer to such should always be tactics and skill. The worst thing you can do is overly raise your stats, for then you haven't done either and you shall not always have the advantage of being able to overwhelm an enemy."
There were far too many adventurers who fell into that trap – amateur swordsmen that overestimated their actual skill by not properly assessing their basic abilities in relation to enemies.
Ottar continued his explanation, not needing to pause or think, "If you have neither the talent nor inclination to specialize in a specific weapon, you need to gain basic capabilities in multiple weapons. You then need to be ready to use the appropriate weapon for the appropriate enemy. This is what I did. As a level 1, whenever I finished a floor, I refused to descend lower nor update my falna until I completed that floor with an array of weapons."
Ottar did not carry so many weapons without intending to use them all.
With that answered and seemingly none other with the courage to ask their Level 8 captain any further questions, Ottar nodded and started away as he said, "I shall reach the 59th floor. The longer till I return…the deeper I have succeeded in going."
Nothing else needed to be said.
The 44th floor of the Dungeon was a harsh place. Almost like the inside of a volcano. Pure black rock, multiple areas glowing red from heat. The red light the only thing lighting the area up.
And then one got to the monsters. On these floors, the Dungeon had one strategy. Numbers. Dozens of Flame Rocks were grouped together. Ready to hunt as a group any mortal presence that appeared. The walls ready to spawn more and more too. The unlucky or ill-prepared often found themselves facing an army.
A mere annoyance to Ottar before.
Now as a Level 8, they weren't even that. Ottar didn't even slow down. Nor did he draw a weapon to strike. He just kept running. In a straight line.
The rock-like monsters merely found themselves eviscerated as he ran right through them, their bodies rendered into pebbles and limbs that flew off.
The same repeated as he descended further. Every monster was run right over by his form. Too weak to even serve as obstacles. Fomoire and other Level 4 monsters burst and shatter into blood and ash.
Ottar only slowed when he reached the 49th floor.
The Moytura yet bore signs of his battle with Balor. The giant hole blown to the 50th floor had closed, but nothing else. The ground still rent by their struggle. Craters blown open by the Monster Rex. The great canyon carved across most of the floor from where Balor's greatest attack cleaved the earth.
The once flat floor had been turned into rough terrain, and the Dungeon had yet to fix it despite an entire week passing.
It made Ottar frown, but he decided it was not an immediate concern.
And so he descended further. Through the safe floor on the 50th floor. Into the labyrinth that had so long confounded him.
It had only taken him a single day to descend this far. It was a major improvement. With wagons, the same often took a week. It was only expected though.
With Balor defeated, the Dungeon had nothing to the 50th floor that could threaten him anymore.
Not that such changed a great deal on the 51st floor. He at least felt it necessary to draw a weapon, however. A single swing slew the Black Rhinos and other weak Level 5 monsters in each corridor of the labyrinth. The Dungeon could throw a thousand monsters at him, and he'd be able to cut through any on one side and escape.
It was such certainty that made him make a move he had previously held back from. On the 53rd floor, the floor grew red. He immediately flipped away, avoiding the fireball that tore upwards to collapse the floor. A great hole created that went multiple floors down. The work of the Valgang Dragons on the 58th floor that were the great menace of this territory to groups of adventurers by threatening to split them up.
Ottar jumped down, dual swords in hand.
It was a foolish move. Anyone that survived the Dungeon could tell you that returning to the surface was often the truly dangerous part of any delve. The Dungeon loved waiting till you were tired and low on supplies, and then swarming you as soon as you stopped going down and tried to turn around. The Valgang Dragons offered a path right to potentially the 58th floor, bypassing multiple floors labyrinthine floors. Yet anyone who actually took it would find that they now had to fight upwards against hordes of monsters that would stream from the unculled floors they had skipped. Monsters of the 58th now pursuing them from the rear too.
Even as a Level 7, Ottar had refrained from such in favor of fighting down the old-fashioned way.
Now, he was in no mood for caution or patience.
"Sterling compassion, golden plains."
As he fell, he started his chant.
"It is my fate to serve as a brute of war."
"Run through, carrying the divine will of the goddess."
The horde was waiting as he landed. A whole host of monsters gathered in an army, swarming towards him. Behind them too were the Valgang Dragons. Oddly fat dragons without wings. Ruby red. Yet they came down from how they'd been perched on their hind legs, flaming mouths pointed up. Now they turned towards him, their mouths heating up.
The artillery ready to blast him even if their own horde was caught in the midst.
Ottar didn't care.
"Hildis Vini!"
He was covered in gold. His blade encased and pulsing in the power of his magic. He was raging.
He swung.
And a wave of gold flew with the shockwave of his strike, a hurricane unleashed.
He stood before the stairs down further.
The 59th floor.
This was not the first time he had reached here. Multiple time, he had fought down here. Found these stairs. Been tempted to descend further.
It would have been a hollow move though. He never had the food to properly stay longer. It would have been little more than peeking onto the floor, fighting for a few hours. Forced to turn back not from difficulty, but food.
No. Ottar had decided how he would level up, and it was on the 49th floor. Only after that would he descend. Descend with the full intention of properly challenging the Glacier Territory.
And the day had come.
He stepped onto the stairs, and started to descend.
There was no way for him to mistake when he entered the 59th floor. The blast of cold air announced it pretty damn well. It was something that chilled the blood in an instant.
"…I hate the cold," Ottar muttered, unwelcome memories of back when he didn't have a name brought to the surface.
He was soon distracted. After all, light soon attacked him as well. After the dull greys and dim light of the labyrinth floors, it really did feel like an attack. Although he soon adapted, and was able to look around properly.
The Glacier Territory.
As the name implied, there was a lot of snow. Most everything was white. Although as he looked closer, he saw the slight blue of the sky the Dungeon was mimicking. In the distance, he also saw ice breaking up to reveal water. An ocean underneath the ice. He had come out over a hill, and it wasn't the only one. There were a number of other small mounds of dirt or rock spread throughout, connected by frozen ice. A series of islands in a frozen sea.
"Finally, boar bastard!"
Ottar didn't have much more chance to look before turning to see those present. Allen was the speaker, but he wasn't alone. Hogni. Hedin. Alfrigg. Dvalinn. Berling. Grer. All the executives of the Freya familia had seemingly pushed here when they descended a week ago after hearing of his Great Feat.
Although, they had clearly paid for it. None of them looked to be in great condition. For one, all seven of them looked half frozen. Their hair was covered in frost crystals, and their lips blue. The armor of the Gulliver brothers had slick ice frozen on it.
They also had the sign of combat on them. Dents in their armor. Rents in clothes. Chips in weapons. Alfrigg and Grer had wounds that were merely wrapped up. So, no potions. They also looked hungry. Probably subsisting on half rations as they waited for him.
Yet, not a one of them didn't retain the energy and defiance in their eyes as they gazed at Ottar.
"You all reached here," Ottar remarked, frowning. "Why? And why wait for me?"
"Isn't it clear?" Alfrigg demanded, stance aggressive.
"The shadows must speak. The light can shine, but the whispers of the dark shall never be silenced," Hogni quietly muttered.
"It is clear, isn't it, captain?" Hedin asked more properly, although his mouth twisted on the last word. "Did you think we came to the Dungeon without plans? Just rabidly coming here to fight like beasts? No, we came to show you something. You might have reached Level 8, you might have beaten Balor when we thought it impossible…but we can reach here too."
"Bah, I came to show the bastard nothing. I came to pass him a message," Allen spat, stepping forth until he was standing right before Ottar. Head tilted to glare into the boaz' eyes, totally unbothered by the difference in height. "I'm coming for you. It doesn't matter as Level 7 or Level 8. I am Orario's fastest. I shall become the strongest. The second you stop remembering that, I'll turn you into a meal of excelia, you hear?"
Ottar merely met his eyes, silent.
"You hear that, Ottar?!" Allen repeated, teeth gritted. "No matter how deep you go. No matter what level you achieve. I'm not going to stop, and one day you'll realize I got ahead of you. Ottar, I shall become the mightiest!"
Ottar just met his eyes, finally growling out all that needed to be said.
"Good."
"Feh," Allen let out, moving and walking past Ottar. "Have a good time in the cold, meathead…fucking hate the cold."
The others followed the vice-captain of the familia. They said a few words, yet Allen seemingly spoke plenty. Even if they would never allow Allen to speak for them, sometimes even this familia knew little more needed to be said.
Ottar watched them go, and only once no one could see did he feel a small smile form on his face.
He then turned, looking out across the Glacier Territory with buoyed purpose.
Message received.
He jumped and started running.
In actuality, Ottar avoided the monsters he saw. He instead moved elsewhere. His eyes scanning for something else.
Arguably the only thing that truly mattered right now.
He finally spotted what he sought. On one of the islands. A tree. A jump allowed him to cross the distance, landing on the ice hard enough his feet chattered it to provide him with footing. Only then did he step out, looking at the lonely little tree that survived here despite the surroundings.
Primarily, the blue fruits that hung from the branches.
He had known about these. The Glacier Fruits. The first bit of edible food the Dungeon provided since the 36th floor…for a given tolerance of what counted as edible.
A treacherous food source. So ice-cold it was arguably more lethal than it was edible. It would kill Level 5's stubborn enough to take more than a bite, and could arguably do the same to Level 6's if they ate the whole fruit. Not even Level 7's were immune. They could survive, but would still need hours of heat and recovery time to warm up. Not even Zard had been able to freely eat them. Maxim, much more fragile an adventurer, hadn't been able to either.
Only she had.
Sometimes, Ottar had pondered the wisdom of taking the risk previously. Hoping he was at least as resistant as Zald. That these could sustain him.
He had been warned off by similar sentiments as what stopped him at the stairs.
He had no choice now, however. The Freya Familia was not Zeus or Hera. They didn't have the centuries of cultivating and building familia's specialized to reach the Glacier Territory with wagons of food. No one would resupply him down here.
Either he was able to eat and sustain himself on these, or he was doomed once again to being stopped by pure logistics. He hadn't even brought many rations this time out of acknowledgement of that. With how fast he could descend now, he might be able to bring a week's worth of food.
If he could not do this though, he would not be able to get past the Glacier Territory.
This was what would decide if he continued on as an adventurer…or he had reached his limit yet again.
His hand reached for the fruit. Clasping it in hand, he pulled it off and held it before his face. Even just holding it like this, it created a chill that stood out even in this landscape of ice.
Ottar took a bite.
Eating ice would be many times easier. This fruit was not just cold. It was practically ice magic contained in physical form. A bomb that released sheer cold with every bite. Each bite felt little different than taking an ice spell from a Level 2 or 3 right down the throat.
This could kill a first-class adventurer, no doubt.
Yet, Ottar kept chewing. His mouth numbed, but didn't freeze. His stomach sent a protest, but still got to work digesting the food. And it could indeed be digested. Bite after bite was consumed, but his beating heart sent warm blood that banished the cold.
He ate till the fruit was gone, and then dropped the remains.
Ottar took a minute to breath.
Then he let out another small smile.
"I can survive here."
Blood rushing and energy coursing through him, Ottar looked around at this Dungeon floor before stepping forth to start conquering it.
Next chapter should have us into the Dungeon stuff. No Level 1 goblins here. Instead, we're heading to Level 60~ and original material...which might not be a whole lot better, lol.