Frondier checked that everything around him had been completely erased, then looked at the giant.
The collapsed giant had a hole left where the weapon had pierced him. No blood was flowing, but he looked plenty pained.
On top of that, he was so skinny he was nothing but skin and bones, with almost no color in his face. If this weren’t the form of a soul, Frondier would have judged him dead already.
'The soul’s appearance must have been shaped by his own will. After all that time being stabbed by a blade without eating or drinking anything, ending up like this is only natural.'
If he had been suffering all this time from the end of Ragnarok until now, the chances of this giant being revived were hopeless. Even if he was a giant, he must have originally been human.
But Frondier still had a spark of hope.
Just a moment ago, when Frondier had stepped out of Pandemonium, he felt a clear sense of wrongness.
'I thought I’d spent ten minutes inside Pandemonium, but when I came out, an hour had passed.'
That was something Selena had explicitly told him. Even without her, one could tell from the situation when Frondier returned.
Frondier arrived much later than they had expected.
Inside Pandemonium, time can’t be measured. So the “ten minutes” Frondier thought had passed was only an intuition. There must be an error.
But no matter how much error there is, he wouldn’t mistake an entire hour for ten minutes.
'If time flows differently here than outside.'
And if that difference was greater than he thought, then the time this giant had spent here wouldn’t be as long as the flow of actual years.
Still long enough, of course—but Frondier believed this giant could endure it.
Also, “time flowing differently” wasn’t the perfect expression.
'This is the world of souls. A world where only two souls exist. Rather than time flowing differently, maybe the perception of time itself is different.'
This was only a hypothesis.
Maybe time doesn’t flow differently at all—maybe souls simply perceive it differently. Souls are duller to the passage of time, so the real world’s time passes faster than what they feel.
There’s nothing here that can prove the flow of time, which only reinforces this idea. In other words, he was mistaking the flow of time.
There was no evidence for this theory, but it sounded far more plausible than the idea that the time flow of this side and that side was fundamentally different.
“So it’s too early to give up, giant.”
Frondier laid the giant flat. Even after looking closely, he couldn’t tell who it was. He was just very tall, with dark-reddish hair.
His features were distinct and strong, but because he was so thin, his tall frame looked like a long, brittle reed. That would change once he regained his health.
“Well then, how do I wake you up.”
Frondier carefully examined the man’s body.
His body still had the wound from being stabbed by a blade, but no blood was flowing. In fact, that wasn’t reassuring at all—it was horrifying, because the blood must have flowed at first.
Even though Pandemonium is a battle of souls, the pain is real. Since this giant had been human, he would have bled when wounded—even if that blood wasn’t actually real.
The reason he wasn’t bleeding now was most likely because he had already bled enough, and because the giant no longer perceived the wound.
'If it’s like this, nothing I do in front of him will wake him up.'
Someone like Atena, who only stayed briefly, could be woken by light intensity alone—but a soul that has been practically dead for so long would be difficult to wake.
'Soul... a soul, huh.'
Frondier paused, falling into thought.
Among ordinary people, Frondier had a far deeper understanding of souls. Even the mana he possessed from Helheim was a power obtained by dealing with souls.
And lately, Frondier had realized that his Ecleksis was stronger than others’. No—rather than strong, it was in a natural predator relationship.
He had seen people die under his power in reality. Even though Frondier never intended their deaths, a tiny mistake in controlling that power resulted in the opponent dying.
'...The most important part this time is the aim.'
Frondier raised his hand and placed a finger on his forehead. It didn’t hold any particular meaning—just a way to focus his mind. And also a wish that things would go well. Of course, he didn’t believe in gods, so that prayer was a message to himself.
Get it together and do it properly.
“I don’t have any ill intent. Truly.”
The giant’s soul was here. It had not disappeared.
That meant it hadn’t been extinguished—merely fallen asleep.
Whether one called it sleep, fainting, passing out, or a coma—
Whatever word one used, the important part was that he wasn’t dead yet.
To awaken this soul, Frondier had only one method.
To carve fear.
'If I mess up, he’ll really die. This is dangerous.'
Frondier lifted his Ecleksis and slowly turned it toward the giant. His hand trembled faintly as he tried to suppress it as much as possible.
The tension in Frondier’s eyes, lips, and cheeks disappeared completely, and like someone with their face erased, Frondier stared straight at the giant.
His Ecleksis thinned endlessly, softened, and if he had to compare it, it was like a curtain. A light, thin, rippling curtain. Frondier brought that curtain down from above, ever so slowly, toward the giant.
And when the tip of the curtain brushed against the giant’s thigh—
“──Kuhaaaak!”
The giant finally sprang up, wildly flailing as if he had seen a ghost.
“Huff, kuh! Cough!”
Then he erupted into a violent fit of coughing.
“Cough, huff, cough, cough, kuh, cough!”
And it went on for quite a while.
Frondier simply watched in silence.
The giant, naturally aware of Frondier beside him, raised a hand apologetically.
“M-my apologies! Cough! I should have—introduced myself—first, cough! but...!”
“It’s fine. Take your time.”
“Why—is this cough—so much...!”
“Well, you haven’t breathed in quite a while.”
Of course, Frondier hadn’t expected the coughing, but he understood why it was happening.
Frankly, it was a relief that coughing was all he did.
After some time passed and the coughing subsided somewhat, Frondier asked:
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Hurt?”
“Your body, I mean.”
Frondier spoke that far before realizing it had been unnecessary.
“My body...? Ah! Gaaah!”
Only after seeing the hole in his body did the giant scream.
Souls are such a bother, Frondier thought.
“Calm down. This is Pandemonium. You know how to use Restoration.”
“Pandemonium? R-right...!”
The man gradually seemed to understand the situation. As he knit his brows and closed his eyes, the wound slowly began to heal.
His Restoration method is different from mine, Frondier thought leisurely.
“Hoo... My apologies. My greeting was late. I am called Sigurd.”
“...Sigurd?”
“Do you know me?”
Frondier’s jaw dropped at the name he had never expected to hear.
His father, Ampher, possessed the sword “Gram.” Its rightful owner was Sigurd. One of the most renowned great heroes of Norse mythology.
'Even Sigurd couldn’t withstand a god inside Pandemonium?'
More shocking to Frondier than meeting Sigurd was the fact that this hero had been defeated.
Granted, the failure of Ragnarok meant humanity had lost, so every hero he knew had been defeated. But losing inside Pandemonium was slightly different—and seeing the defeat with his own eyes felt different.
“But who are you? How did you come to be here?” Sigurd asked. It was a natural question.
“My name is Frondier de Roach. I came here to meet you.”
“...To meet me? And how did you enter Pandemonium?”
“Mm. Just think of it as my ability.”
At that, it was Sigurd’s turn to open his mouth in disbelief.
“Your ability is to enter Pandemonium? I’ve never heard of such a power! If someone like you had existed, our war would have been far easier!”
Sigurd felt both disbelief and regret.
“...My Ecleksis is specialized solely for this. Entering Pandemonium, that is.”
Of course, that wasn’t true, but Frondier told a small lie to convince Sigurd.
A power that existed for nothing else except entering Pandemonium. If phrased that way, the mechanism or logic didn’t matter—it sounded “fair.” When a balance seems fair, people accept it even if they don’t understand the mechanism.
“A power used only for that... I see...”
Sigurd also accepted that “fairness.”
“Then first, let me express my gratitude. Thanks to you, I awakened from that suffering.”
Sigurd bowed his head with a sincere gaze.
Then suddenly, as if something felt wrong, his eyes drifted to the side.
“...But just now, I feel like I woke up because of an absolutely terrifying aura. I thought I’d die if I stayed like that.”
“No way. Must’ve been your imagination.”
“How did you wake me?”
“I tapped you lightly, and you got up.”
Lightly tapped.
Not with his hand, but still.
“Pandemonium keeps inflicting pain, so you must have been having a nightmare.”
“Hmm, is that so.”
Sigurd nodded, though he didn’t seem fully convinced.
If he guessed the nature of that fear, it would be troublesome, so Frondier quickly changed the subject.
“I came to obtain information.”
“Information, hmm. You have questions for me?”
“Yes, first—”
“Wait. Then I have something I want to ask first. Will that be all right?”
“...Please go ahead.”
At Frondier’s response, Sigurd looked at him for a moment—especially ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ examining his clothes. Frondier’s attire was clearly different from Sigurd’s.
Both in design and technology.
After checking that, Sigurd asked:
“How much time has passed since I was defeated here?”
“...I can’t say exactly. But enough time has passed that it can’t be counted.”
“I see.”
Sigurd nodded, as if he had expected that from the start.
And then, with trembling eyes, he asked:
“Then what of Ragnarok? How did it end?”
“...”
“Did we win? You are human, aren’t you? So that means we succeeded, correct? Yes?”
Frondier paused.
He considered whether to soften the truth to avoid shocking Sigurd, but realized there was no point.
Clarity was better.
Frondier shook his head slowly.
“If Ragnarok refers to the war between humans and gods, then we failed.”
“...Failed?”
“Yes. Many gods have withdrawn from this land, but even so, some still remain, and even the ones who withdrew continue to influence humanity greatly.”
At that, Sigurd’s expression hardened. His face looked nearly identical to when he had been lying dead moments ago.
But soon he shook his head and let out a deep sigh.
“...I see. Of course. That outcome was obvious. I entertained foolish hopes.”
“Did you expect defeat?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted, but yes.”
Sigurd nodded.
“I never expected a world called Olympus to join the war.”
