Volume I: The Reborn Fire God

Since the disappearance of the Twelve Principal Gods from the mortal world, the Vanir and the Aesir have fallen into bitter division, waging war against one another time and again.

Ina, daughter of the Vanir and a legendary Divine Smith capable of forging weapons for the gods themselves, receives an unexpected commission one day—to craft a pair of supreme archmage gloves for the nation’s greatest Grand Magus, Lando.

From that moment, the intertwined fate of three people begins to unfold: Ina, Lando, and Shuin, emperor of the Aesir.

A story spanning a thousand years quietly sets itself in motion.

What none of them foresee is that soon they will awaken from the bodies of their present lives, unveiling the prologue to a new war among the Twelve Gods reborn.

The magical war between gods and giants, blessings left behind for millennia, and memories that transcend past and present lives—

will the love once shattered in a former age ignite anew in this one?

Do you still remember, Odin? In ages long past, we were brothers bound by flesh and blood. You once said you would never drink a cup of wine alone—unless it was shared with me.

— The Dispute of Loki

Chapter 1

Before I arrived in the royal capital, everyone around me kept saying the same thing:

Loki was still alive, but Odin was already dead.

Because a world with Odin in it could never have ended up like this.

Downstairs, a couple was arguing again over some trivial nonsense.

“You care so much about those three thousand vidas? How can you be so materialistic? Are you with me for my money, or for me?”

“Materialistic? When a Grand Magus was courting me, I didn’t choose him—I chose you, a trainee priest! If I wanted comfort, I could have married long ago. Why would I stay here suffering with you?”

“Is that career discrimination? Every profession has its masters, you know! Don’t look at the rich list full of archmages and think priests are worthless. Frey is a High Priest too—I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“The problem is, Frey is one of the Twelve Principal Gods. And what are you?”

“You’ve got elven blood yourself—what right do you have to judge me?”

“Oh, so now you’re accusing me of discrimination? You’re the one being racist! You think pure-blood gods are so superior? If you find that little alchemist fairy interesting, go be with her! We’re done!”

“How did Xia get dragged into this again? I told you, nothing’s going on between us! Hey—wait! Don’t go! Hey, come back—!”

Their voices kept getting louder.

I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.

When the woman finally screamed, “Men only like girls like Xia—the big-chested, empty-headed type!”, I snapped.

I yanked open the curtains, pushed the window wide, and hurled out the bottle of blue-rose perfume Xia had just finished mixing.

Silence fell.

I buried my head under the blanket and finally drifted off to sleep.

Then I had a dream.

In the dream, time reversed, and I was back to the very moment before I threw the bottle. I pulled my hand back, opened the window, and very seriously told the woman downstairs:

"Actually, madam, you’ve got it wrong. Men only think Xia has big breasts because she keeps saying they’re big. In reality, they’re not big at all. As for her being brainless—that, unfortunately, is true."

No sooner had I finished saying this than the woman’s hair suddenly turned golden, and Xia’s pale, twisted face appeared right in front of me.

I can say with certainty: that was the scariest dream I’ve had this year.

But it wasn’t until the next day that I realized reality is far scarier than any dream. And I also learned a vital rule: never try to “kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”

If there’s anything in this world more terrifying than one woman screaming, it’s two women screaming. And if there’s anything more terrifying than two women screaming… it’s Xia screaming.

When Xia dragged me out of bed, twisted my arms, shook me, and forced me to listen to her illogical roars, I honestly wished I could, like some freak of the Asir, teleport straight above the Kinnon Rift and jump without looking back.

Xia’s screaming lasted half an hour. Finally, she lost control. Her hands shook as she held a pile of dried blue glass shards, her words slurred as she spat out:

"Do you know how much time and effort your sister spent mixing this incense?"

"No, I don’t."

And I didn’t want to know. Xia might be very good at being a woman, but she’s the kind you want to hit. Every time I saw the poor men downstairs wailing like ghosts while Xia sat in her room, legs crossed, painting her toenails, I wanted to wipe her off the face of the earth on behalf of every woman alive.

Xia is exceptional even among women. She’s pure-blooded, with a long lifespan, reaching adulthood only at forty-five. Her appearance is far younger than a typical thirty-something half-blood. Any man would dream of a pure-god woman, and a golden-haired beauty like Xia is the crème de la crème.

But sadly, she’s reckless with her charms and leaves a mess wherever she goes. As for the nature of Warner men—we know them too well. They’re all playboys, the most flirtatious of all, yet the most afraid to cross the line. The man from the previous day would never have acted out like this if Xia hadn’t teased him first. He wouldn’t have driven his girlfriend to madness, and I wouldn’t have been kept awake all night.

Xia has lived forty-nine years, and she’s been in at least forty-nine relationships—but she’s never truly loved anyone. Not even her first love, the High Priest Frey, which few people know.

Even after more than twenty years since their breakup, Xia has mentioned him less than twenty times. And when she does, it’s always casual, as if she just remembers he exists. The reason they broke up? They simply weren’t compatible.

I hadn’t arrived in the royal capital yet and hadn’t witnessed their breakup firsthand. But after seeing Xia throw people around with such force, I could guess that even if Frey had no feelings for her, he wouldn’t have enjoyed it any more than she did.

Xia often said to me, “Ina, maybe it’s because I understand men too well. Every word they’re about to speak, every move they’re about to make—I can predict it all. That’s probably why I lose interest so quickly.”

I scoffed at her confession, as if she were some kind of love sage. But in truth, it’s not easy for a woman to reach her level of insight. After all, I’ve seen Frey, and anyone who’s been in love with him would find it hard not to fall for him. Even if women could ignore his striking appearance, they couldn’t ignore the aura of holy light that seemed to envelop him. Even if they could ignore that aura, they couldn’t ignore that he was one of the Twelve Gods. And even if they could ignore that, they couldn’t ignore that he was a friend of Lan.

As for Lan, one sentence sums him up: the idol of all Warner scholars. That is, the idol of every mage, alchemist, and diviner.

Though I’m not a scholar, he has been my idol too.

From a young age, my sister’s strong-willed personality had deeply influenced me. I never knew which men I would end up admiring. I always thought admiring men only made them more reckless—especially in the royal capital, where men are inherently shameless, yet love domineering women (like Xia) and enjoy being humiliated by them.

But Lan transcended such limitations of gender.

Every year at the beginning of the year, the royal capital would release the rankings of the most prominent figures. Women were interested in the wealth rankings; men were interested in the merit rankings. Lan ranked seventh on the wealth list and first in merit. Yet my admiration for him had nothing to do with either.

What I saw was the shining, concise name at the very top of the mage rankings.

In every corner of our tribe’s lands, parents like to ask their children about their dreams. When children didn’t know how to answer, or hadn’t had a chance to answer, the parents would smile and pat their heads, saying: “Child, one day you must become a mage,” just like human parents saying, “Be a scientist when you grow up.”

I’ll never forget how much I wanted to become a powerful Warner mage as a child, how much I wanted the name “Ina” to shine at the very top of the mage rankings, to become one of the brightest stars.

But just like humans, as children grow up, they naturally abandon unrealistic dreams. To become a mage, you need not just wisdom and effort, but astronomical amounts of money, and the collaboration of the best alchemists and godsmiths.

If a mage is a blooming flower, the alchemist is the flowing water that nourishes it. And the godsmith? They provide the nutrients and the nameless, humble soil.

Xia is the flowing water. I am the soil.

---

Being the soil may be regrettable, but I genuinely love my craft. Every time I forge a brand-new weapon, I feel an immense sense of pride. After all, I spent eight years studying in the Dwarf Kingdom. The forging techniques I learned are infinitely more practical than those of the capital’s so-called “forging masters,” who only talk about theory and lofty ideals.

Unfortunately, no one has truly understood me yet, which is why I’m still hovering somewhere around fifteenth place in the godsmith rankings. Xia often teases me, saying, “You’re just admiring your own brilliance.”

But Lan made all my dreams come true. I’ve always believed that anyone capable of fulfilling the dreams of others deserves respect. My admiration for him isn’t the infatuation of a woman for a man—it’s pure reverence for the person he is. Many people say that if Lan weren’t so young, he might as well be Odin reincarnated.

Any being in this world would understand just how high a compliment that is.

Of course, all of this has little to do with me—and nothing to do with Xia, who is right in front of me, about to strangle me.

"Don’t know?" Xia’s eyes widened as if she had never heard the phrase before. “Do you even realize that I dug up all these materials myself? Do you know that while gathering them, I encountered a Ghost Smith, a Dark Priest, and a Grand Sorcerer?”

Alright, alright.

At that moment, I fully realized just how wrong I was. I immediately stood up, looking genuinely apologetic: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you went through all that… I really am sorry.”

A pang of sorrow and deep guilt washed over me. Ordinary people might not sense the gravity of this statement, but I knew. Those who haven’t faced the Asir gods directly will never understand how terrifying they are. A Ghost Smith, a Dark Priest, and a Grand Sorcerer—their trio can reduce a small city to rubble in an instant.

It was then I realized something was seriously wrong—Asir gods don’t spare anyone just because Xia is pretty.

"How did you survive encountering them?" I asked, incredulous.

"That Dark Priest… was… fixated on my face," Xia said, flipping her golden hair with playful elegance. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t see his face clearly, otherwise I would have—hey, Ina, don’t walk away! I’m telling the truth…”

Grabbing a few rolls of weapon blueprints and walking out of the room, I felt like slapping myself. How could I have believed her so easily? My intelligence had clearly plummeted into the negatives after endless days and nights of work.

My forge is at 29 Eden Street.

The entire street is lined with alchemy workshops, rare ore refining houses, wild leather shops, herbalist stores… it’s bustling with people. Nearly all the finest alchemists and godsmiths in the tribe congregate here.

Though working in such a place is convenient for sourcing materials, the commute itself is anything but easy.

The capital, Warnerheim, is located about 780 meters above the western expanse of the Ginnunga Rift. For over three thousand years, it has been the most important center among the Nine Worlds for commerce, alchemy, and beast taming—and the only floating city entirely built in the air for the Warner tribe.

In this city, the most common form of transportation for ordinary citizens is the Ginnunga Leviathan. Over the years, as the frequency of wars increased, large numbers of people from other cities migrated to the capital. Every morning, queues for the Leviathans grew longer and longer, making my daily commute a nightmare for someone like me.

Of course, the wealthy have a very different experience.

Standing atop a Leviathan, all one needs is a glance around to see countless white-winged sky stags leaping through the air, and silver glimmers darting like flashes—those are Silverwing Dragons, the elite mounts of the Warner tribe.

Riding a Leviathan often comes with bizarre sights: occasionally, a young beauty will appear on a Silverwing Dragon, chin tilted gracefully, casting a pitying glance at the Leviathan passengers below, twirling her stylish curls before vanishing from view like a shooting star.

At this moment, a golden-haired beauty lingered beside the Leviathan and let out a sigh directed at me: “Ina, hurry up and buy yourself a dragon. The five artisans ranked just above you all ride these. And here you are, still waking early to ride the Leviathan every day—this shabby routine isn’t doing anyone any favors.”

"It’s about conserving resources," I said with a calm smile that belied the volcanic fury in my chest. “A spirit of sacrifice for the tribe—someone as shallow as you would never understand.”

"Or… you could ride ‘Dudu’ with me?"

"Xia, one day, I’ll buy a Goldenwing Dragon just to show you."

Goldenwing Dragons, like Silverwing Dragons, have immense wings that blot out the sky and tails longer than their own bodies. But because they are the finest aerial mounts, they are much larger than Silverwings and extremely rare. Their price is astronomical, and only royalty or titled individuals can afford them.

"Give me a break. Do you even understand your own plan? Expand your artisan workshop, rise into the top five of the godsmith rankings, buy a house—and only then, maybe, buy a dragon. That’s at least twenty or thirty years of work. By that time, you’ll be old. What’s the point?”

"In thirty years, I won’t even be eighty. I’ll still be young."

"For a woman, eighty is hardly marriageable… and you can’t even find a husband now, let alone at eighty."

I nearly hurled the crystal orb I had just finished yesterday at her.

Warnerheim is not only a floating capital—it’s a divided floating capital. The main city sits at the center, surrounded by five small islands and a few aerial altars. I live in the Eastern District, the easternmost island, which means reaching Eden Street in the central district requires transferring Leviathans twice.

By the time I reached Eden Street, Xia was already enjoying her day entertaining countless male clients who loved novels. Every time I saw her standing at the entrance, wearing a low-cut alchemist’s robe she had altered herself, all flamboyant and beckoning, I had the unsettling impression that she might be running some kind of… exotic business.

I bought a loaf of bread from a street vendor, held it in my mouth, and dashed into Ina’s workshop. Standing at the door, I scanned the room: a half-elf dwarf, two dwarves, two giants, one god, and a giant-elf hybrid. The moment they saw me, every one of them perked up and shouted, “Morning, Boss!”

I removed the bread from my mouth. “Where’s Flar? Why isn’t she here today?”

The dwarf tapped his long sword with a hammer and blew on it, his face dark. “She said she got knocked off by a Goldenwing Dragon.”

“And today, which handsome god’s dragon knocked her off?” I asked, sighing at the laughter erupting from everyone. “Never mind. Let’s get to work. Finish the crystal orb from yesterday. Here’s the base’s blueprint.” I handed the blueprints I’d worked on late last night to the god, Gefi.

“Boss, we just got an ultra-fast commission. Don’t you want to check it out?”

I sat down, pen in hand, doodling on another set of blueprints. “What is it for?”

“Gloves for a Grand Mage.”

Gloves? Lately, I keep getting assignments for tasks I’m not even good at.

“When’s the deadline?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I bent over, marking two points on the sword handle in the blueprint. “Forget it, we’ll push it through.”

“But the client said the pay is really high…”

“Give me the commission sheet.”

She handed it over. I skimmed the requirements and materials: the alchemist insists I gather them myself. The raw materials are astronomically expensive, usually the rarest items at the very bottom of the materials chart—and they might not even be obtainable.

I read through the long commission again. “You said… when’s the deadline?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Gefi, are you kidding me?”

“The client is Frey. I’m not joking.”

“Even if it’s Frey, I don’t think he could pay for it…” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait… who did you say the client is?”

“Frey.”

I groaned, “So it’s crystal orb work all over again.” I crumpled the commission sheet and tossed it to the door, knowing Gefi was trying to soothe me after Xia had pushed my buttons.

It’s not that being a god makes Frey impressive. I know the strength of that group. The top alchemists and godsmiths would serve them for free. So why would they hire someone like me—a second-rate among the first-rate, first-rate among the second-rate godsmith—to make gloves?

But a long while passed, and I still hadn’t heard the crumpled commission sheet hit the floor.

Everyone around me stared blankly at my back. I followed their gaze and slowly turned my head.

※ “Loki’s Dispute,” from the Icelandic epic Poetic Edda (Lokasenna). The original reads:
"Do you remember, Odin, when in bygone days

we mixed our blood together?

You said you would never drink ale

unless it were brought to both of us."

— Larrington, Carolyne (Trans.)(1999). The Poetic Edda. Oxford World’s Classics.