I Became a Viking in the Game – Chapter 63

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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There’s a saying, “Strike while the iron is hot.”

I’m a person who embodies that saying 200%. When I get fixated on something, I absolutely must see it through to the end.

This time, the target caught in the radar of my obsession was the religion of this land. Not asses, but the gods of the Aesir and Vanir. The elves and giants of the Nine Worlds. The Allfather who sees the future, his wife, the mistress of magic. Fantastic gods who wield lightning and magic swords. Places accessible only to the bravest warriors, and so on.

As with any country, most of it is a combination of oral traditions, tailored and mixed from various sources, becoming increasingly sensationalized by bards who thrive on people’s interest and excitement, until at some point they become recorded or passed down as myths.

That’s the religion of the North.

Therefore, there being no guiding book like a Bible, the worldview changes slightly with every stream crossed, every village has its favorite deity, and the power levels of the gods fluctuate depending on the speaker. This primitive religion must be torn down and rebuilt. Why?

Why do I have to do such a bothersome thing?

The answer is simple. These people are now my people, and the land they live on is now all mine.

I don’t believe the gods sent me to this world with any kind of mission. Personally, I believe I became Helgi Ragnarsson due to some unknowable cosmic workings.

So I should have that much right. Instead of kneeling and praying for a hundred days… Instead of seeking permission from gods who don’t even cast a shadow, I will borrow their world and their names to strike down the countless evils and sins committed in this land.

The gods of the North will be reborn by my hand.

And I will make them thank me. For I will instill in these rough northern people human reason and the virtues of proper morality.

“…”

…I came to Uppsala with such a grand purpose, but the grand gathering of northern shamans, brought about by the meteor that split the sky, was turning into chaos beyond my imagination. “-Last night, I offered nine raven eyeballs to Odin and saw an omen…”

“Fingernails, fingernails must all be hidden…! The falling star a few days ago must be Hel’s wrath…! When she comes to this world…!”

“What are you talking about!? Hel’s champion is with us…!”

“You are all wrong! The meteor flew from the east and set in the west, so it means the divine army rising from the east will soon cover the west! We must prepare for war! We must perform a blood sacrifice!”

Leaving Bjorn and Eric in Aarhus, I returned to Uppsala’s great hall with my mother Asta, also Hel’s high priestess. The hall was overflowing with all kinds of shouting and incomprehensible chants.

‘What in the world is this…?’

Bjorn had warned me, but isn’t this a bit much?

The high seat where my father once sat was empty, but the people surrounding it were all dressed in animal hides, and the more extreme ones even carried staffs decorated with skulls, procured from who knows where.

‘Druids, necromancers, and that one…why are they naked? Oh my, that one’s drinking blood?’

Just a few days ago, I scoffed at Magyar’s Árpád, with titles like “Grand Prince” and “Divine Army” that seemed to belong in history books…but we weren’t much different, a shameful feeling constricted my chest.

At least the Gothi near the empty throne, from Aarhus and Uppsala, had shed much of their superstition under my rule, but those who came from afar were in their raw, unrefined state.

‘What should I do…?’

Even with my mother and I present, the Gothi were engrossed in their heated discussions, oblivious. Storolf and Refil’s faces slowly reddened, but my mother moved before my men could explode.

[Step- Step-]

“-Oh, lofty mountain. Sacred mountain. Please look upon us with favor… Hmm?”

“-In the name of Tyr and the holy sword in his hand… please protect us…”

The clamorous voices of the Gothi, invoking mountain spirits beyond the gods, gradually subsided. As all eyes shifted from my mother’s calm steps to me, everyone seated hurriedly rose to greet me.

“Konungr Helgi, the strongest one.”

“Helgi Ragnarsson, Hel’s champion.”

“Beloved of all gods.”

The incomprehensible chants of the crowd instantly transformed into numerous titles for me. Even my men hesitated at the strange fervor emanating from the religious figures, unlike that of other warriors. Then, my mother’s low voice resonated.

“All the wise Gothi present, greet your Konungr.”

No matter how renowned the Gothi were in their own regions, who could disobey the words of the high priestess, who is said to receive the direct care of the goddess? I’d already broken the heads of those who would.

Walking among them as they bowed their heads in unison, I briefly brushed my hand over the throne of Uppsala, where my father had sat, beside my mother, before settling into the comfortable leather seat.

[Slide- Creak-]

A chair made of nothing special, just wood and leather.

The chair, barely supporting my weight, was an inanimate object with no meaning, but the moment I sat in it, it took on a special significance.

The throne where the ruler of all Northmen sits.

The Gothi, having paid their respects, slowly raised their heads. As Refil and Storolf took their positions behind me, and a semblance of calm returned to the hall, I began to speak.

“Wise ones, those called by the gods. Is the reason you have gathered here because of the meteor that streaked across the sky the other day?”

“That is so, Konungr.”

The priests answered in unison. Pleased with their orderly response, I did as a Northman would, and without hesitation, I blurted out what I was thinking.

“Then let me tell you the reason. The meteor that crossed the heavens the other day was not the intention of any god, but the workings of the laws governing this world we live in and the world beyond the sky.
Like waves crashing on a windy day, or seeds sprouting when sown and fertilized, it is the way of nature.”

“…”

Were my words too difficult?

Facing the priests who were suddenly silent with blank expressions, I conveyed a simpler message.

“The night that meteor fell, in a dream, I walked through Hel’s realm and learned one thing… that ‘god is dead’.”

“…?”

“Uh…?”

Of course, I never had a dream, and I don’t really know if the gods are dead or alive.

This was, so to speak, a white lie. A lie to reshape the Norse faith to my liking. My taste is much milder than yours, anyway.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? god is already dead, so things like human sacrifice and offerings are all meaningless.”

The bomb I dropped was a nuclear one.

The atmosphere in the hall, caught in the aftermath, went beyond silence and into a sea of shock.

This was shock therapy. A method not of coaxing and soothing, but of shattering obstacles.

“…Uh-”

“…Th-”

Looking at the priests who had collectively become speech-impaired, I pressed on without giving them a moment to breathe.

“Leaving behind the dead gods, in the end, for all those born in this world—gods, humans, animals, water and wind, down to the rocks—there is only one thing that is fair to all, and that is death.”

To the priests who were now jumping at every word, every single syllable, I declared, as if hammering nails into a coffin.

“Therefore, only Hel, who rules over death, remains by our side to watch over us, so we humans must approach everything but death with reason and rationality. We must fill the absence of god with human intellect.”

This was the Helgi Ragnarsson version of Ragnarok.

An era where, like the term “Viking,” the concept of Ragnarok—the fate and demise of the gods—didn’t yet exist.

I decided to strike down in one fell swoop the world of these people, who, due to the nature of their warrior society, only held the logic that if they died bravely, they’d go to Valhalla.

And in line with my resolve, as if urging them to shatter their own skulls, numerous Gothi jumped up at once. Cries of “Unbelievable-!”, “I clearly felt the presence of Odin and Thor-!”, “The gods will be angry-!” filled the air.

So I decided to release some of the pent-up frustration I usually held within.

If there truly are gods, if my awakening in this world is their jest, then even a weak human like me should have the freedom to be angry and enraged.

“If I’m lying, let Thor strike a thousand lightning bolts upon my head right now! Let Odin carve out my heart with his spear! Come on!”

[Bang!]

Stomping my foot and rising, I stretched out both arms and roared at the sky.

My power, having shed another layer in Rome, made even my voice sound like thunder. The commotion in the hall subsided instantly, leaving only my voice echoing.

[Come on-! Come on-! Come on- Come on- Come on…!]

Amidst the priests, terrified, glancing back and forth between me and the longhouse roof. A heart-pounding tension filled the silent moments that passed, but fortunately, and very regrettably, nothing happened.

Enraged Thor didn’t send down his thunder, nor did the king of the Aesir pierce me with his spear.

Only the echo of my voice faded, losing its strength and subsiding.

Only my men, accustomed to my presence and voice through countless battles, and my mother, with her steadfast gaze, remained unfazed.

Fear, confusion.

Those who abandoned their duty as priests to connect gods and humans, to care for the wounded.

Those who live like beasts, pursuing only pleasure and desire.

Those who truly revere the gods and strive for their love.

Those who are here simply because they were born orphans in this land and raised under the care of priests.

As priests of all kinds swam in a whirlpool of emotions, I lowered my arms, which had been outstretched towards the sky, and gestured for them to follow me outside the longhouse.

“I will be your lighthouse, I will be your proof. Follow me, all of you, outside.”

My mother and men, followed by the disoriented priests, trailed behind me as I strode forward with vigorous steps.

Outside the longhouse, the people of Uppsala, having heard my thunderous voice, had already gathered, looking at their king with anxious expressions. They soon followed the footsteps of their king, trailing behind in a long line.

Driven by a stronger conviction than ever before, I arrived at a massive rock on the seashore, a short distance from the city gate. A rock I often visited when I met my father in Uppsala during my childhood, though I hadn’t been there often.

Standing before the massive rock, which could easily conceal my entire frame, I began to shed the clothes I wore.

[Slide- Thud. Slide- Thud.]

‘gods of Asgard, Helgi Ragnarsson speaks.
For these people, your people, to take another step forward, for your children to break out of their shells, I must kill you once. But by dying once, you will become even greater. Please, help these foolish descendants. Hel, please, give me strength.’

In your name, I intend to skip the red path that the cross and crescent moon will tread.

Help me, gods.

‘Hoo-’

The cool wind of the northern hemisphere, with spring slowly approaching, brushed past my bare body.

Even in the refreshing air, after a few deep breaths, beads of sweat formed on my body, awakening the energy within.

“Let all who have eyes see! Let all who have ears hear! Let all who have mouths spread the word of this day! Death is the only truth, and everything else is superstition!

Hel has told me that we humans must only judge and fight with our reason from now on…!”

‘Suuup-!’

After catching my breath, I inhaled deeply one last time, spreading the air throughout my body. With a roar, I thrust my fist forward.

“This is my proof!”

[Whooosh-]

My fist slowly moved towards the rock, easily three times my size.

The moment my fist, rotating like an awl as it advanced from my waist, met the surface of the rock, instead of a hard impact, a sensation like countless hands overlapping on my fist and pushing away soft cotton flashed through my mind.

[Thud-!]

“…”

“…”

[Whoosh- Splash… Whoosh- Splash…]

Silence rippled with the gentle sound of waves.

In the past, to test the limits of this body, and mimicking a comic book I’d seen in my previous life, I’d broken rocks the size of my fist. But shattering a boulder of this size was a first for me.

My only hope was my superhuman physique.

Even if my right and left hands were shattered, I had the unfounded belief that if I struck hundreds…thousands of times, I could at least leave my fist mark.

Even at that cost, if I could change the perceptions of the people gathered here, it would be a worthwhile trade. For those who remain unchanged despite witnessing the miracle of prosperity over the years, a more direct miracle would be needed…

I would break the notions in their minds, even if it meant trading my own two hands.

Surely, with that resolve, I had taken off my shirt and, for once, called upon the names of gods I usually didn’t, seeking their help.

[Crack-]

A superhuman sensation, clearly felt, if only for a brief moment.

[Crackle-!]

Looking at the rock that began to split before my eyes, doubt about the absence of gods began to sprout in my heart, even though I had declared them dead.

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