What Did This Village Mean?
For Dottie, it meant a new life—a chance for her and Gudmund not to die, not to go to Valhalla.
She knew that entering Valhalla was an honor, a sacred thing. But... whenever she thought of the children back home, she couldn't bear the thought of leaving them.
She also knew that even if they weren't going to Valhalla, they would still have to leave the village. The food produced each day was only enough for so many, and the Envoys would eventually force them out.
Leaving their original village, No. 014, was supposed to mean waiting for death. But Dottie wanted to breathe just a little longer, so she and Gudmund hid and survived for a long time.
In the end, they were saved by that Envoy.
Those who walked outside the villages were Envoys. But Dottie couldn't bring herself to believe that man was one. In her memories, none of the ancestors had ever mentioned a male Envoy.
But it didn't matter. If he walked outside and saved her and Gudmund, then he was an Envoy. It was easier to accept him as one than to explain otherwise to Gudmund.
That Envoy must have thought the same.
Several days had passed since the Envoy left, and the workload had lessened. The fields inside the barrier had been fully plowed. Looking back, Dottie realized that clearing the land was easier than tilling it. The farming tools left behind by the Envoy were like divine weapons, effortlessly breaking through the hard soil.
The fields were ready, but no crops had been planted. The twenty or so people in the village had left their old homes expecting to go to Valhalla—none had planned to survive, so naturally, they hadn't brought seeds. Without the Envoy, they couldn't plant anything.
During the idle days, the men gathered to wrestle, and the women spent time together. Of course, this only happened during the day. At night, everyone returned to their small houses and did what married couples were supposed to do.
Dottie was an exception.
Perhaps because the Envoy had given her authority, the others treated her with a bit more respect. It made her uncomfortable—she'd rather sit in her room and stare at the flower than chat with them.
"Dottie, you're looking at the flower again."
"Gudmund, you're back to rest?"
"The wrestling's over."
"Gudmund... do you think we'll ever see little Lottie again?"
"We can," Gudmund said. "If the Envoy allows it, we can."
Dottie smiled. "Surviving at all is already the will of the gods. What more can we ask for?"
On the windowsill of their home sat a single flower. Originally, it had been withered and lifeless, but the Envoy had restored it when he learned of its significance.
It was a gift from their daughter, given to them on Selection Day—the day they had left their old village.
Soon, voices called from outside.
"Dottie! Gudmund! The Envoy has returned!"
The two quickly stood and hurried out.
---
**...**
Braving the snowstorm, Li Mo returned to Village No. 101. After waiting briefly, Dottie arrived.
She stumbled through her report, detailing everything that had happened in his absence—the clearing of land, the state of the food stores. She covered every detail without him needing to ask a single question.
Admittedly, the amount of work wasn't much. But considering the nature of the Scandinavian Lostbelt, after meeting Gudmund and the others, Li Mo had been struck by one thought: *How is everyone illiterate?*
Dottie was slightly better, but even she struggled with vocabulary.
Still, it didn't matter.
"Dottie, you've done well. All of you have." Li Mo first acknowledged their efforts, then instructed her to prepare for livestock farming.
If Village No. 101 had once been a gray area, it was now officially recognized by Scáthach-Skadi.
What did that recognition mean? Resources.
His inventory held many things, but not everything needed to build a village from scratch. Who could have predicted that? Even finding potatoes in there had been a miracle. The lumber for the village had been chopped from the border between the Fire Mountains and the Ice Mountains.
With this recognition, he could now gather resources from other villages—lambs, fish fry—anything to start proper farming.
After giving Dottie further instructions and encouraging the others, he left to inspect the village's barrier. The survival of the village depended on it, so regular checks were necessary.
As he worked, he reflected on his meeting with Scáthach-Skadi two days prior, when he had discussed Village No. 101.
Before his arrival, this Lostbelt had only a hundred villages—a limit imposed by scarce resources and Skadi's own limitations. His presence had added one more.
*In Skadi's eyes, I must be more favorable than Ophelia now.*
Recalling his time in the ice castle, Li Mo compared how Skadi treated him versus Ophelia. The difference was clear.
Ophelia's Fantasy Tree was a promise of the future—it hadn't even taken root yet. But he had already secured the survival of an entire village. That was the difference.
Once the Fantasy Tree rooted itself, the situation would change.
Unless he could offer something better.
"And clearly, I can't."
What was the Fantasy Tree, anyway? Before crossing into this world, Li Mo vaguely remembered that both the Fantasy Trees and the bleaching of the world were connected to the old director. But the specifics eluded him.
The Fantasy Tree's roots would only connect this Lostbelt to Proper Human History, ensuring it wouldn't be pruned. But how would Ophelia solve this world's crisis? This wasn't like the Chinese Lostbelt.
In Li Mo's eyes, the Chinese Lostbelt's problem was simple: if Qin Shi Huang relinquished his control and returned free will to the people, the so-called "lack of a future" would vanish.
But the Scandinavian Lostbelt's issue was its harsh environment.
To enact real change, the land itself needed to be reshaped.
And the biggest obstacle in doing so was Surtr—who wasn't even dead yet.
"Wait. Surtr."
A thought struck him.
In this Lostbelt, the entire land was scorched by the flames Surtr had brought. Skadi had expended most of her power to blanket the world in ice, resisting the giant's destruction.
But was there a way…
To harness those flames?
Fire represented many things—among them, energy. What if they used those eternal flames to boil water, to generate power? Wouldn't that work?
Li Mo stroked his chin, considering the possibility.