The rhythmic clang of a steel hammer striking glowing-hot metal woke the new day in the Kingdom of Iceland, even before the first light of dawn touched the mountain peaks. The faint scent of soot and sulfur drifted on the cold morning air... this familiar occurrence signaled that Modi, the god who ruled over them, had begun his work in the royal forge.
Among those who had to rise early for their duties was a long-haired young man named Farran. As soon as he got out of bed, he had to run across the hills and head toward the Elm Forest. In the middle of the forest lay a pond whose waters never fully dried up or froze solid. Once there, he had to cut down an elm tree, fashion a water pail, fill it with water, and bring it back to his lodging to prepare breakfast for his master.
All of this sounded bizarre and troublesome for a young man to do every morning. However, all doubt vanished the moment anyone realized that everything he did was at the behest of his master... and that master was none other than Magni, the God.
Today's breakfast consisted of oat porridge and dried meat. Once prepared, Farran would not touch the food until God Magni arrived. He sat respectfully to one side, the freshly made elm wood pail resting beside him.
Farran did not have to wait long. Magni walked over and quietly sat down across from him. The young man lowered his head and raised both hands, performing the customary dwarven gesture of respect toward the gods.
After Magni received the salute, the first thing he picked up was still not the food, but the elm wood pail. He brought it up and inspected it thoroughly.
"Your skill hasn't improved in days," Magni said simply. He then put the pail down and began to eat the prepared meal.
Though criticized, Farran felt a stubborn resentment within. He had been making these wooden pails for months. Initially, it took him half a day to make a leaky one. Now, with just an axe and 36 precise swings, he could create a flawless wooden pail. Why did his master keep criticizing it? He could not fathom what more Magni demanded.
As Magni chewed his food normally, Farran suddenly sensed a deep mood of gloom radiating from the God's body. He cautiously inquired,
"Is something troubling you, my Lord?"
"The beast prince Adam is likely dead," Magni replied with a flat expression.
"Then that is good news, is it not? That prince was arrogant and audacious, proclaiming himself the strongest in Midgard, as if he didn't know you and God Modi were also on this land," Farran expressed his disdain for the demon prince Adam frankly.
"For the past few days, I haven't felt the beast prince's prayers, even though he always prayed to me every morning."
"What! The beast prince... prayed to you? Is this not the arrogant one who exalted himself as the strongest in Midgard?"
"As it happens, Adam was one of my disciples, even though I only instructed him for half a day. He built a grand shrine for me, the Traveler God."
"No way! The beast prince was my senior disciple too?" Farran grimaced, unable to believe what he had just heard.
"Is there any place in Midgard that the Traveler God has not reached?" Magni's words implied that he had indeed traveled to the Kingdom of Slowsnow and met the beast prince Adam.
"Aside from the beast prince Adam, how many other senior disciples do I have?"
"There are many," Magni answered with a faint smile.
"Would you tell me the names of a few more, Master? Just in case I need to be cautious and avoid bothering them." Farran continued to tease his master playfully.
"Though I have countless students, there are only some names truly worthy of mention."
"Who are they that you deem worthy, Master?"
"The first name is one you have likely never heard, as his story took place before I even descended to Midgard. His name is Ingvar, a Celestial Prince, son of the Great God Baldur."
"My senior disciple is a god living in Asgard? Haha!" Farran suddenly felt a surge of pride that his senior was a god.
"Don't be too pleased. Later, he came to utterly despise me, claiming I was the reason he lost favor with his father, the Great God. Despite being the second son, he never received any important position. So, remember the name Ingvar well. Wherever you meet him, run far away."
"Oh... Ingvar. I will remember that name."
"If you must be very careful, there is one more name: Embla, Queen of the High Elves."
"The High Elves are all supporters of God Vidar, who is like your enemy. How is it that your disciple is a High Elf?" Farran, who had followed Magni for a long time, knew the story well.
"In the past, her Clean Shoe clan was the only village that didn't worship Vidar, so I always had a place to stay when traveling to the realm of Alfheim. But ultimately, I never expected her to marry the King of the Elves. Since then, there has been no ground for me to tread upon in Alfheim."
"That's bad then, isn't it, sir?" Farran hadn't expected that both senior disciples he must remember would turn out to be enemies.
"This is not bad at all. They may have the High Elves, but we have the Forest Elves." Magni didn't feel he was at a disadvantage in any way.
"The Forest Elves cannot live in Alfheim because they are driven out. And it is not good for them to be in Svartalfheim, where they risk being taken as slaves. Their numbers seem to be dwindling."
"The Forest Elves can come to Midgard, under the jurisdiction of the Sacred Hammer, at any time. Even now, far to the south, there is a kingdom of Forest Elves ruled by my disciple, a Forest Elf with blue hair named 'Blár'."
"I've heard the name Blár, the Archer of the Poison Mist Swamp! That Forest Elf is also my senior disciple? Haha!" Farran had heard Blár was the most formidable archer in Midgard, and was surprised to learn he was Magni's student.
"That one, huh..." Magni paused, stroking his large chin repeatedly with a faraway look in his eyes, as if gazing into the distant past. "...When he trained with me, he made the same wooden pails as you. Thousands of them, perhaps. The only difference was that his had to be made from Ask wood."
"But Blár is a master archer, and I've never even touched a bow. Why would we train the same way?"
"All things, in truth, originate from the same source. Once you have grasped the essence, the same principles apply to mastering anything."
"But will you truly have me keep making only water pails forever, Master?" Farran felt discouraged by the nature of his training.
"You're not so bad, you know. Before you, Dodan—when he trained with me—after five years, he was still making leaky pails."
"The Village Chief, who is currently famed as the strongest dwarf, also trained by making these pails? I truly cannot believe it." Farran covered his face with his right hand and shook his head in disbelief.
"It's a pity. I hadn't thought of this teaching method before. Otherwise, Elifr would have trained this way too."
"What... My foster father... was also your disciple, my Lord? All this time, I thought you two only shared a familial bond." Farran was surprised yet again.
The relationship between Elifr and Farran was only foster-based; Elifr had died over 200 years ago, and his wife, Vanya, had taken Farran in. Dwarves can live to be 450-500 years old. Elifr was the seventh son of Thrudr, who was the daughter of Thor, just as Magni and Modi are his sons. Thus, by kinship, Farran is also a distant relative of Magni.)
"Elifr was the most brilliant student I have ever had."
"More brilliant than God Ingvar, my Lord?" Farran compared his foster father to a god in Asgard with an ambitious heart.
"I told you. Your foster father was my most brilliant disciple. But it's a pity, you are not like him." Magni finished speaking and burst into hearty laughter.
Farran could only frown, but the Traveler God's gaze softened in a way the young man didn't notice. However, deep in his heart, Magni thought differently: 'You still don't understand, Farran...' For the God who had witnessed a thousand years of the world, he believed that in the near future, mortals would become the strongest force. Their lifespans seemed short and meaningless, but if they could truly grasp the meaning of it, the great power hidden within would awaken, and nothing could stop it.
Farran wanted to stop his master's laughter, so he spoke of his foster father again. "Then, if my foster father were still alive, Village Chief Dodan surely wouldn't be the strongest dwarf."
Magni's laughter immediately ceased. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a coldness that visibly intensified the atmosphere around them.
"The matter of Dodan... is a great pity indeed," his voice was level but heavy with pressure. "Especially the matter of his right arm... lost in a meaningless battle against that Ice Fiend from the pits of hell."
"That wicked Ice Dragon Nifflhogg! If the Village Chief hadn't made that sacrifice, it wouldn't have been driven away from our village!" Farran genuinely admired Dodan, even though the battle between Dodan and Niffhogg had occurred long before he was born.
Magni turned to look at Farran, and their eyes met. Farran instantly felt something unusual in his master's gaze—a mixture of profound pity and sorrow.
"Your village's legend says it was driven away, huh?" Magni echoed his disciple's words in a cold voice, then continued, "What a beautiful lie... when the whole event was the most meaningless loss imaginable."
Farran's face instantly fell. His master's reaction clearly indicated that the village legends were significantly distorted from the actual truth.
"Has Dodan even accepted yet that that thing is not a dragon, not even a living creature? It is merely a disaster created by the wicked God of Niflheim, Hoder." Magni spoke with eyes full of anger. Dodan was, after all, an important disciple of his. Such a wasteful loss could severely impact the great future plans he and Modi were close to enacting.
"Master, I don't understand. The Ice Dragon Niffhogg is not a dragon. What is it, then?" Farran's voice was filled with both confusion and alarm.
"If Dodan had listened to me that day, choosing to evacuate the people from the village first, he wouldn't have lost that arm, and almost all the dwarf warriors in the village would still be alive today." As Magni recalled the events of that day, his emotional state visibly intensified.
"Did the Village Chief lose to that evil dragon, then?" Farran could hardly believe what he was hearing, as it completely contradicted the village's folklore. But when he thought back to the village, there were only elderly women and young dwarf warriors. There wasn't a single warrior from Dodan's generation. Realizing this, Farran burst into tears of fury.
"Forget Dodan losing. Even if I had intervened myself, I couldn't have killed that demon. That thing was created by the hellish power of the wicked god named Hoder. No matter how many times it is destroyed, it will always return to life."
"Then! How did our village survive?"
"You survived because that fiend was still afraid of me, the one with the power of Asgard. It merely retreated. That is all."
Those words were like a giant hammer crushing the core of Farran's heart. The whole truth... the legend he grew up with... his pride in the Village Chief... all shattered in an instant.
From that moment on, Farran's life had a single purpose: to eliminate the Ice Dragon Nifflhogg.