Overwhelming Firepower

Lucen, who had his eyes closed, felt like he was floating. He had been in a similar situation before, when an unknown deity spoke about the last light.

When Lucen opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a grand golden dining hall with all sorts of weapons on the wall and sets of armor.

There were long tables with countless chairs, yet not a single person sat upon them. The air shimmered faintly, as though it carried the memory of countless feasts. The first thought that came to his mind was.

”... Valhalla?”

He turned slowly, taking it all in. Symbols of shields, hammers, and wings marked the towering banners along the walls. The scent of iron and smoke hung in the air, but there was also something purer, the faint trace of honor, heavy and old.

”Did I die again?... I guess this wouldn’t be Valhalla but Varkun’s hall of heroes.”

Lucen was surprised by how calm he felt. In fact, he wasn’t feeling much of anything being here. No fear, no relief, just quiet acceptance.

Lucen looked around once more. The longer he stared, the more the silence pressed down on him, not heavy, just... Vast.

His footsteps echoed as he walked past the long tables. Each seat had an empty mug, as if the warriors who once drank there had simply vanished mid-toast.

When he reached out to touch one of the armors on display, the air shimmered faintly. The gauntlet pulsed with warmth, faint, like an ember refusing to die.

”I guess, I don’t get to reincarnate this time...” He muttered to himself. ”Kinda feels lonely for a hall of heroes. I wonder where everyone went? Is it like Valhalla in my old world, where they go fight and then come back to drink and make merry?”

Lucen’s voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the golden hall. For a place meant to celebrate heroes, it felt less like a reward and more like a museum, grand, eternal, but lifeless.

He noticed that there were a few signs of battle on some parts of the endless table that had been damaged. It had a few scratches, here and there; it seemed like a battle had taken place, but the food and drink were undamaged, which was a little weird.

He then shifted his attention to the walls and noticed something he hadn’t before. The walls were indeed filled with weapons, but there were also some pictures with a story below them.

A picture of a lone warrior facing off against an army of thousands. Below the picture was the name of the person and the event that took place.

[Hatrol’s last stand against the Niron Empire.]

Below that was the story of how the warrior named Hatrol stood before the empire’s army to allow his companions to retreat. He held them down in that position for five days and had defeated thousands before dying not by any blade but because of exhaustion.

Lucen then looked at the other pictures; there were many epic tales, but there were also a few that weren’t as epic, but heroic nonetheless. ’

Like the Father who had never held a sword but fought against bandits to protect his wife and children.

There was also the child who struggled and fought to his dying breath. It wasn’t against an army or anything, but against a few boars.

It would seem that all kinds of warriors were honored here, no matter how big or small. They were all honored in the same way.

Lucen slowly moved from one picture to another. Each tale was carved in gold and etched with such care that even the smallest details, faces twisted in pain, blades half-broken, tears on cheeks, felt almost alive.

He paused before one depicting a woman kneeling in a burning village, her sword plunged into the ground before her as shadowed figures surrounded her.

[Serah of the Flame, who chose to burn with her home so none would suffer alone.]

Lucen’s throat tightened a little. He didn’t know why, but he found himself bowing his head slightly. ”These guys... Really didn’t mess around, huh...”

He stepped back, his boots echoing faintly across the endless floor. This wasn’t just a hall. It was a chronicle of sacrifice, of people who stood their ground, knowing it would be their end. Those who fought with honor and dignity, until the very end. What one would call heroes.

”I guess this place is aptly named... Still, I wonder what happened to the people here?”

The moment Lucen asked that question, the air shifted. It wasn’t wind, exactly, but the weight of presence. The kind that made his heartbeat slow and his breath catch, like the whole world had paused to listen.

Lucen was forced to kneel on the ground. He had experienced such a suffocating presence before. He remembered the first time he experienced asking for a blessing in Varkun’s Temple.

’I guess the big boss is about to make an appearance.’ Lucen joked in his mind as the suffocating pressure bore down on him.

The golden light that filled the hall dimmed, then deepened, as though the gold itself grew heavier. The air thickened, dense with power.

Every flicker of reflection on the armor, every glint on the blades, seemed to bow toward a single point in front of him.

”Be honored, young hero, for only select few mortals have set foot on this place while still alive.”

Lucen, who was kneeling, felt the pressure lighten as he slowly lifted his gaze. Before him, the air shimmered, light folding, condensing, until a figure stepped forth from the golden haze.

A being of great power stood there, tall enough that even the vast ceiling of the hall seemed to bend around him.

He wore armor that gleamed like burnished bronze, each plate carved with a divine aura that pulsed like embers under the surface.

A fur-lined cloak, dark as ash, hung from his shoulders, his helmet hiding his face, but you could see his golden eyes shining from within.

Lucen did not even need to ask who this being was. Varkun, the God of War and Honor, was now standing before him.

Despite only knowing the name and there being no image known about the other party, there was no mistaking that overwhelming presence; it wasn’t just divine, it was absolute.

Lucen swallowed dryly. ”To what do I owe the honor of being brought to your presence?”

Varkun then responded, his voice filled the hall, deep and steady, like the sound of war drums across the plains.

”I’ve brought you here, young hero, to congratulate you.”

Lucen stared at the God in confusion for a few seconds before speaking. ”Congratulate me, for what?”

Varkun’s golden eyes gleamed faintly from beneath his helm. ”As you know, those who died with honor, those who died without giving up, those who died on the battlefield as true warriors, their souls are guided to the hall of heroes.”

Varkun’s voice echoed majestically in the hall.

”It’s not just humans that come here. Elves, dwarves, orcs, warbeasts, any race, for as long as they died as true warriors, they are welcomed here. Guided by Lady Velmira, they all enjoy the finest of wine, the nicest of meals, and the heartiest of battles.”

Lucen tilted his head slightly. ”Doesn’t sound like a bad afterlife... I’m still alive, so I guess I don’t exactly qualify.”

Varkun’s helm shifted, and though his face remained hidden, Lucen could somehow feel the God’s gaze on him.

”You misunderstand, young hero. You have not been brought to my hall to join the fallen... Not yet... Like I said before, I came here to congratulate you on an incredible feat. You have made a monster, understand what it means to be a true warrior, making him die as one. It has been ages since a new race entered my halls, and to think it would be something like a Goblin.”

Lucen blinked, not sure he’d heard that right. ”You’re saying... The Goblin King’s soul is here? In the hall of heroes?”

Varkun nodded slowly, the motion like the shifting of a mountain. ”Yes. He sits among those who found their end with honor. You made someone from a race known to take whatever they please, acknowledge that he had given you something, and in the end, allowed him to see more clearly and die as a true warrior.”

Lucen, who was still kneeling, did not know why, but he actually felt good for the Goblin King. ”Heh, so he was able to enter the Hall of Heroes.”

”I, Varkun, who value all true warriors, praise you, young hero. What you have done will bring further glory and honor to my seat, for more races to understand the path of a true warrior. For that, I shall give you a gift. A blessing from me directly.”

Varkun raised his hand, and a blinding light shone upon Lucen. Once that light disappeared, Lucen could feel his back of his right hand burning up. He saw something like a tattoo of a sword appear in his hand. It was then that he heard and saw a system notification.

[Varkun favors you]

[Gained a permanent blessing: Unyielding.]

[You will never yield to any pressure, killing intent, fear, mind control, or any outside force that wants to bend your will.]

”I have given my gift and praise. Go forth, young hero. Carry my blessing with honor, and may your will remain unbroken until the drums of the last battle sound.”

Varkun’s voice suddenly became distant as Lucen lost consciousness.