In the past, the Deity of War in the North led his army to slay the evil dragon, yet the warriors in the front were contaminated by the blood of the dragon. Tyr, the cruel magistrate, killed all the soldiers who turned into demons. Beowulf and few companions were the only ones who managed to survive.
“He draws the boundaries, he allocates the land. He makes the law, he is always in the highest heaven - ”
At the end of the war, men worshipped Odin and his clan as gods. They remembered the names of those who lived, but not the ones that belonged to who sacrificed themselves.
“Darn you Odin!”
Wrapped in his robe, Beowulf left the square, getting away from those singing the anthem. Though he was as cold as a dead person, the anger within was always blazing. Sigurd, Volsung, Harald... There was no way Beowulf could forget any of these heroes. They died on the frontline and they souls had returned to Valhalla, yet Odin and his clans took credit for the entire success...
Beowulf went to the blacksmith, and threw a bag of fragments in front of the craftsman.
“Can you mend it?”
“This is made of top-class steel! How come it is shattered into pieces? Did you slay a dragon with it?”
‘Yes! It was us who killed Nidhogg!’ Beowulf dared not to take the credit by himself. Together with his comrades they protected Idun from the dragon’s deadly attack, so that she could focus on casting the spell -
He banged his fist on the wall and bored a hole. As pitch-black blood flowed out from his clenched fist as the blacksmith was too frightened to make a sound. Throwing a bag of coins on the bench, Beowulf took the weapons displayed in the smithy, and fitted himself into the new armor as he threw away all his equipment smashed by Tyr. He stepped out of the village and headed to Holylight City alone...