The war had dragged on for months since Dodan led his battalion of 333 brave dwarves to breach and seize the fortress of Ainen-dor behind the waterfall’s curtain. Yet... that victory, once the catalyst for everything, had ground to a halt. No further advances were made, leaving the fate of the war entrusted entirely to the duel of the two gods.
In reality, the dwarven army had not been idle. Throughout this time, they had mobilized troops, repaired defenses, and stockpiled fresh supplies. The main army, initially consisting of only 333 stalwart dwarves, had transformed its composition; humans and wild elves had joined in significant numbers. Even so, the dwarven forces maintained an air of superiority.
With the constant thunder and lightning, the inhabitants of Ainen-dor could barely distinguish day from night. By now, most menial tasks—whether crafting weapons, hauling supplies, or even stirring fermenting ale—had fallen to the humans and wild elves. The majority of the dwarven soldiers remained engrossed in celebrating their past victory, singing the anthem of the 333 Army incessantly.
The louder the thunder roared, the more the dwarves bellowed to compete with it. They laughed uproariously, claiming these songs were cheers to empower God Modi, believing that soon he would crush Vidar’s head to a pulp.
A handsome warrior named Marino, sporting a magnificent mustache, had enlisted in the dwarven army. His current duty was to watch over the wild boar milk ale fermenting in the vats and to skim off the froth. Although the anthem of the 333 Army played almost constantly, it never penetrated his mind. In contrast, a flock of sparrows flitting about the great hall became the melody that allowed him to enjoy his tedious daily toil.
While stirring the wild boar milk ale, Marino suddenly sensed something amiss. The flock of sparrows that had been fluttering about had huddled together in a corner of the hall, falling silent as if hiding from an unseen threat.
Marino immediately dropped the paddle into the fermentation tank. His long legs carried him in great strides out of the hall toward the main camp gate. Along the fortress corridors, everything appeared completely normal.
Until he arrived at the wide courtyard before the city gate...
Marino stood motionless, sweeping his sharp gaze around—past his fine mustache—while straining his ears to catch the current of the wind. His intuition screamed of the danger that already surrounded them.
“Enemy attack!!!”
The handsome warrior’s shout shattered the silence. The dwarven guards on duty flinched before turning to glare at him with disdain.
"Hey! If you're drunk, go sleep," a dwarven soldier sneered, marching over aggressively to reprimand him for the disturbance. "Don't come here making noi—"
Thwack!
A whistling sound cut through the air before a long silver arrow pierced his left temple, embedding itself deep within. The body toppled backward onto the ground, dead instantly.
In a blink, the silence fractured into chaos.
"Kill them all! For Queen Embla!"
The command from the Elven commander roared out. Simultaneously, troops lying in ambush surged forward, heading straight for the fortress's front gate.
Marino drew his sword, parrying the hail of arrows raining down incessantly. He rallied the frontline dwarven soldiers to retreat inside, helping them heave the massive main gate shut with all their might.
On the ramparts, the stationed dwarves blew animal horns to signal the alarm, the sound echoing throughout Ainen-dor.
People inside the fortress alerted immediately, rushing to their stations. However, upon reaching the archer lines, more than half of the dwarven warriors stood swaying, staggering from the effects of alcohol. Their vision was blurred, and their hands gripping the bows trembled. Only the human and wild elf contingents were fully combat-ready.
Grimm rushed in to take command of the fortress defense. Upon seeing the scene before him, his face hardened instantly—filled with both shame and rage.
“You stupid dwarves!” he roared. “If you’re going to eat and drink, you must keep your wits about you! This is a battlefield, not your home!”
Farran, now holding the highest rank in the mixed army of humans and wild elves, hurriedly issued orders to select suitable personnel to fill the gaps left by the dwarven soldiers. However, the problem was bigger than anticipated—crossbows, the signature weapon of the dwarves, required long training and could not easily be used by substitutes. The number of available archers was dangerously low.
Furthermore... the Ruby Team had already departed to deliver Torvin to King Valen. Without Berlynda, the number one Valkyrie, present, the fighting strength of Ainen-dor was no longer akin to having a god on their side.
Now... they had to face this battle with their own strength.
Without the suppressive fire of the mighty dwarven crossbows, the battle situation was forced to change. The Elven arrows firing back up at the walls became a potent threat, allowing the High Elf army to advance quickly and in good order.
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Not long after, a thunderous crash resonated from outside the front gate, violent enough to shake the thick iron-reinforced wood. It appeared the Elven soldiers were using a heavy battering ram to breach the city gate.
Grimm clenched his fists tight, grinding his teeth in frustration, before turning to look at the handful of functional archers. His face was more stressed than ever.
“Without our crossbows...” he growled in a low voice, “there is no way to defeat the Elven archers.”
Farran paused to think, calculating the situation at the city gate being battered repeatedly.
“We might have to let them in,” he said with a hardened voice. “Trade lives in close-quarters combat.”
Grimm’s eyes widened, unable to hide his shock. “You would open the city gates to accept battle inside the fortress?”
At that moment, the dwarven commander's eyes were filled with hesitation. With the dwarven soldiers so drunk they could barely stand, what advantage would remain in close combat?
“The Elven arrows are very accurate,” Farran added. “If the gate breaks, no one in this fortress will sleep without worrying about their arrows.”
Before Farran and Grimm’s discussion could reach a conclusion, the massive fortress gate suddenly swung open, accompanied by the shadow of a warrior in orange armor leading a unit of dwarven soldiers out to clash with the Elven vanguard immediately.
Orange armor, orange sword—like a flame separating itself from the fortress gate. That shadow surged toward the Elven vanguard with unexpected speed.
The blade slashed down continuously. The first targets were the elves carrying the battering ram. Screams of death rang out. Bodies fell one after another in the blink of an eye. Elven blood splashed, staining the stones in front of the fortress in streaks.
“That guy—who is he!?” Grimm cried out in wonder.
Farran recognized the eye-catching orange armor and replied, “His name is Marino.”
Marino’s physique appeared slender, resembling a woman, but the long buffalo-horn mustache under his nose confirmed he was a man. He gripped a greatsword with both hands, slashing out in repetitive, simple motions. The sword's arc swept wide, concise yet violent. No matter which direction he headed, no elf could withstand him.
When such a strong leader appeared, the soldiers following behind grew bolder. They followed Marino, driving back and cutting down a large number of the Elven vanguard.
Suddenly, a brilliant golden beam surged toward Marino from the front.
Marino used his greatsword to block it. Even so, the impact sent his body flying backward onto his back immediately. Two Elven soldiers from the vanguard seized the chance to thrust their swords at him, but the thick orange armor saved the handsome warrior's life in that instant. From the ground, he swept his sword out; the arc cut the bodies of both elves in two simultaneously.
Marino sprang to his feet quickly before looking back in the direction the golden beam had come from. He saw a golden-haired Elven girl wearing a flower crown on her head; she was the one who had accurately fired the golden light arrow at him just moments ago.
“What in the world is that arrow!?” Marino grumbled in panic.
A wild elf mercenary following behind saw the enemy vanguard was broken. Staying longer meant becoming targets for enemy archers, so he shouted, “Retreat to the fortress!”
They all fell back into the fort. Even so, Marino stayed to guard the rear, using his greatsword to parry the arrows fired continuously.
A golden beam shot toward Marino again.
This time, Marino anticipated it. He changed his grip from one hand to holding the sword firmly with both hands. When the golden beam rushed in, he slashed his sword to clash with it head-on.
The impact caused Marino’s body to stagger slightly to the left, but he did not fall. He felt satisfied with the result.
Back on the Elven army’s side, the girl with the flower crown stared at the scene with wide eyes. She was no ordinary elf, but Princess Dagnisia, the eldest daughter of Queen Embla.
“That lunatic… what is he!?” she cursed, unable to hide her shock. “To think he could withstand my Ljósdómr!?”
Ljósdómr—the Beam Arrow Spell—was a fusion of high-level magic and archery, a unique technique invented by Queen Embla. It was said that in the past, she used Ljósdómr to slay a giant dragon, a descendant of Eldhali—one of the three primordial giant dragons of legend—with only three shots of this magic arrow.
It was possible that Dagnisia’s magical power could not yet fully compare to her mother’s. But even so... that should not be a reason for a human warrior to withstand it.
In truth, Marino was no ordinary human warrior; he was Marin, a new generation Valkyrie of Asgard, who had disguised herself to infiltrate Dodan’s forces.
When the mixed forces and Marino returned behind the main gate, Farran was already waiting for him.
“Brother Marino, your skills are truly formidable,” Farran complimented him immediately.
Marino merely shook his head slightly, the mustache under his nose twitching with his sigh.
“I dare not accept this praise. What happened just now... I was just lucky.”
But Farran smiled wider before continuing, “Luck is a quality of a supreme warrior as well.”
He had approached to talk to this mustached warrior because he saw his skill and hoped to recruit him.
“If that is so...” Farran continued, “May I ask for your luck to become mine?”
Marino raised an eyebrow slightly, showing a puzzled expression. “Hmm? What do you mean?”
“Join my forces,” Farran said directly. “From now on, I will appoint you as a Captain, a rank equivalent to Fiona—the comrade I trust the most.”
Marino, or Marin, had received orders from Asgard to infiltrate Dodan’s army to understand the war situation in Alfheimr, not to help fight the war or accept an important position in the dwarven army. Feeling shocked, he refused immediately, his voice slipping.
“No, no. I cannot accept the position.”
Farran showed no sign of disappointment but looked at him with even more serious eyes.
“Brother may prefer living a free life,” Farran spoke slowly, “but now the High Elves are arrogant, plotting great things without regarding others.”
Farran paused for a moment to give the other party a chance to think, before continuing with a firm voice. “Even God Magni was plotted against and killed by them. If skilled people like you do not rise up to help resist this evil...”
Farran locked eyes with Marino. “One day, there will be no Midgard left, no Svartalfheim left, or even Asgard.”
And at the moment when thunder roared perfectly...
“All lands... will become Alfheimr.”
This statement aligned closely with Marin’s own thoughts. Just the young Elven girl he faced a moment ago could wield the power of a beam arrow that nearly killed a Valkyrie like her. Before long, if God Vidar managed to defeat God Modi, the next target would surely be Asgard.
“I...” Marino spoke hesitantly, the words stuck in his throat.
“No need to rush your decision,” Farran said calmly. “This war will not end easily.”
He gave a faint smile to the mustached warrior in front of him before speaking his final sentence and walking away.
“Think it over carefully, Brother... Mustache.”