TIRS 85

CHAPTER 85

. Light Dragon Helheim

“Helheim!”

The snow-white, silvery dragon slowly lifted its shut eyelids.

Blood-red eyes revealed themselves.

Like droplets of blood staining the pure white of the first winter snow, those eyes gleamed scarlet—and the very air around him recoiled.

The Light Dragon, Helheim.

Once, he had been the primordial darkness that ruled the world. But through the schemes of his brother, he was cast out from the realm of the gods and became a dragon bound to the earth.

He gazed at the warriors charging toward him with cold indifference.

“Die, Helheim!”

They unleashed a merciless assault upon him.

Agony tore through his flesh, his scales ripped and split apart.

Yet he only faintly furrowed his brows. He did not strike back.

At last, a warrior with a long sword drove the cold blade deep into his chest.

So this is it. At last… death.

Sinking into the pain, Helheim awaited death—
The endless rest he had longed for.

Death was drawing near.

But then—

—No! Hel…!

A voice rang out, and suddenly a crimson light bloomed around him, shielding him.

The light erupted from the shattered fragments of a red gemstone at his feet.

The man who had stabbed Helheim’s heart with his sword was thrown violently away by the force, crashing to the ground.

“Ugh… Light Dragon Helheim… I’d heard tales, but I never thought you’d be this strong…”

He muttered weakly while staring at Helheim—then his head slumped lifelessly.

[SYSTEM] You have died.

[SYSTEM] Would you like to purchase the item ?

[SYSTEM] Insufficient currency. Unable to purchase item.

[SYSTEM] Quest failed!

One translucent blue system window after another flickered before the man—

[SYSTEM] Terminating game.

His body dissolved into nothing. And then, the world itself began to quake.

KRRRRRRRRUMBLE!

His comrades panicked at the sudden chaos.

“Hezen’s body vanished!”
“Th-the ground is shaking!”
“The sky is collapsing!”
“It’s the dragon’s curse…!”

But it was no curse.

Rather, it was the system’s scheme—desperate to erase Helheim.

“Hah…”

A bitter laugh escaped through the dragon’s fangs.

Those foolish warriors had failed to kill him yet again.

How many times has it been now?

Helheim scowled, lowering his gaze to the heart still bleeding within his chest.

It hurt.

Dozens… perhaps hundreds of times…

He had crossed death’s threshold countless times, yet never truly died.

Every time he tried, that damned half-heart thwarted him.

Yes—the shattered red gem at his feet.

He had thought crushing it would stop its interference. But no.

The heart he had carved out in order to die… now denied him death.

His blood dripped onto the broken fragments.

And then, the shards gathered—slowly re-forming the jewel as if it had never been shattered.

Helheim only stared blankly.

Meanwhile, time itself began to reverse.

The warriors disappeared. Day and night spun backward. Seasons unraveled in reverse.

When Helheim blinked and raised his gaze again, the world had rewound by several years—

To a time before the appearance of players.

But none could perceive this reset.

None but him—once master of the world, rival to the chief god, Luth—none but the sovereign of heaven and earth.

“…Damn it.”

A vicious curse slipped from his lips.

“Those bastards can’t even kill a single dragon properly, so the system rewinds time again?”

Helheim had never been known for a gentle temperament.

Hadn’t people always called him “Mad Dragon”? “The Light Dragon, driven insane”?

He cursed violently for some time, until his face twisted in irritation. He looked down at his chest again.

Even after time had rewound, the mark of the warrior’s sword still remained lodged there.

Countless scars, the legacy of endless slaughters, burned with a dull pain.

Even the kindest, gentlest dragon would go mad if forced to endure unending death and ceaseless regression.

So how much worse for one like Helheim—already ill-tempered and cruel?

“This is… absolute bullshit.”

With a muttered curse, his draconic body slowly transformed.

Snow-white hair, like his shining scales. Scarlet eyes, like gemstones.

A beautiful man now stood there, running his fingers irritably through his bangs.

In truth, this was his real form—not the dragon’s body.

He was no longer as glorious as when all had revered him before Luth stripped him of darkness and cast him down, but still—wild beasts passing by would startle at his beauty.

Helheim bent down and picked up a pendant at his feet, set with the red jewel.

The lingering will within it ceaselessly hindered his death.

If I find a new master, perhaps it will fulfill its true purpose at last.

For the first time in ages, Helheim chose to act of his own accord.

So that those foolish warriors might finally kill him properly—
He would hand over the shard of his heart to the next [Player].

Even if he loathed the thought of giving away part of his heart, he was simply too weary.

Endless deaths. Ceaseless regression. Raw, unfiltered agony. Meaningless time.

He had had enough. Now he craved only perfect rest.

But there was a problem—
His human form was already registered in the system.

So he cloaked himself in a heavy robe, concealing his face.

No sooner had he left his lair than the system flagged him as a “bug,” dispatching cleaners to erase him.

He slaughtered them without hesitation, then hid himself amid the carnage of the battlefield, masking his scent with blood and steel.

And there, among war and chaos, he thrived like a fish in water.

His overwhelming power soon drew notice, and he was assigned as bodyguard to a commander—

None other than Anselot Luenhart.

A royal of Luenhart, Anselot had taken command in war, yet was consumed with grief over news of his beloved’s marriage.

At first, Helheim had scoffed.

Such a pathetic human, broken over a single woman.

But soon, the prince staggered toward a cliff, intent on ending his life.

Helheim might have let him. But then—

Promise me, Hel. Treasure life.

The voice in his mind rang out. His body moved before thought.

He didn’t know whose voice it was. He could have ignored it.
Yet he felt compelled to honor that promise.

If only the system’s cleaners hadn’t interfered at that precise moment—
Perhaps he could have saved the prince.

But as he cut them down—barely three seconds—the prince’s body plummeted.

“Damn it!”

Helheim clenched his teeth beside the dying man.

“You… You’re not human…”

The prince coughed blood, yet still spoke.

“Shut up. You’re still bleeding out.”

“I… I have no hope left…”

Despite Helheim’s harsh words, the prince smiled faintly.

“One request… If you grant it, I will give you what you seek… whatever it may be…”

“…What?”

“Arbella… See if she is happy. Just once… Please…”

“…Hah?”

Even at death’s door, he still clung to her. Helheim could not understand.

“If she is happy… give her this handkerchief… That will be enough for me…”

Helheim blankly accepted the handkerchief.

Moments later, the prince’s head fell limp.

Helheim had witnessed countless deaths over millennia—
But perhaps because of that voice in his mind, this one left him strangely hollow.

He crushed the handkerchief in his fist.

After keeping vigil over the body all night, he returned at dawn to the prince’s tent.

And took his name and identity.

He had no intent to be a hero.

But riding a white stallion at the front lines, he naturally became one.

The war hero of Luenhart.

Back in Luenhart, at the victory banquet, he saw her.

The woman Anselot had so desperately loved.

She looks… perfectly happy.

She likely had no idea he was dead.

Helheim felt an odd bitterness.

So he lived on as “Anselot Luenhart,” waiting quietly for the next [Player] to appear.

Sometimes fools picked fights with him, and he punished them lightly, earning strange rumors. He didn’t care.

The name Anselot Luenhart was never his to begin with.

Then at last, when the next player appeared, he hurried to Azester.

And there he saw her—

Ruibel Azester.

A girl with soft, spring-blossom hair the color of pale pink petals, and amber eyes.