"God of Asgard," he muttered under his breath. He was a fan of many kinds of mythologies in his youth. One such favorite was the Norse mythology. Odin, the Nine Realms, and the mighty God of Thunder, Thor who became a modern and iconic comic book superhero. It was one of the more famous myths in his time. It was only ever a myth as known by the modern man. A myth.
But the impression he got from those villagers was that the Nord worship of the Asgardian Gods was strong and evident. He didn't want to think of it but another possibility for his situation popped up, he was sent back into the past. Rather than another world, it was the most feasible possibility. The clothes, the architecture, and the environment all pointed to the fact that he was, in fact, in the past. The map as well, gave more evidence as it was horrible by any of his known standards and only showed vague drawings of the nearby land and known settlements.
From his bearings, he could assume that he was just at a settlement named as "Aden" and that he was currently in a nearby forest. What got his attention was that the area he had come from the night before was named as "Niflheim," the land of the mist, cold, and darkness.
Using his little knowledge on camping, he took out the tent he got from the villagers, and set it up on a small hill that had a view of the surrounding area and the dirt path towards the village. It was crude but provided at least little warmth and protection from the elements. He then tried to use "Unchanging" on the tent but was unable to do so. Confused, he tried it on a long branch nearby and succeeded. He could only assume that there definitely are conditions for "Unchanging" to work and the tent wasn't qualified.
It was odd. The possibility of another world or being abducted into a different country didn't make him feel anxious in the slightest. But being sent back in time, to a time that is probably so far back from any civilization he was familiar with gave him the worst feeling he has ever had. He felt lost.
"What now?" he asked himself. If he had to estimate the time he was sent to, he'd have to consider the architecture, culture, and the technology available.
He was unsure whether he should use the village he had been to as the sample, but he didn't have much choice. The architecture was extremely crude and windows haven't been invented yet. He was no historian but that alone puts the possible time to be less than 100 B.C.
The thought of being back in time that far already gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He had no clue about the culture since he had to leave quickly but the technology was still a viable observation. He had no clue when wooden kegs, barrels, and jugs were invented so he could only base it on their tools or weapons.
The axe that was used to hit him had one of its shattered pieces sneak into his chest sleeve. He observed it for a while and realized an important clue. It wasn't made from steel or iron… it was bronze. From what he remembered; bronze smithing was prevalent in Old Europe during 3,000 – 2,000 B.C. He was, possibly, so far back in history that iron smithing wasn't even a thing yet.
He wanted it to be all a dream, but he already knew it wasn't. For him, he could only think of it as God's horrible joke. Whichever one is currently out there calling the shots.
What would happen to him now? Would he need to adapt to this time's societies? Would he have to find a suitable partner this time? Would they even understand each other? Heck, would they even be a passing match? This is Old Europe and the region where Nord Vikings probably came from. Any woman he'd find would probably have horrible hygiene and be at least a foot taller than him, he is Asian after all.
"Wait… Asian?" he asked himself. "I'm Asian?"
It had completely slipped his mind. He had forgotten not just his name but every other name he should know; places, people, even his own family and pet dog. His entire memory had holes in them except for a few things: his last moments, Café Johansson, and Angela. For some reason, he can remember those three things perfectly down to the truck's make and model, the address of the café, and the one time in his college days that he saw up Angela's skirt for a few seconds.
He could only assume that it was because it was the last place he had been at, but it didn't feel right. Thinking about it led him no further. He couldn't think of any possibility at the moment. But at the very least, thinking about the time he came from gave him a short reprieve from his dull suffering.
"What now?" he repeated to himself. The only clues he had about his situation was the light he saw when he should've died, the engraving on his chest, and the message on his phone: FIND ANCIENT ELDER. Whatever it all meant, he knew he didn't have enough of the puzzle pieces to make sense of it.
"What now, huh?" he asked under his breath as he gave up and began to sleep in the tent.
>
"Guardian Maxon, we found fresh tracks coming from the river towards the dirt path leading to the lower wetlands." The scout reported seemingly tired as he was breathing heavily.
"Lead the way," Maxon ordered. The scout rode at the front of the carriage and they continued moving. The report came welcomed as Maxon felt a little relieved at the fact that the unknown man had survived. But with this, any chance that it was a mere mortal had disappeared. It had to be something at least as powerful as a high second gift holder to have survived the conditions of the fall.
According to the two young patrolmen, the man wore strange dark clothing with what seemed like an odd shield on his back as well as dark blue trousers. In addition to that, the front revealed what seems like additional clothing on the inside and he wore odd footwear. The man himself did not look like he belonged to any of the invaders or local tribes as his stature was somewhat smaller and he had messy black hair that reminded them of a bird's nest. His face was slightly different from any other they knew, but still seemed human.
The description was awry but at the same time, he knew they would have no trouble recognizing the strange features. He was alive and they only had to find him.
An hour passed and the carriage stopped. The scout came up to provide another report, "Guardian Maxon."
"What is it?" he replied.
"It seems there's a new Nord settlement nearby. Your orders, Guardian?"
Maxon sighed before replying, "Give them the usual warning."
"I doubt they would though, Guardian, these Nords seem to be too stubborn for their own good," the scout interjected.
"It matters not. Remove them by force if you must."
>
Clashing of metal and screams woke him from his nap. It took him a few seconds to realize that it wasn't a dream of battle but something actually happening in the distance.
The sun had started to fall so it was slightly dimmer, but from afar he could see there was fire in the direction of the village. Bandits? Or perhaps a larger force from the attackers the night before? One thing he knew was that he shouldn't stay there any longer on the chance of getting caught in the conflict.
He hastily packed the tent but felt disgusted at the same time. He knew exactly why.
Cowardice. It wasn't a thing he was familiar enough with but from his experience in his own time, trying to do good can get you killed. Literally.
From those experiences, his common sense dictated that he should run and save his own life. The same thing he has done at every confrontation during his time here, so far. He did have the "Unchanging" and the visions, which could be very effective at combat but at the same time he didn't know its limits yet.
"Run. Just run. You've suffered enough. Save yourself," he thought to himself.
He didn't have anywhere to belong in this world. He didn't know much about his situation. He didn't have to think about it. The logical choice is clear.
He finished packing and went down the hill towards the opposite side. He still heard their cries and the fighting. The Viking people seem to have been putting up a good fight and there doesn't seem to be that many enemies. He continued walking further in the forest when he received another message. Hoping for another clue from the mysterious contact, he quickly took out his phone only to see "COWARD."
"Heh. What the hell is this crap?" he asked himself. This isn't a clue. Whatever this contact is was definitely messing with him from their comfortable high ground, perhaps laughing at him from somewhere. His ego involved in a tug-of-war, he stopped for a moment.
Deep down, the same courage going against bullies picking on a smaller kid was still there. The same courage to reveal corruption and save livelihoods was still there. The same courage to willingly put himself in harm's way for his college crush was most definitely still there, going against his logic of self-preservation. He got beat down and suffered by the end, sure.
But he was still alive and kicking.
The one thing in his heart at the moment was a small sliver of courage. "Fuck it."
He dropped the tent behind and started to run as fast as he could back towards that hill. Using the hill and all the strength he could muster in his legs, he jumped as far as he could.
Taking off his bag, fastening it on his arm, and making it into a makeshift shield with "Unchanging", he jumped into the battlefield with adrenaline filling his veins.
>
"O Baldr, God of Asgard, please save us from the demons of the night," recited an elderly.
A single house and the inn had been caught in flames. The Viking warriors outnumber the enemy 4 to 1. However, each of them was easily defeated despite the difference of numbers and body size. One by one, the Nord fell to their blades.
"DEMONS!" One of the Nord warriors shouted as he charged towards a quick death.
"We asked you to leave and you attack us first," one of the attackers commented. "Damned brutes have no business calling us demons."
"O Baldr, God of Asgard, please save us from the demons of the night," the elderly kept reciting.
"Like I said," the attacker readied his sword for a quick strike on the elderly, "It's rude to call us demons!"
In a flash, the attacker crashed into the burning building. The impact was felt throughout the entire village and nearby surroundings prompting the attention towards him.
"OH GOD OF ASGARD, PLEASE PROTECT US AND DEFEAT THE DEMONS." The elderly recited louder than before.
"Go, old man!" he replied instantly.
"We need not run in your glory, we can-"
"I SAID GO!" he shouted back to which the old man complied.
More of the attackers had arrived and they appeared out of place as they had pale white skin, a uniform of sorts for their clothing, as well as weapons. They already gave the impression that they were trained and organized compared to the Nord warriors. Though they seemed rather surprised by his presence.
Upon seeing their ally crashed into the burning inn at his side however, they quickly showed their aggression and charged forward, sword in hand.