PROLOGUE
Hárbarth, the High Priest of the Holy Ásgarðr Empire and patriarch of the Spear Clan.
Death was a constant companion throughout his life.
He was born to a poor farming family and had to scrape by to survive each day. Some days he would wake up to find his siblings had suddenly vanished. He lived under the constant fear that he would be next.
When his rune awoke at the age of ten, he finally escaped the fear of starvation through service, but the world remained in an era of war where only the strong survived.
Facing uncounted numbers of blood-soaked battlefields, death slowly claimed the lives of his comrades, and there were countless times when he, himself, faced down his own end.
He took a wife and had three children, looking to escape the constant nagging fear that his existence could end at any moment. The birth of his children who would carry on his bloodline eased some of that fear.
But his happiness didn’t last long. The enemy invaded their territory and slaughtered his wife and children. Facing the silent bodies of his family, he came to a realization.
The reason he was consumed by fear, the reason he lost his family... was because he lacked power. Power would keep him from suffering fear, suffering loss. He had obsessively sought power ever since.
His rune Svipall, the Shapeshifter, could possess the minds of lesser creatures with a lower level of self-awareness. In his youth, when he still sought glory on the battlefield with his spear, he had cursed the gods for granting him an ability that felt useless in that pursuit.
But with experience came a better understanding of what mattered. And with that understanding, he found out just how useful his power could be.
Information was a far more potent weapon than any sword or spear.
He sold favors to those seeking advice, he held the strong hostage to their faults, and gradually he climbed the ranks, until he found himself in the position of High Priest of the Holy Ásgarðr Empire, near the very pinnacle of power on Yggdrasil.
Any and all people sought his advice and knelt before him. Even the þjóðann dared not cross him.
He had finally found peace—
—Or so he had thought. But another threat reared its ugly head.
Old age.
One day he found himself noticing just how heavy a plate felt in his hand. Just how difficult it was for him to just stand up. His body ached, from his hips to his knees.
The ‘death’ that he had put so much effort into defeating was once again at his doorstep.
“I don’t want to die...”
Just as he had finally, at long last, found security. Just when he thought he could start living again...
He couldn’t stand the thought of losing it all. Fortunately, he had the power to prevent that from coming to pass.
“I won’t let it end like this. No, not like this...!”
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