Life was miserable, thought James—or rather, Baldur, as he now preferred to be called. Why would people willingly choose to live in a place covered in snow all year round? The cold was particularly bothersome to him due to his heritage, not from this world, but from his previous one.
James, originally born on Earth, was the son of Hephaestus, the Greek god of blacksmiths and craftsmen. His mother's identity was a mystery; she had left him at an orphanage. He didn't let this bother him, as he was more engrossed in tinkering and creating things, much to the chagrin of the orphanage staff.
As he grew older, James realized he had less in common with those around him and began to distance himself. "I don't need them," he thought. He found solace in his machines and inventions, feeling a deep, intuitive connection with them.
Eventually, as a teenager, James had to leave the orphanage. He was constantly attacked by terrifying dogs—later identified as hellhounds—but his machines protected him. The side effects of their protection, however, caused friction with those around him. No one believed his stories about the hounds.
In hindsight, now that he knew about the Mist—the magical veil that concealed the true nature of mythical creatures—he couldn't blame them for their skepticism. But that was all in the past. James had died due to his own hubris. He had discovered an entrance to the fabled Labyrinth and believed he could uncover its secrets.
His demigod heritage enabled him to deftly avoid and disarm the traps within. But it wasn't the Labyrinth itself that led to his demise. Ignoring caution, he took the first exit he found, unaware that it led straight into the den of a hydra.
Normally, James would have fled, but this time he couldn't. The exit vanished behind him, leaving him trapped. The monstrous beast first attempted to burn him alive, a futile effort against a son of Hephaestus. When its flames failed, the hydra resorted to trying to devour him whole.
Fortunately, his suffering was short-lived. Darkness engulfed him within the hydra's belly, and after a few moments, he felt weightless. The sensation of falling persisted until he landed with a thud on something solid. Once again, he could see, hear, and smell. Opening his eyes, he saw someone standing over him, shouting.
They called him Baldur, a name that seemed strange as it belonged to a Norse god. They disregarded his claims of being named James, attributing it to a concussion. The individuals paid him little mind, and internally, James began to panic. Months had passed since then, and he had somewhat come to terms with his new reality.
He found himself in a place called the "True North," among the Free Folk. Initially, he had been with a group, but he didn't particularly like them, so he struck out on his own. James had always been better off working independently.
Furthermore, he discovered he still possessed his demigod abilities. With these restored powers, he realized he didn't truly need others for protection. While their assistance would have been valuable for learning the land and culture, he didn't care much for either.
James, now fully embracing his new name, Baldur, paid tribute to the man who had selflessly given up his body. This Baldur was a handsome fellow with black hair and ice-blue eyes, standing roughly 6'3". He seemed young, likely not yet eighteen, but James was only a few years older, so it mattered little. Fortunately, he possessed a similar build to his old body, albeit more slender, but he compensated with exceptional dexterity.
He had no desire for a larger physique; there were benefits to this height that often went unmentioned. Baldur was a good fighter, aided by inborn demigod instincts, and it appeared his new body had the same inclination. He had been assigned the role of a scout and carried a small iron dagger for protection.
Where Baldur lacked monstrous strength, he excelled in finesse and stealth. Furthermore, his demigod strength surpassed that of mere mortals, making him formidable in his own right.
"Please, Baldur, let me down!" The pleas of his would-be robber broke Baldur from his thoughts. He turned to face the man who had followed him. "Varmir, isn't it? What makes you think I'd let you go? You attempted to ambush and rob me."
"But you left the group! That meant you were fair game! Please, I'm sorry! Let me go, and I'll leave. I'll warn the others not to mess with you," Varmir pleaded, his face red from hanging upside down from a tree.
Baldur sighed and approached. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. You now know my secret." He gestured toward the primitive forge he was building.
"I don't care about your damn fire pit! I won't tell anyone!" Varmir protested, his voice desperate.
After pretending to consider the plea, Baldur delivered a short response. "No."
Ignoring Varmir's shouts and sobs, Baldur returned to his work. In truth, he didn't need Varmir, but letting him go would be a waste of valuable resources. On Earth, the thought of using a human as materials would be barbaric, but Baldur was practical. Besides, no one would know or judge him. He wasn't planning on consuming the man; instead, Varmir's bones and blood would be useful in his attempt to recreate Bone Steel.
Bone Steel was a mystical metal primarily used by the Norse pantheon. Thanks to his new name, Baldur remembered it and recalled speculations from Nordic demigods on its creation: forged from iron and bone, quenched in blood. Baldur believed he could replicate it, as Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze required raw ore that seemed impossible to find here. Successfully creating Bone Steel would provide him with the finest weapons in the region, and if there was one thing Baldur enjoyed, it was having the best equipment.
Once he perfected the technique, he planned to start small, crafting weapons and tools. Subsequently, he would search for a suitable location to settle down and construct a magnificent forge and workshop.
A few hours later, with the impromptu forge and quenching barrel completed, Baldur turned his attention to Varmir, who had long since passed out. Placing the barrel beneath the unconscious man, Baldur stripped him of his clothes and belongings.
Once everything was organized into a pile, Baldur slit Varmir's throat, allowing the blood to flow into the barrel. As it filled, he sorted through the possessions. Though Varmir didn't have much, Baldur was grateful to find an iron sword. The scarcity of blacksmiths and metal weapons frustrated him, but he would make do. His divine gifts would ensure his success.
---
It had taken far too long for Baldur's taste, but after a week of meticulous work, he had successfully created Bone Steel. The process was challenging with his limited iron, and his perfectionist nature compelled him to refine and remove all impurities. In the end, he could only craft one weapon and one tool.
The first creation was a unique tomahawk. Its blade was more curved and longer than a typical axe, extending further down the handle. The back end featured a spike, allowing it to function as both a versatile axe and a pickaxe.
With the remaining metal, Baldur fashioned a flat shovel. One side had a saw blade, the other a sharp edge, effectively transforming it into a larger axe. Unfortunately, due to his limited iron, he had to construct wooden shafts for both tools. It was a temporary solution, but it would serve.
Giving his equipment a final inspection, Baldur set off southeast, toward the massive ice wall he had spotted, intending to cross it. While he appreciated the cool climate to some extent, he despised the idea of constantly residing in the cold. His demigod resistance wasn't enough to satisfy him. However, if he found an iron deposit, he might stay for the convenience.
This led him to his current location, deep within mountain caves, searching for metal. He had followed a southward river until he encountered a peculiar stone formation resembling a clenched fist. Though intriguing, it failed to captivate him, and he continued his journey. Not far from there, he discovered a valley nestled between a mountain range to the west and a solitary peak to the east.
The river curved slowly toward the east, closer to the ice wall. While content to follow it, Baldur decided to explore the mountain, as they often housed caves. His instincts proved correct. After exploring several dead ends and narrow tunnels, he finally discovered a passage that extended deep into the mountain.
Hours passed as Baldur diligently explored by torchlight. Finally, he struck iron—and by the gods, there was an abundance of it. Thoughts of the ice wall and warmer climates vanished, replaced by visions of industrialization.
Fuel was his first concern. If he couldn't locate coal, he would create charcoal, a less efficient but viable alternative. He also needed to plan a settlement: sizable, defensible, with ample space for a forge and storage. The flatland near the river at the base of the valley seemed perfect. Although the frozen river prevented water power, Baldur decided to leap straight into steam power.
He plotted the area, marking locations for his forge, warehouse, and residence. Extensive planning was necessary for plumbing; he refused to use a bucket any longer. Water would be drawn from the river, requiring heaters to prevent freezing. Waste management was crucial, with filtered water draining away and sludge repurposed as fertilizer.
Baldur's mind buzzed with plans, but he acknowledged he couldn't accomplish everything alone. He would require assistance, though his lack of charisma made it unlikely he could easily convince the locals. In a more modern age, he would simply build robots, but alas, he was in the iron age. "Might as well be the stone age," he chuckled, recalling the primitive weapons he'd seen.
Nevertheless, Baldur remained undeterred. With time and resources, he would do what he did best: build and create a future that suited his ambitions.
---
Five months had passed since Baldur began working, and now he stood before his completed house, a contented smile on his face. Perfecting concrete had been a challenge, but he had managed it, allowing for smooth progress.
The completion of his forge had brought him great satisfaction, as it had already seen plenty of use. However, constructing his house had occupied most of his time, involving digging trenches and laying plumbing. Fortunately, he had discovered a copper deposit on the other side of the mountain, allowing him to create pipes without depleting his iron reserves.
His two-story house was finished. The ground floor held a living room, a full bathroom, and a functional kitchen. Upstairs were his bedroom and a storage area. He still lacked a proper bed and pillow, but he would make do with pelts for now.
Standing in his kitchen, Baldur turned on the faucet, watching with satisfaction as water flowed. It was cold at first, but he adjusted the hot water knob, nodding approvingly as the temperature increased. He had dedicated considerable effort to implementing central heating, and he marveled at what he had accomplished alone. His incredible strength made labor easier, but he still tired eventually, which had led to the consumption of most of his meat stores.
Completing the wall surrounding his property would take much longer, but it wasn't a pressing concern now that his house was finished. Baldur was eager to return to mining and forging more Bone Steel. He planned to remake his axe and shovel, create a spear, and start work on a crossbow. He would have preferred a gun, but acquiring the components for gunpowder would be too time-consuming.
Leaving his house, Baldur made his way toward his far-from-complete warehouse, currently just a wooden frame. Once he had better tools, he would finish it, providing essential dry storage for his materials.
As he bent to gather iron ore, a sound from the right caught his attention. Turning, he recognized the faces of five individuals—the same group he had left months ago.
The leader, a tall man with rotten yellow teeth, greeted him with a toothy grin. "Baldur, what a surprise." Though the man appeared relaxed, Baldur remained alert, ready to spring into action. The others were a motley, cocky crew.
"It's a surprise to see you all as well. It's been what? Months?" Baldur said casually. They looked confused, a few mouthing the word 'months' as if they'd never heard it.
"I don't know what language that is, boy, or where you learned it, but I don't care," the tall man said, his tone turning threatening as he reached for his sword. "What I want to know is what these strange stone contraptions are behind you and how you're still alive?"
Baldur laughed and shrugged, further irritating the man. "Still alive? Ah, Varmir. You sent him after me to kill me, aye? For what? My iron dagger?"
"You left us and took valuable iron! A lot of brothers died to get that from those damned Crows. I don't know how you killed Varmir, but return the blades, and we'll kill you quickly since we were once in the same group."
The rest drew their weapons—a mix of stone axes and bronze swords. Without hesitation, Baldur retrieved his tomahawk and shovel. The men laughed as they closed in, circling him.
Taking the initiative, Baldur capitalized on his superior speed and rushed the first man. He hooked the man's blade with his tomahawk, pulling it down, while simultaneously delivering a powerful blow to the side of his head with the flat of his shovel. The man crumpled.
"Fuck! Get him, boys!" one shouted.
Two more men attacked from the sides, but Baldur effortlessly evaded with a quick jump and backflip, landing in a crouch. He hooked the left leg of one attacker, making him lose his balance, and struck his head with the shovel.
With two down, the large man finally acted. "Seems you've been holding out on us, Baldur. You're more skilled than I remember. You'll die all the same."
"I won't be dying today, and certainly not to the three of you." Smirking, Baldur spun and threw his axe at one of the approaching men. As it found its mark, the last lackey turned and fled. "Smart, unlike you," Baldur teased.
"Get back here, Gendel! Damn it!" Infuriated, the large man gritted his teeth, took a half-step back, and charged. Baldur kicked up snow to blind him, circled around, and kicked his leg near the knee, forcing him to stumble to his knees.
Baldur poised his shovel for a finishing blow, but the man turned halfway, blocking with his sword. Wide-eyed, he strained to hold Baldur back. Unbeknownst to him, Baldur used his free hand to deliver a devastating uppercut, finally toppling him.
"Almost broke a sweat." Surveying the three unconscious men and the motionless fourth, Baldur smiled. He had been in dire need of a labor force, and fate had conveniently delivered it to his doorstep. Anticipating resistance, he contemplated how to keep them in check as he dragged them toward his warehouse.
Fortunately, he had rope and knew crafting restraints wouldn't take long. Though much work remained, Baldur felt a glimmer of hope that his tasks might now be completed much faster.