Thor Cultivation Technique — Part 1
The world is changing.
It felt like watching a painting lose its colors, draining away into a black-and-white scene.
Memories, once vibrant and full of life like mosaic art, ebbed away as if pulled by the tide.
What replaced them was a desolate wasteland.
The ancient warriors who had been roaring moments ago were nowhere to be seen.
Snow did not fall.
The dry, gnarled trees and the eerie wind scraping against the skin were all that remained.
“Brother!”
Sigmund approached with a bright, beaming smile.
Hjordis was smiling as well.
It seemed they had successfully obtained the Blessing of Frigg, their intended goal.
“How about the blessing?”
“Of course, we got it! And you, brother?”
“I accomplished my goal too.”
He held out his right hand.
A blood-red flower and mistletoe leaves dangled loosely from it.
“Mistilteinn’s Regret and Godslayer?”
“Brother, you’ve obtained quite a treasure yourself.”
“Eh, it’s nothing. The real prize is something else entirely.”
Hjordis glanced upward at the sky.
A massive shadow loomed above them.
Skidbladnir.
The mythical ship that could freely adjust its size and weight.
Sigmund, in particular, looked extremely envious.
“I’m so jealous! A ship straight out of the legends! With that, you’d never need a house or a car again!”
“It stands out too much, so I can’t use it all the time.”
“Well, you can just use a regular car most of the time! Still, I’m jealous. Damn it, I should go out and get myself a wyvern or something.”
A wyvern? That wouldn’t even come close.
You’d need an ancient dragon to make a fair comparison.
Hjordis playfully poked Sigmund in the ribs.
A flying car was approaching from a distance, likely remote-controlled.
Its design was plain compared to the Red Cougar.
It was a flying car that the couple often used.
“We’ll head off first. We need to return home to prepare for the baby.”
“When’s the due date?”
“Six months from now.”
“Huh? Six months?”
That means she’s already four months pregnant?
It didn’t show much.
Perhaps they were using magic or specialized equipment to protect the fetus.
Sigmund and Hjordis boarded the flying car, waving as they departed.
“If you’re ever in Norway, make sure to visit! We’ll host a traditional Nordic feast for you!”
“Not sure if I’ll have a reason to go, but if I do, I’ll drop by. Where exactly should I go?”
“Oslo! Just head to Oslo and walk into any pub, drop my name, and everyone will know! Not to brag, but there isn’t anyone in Oslo who doesn’t know us!”
Given their renowned lineage, it wasn’t hard to believe.
After bidding their farewells, the couple took off.
As soon as they left, dozens of flying cars swarmed toward me.
“Yo! Captain!”
The Nordic warriors greeted me warmly.
“Thanks to you, I had a blast!”
“Today’s events will turn into songs that echo across Scandinavia!”
“Hahaha! I can’t remember the last time I felt such exhilaration in battle!”
“It’s been decades since we’ve had such a satisfying victory at Ragnarok!”
“Skidbladnir finding its rightful owner—what a tale!”
“It’s a shame the owner isn’t a Nord, but you’re still the successor of the Sigurd Cultivation Technique!”
“If you think about it, you’re practically one of our kin!”
“Aye!”
Some of them jumped down to pat my shoulder.
One even slapped my backside playfully.
I chuckled and returned the favor.
In true warrior fashion, we shared tight embraces before they earnestly made their requests.
“If you come to Denmark, look for Preben’s son, Ulrik. You must! Next time, let’s have a honey mead duel on the battlefield of liquor!”
“No, me first! Denmark’s full of weaklings. It’s not even worth visiting. Come to Uppsala instead. That’s the true home of warriors. The ancient warriors will welcome you with open arms.”
“What? Weaklings? You savage!”
“What did you say, you barbarian? You don’t even use bidets!”
“Savage!”
“Weakling!”
They went from inviting me to bickering and dueling on the spot.
The warriors roared with laughter, quickly setting up a drinking and gambling session right there.
Nordic people, what else could you expect?
I shrugged and quietly slipped away.
Boarding Skidbladnir, I was greeted by the ship’s magical spirit.
[Welcome aboard, Master. Where would you like to go?]
“Return to the Grand Palace.”
[Understood, Master.]
With a low hum, Skidbladnir gracefully turned its bow.
Despite its massive size, the ship was deceptively fast.
“Farewell!”
“It was a pleasure!”
“See you again!”
Below, the Nordic warriors waved at me.
Even the two who had been dueling were now arm in arm, laughing.
Really, their way of thinking was hard to comprehend, their personalities even harder.
One moment they’re trying to steal Skidbladnir from me, and the next they’re treating me like a brother because we fought together.
Shaking my head, I sank into the captain’s chair.
The distance from the Vigrid Plains to Stockholm was about 1,000 kilometers.
With the Red Cougar, I could have made it in no time, but traveling aboard Skidbladnir would take nearly a full day.
“Might as well call it ‘Sky Ship.’”
The words slipped out without much thought.
The magical spirit instantly understood my intent.
[Understood. Skidbladnir shall now be named Sky Ship.]
It was just too long and cumbersome to say.
After a night and into the next morning, I finally ended the long voyage and arrived in Stockholm.
Sure, I could have folded it into my pocket and taken the Red Cougar for a quicker trip, but I deliberately chose to ride the Sky Ship.
I was tired and needed the rest.
I had slept deeply in the cabin onboard.
“Huh?”
“What is that?”
“It’s an airship!”
“No, airships aren’t that big!”
“Is it an airborne carrier?”
“No way! Airborne carriers don’t look like that! That thing looks like an ancient ship!”
“Is it made of wood?”
“What kind of wood is that?”
Flying low, I could hear the voices of the citizens below clearly.
More accurately, the magical spirit was translating their words for me.
Let me reiterate—I don’t speak Nordic languages.
[Halt! Halt!]
The Reinforced soldiers, equipped with steel wings, flew toward me.
[Identify yourself! State your purpose for visiting the Stockholm Grand Palace!]
Hmm, don’t I have an identification code?
I assumed the magical spirit controlling the ship would replace it with something like the Red Cougar’s code.
Left with no choice, I personally showed myself.
“Good work, everyone. I’m Warrior Kim, Honorary Paladin of the Thor Cult, with an authorized stay permit.”
“Warrior Kim?”
“Ah, the Stigmata’s Protector?”
That nickname had spread this far?
I awkwardly nodded.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Huh…”
“What’s this ship? The system only indicates that you brought a single flying car with you.”
“I brought it back from the Vigrid Plains.”
“The Vigrid Plains?”
“No way, is this… Skidbladnir?”
The Reinforced soldiers looked back and forth between me and the Sky Ship with astonished expressions.
Their faces quickly shifted to ones of envy.
“I’ve heard that Skidbladnir can adjust its size. Please minimize it while inside the Grand Palace.”
“It’s too large at the moment. It will obstruct traffic.”
“Understood.”
“Hah, Skidbladnir… I thought it only existed in mythology.”
The soldiers assigned me a temporary identification number.
As soon as the registration was complete, the laser cannons and missile turrets aimed at me subtly shifted away.
If I had known this, I would’ve just folded the ship earlier.
It wasn’t too late, though.
Grasping the side of the Sky Ship, I mimicked the motion of folding a paper airplane.
In response, the massive ship, once larger than a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, shrank down, neatly folding into a size that fit perfectly in my hand.
“Wow!”
“Incredible!”
Their jaws dropped wide open.
This was starting to feel like showing off, and it made me a bit embarrassed.
“Keep up the good work.”
Leaving just those words behind, I boarded the Red Cougar and headed into the Grand Palace.
The Grand Palace, a city spanning both the sky and the ground.
My destination was the central area.
More precisely, the Great Temple.
The Great Temple served as a connection point to the alternate dimension of Asgard. Its entrance was managed by the Thor Cult’s Pontiff, and its innermost sanctum was where the God of Thunder Thor resided.
“Paladin? How may I assist you today?”
As I entered the Great Temple, a receptionist in formal attire greeted me with a bright smile.
I removed and held out my Honorary Paladin insignia.
“I’ve come to pay respects to the Greatest Lightning.”
At those words, the receptionist’s eyes immediately changed.
The Greatest Lightning—this was the title used to refer to the God of Thunder Thor.
“One moment, please. Have you scheduled an audience in advance?”
“No, I haven’t.”
The receptionist gave me a once-over, her expression skeptical.
Her demeanor practically screamed, Do you think you can just meet Thor, a god, whenever you want?
I couldn’t blame her.
To have an audience with a god, one had to reach Level 7 at a minimum and accumulate immense contributions to the cult.
Level 6?
Insufficient contributions?
You wouldn’t even get past the receptionist, let alone meet the Pontiff.
“Uh…”
However, as the receptionist tapped at her keyboard, her eyes wavered.
The personal information tied to the Honorary Paladin insignia I had handed her—specifically, my recorded contribution level—was utterly beyond her expectations.
I had provided six different methods to overcome the Stigmata.
While I heard they were a great help to both the Guardians of the Grand Labyrinth and the Thor Cult, their significance didn’t fully sink in until now.
Recently, I learned they had begun actively researching additional methods and were already achieving results.
“You’re… Level 6?”
“Yes.”
“Paladin, I’m truly sorry, but to pay respects to the Greatest Lightning, you must be Level 7. While Level 6 is incredible and a monumental achievement, you understand what happens when a human is exposed to divine energy unprepared, don’t you?”
“It’s fine. I’ve prepared for this.”
“Even if you’re prepared, it’s not as simple as—oh my!”
The receptionist abruptly stopped talking.
She had caught sight of the flowers I showed her.
Anyone working as a receptionist in the Thor Cult’s Great Temple would possess at least this level of knowledge.
Especially when it came to items closely tied to Norse mythology.
“I will report this to the supervising bishop immediately. I apologize, but we still need to follow procedure.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Would you mind following me? We have a lounge prepared for VVIPs like yourself.”
This was inside the dimensional realm of Asgard.
I was guided to a private elevator, which transported me through dimensions to Asgard.
The world above the sky.
Thin air. Abundant mana. Misty clouds.
Atop a towering mountain peak, I was served a cup of honey tea inside a modest hut.
‘Is this tea or alcohol?’
One thing was certain—nectar had been mixed in.
The moment it touched my lips, I felt both my body and mind awaken simultaneously.
“Well, well, what an esteemed guest we have here.”
An old man ascended the mountain peak.
He wore a coarse robe reminiscent of a medieval monk’s attire.
His unkempt gray beard was long and unruly, contrasting sharply with his shiny, blue bald head.
At the sight of the old man, my senses sharpened.
In the game, this old man had only been depicted with a single illustration and a few lines of dialogue.
But in this world, his position was anything but ordinary.
“I greet the Pontiff.”
I bowed respectfully, and the old man—the Pontiff of the Thor Cult—smiled kindly.
“Haha, I’m just an old man waiting for death. Please, be at ease. Relax.”
“You startled me. I was told I’d be meeting the Archbishop.”
“That’s how the process usually works. It’s impossible for one person to meet every pilgrim. However, when a raven cawed at dawn, I had a feeling an important guest was coming.”
Ravens in Asgard?
I turned my gaze instinctively.
Caw!
Beyond the mountain peak.
Two large ravens perched on a dead tree flew off into the sky.
One-eyed ravens.
Likely Huginn and Muninn.
After Odin’s death in Ragnarok, they had taken up residence in Thor’s court. It seemed they had delivered a prophecy to the Pontiff.
“So, I’ve heard you wish to meet the Greatest Lightning. Carrying mistletoe in hand, isn’t that decision a bit too hasty?”
The Pontiff asked, gazing at me.
His transcendent gaze felt as though it could pierce through my very being.
The Pontiff himself was Level 8.
Had the Thor Cult taken even a slight interest in the Korean Peninsula—or diverted their focus from the Grand Labyrinth—they could have been part of the Seven Strong, rather than the Twelve Weak.
Steeling myself, I responded,
“I want to become stronger.”
“Haha. Aren’t you already strong enough?”
“I need to grow stronger, faster. Pontiff, you know better than anyone how the Old Father’s Cult regards me.”
The Pontiff’s eyes grew deep, contemplative.
“If that concerns you, why not receive the Holy Tattoo and become an official Paladin? You’ve fulfilled all the conditions, after all. Skill and contribution alike. Should you join the Order, we will bestow upon you the rank of Senior Knight Commander, the title of Count of Sweden, and access to the treasures of the cult.”
Senior Knight Commander.
A Count’s title.
The treasures of the cult.
Rewards so dazzling that they could make the average person lose their mind.
But I shook my head.
If I had wanted to belong to a group, I would have joined the Eastern Army long ago.
Or accepted the Sun Mage Tower Master of the Sun Mage Tower’s offer.
Or even taken up Seong Huiyeong’s marriage proposal.
“I’m sorry, but I prefer to stand on my own.”
“Tsk, tsk. Turning down the easy path to take the hard one.”
“I simply don’t want to limit my potential just yet.”
“Hah, it’s people like you who carve out history. Like the heroes who led the War of the Fallen Gods. Very well. Consider it as though this conversation never happened. But keep it in mind—who knows how things may change in the future?”
“Thank you for your understanding.”
“Come, let’s go. The Greatest Lightning awaits you.”
The Pontiff rose and turned his body.
Casually, he stepped into thin air.
Looking closely, I noticed a faint rainbow stretching from the mountain peak to the distant, towering heavens.
At its end stood a grand palace.
Valhalla.
The eternal hall of war where warriors who die in battle reside.
“Wahaha!”
“Urahaha!”
“Fight!”
“Kill!”
The clamor was audible even from afar.
As we crossed the rainbow bridge, a heavy wooden door suddenly burst open.
Did someone come out to greet us?
No.
A warrior clad in bear hides and another dressed in scale armor were tangled in combat, breaking through the door as they fought.
“Die, you eunuch bastard!”
“Better than being the son of a cuckoo! You’re the one who should die!”
Both were Level 7.
With each punch they exchanged, the skies trembled and the clouds ripped apart.
For a moment, I was distracted, but the Pontiff seemed unfazed, as if it were routine.
“Quite lively, isn’t it? You’ll get used to it after a few visits.”
“This is… different from what I imagined.”
“Haha. A solemn atmosphere wouldn’t suit Valhalla. After all, it’s the gathering place for the most violent men in history. Fists will fly, and blood will spill—it’s inevitable.”
Um, Pontiff?
Your choice of words is… a bit crude.
We passed through a massive banquet hall.
Inside Valhalla, the Einherjar were loud, unruly, dirty, vulgar, and utterly barbaric.
Just as one might stereotypically imagine Vikings to be.
They drenched their beards with honey mead, devoured pork greedily, and hurled punches or headbutts whenever a disagreement arose.
As I walked through the hall, I must have seen hundreds of warriors fighting, their blood splattering everywhere.
“That’s the place.”
The Pontiff pointed to a golden door at the far end of the banquet hall.
“When the lightning sparks, use the mistletoe immediately. Don’t hesitate for even a second, or you will die.”
I swallowed hard.
Clutching the blood-red flower tightly, I stepped forward.
Creak.
The golden door opened, and I stepped inside.
As the door closed behind me, silence fell, as if the chaos from moments before had been a lie.
The room resembled a stately office.
It didn’t feel like a god’s domain but rather the office of a noble human.
Crackle, crackle.
Sparks of electricity began to dance in the air.
I quickly activated Mistilteinn’s Regret.
As soon as a faint veil enveloped me, a figure appeared.
A massive frame.
A beard that jutted out like spiky chestnut husks.
Piercing, fiery eyes.
And the real Mjolnir hanging from his magical belt.
It was Thor.
The God of Thunder Thor gazed at me and let out a peculiar sound.
“Hm.”
Then, as if it were nothing, he dropped a bombshell.
“Welcome, otherworlder.”
–TL Notes–
Tired of seeing Ads? Then please support me on Patreon! Any tier of subscription will make it so you won’t get any ads!
If you want to support me or give me feedback, you can do it at patreon.com/InsanityTheGame
Join my Discord! https://discord.gg/BWaP3AHHpt
AYOOOO, he knows