Through the dim corridor crept Ratbone Rata.
Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, and the sparse glow of mana-lamps only faintly lit his way. This place was once a noble’s castle, but since its abandonment, the underground halls resembled a cavern more than any human dwelling.
Outside, the sky was bright with spring, yet here the air clung cold and stale, as though winter itself had been left behind.
His leather shoes crunched on fragments of plaster, and Rata grimaced. His fine attire, his chestnut hair swept neatly backwards—such appearances would grant him entry even to the great merchant houses. But this was hardly the sort of place one would wish to visit dressed like that.
At the far end of the corridor, Rata halted.
“…It is me, Ratbone Rata. Begging your pardon for the intrusion.”
When the door swung open, the first thing he saw was the back of a massive man. Tangled strands of blond hair tumbled in curls down broad shoulders.
All around lay scattered burlap sacks and wooden crates.
With one hand the massive man hefted a barrel nearly the size of a child and poured its contents down his throat.
“What is it?”
The now-empty barrel clattered to the floor as the man asked, still without turning.
“…Ymir-sama, I’ve come with my report, and to see to the state of your supplies.”
Bowing, Rata cast a quick glance at the barrels and sacks strewn about. His downturned face twisted faintly—for all of it had been arranged by his own hand.
Ratbone Rata was the one who ran the slave trader’s business. Though he was a monster, he was a clever one, and could even disguise himself as a noble-born merchant such as this.
“…Has the food run out already?”
“There’s a little left.”
With a hand like a bear’s paw, Ymir gestured toward the boxes and sacks stacked in the corner.
A sigh slipped from Rata.
It was he who had arranged the transports that carried provisions into this ruined castle. A waterway from a nearby city ran beneath the place, making it convenient despite its desolation.
Until now, Ymir’s lairs had always been provided through noble patrons. But with the Raven Warriors beginning to reassert its power, he had chosen to move preemptively and go deeper into hiding.
——You glutton.
Rata carefully suppressed the clicking of his tongue. Like other monsters, Rata and the others could survive by feeding on magical power. However, as physical beings, they could also maintain their strength by eating.
He had offered Ymir food, thinking it would be cheaper than expensive magic stones, but perhaps he was mistaken. Ymir eat too much. He is more gluttonous than the World Serpent.
His master threw the second barrel aside, shattering it against the wall, then spoke with his back on him.
“What’s wrong with Jor?”
“She’s still healing her wounds.”
Ymir suddenly stopped eating. The air became chilly, like frost had fallen.
Rata gulped.
“I’m hungry.”
A chill ran straight through him.
“…Jor may still be of some use.”
“I see.”
Rata’s voice had slipped into a tone that sounded almost like a defense.
“W-we also brought you Surtr’s magic stone. Was it not enough?”
After the fierce battle in the mining town of Alvis, Flamebone Surtr had been slain. Its massive magic stone had shattered across the battlefield in crystalline shards. Disguised as a small creature, Rata had gathered several of them and brought them back to Ymir.
“Hm.”
Ymir gave a single sweep of his enormous hand.
The broken barrel staves and burlap sacks strewn before the sofa burst into flames.
“…That power should now be yours as well—like Surtr’s. The power to revive monsters, just as you did when you devoured a Skill.”
In truth, this had been Rata and his companions’ aim all along in the mining city of Alvis.
“Surtr was already at his limit. Consumed by rage, bereft of reason… even had he escaped his seal, with that massive body, there was no way he could ever cooperate with us. We could carve pieces from him, yes—but so long as he lived, he would regenerate. Keeping him alive as long as possible was the most prudent course. Still… once we were sniffed out, it was time to cut our losses.”
Rata’s long-winded explanation barely reached Ymir’s ears.
Ymir rose to his feet. Over two meters tall, his head nearly brushed the ceiling. His face, chiseled like stone from a cliffside, showed no expression at all. He picked up a charred barrel, and with one hand, he crushed it to splinters. And then—those splinters dissolved into motes of light. Into raw magic.
“…W-wha-?”
Rata stared, dumbstruck.
“C-converting matter into magical energy…?”
The shattered barrel turned into more particles of light and was sucked into Ymir’s mouth. Into the creator’s body.
“Some of my strength has returned.”
Ymir spoke while greedily savoring the light of raw magic.
Only now, too late, did Rata tremble at the truth—this was the primeval titan, the very first being of the world, slowly regaining his power.
“But still… it is nowhere near enough. I remain far from sated.”
Ymir lifted a weary hand and gestured toward the wall on his right.
Among the empty barrels and burlap sacks, a human arm jutted out. Every so often it twitched faintly, but there was no will left within it.
It was a slave, no doubt about it. One whose skill had been devoured, leaving nothing but a hollow body. The blessings of a Skill were bound so deeply to the mind that to have it consumed was as if a piece of the soul itself had been torn away.
“Rata.”
“…Y-yes, my lord.”
“I know the truth. You did not fight alongside Jor nor Surtr.”
“T-that…!”
Rata stumbled backwards—only to have his chest seized in Ymir’s massive grip.
“The network of slave traders you built… it is impressive. For that reason, I find you almost too valuable to waste. You would hate to see the fine organization you’ve so carefully nurtured for my sake… reduced to ruin, would you not?”
Rata had seen monsters over ten meters tall, yet none of them ever felt as immense as Ymir did.
“I understand. I can sympathize. You are my creation, after all.”
“.…..!”
“Your defiance…. amuses me.”
Ymir then released him.
Rata crashed to the ground, realizing only then that he had been lifted nearly to the ceiling. Until now, he hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away from that huge, unblinking eye.
Ymir turned his back on him and returned to the sofa, his tangled golden hair swaying down his shoulders.
“Bring me slaves. As many as you can.”
“S-slaves…?”
“The power of creation, the power of awakening—it will come. Until then…. I will feast. Gather them all. Bring them here.”
His audience with Ymir ended there. The heavy doors shut behind him.
Rata stumbled through the abandoned halls, trembling—yet slowly, the tremor twisted into a smile.
“Very well. None can oppose you. Then I shall entertain you as best I can, Ymir-sama.”
A low chuckle slipped from Rata’s lips. His mind already leapt to the gathering grounds of the slaves, linked to this place by the waterways.
“Soon… a great transaction is coming! From that city, I will offer you a flood of slaves to glut yourself upon, Kukuku….!”
The target was a fertile city blessed with water transportation and a lake.
The city called Flocia.
This is translated by Yume Neiji. Kindly read at yumeineijiworks.wordpress.com.
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