And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast

  - King James Bible: Revelation 13:4

  ******

  The fist crashed into Neron's forearms and he winced at the stinging.

  That was going to bruise.

  Greck didn't care and threw a punch at his chest below his guard. Neron managed to deflect it somewhat with his right arm, but it still grazed his side, and he took a step back reflexively from the pain. It was slight, with the game’s dulling of nerve signals, but it was still present and uncomfortable.

  The large orc pressed his advantage with more punches, forcing Neron back again and again. He deflected what he could, but it was mostly just him trying to keep from being knocked down in one blow.

  Thunk.

  Neron's back heel bumped against the wall of the training yard, and he could retreat no more.

  No doubt Greck had led him there deliberately. It wasn't even the first time he'd done so in training. Taciturn the man might be, but he was wily and clever. With his literal back against the wall, Neron knew he was going to lose the fight in a moment.

  With nothing left to lose, he tried a desperate gambit. Greck was too close for a kick, and his arms were in the wrong position for a punch, so Neron braced his heel against the wall and pushed himself forward.

  Greck was about average in height for an orc, only slightly topping two hundred and sixty centimeters, and hadn't been a fighter most of his life and thus was lacking the muscle density such an intense lifestyle would bring. He probably had a higher Body stat, but not by much or he wouldn't be in a basic survival Hall.

  However, he was still ten centimeters taller than Neron, half again as wide, and was a native, which meant he was still more muscled than Neron, who only maintained a semi-active lifestyle through work and hadn’t yet spent enough time in the pods for musculature to really develop.

  So, when Neron attempted to ram his shoulder into the man's green chest with a rush, Greck was able to grab him by his shoulders, halting him in place.

  Which was fine. Expected even.

  With the orc's hands full, Neron was free to finally land his own blows on the taller man's unguarded chest. His right fist crashed into Greck's solar plexus. Then his left. Then his right again.

  Knowing his limited time, Neron gambled it all on these few blows and they had an effect, even if he didn't have the leverage or position to really hit hard.

  It worked... Sort of.

  The first punch caused the orc to let out an involuntary gasp of breath, which gave Neron the time to land two more punches.

  But that was it.

  Before a fourth blow could land, Greck lowered his hands from Neron's shoulders to his biceps, locking his arms in place with meaty hands.

  "Urk." With a grunt of effort, the taller orc hoisted Neron off the ground, over his shoulders, and back down again.

  Surprised, Neron missed his chance to try and kick the man as he was unceremoniously slammed against the ground headfirst.

  -

  When he came to, Neron immediately closed his eyes with a hiss.

  His head was killing him, even with the pain reduction. Head blows were always the worst. Pain reduction was limited to physical effects, such as bruises, breaks, or, direct hits. It did nothing for mind splitting headaches.

  "Easy there," Clarence's voice was calm. "Don't open your eyes yet. Give it a bit more time to work."

  Neron tried to answer the trainer, but it came out sounding like 'mrgle.'

  Nearby, Greck grunted in amusement.

  "While we know accidents are inevitable," Clarence sighed with fond exasperation. "We do ask you to try to keep deaths to a minimum. They waste time and dealing with the corpses is annoying."

  "'s not my fault. Players are crazy. Neron’s crazier."

  "... Can you hear us, Neron?"

  Keeping his eyes closed as his head was still pounding, Neron gave a shaky thumbs up in acknowledgement.

  He was glad they broke out the good healing spells on sparing nights. No more of the usual 'get used to it' rhetoric. It let the trainees 'go all out' without fear of long-term damage that would require a full resurrection.

  "While I'm healing you, let's go over the fight. First of all, you still block too much. It should be your last resort. Even when you're wearing armor or your Body increases you should get in the habit now. You're also too cautious. You kept waiting for opportunities to counter instead of making them. You should have been right on him throughout the fight, turning his longer reach into a disadvantage. Your last trick was decently impressive, but instead of using the opportunity to break free, you put yourself in an all-or-nothing position without the ability to actually finish the fight."

  "I should have gone for the throat," Neron rasped out through grit teeth. "Or groin. I could have."

  "Thanks," Greck grunted out a laugh. "Still need those."

  "...Be that as it may, your ability to end a fight to the death, had this been one, is irrelevant. A spar should be approached like a spar. Every fight has its own conditions, from location, goals, participants and even risks. What you should have done, to get the most out of sparring, is push yourself at an angle so you could get past Greck. From there, even if you lost in the end, you would have had more time to train, and you wouldn't be laying here with a concussion."

  "Got it," Neron got out, the stinging in his head starting to recede. It was an odd feeling.

  He could, objectively, think of plenty of times his head had hurt more from just day to day headaches, which meant the pain reduction was doing its job on the actual wound. But it mimicked the side effects of a concussion well, so even if he felt less pain, he was still debilitated.

  "There's not enough time between now and the end of the session for another spar, so just lay there and let me heal you," Clarence said.

  "What about Greck?"

  "Already done my evaluation," the orc responded. "I shouldn'a let ya take me by surprise."

  A bit sorry to have missed out on learning more potential weaknesses for his regular sparring partner, Neron simply lay in the sand as the trainer kept the spell applied to his head.

  He wasn't disappointed by the loss, as he'd expected it as soon as he was paired with the taller man. Neron was in the middle of their group of trainees in overall evaluation but Polo was the only one he could reliably beat in actual combat, even though he towered over the other trainees except Greck. There was nothing to do about it since he'd never been in a fight in his life before playing God’s Nature. He hadn’t even known how to properly throw a punch before playing.

  As they crossed the halfway point in the season, Neron was expecting to be able to beat Ingrid or Fallon at least once before the end. That would keep him solidly in the middle with a shot at second, with his average scores in the obstacle course and above average results in survival training. The higher his score, the better his references.

  With a recommendation from them he'd...

  Well, he'd think of something it was useful for.

  It didn't take long for the other trainees to finish their own matches, the trainer instructing Polo stepping away to let Greck have another practice match.

  The aspiring merchant didn't look pleased, and didn't last nearly as long as Neron had, but at least he didn't end up concussed, and his bruises were easily healed.

  As usual, Ysold was... genuine with her review.

  "You all need work." Her eyes lingered on Neron for a moment, before flowing to Polo who was sprawled out in the sand. "A lot more work. If you're going to last more than a day in the wild, you need to be able to handle yourself without a weapon. It could be damaged, lost, or stolen. Tomorrow we'll be on conditioning, but we'll come back to sparing the day after. We'll repeat that for a week."

  There was some shifting among the trainees, as this was a change from the usual schedule.

  "A dungeon was established near the city. A low level one. We have one of the spots in the last raid." Ysold answered their unasked question. "Once the basic scouting, looting and purification is done, you'll go in as part of the clean-up with trainees from other Halls. It's a good chance."

  Neron had no particular reaction to the news but there was some uncomfortable shifting from Fallon and Ingrid. Greck clenched his fists in apparent excitement. Polo let out a groan.

  "You're all dismissed for the night. Neron, head to shed. You'll be working with Furu tonight."

  With his head still stinging slightly but not enough to impede him, Neron said his farewells to his fellow trainees. Ingrid headed toward the barracks to get some sleep, Greck and Fallon doing the same while Polo logged out.

  It was a bit of a waste, in Neron's opinion, with the time difference, but it was one way to deal with the character's fatigue and light injuries without having to experience them firsthand.

  Heading toward the large shed near the obstacle course, Neron only had to follow the cursing to find the old man.

  Furu was Ysold's father, and it was his training Hall she had taken over and refocused after the arrival of players. Now the old man spent most of his days nitpicking trainees, loitering around, and generally making a nuisance of himself to anyone who wasn't his daughter or the other trainers.

  Neron got along with him quite well.

  "Took ya sweet time boy," the one-time adventurer grumbled as Neron stepped past the piles of supplies and assorted materials and into the back room of the shed. "Grab that body and throw it on the table. You're doing the cutting tonight."

  He gestured at a pile of humanoid corpses thrown haphazardly on the stone ground. It was hard to make out their details in the dim light of the butcher room but there was enough of a pile to reach Neron’s chest.

  "Sure."

  Reaching down, Neron grabbed one of the creatures under its arms and hoisted it over his shoulder, carrying it toward the long table. It was solid, and heavy, but only the size of his torso and remained manageable. With the sole light hanging above his head, he was finally able to make out what, exactly he'd been carrying.

  It was a humanoid rat.

  Barely coming up to Neron's waist if it were standing perfectly straight, it would only reach his thigh as its spine curved naturally curved into in a hunch. Thick legs and arms, each ending in sharp claws that could rend flesh, and probably thinner leather armor just as well. Its face was just an enlarged rat, with black beady eyes, a thick snout, whiskers, and a set of sharp teeth.

  Neron internally sighed. Even though it had already been bled, likely where it had been killed, it wasn't clean by any measure. He was going to need to spend some money at a bathhouse tonight.

  He didn't let any of that show on his face though. Furu was a crotchety old man who only really liked Neron because he fit his idea of a 'good adventurer.'

  And a good adventurer didn't complain.

  "This here's a monster. You fight a monster yet boy?"

  "No."

  "Thought not. Ya aint dismantled one either, right?"

  "No."

  "Well ya gonna learn tonight." Furu cackled, as if looking forward to it. "The biggest thing to know is that you don't eat a monster if you don't know you can eat it. Animals, so long as they ain't poisonous, are safe going. But monster meat will kill ya if you take a nibble without preparation." He paused, leaning against the table and then shrugged. "Well, most monsters. Some are fine, but you don't know ya sword from your dick yet, so don't bother trying."

  Neron remained silent as he donned the bloodstained apron and reached for the knives, checking their sharpness.

  A good adventurer always knows the condition of their tools.

  "Ratmen, like these bunch, can be eaten with the right magic," Furu pointed at the pile of corpses and spat on the stone ground. "But it'd be a waste. Shit's nasty. We'll be burning it and giving the bones to the hounds. Most low-level monsters are like that. Not worth the time to prepare ‘em. Twenty years ago, we'd have burned the lot. But ya Players need all the help ya can get." He spat again.

  Neron just stood there, knives laid out on the table as the old man rambled.

  A good adventurer needed patience.

  "Start with the limbs. Use the cleaver. No, not that one! The big one! One good whack."

  Reaching for an arm, Neron held it flat against the table with his left hand and raised the cleaver with his right.

  Thwack!

  The blade descended in a clean arc, cutting through hide, flesh and bone in a solid movement and embedding itself in the wood of the table. While this might be his first monster, he’d worked in this shed enough to have a bit of practice and easily hit the joint, the ligaments easier to cut than the solid part of the bone.

  "You're getting used to it." The reluctant grumbling was as close to a compliment as Neron could expect from the man. "Aim closer to the paw. Ya want to cut right past the bone."

  Thwack!

  "Now the legs."

  Thwack!

  "Idiot! Ya think the ankle's there for show?"

  Thwack!

  "Bring the bin over and toss ‘em in. You're gonna gut it. Same as a deer. A smelly deer."

  Despite Furu's words, there was a difference in organs from the deer the trainees had worked on in their survival class. Both in size, as well as location. This led to Neron accidentally puncturing both the bladder and the liver.

  "Congratulations, ya ruined it. Well? What are you waiting for? Go grab another."

  Carrying the ruined corpse toward the incendiary location, further dirtying his clothes, Neron silently picked up another ratman and laid it out on the table.

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  "... Tolerable. Now don't fuck it up this time."

  It was a struggle to get through the thick hide. He needed to use enough strength to cut the fur and flesh yet be careful not to pierce too deeply, lest he puncture something.

  His cut wasn't exactly straight but Neron managed it in the end without soiling the creature.

  By the time he'd shoveled the guts into the bin, his entire arms were covered with what blood and bodily fluid had remained in the body.

  "Before you start slicing, double check the neck. Sometimes the morons on sight don't cut all the way around when they bleed ‘em. A good adventurer should always double check others' work. Especially if you don't know who did it."

  "It's clean."

  "Then get cutting."

  This part, at least, was similar to the animals they'd worked on before. Incisions along the limbs at folding points before returning to the chest and beginning to saw the thick hide from the body starting from the ribs.

  Neron wasn't a steady hand at this by any stretch of the imagination. He'd sometimes cut too deep and puncture the hide or cut at the wrong angle and chip bone and meat. Part of it was his general unfamiliarity with the work, but a part of it was the sheer toughness of the body.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Even if ratmen were low level, a monster was a creature with magic. For some, this granted them supernatural abilities, like the ability to breath fire or other esoteric tricks, but in many cases, it simply reinforced the body beyond what was natural, allowing creatures to exist in environments that wouldn’t naturally allow them.

  By the time Neron had finished separating the thick hide from the rest of the body, there were still fleshy bits attached and had a half dozen holes.

  "Ya might have left enough intact for a glove. Just one though."

  Neron didn't say anything, just tossing the skinned corpse on the pile to be burned and grabbing the third ratman. Before he could lay it on the table, Furu stopped him.

  "Throw that one away."

  Neron blinked but did as he was told without question, but he did take a look after he'd put it on the one he'd finished.

  All the ratmen had scars, looking like they'd come from other ratmen or beasts, and there were also the wounds from whatever had killed them. Mostly from bladed weaponry, but a few did have arrow holes or signs of magic. The one he was throwing away had a puncture through its lower ribs, stabbing upward into its chest cavity.

  It wasn't in any worse shape than the other two ratmen he'd already worked on, so Neron didn't see any reason to throw it away.

  "Smell it."

  Doing as he was told, Neron brought his nose closer to the wound to give it a good sniff, only to step back with a grimace at the pungent odor.

  "Ha," Furu barked out in amusement at his face. "The moron who killed it didn't bother telling us he popped something in there and the super-moron who bled it didn't notice. What's this place coming to if we're bringing rotten bodies. A good adventurer always trusts their nose."

  Ignoring the old man's grumbling, Neron grabbed a fourth corpse from the pile and laid it out on the table.

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Furu continued to watch him with a critical eye, pointing out any little issue, but it didn't take long for him to get bored as body after body was processed and Neron became more accustomed to the task.

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Eventually, he started to ramble on other subjects and Neron internally smiled.

  "You're passable," Furu eventually grumbled amid his skinning the seventh ratman. "For a player. All the others bitched and moaned. 'Give me gloves.' 'It's disgusting.' 'It smells.' A bunch of babies. Whatever world your’s is like, it goes too easy on ya if ya can't even stomach a bit of blood. A good adventurer gets their hands dirty."

  To be honest, Neron would have also asked for gloves if not for his prior reading. He'd come across a book on diseases and noticed a piece of information. Or rather, the lack of information.

  All the diseases, plagues, or similar health issues in God’s Nature had an origin in magic. This world completely lacked the concept of non-magical plagues and diseases.

  It wasn't that they didn't exist, but rather the large number of people with high Body stats acted almost as people with vaccines to give those with lower stats a herd immunity before they grew up. Anything left over was easily cured by magic. So, if disease or virus wished to stay around long enough to have an impact, it needed to be magical in nature.

  Since this game was so realistic, there was still a need to maintain proper hygiene, due to so many people having greater than human senses most of the population was more hygienic than what was expected in true history, but Neron didn't really have to worry about a blood borne illness from low level creatures like these.

  Besides, if it had been a concern, Furu would have nagged about not taking the proper precautions.

  "If ya asked me, we should toss every player into a dungeon and let them sort themselves out. That's how we did it in my day. Ya wanted to be an adventurer? You went out and got killed a few times. The training Halls were just groups of us running off to die. Every time we left the city, half of us would die and the other half would have killed a dozen monsters."

  Neron let him drone on, his voice coming in one ear and out the other. He listened, because of course he did, but this was a complaint he'd heard a half dozen times.

  There was wisdom in the ramblings, however. Information for those who knew where to look. Even if he had to sift through an old man’s gripes to get it.

  Neron also didn't really have the right to complain as he was the one that fostered this relationship, and it benefited him. Half the information he'd gained about the training Hall was from the old man's complaints.

  A part of Neron appreciated the irony of the youngest player in the Hall being the one stuck with the oldest native. With barely thirty or forty years apart in age, he was closer to Furu than Furu was to Polo or Ingrid. Yet they wore their years so differently.

  Sometimes, someone just wanted someone to listen to them. Especially if they were lonely. And Neron could provide that welcoming ear without issue. All he wished for was the information freely given.

  A fair trade if there ever was one in Neron's mind.

  "Ratmen? They used to show up all the time. Breeding in the sewers. Now? One dungeon appears nearby and everybody flips out. New evolved too." Furu spat at the trash pile. "They ain't even plague rats. Or a proper swarm. They probably got pushed out of- Oi! Check the neck ya moron!"

  Neron did so, finding the fur properly separated around the thick neck. The old man was just being nit-picky.

  Furu went back to grumbling intelligibly as he watched Neron work on the last few ratman.

  It was hard, bloody work but Neron managed to finish it in a few hours, only spoiling one other hide. By the end, even if he couldn't claim to be an expert, his hand was at least steady and his final ratman hide had no more extra holes in it than when he'd first laid it out on the table.

  "Barely acceptable," Furu said, holding up the last hide to the light.

  "Thanks."

  "Don't get a big head." Furu threw the bloody fur at Neron, who caught it and put it with the others to be shipped off. "You'll need to do this two more times. When the wave pushes through the dungeon and when we go for the last clear. You'll be working on-site so don't die during the cleanup run."

  Neron just nodded.

  The impromptu dungeon run would be against ratmen? Plenty of time for Neron to study up on them.

  "Get out of here," Furu waved him away with one hand while casting a wave of fire at the pile of discarded bodies. "You stink."

  Neron didn't bother wishing the old codger a good night, knowing he wasn't paying attention anymore, and just left the shed and stepped out into the night air.

  It was an objectively beautiful night, with a clear sky, the shadow of the rings not obstructing more than a few moons. Even with the lunar light, and the light from the city, there wasn't enough light pollution to stop him from seeing the stars. The air, despite the chill of autumn having settled in during the last week, was warm enough so that Neron could imagine this was one of summer's last hurrahs.

  How novel.

  Despite being covered in blood and smelling like a corpse pit, Neron only got a few odd looks as he made his way toward the bathhouse. Even a group of patrolling guards only gave him a once over, checking for injuries and suspicious items.

  It wasn't like being covered in blood was a super rare occurrence in this world. By sticking to the well-lit roads and walking with clear purpose, Neron looked just like any other late-night adventurer returning from a day of killing beasts and monsters. The only reason he got a second glance at all was that most would have cleaned up before reaching this part of the city.

  It only took him fifteen minutes to reach his usual bathhouse. It wasn't fancy but Neron had chosen it because the water provided to wash was warm and they also washed his clothes while he cleaned himself. The soap wasn't scented, and the spells weren't gentle on his clothes, but it sufficed.

  It took the last of his coin but, when he emerged forty minutes later, he was clean and dry.

  Neron briefly considered looking for a quick job, but all the ones he knew of wouldn't be open this late. There were plenty of facilities that catered to players whose sleep schedules didn't match those of the natives, but those twenty-four-hour establishments were unfamiliar to Neron, who'd been content with his own company and did not bother with the usual player tactics of seeking quests as soon as they started.

  Neither he nor Shejou were near the end of their rest cycle, so there was no point in heading toward the apartment.

  Deciding to wait till the sun rose to think about money, he did what he usually did and headed toward the park.

  Neron took his time to meander his way there, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of the changing of seasons.

  It was around midnight that he finally reached that small cops of trees and the bench he'd spent his first weeks sleeping on.

  In the light of the moons, Neron saw a small shape move in the shadows under the bench that made him pause.

  It was the little snake.

  Ever since Medea had first pointed it out, he'd noticed it off and on when he came by. Not every time, of course, but often enough that he was confident he could have identified it by its scale patterns. The park wasn't so big that there were too many places for it to hide, even amidst fallen leaves and the roots of the trees.

  There was probably a hole nearby for it to sleep and it could have eaten the occasional vermin or small bird that visited.

  It wasn't doing any of that though.

  It was curled up under the direct center of the bench, and its tiny head was slightly poking up through the gaps in the wood of the bench. It would have been almost completely invisible in the gloom if it weren't for the slight shadow cast by the bright moons at an angle.

  Neron stopped and watched the small creature in interest.

  He was no expert on any animal, let alone snakes, but this seemed... odd.

  As he watched, Neron noticed the way the serpent's head slowly panned in a circle, its tongue flickering in and out to taste the air. Only, it wasn't searching around itself. Its head was tilted upward so that its eyes faced the night sky and its tongue was acting almost as a periscope.

  This...

  Neron made no effort to quiet his footsteps as he approached, and the snake turned its head to face him. It quickly withdrew from between the wood boards, concealing itself in the dark of the bench's underside.

  Yet it made no move to slither away.

  Neron sat down on the bench, right above the small animal as if he hadn't noticed its presence. He leaned forward, placing his hands casually on his legs.

  Neron gave himself to the count of twenty.

  If he was correct then the snake wouldn't try to run.

  Neron relaxed his body as he reached ten, as if settling in for a long stay.

  The serpent should be right under...

  Quick as a flash, Neron leaned forward and reached between his legs with his right arm, blindly groping around the dirt under the bench.

  As soon as he felt the cool scales, he clenched and pulled away, his prize in hand.

  He'd been right. The snake had slithered forward to make use of his body as cover, placing it in arm’s reach.

  It tried to wiggle to freedom in his grasp, slipping and sliding for purchase in between his fingers but Neron wasn't letting go.

  It even tried biting him and wrapping coils around his hand. Unfortunately, it had no fangs to speak of and barely pierced his knuckle. It was also shorter than his forearm and barely wider than his pinky, so Neron barely felt anything from its attempt.

  Grabbing it at the base of its head with his left hand, Neron pried the small serpent from his hand. A few beads of blood welled up but with the pain reduction he couldn't even feel a sting and they were so small they would close in minutes with the drops’ coagulation.

  With his left hand holding its head still and his right grasping its body, Neron held the small snake up to his face to get a good look at it in the light of the moons.

  It was a garter snake, as he'd guessed, with mostly black scales except for two lines of dark green running down its sides and faint hints of light grey stripping along its back.

  Its head was barely the size of his thumb.

  "You can understand me, right?"

  The snake stilled in Neron's grasp.

  As he'd guessed. This little one had developed a Self, just like that eagle whose feathers Medea had plucked.

  The same eagle which had killed and eaten this same snake only weeks ago.

  Had the serpent had a Self before it died, and it had only just returned? Or had it just developed it?

  Either way, it clearly remembered its death and rebirth if it was watching the sky so warily.

  "You are a helpless little thing, aren't you?" Neron asked rhetorically. "Scared the bird will be back? You can only hide from it."

  The serpent didn't respond except for the flickering of its tongue in and out of its mouth.

  How could Neron get the most use out of this creature?

  Wouldn't it be better to kill it? Or maybe sell it?

  An animal or monster with a Self was worth a lot. He'd heard them referred to as 'Named' or 'Elite' creatures on the forums he'd started frequenting. Normally they’d be targeted for the experience used to level up, but since it was such a weak and helpless creature it might not even get a new player to level two.

  As a research specimen it would probably be worth a lot, though. Medea had mentioned it, hadn't she? If he sold it to a magic Hall or academy it would probably solve all his monetary concerns for a while without having to rely on his sisters or his friend.

  The serpents' head tilted up, as if checking the sky even now.

  An errant thought popped into Neron's head. It wasn't anything special, just something he'd seen on his screen last night when investigating early video game culture.

  It had no source, was certainly routed in some long-lost media, and had simply been some tidbit of useless words that floated in the vast sea of information that made up the internet.

  Yet, looking at this little snake, Neron couldn't help but think of that short poem.

  "Though I may devour the five continents

  And swallow the three seas

  A body with neither wings,

  Nor hands,

  Nor feet,

  Is helpless against the sky."

  Slit eyes turned from the sky to look Neron in the eyes.

  The tiny snake was certainly no World Serpent.

  He could get money in a dozen ways but an opportunity like this was the first he'd discovered in weeks.

  "Since you understand me, let us make a deal," Neron spoke to the serpent. "I will protect you. I will feed you. I will help you grow. In exchange, you will help me with whatever I want. What do you say?"

  That small tongue tasted the air once more.

  Then, as if after careful thought, the little snake lowered its head to rest against Neron's thumb.

  Testing something, Neron released his left hand and opened his right.

  The snake did not slither away. It sat there, coiled in his palm, its head slightly bobbing side to side as it continued to taste the air.

  How wonderful.

  "Jormungandr is a touch too grandiose," said Neron, rubbing his finger along the top of the small snake's head. It retreated slightly. "For now, I will call you Jorry."

  "Jormungandr..."

  The voice was soft, almost sounding young as it hissed the word in contemplation.

  Neron raised his brows in surprise.

  Unless he missed something, a creature gaining a Self did not grant it the ability to speak a language. In fact, there were debates about whether a Self even allowed one to understand a language at all or if it needed to be learned. Speaking was almost unheard of due to lack of vocal cords and the like.

  "Jormungandr," Jorry repeated, tasting the name. "What is that?"

  "It's a mythological figure. What I repeated was a poem loosely based on it," answered Neron without missing a beat. If the reason the snake was now talking wasn't rooted in Jorry, then it was caused by something to do with him. "It is usually described as a snake, sea serpent, or sometimes a dragon. No matter what, it is a creature that continues to grow and grow and grow.”

  Neron pulled open his menu as he talked and navigated to his profile.

  "A dragon..." said Jorry lowly. "Can't dragons fly?"

  "Maybe it could. Like I said, it is a myth. Probably, the poem has to do with how it lived and died," Neron answered distractedly. There had been no sourcing for that little poem and it had just been something he’d found casually, so he did not know the writer’s intent or if there was an assigned meaning.

  Of more interest was what he discovered in his system.

  There it was, right at the top of his screen.

  His Nature had finally settled.

  "What happened to Jormangandr?"

  "Eventually, it became so large that it encircled the entire world. Forced to eat its own tail so it would be able to keep growing, it was banished to the ocean where it waits for the end of the world. When Ragnar?k comes, it will fight the god of thunder. It will be slain by him but poison him to death in turn."

  Neron checked the skill that he received.

  "So Jormungandr won in the end?" The small serpent looked at the stars. "Against the sky?"

  "That is one way of looking at it." Mythology was inherently subjective, and any interpretation was as valid as any other.

  Still... This game considered him just as much a beast as Jorry?

  "Can you help me do that? Overcome the sky?"

  "Certainly." Neron closed the menu and met Jorry's slit eyes. "In my world humans do not have any magic, yet we conquered the sky. We even conquered the sky beyond the sky."

  He could understand why his Nature had settled in this manner. Despite its name, the Nature of the Beast was a generic 'whatever works, works' Nature and thus could take almost any form.

  Neron had spent these first few months using others to his own ends, improving his situation through networking and social skills, with only minimal magical or physical growth. Thus, it had given him a skill to facilitate that going forward.

  "'The sky beyond the sky?'"

  "You see the moons?"

  In a very real sense, Neron used others' power as his own. His decision to recruit Jorry had probably just been a way for the system to crystallize it into a skill. If he'd persisted in the same way without working with a 'Beast' he'd probably have received a leadership skill of some sort instead. Maybe one that allowed him to use lesser versions of others’ skills.

  "Yes."

  "We only have one, but we live on it." As the tiny snake looked at the human with surprise, Neron gave the small creature a smile. "I live further still. So far away that my home is only a small red dot in the sky."

  It seemed like his time in God’s Nature was going to be tied to this little serpent for the moment. Best to create a baseline relationship for the moment.

  "That’s way higher than that bird."

  "Indeed," Neron rubbed the snake's small head with a finger. It leaned into his touch. "If humans, with no magic or power, can reach so far, what is stopping you?"

  Medea wondered why he wasn't as fascinated by magic as everyone else seemed to be, but Neron was of the opposite mind. He thought others didn't get it.

  Humanity had already achieved practically everything magic could provide.

  "I'm small. Don't have wings. Or hands. Or feet. I'm helpless."

  "We all are, in the grand scheme of things," mused Neron philosophically before shrugging. "But that is irrelevant. Even if all you can do is move a grain of sand, if you pile sand high enough, it will eventually reach the clouds."

  "Won't it fall?"

  "Certainly. Nothing you say or do will ever keep your tower of sand up forever. Even if it were made of stone or steel, it will eventually fall."

  Jorry seemed to appreciate the metaphor and had a certain romantic view of the world, so Neron tried to frame things in that way for him. Since Jorry had memories before it developed a Self, of which Neron was almost certainly a part due to his presence in this park, there was no point in trying to create a full facade. A certain spin on words could still have a positive effect, though.

  "So, what's the point?"

  "There is no point."

  "... But I want to reach the sky."

  How single-minded.

  Whether it was solely due to survival, a desire for revenge, or some other, grander goal, Neron could appreciate such single-mindedness. It was something he'd always admired in others. It'd been what drew him to Medea in the first place.

  Medea hadn't been wrong to claim that Neron didn't have any real desires at the moment. He'd had a few in the past, so he wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling, but all his needs were being met.

  The basics of all living things is the desire to chase what they 'want.'

  "Then, when your tower of sand falls, just build it again. Wanting something is enough to be the point itself."

  Neron did not want anything, but he recognized that others were different. Expecting others to think and feel the same as himself would be ignorant. So, he just enjoyed watching others chase what they wanted. Usually through the lens of history, which was filled with ambitious people and the consequences thereof.

  "...Alright. You help me conquer the sky and I'll help you."

  Food. Shelter. Religion. Survival. Community. Sex. Revenge. Ideals.

  Every reason, every ‘want,’ has shaped the world.

  They were all equally valid to Neron.

  "That is great to hear," said Neron, continuing to pet the small serpent's head. "I know I called you Jorry, but do you have a name already? Or would you prefer a different one?"

  "I didn't have one. I like Jorry."

  "Then, tomorrow morning, we can start. Before we think of anything so grand as to conquer the sky, we will need to get you a bit more experience, a few levels and some practice working together."

  That was still hours away though. For now, it was better to develop a rapport with the sapient serpent. Neron had a lot of questions, but making this into an interrogation wouldn't help Jorry trust him or follow his directions.

  So, Neron turned his problem into the solution itself and let Jorry do the work for him.

  "Before any of that, do you have questions for me?"

  "Can you tell me more about Jormungadr?" asked Jorry, tongue flicking in and out in excitement as he pressed his tiny head further into Neron's finger again.

  "Certainly," agreed Neron easily. He'd been expecting questions about his plan or his nature as a player, but this worked too. Norse mythology and cosmology weren’t his area of focus, but he'd read the Eddas and a bit of scholarship on the subject so he could give surface level information.

  "Before I say anything though, you need to understand that this is all filtered through oral stories, that were then written down by an... external source that had a vested interest not in preserving history and myth, but of using it for their own ends."

  There would be no point in going into the controversies surrounding Christianity's chronicling of Skaldic poetry and myth, but Neron wasn't about to claim his knowledge was the be-all-end-all of information on the subject.

  Or at least he wouldn't claim such when it wouldn't serve his purpose here.

  "So... it isn't true?"

  "My world has never had a dragon, as far as we can tell. Nor have we had gods, monsters, or magic. At least nothing has been proven. It is all just stories," Neron explained lightly, noticing the tiny beast droop in disappointment, he grinned. "But you want to know a secret?"

  "What?"

  "Even if they are just stories, those stories exist. No matter how much we think we know or we actually know, we cannot dismiss stories because they are not real."

  "If they weren't real, why do they matter?"

  "Because they mattered to real people. Because they matter to our history. Because they might matter to someone right now."

  "...I don't get it."

  "You will. Eventually. For now, just remember this: 'We must believe in history and myth. Even if they are not true.'"

  Judging by the little head tilt, the small serpent didn't understand that statement, but Neron would let Jorry come to his own conclusions.

  This was just a brief partnership that would end in a bit over two years of game time. While Neron could give answers to questions, they were just his own interpretations of them and eventually Jorry would have to form his own. He'd use the snake for his purpose and, in return, would leave it with 'processes' that it could use to further develop its own knowledge. Only then could it learn.

  "Now, how about that story about Jormungadr?" That peaked the snake's attention. "There once was a Jotun, a giant, named Loki. He had three monstrous children..."

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