Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

Born of the harsh, ice-clad northern lands—a place steeped in grand myth, where all things meet their end in flames—Scandinavia was swept by bitter winds. Yet the people here, hardened by the cold, did not cower before it. Instead, they answered with hearty, booming laughter.

For they knew—the great sea monster of the North Sea, the Kraken, bringer of disaster, had been defeated by their king, Beowulf, half a month ago.

Now they could once more cast their nets in the North Sea without fear.

Here, food came mainly from hunting and gathering—venison, fish, and wild fruits filled their tables. The strength to forage, the strength to hunt, the strength to consume, the strength to fight, the strength to kill—the fierce will to survive under any conditions—such wild, stormlike power lived in the heart of every soul here.

Majestic mountains towered into the clouds, their peaks capped year-round in silver-white snow, gleaming under the sunlight like crowns of ice, dazzling and pure.

Below, in the city at their feet, many citizens had set down their work, dressed in warm, durable furs, their faces alight with excitement as they awaited the return of their king.

From every street and alley, cheers rose in a mighty chorus.

And then—through the city gates, to the roar of the crowd—emerged the golden-haired King of Geatland, Beowulf, a towering man nearly two meters tall, his frame broad and thick with muscle, his body marked with countless battle scars. At his side walked two strangers—one of them with silver hair, a sight none in the crowd had ever seen.

The moment they laid eyes on them, the people cried out in unison:

"Beowulf! Beowulf! Beowulf! Beowulf!"

Their joy was not merely because the Kraken had been slain—it came from the deep, unwavering trust they held for their king.

Beowulf smiled, his bright gaze sweeping across the crowd, warm and steady.

Without a word, the deafening city fell silent—so still that a dropped pin would ring clear.

"Everyone! The Kraken of the North Sea has been destroyed! But this is not my victory alone!"

The golden-haired man, bare-chested as though the cold could not touch him, gestured to the silver-haired man beside him.

"This is Siegfried, a dragonslayer from distant lands! He fought by my side to bring down the Kraken!"

Siegfried, who had volunteered to follow Avia here, gave a small, polite nod.

Then Beowulf took Avia's hand and, flashing white teeth in a grin, declared:

"And this—Avia! The one who personally struck down the Kraken! The true bringer of peace to Geatland! The one who saved both me and Siegfried from the monster's grasp! A hero beyond question!"

For a king and warrior like Beowulf, to downplay his own role was a rare thing indeed—but he did so without hesitation.

Not only out of respect for Avia's strength and the divine recognition they had received, but also from gratitude that Avia had answered his call.

For in these northern lands, there still lurked Grendel—a water fiend and giant who delighted in killing, dwelling deep in the mountains—a far greater terror than the Kraken. Beowulf had long wished to slay him and rid the land of his evil.

Avia knew of Grendel as well—he and his mother were said to be descendants of Cain, the firstborn of Adam and Eve, who slew his brother Abel out of jealousy and was cursed for it.

A creature of the Christian lineage sowing havoc in Norse lands… Naturally, as one who had received Odin's runes and also served as the first Pope, Avia had come to deal with him.

Beowulf's voice rang out again, deep and thunderous:

"Not only that—this is one who has passed the trials set by the All-Father Himself, one under the protection of the fair and mighty Valkyries who once soared the skies of the Age of Gods! A warrior acknowledged by Odin!"

At this, the people's spirits blazed brighter still. When runes shimmered faintly in the air around Avia, they gazed upon the warrior with awe and reverence.

…

You're awfully quiet, Ephmylos.

Amid the rejoicing crowd, only Avia noticed that Typhon seemed in poor spirits.

The silver-haired youth, barely in his teens in appearance, sent a thought to the girl—though she had existed for tens of thousands of years—who now formed his armor.

For reasons she could not quite name, the girl-turned-armor kept her feelings locked inside.

I was just thinking… Albion's been dead for ages, so why do I still sense her aura on you? And knowing her personality, there's no way she'd allow anyone to get close. Don't tell me… you touched her corpse? No, that's impossible. An ordinary person couldn't even approach it…

Albion? And why, exactly, would she never allow contact? Avia asked with interest.

*You wouldn't know—you were born in this era. She was always calling herself "the mightiest dragon." We didn't meet often back then, but whenever we did, she'd look down her nose at me. Not that I cared much at the time—I was too busy planning to kill the Olympian gods to bother with her.

But if it came to a fight, I could've crushed her underfoot without effort. Remember this, human—true strength isn't something you brag about. So the fact that she kept declaring it just showed she was putting on a front. As if she were the only pureblood dragon—ha! Hearing it over and over was disgusting.

Damn it… Zeus may be a bull, but he's far stronger than Babylon's Bull of Heaven. If my target had been him instead, I'd have finished the job long ago—and wouldn't have been sealed away for so long.

Still, thinking about it now… maybe it's better this way. At least I didn't end up as dead as Albion. She's gone beyond saving.*

Typhon, as always, could not stop talking once Avia humored her—practically a chatterbox.

Avia, despite having heard her ramble countless times, still found himself smiling from the heart. For aside from her obsession with killing the Olympians, Typhon was disarmingly pure—almost childlike.

…I see. So that's how it is.

Right. And I almost forgot—I still intend to eat you.

That was rather listless. Try again. What's your goal?

I will—absolutely—devour you.