Max Level Miscellaneous Character

o me?”
The man answered Ivan’s question with a moan.
“Keuk! I’ve heard that there is someone who calls himself Esirsson.
I’ve come to check it out.”
Ivan asked a few more questions.
So why did you come to him, what are you going to do by confirming that he is indeed Esirsson?
The man shut his mouth firmly.
It meant, he wouldn’t say it easily.
But when Ivan lifted the spear, he quickly started talking.
At first he looked like he will never talk, even if thrown in the lava, but the change of attitude is insanely quick.
Ivan liked it very much.
“I had to confirm the appearance of Esirsson after hundreds of years! That’s my job!”
Esirsson.

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A title that can only be possessed by a noble bloodline flowing with the blood of the gods, especially great warriors who have been recognized by the gods.
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Son of Asa god, the great warrior of the gods.
Ivan knew that.
But is it important enough to make such a fuss?
“It’s been hundreds of years, just like you said.
Why are you so obsessed with such an old name?”
Old name.
At that, the man screamed.
He vomited out anger, forgetting that he was being suppressed.
“An old name! How can you say such a thing! A name of noble blood and evidence of a great warrior!”
He exhaled harshly as if he was genuinely angry.
Esirsson which Ivan said was an old name, must have had a precious meaning only to him.
‘I don’t understand.’
It wasn’t Ivan’s first encounter with the Norse.
How many times did they not pass by him in the meantime?
When he introduced himself as Ivan Esirsson, no one had overreacted like this.
They just smiled strangely, said they liked it after a long time, or sarcastically asked if he deserved it.
But this man didn’t just come to pick a fight because he didn’t like it.
He sincerely valued the name of Esirsson.
“None of the Norse I know are like you.
You’re the only one obsessed with the name Esirsson.
It’s not just interesting.
What’s the meaning of a name in its former glory, which has dissappeared for hundreds of years to you?”
Ivan took a step back from his position and looked down at the man.
“who are you?”
Then the man slowly got up.
His face felt pain and his clothes were stained with dust, but his eyes were still alive.
“I am Fialar, the son of Gbydmund, the descendant of those who long ago handed weapons to the great warriors.”
At those words, Ivan glanced at Fialar’s hand.
Obviously, there were traces of a different scars than by holding the weapon.
He was not only a warrior, he was also a weapon maker.
It was not surprising that the blacksmith also served as a warrior.
Originally, in Nord, any adult male was so combative that he thought he should have his own weapon.
“Yes, Fialar.
Son of Gbydmund.
How would you identify Esirsson? What are you going to do after checking it?”
Fialar did not reveal how he tried to confirm, but merely stated his purpose.
“I was going to dedicate the sword I made to a true hero.
That was my predecessor’s mission, and that’s my goal.”
He was waiting for a hero.
Even if it’s a fantasy that doesn’t exist in this damn world.
“People do not praise the greatest craftsman.
They praise the maker of the greatest hero’s armament.”
So he said he was wandering the world.
And looking for a true hero who will use the weapon he made.
“Well, will the hero really use your weapon? Are you saying you have that skill?”

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“At least it’s better than the cheap weapons you use.
The spear you’re holding is good, but the rest are bad.”
At that, Ivan frowned.
‘However, I bought some from a craftsman who said he had good skills…’
There were also things that were obtained from the craftsman who made armor from hydra leather.
When he cut it off and said that it was all cheap, it made Ivan feel uncomfortable.
He bought it freaking expensive.
“Ehem…”
Fialar took something out of his pocket, worried about his body throbbing in pain.
A golden liquid glistening in a glass bottle.
When he opened the lid, a fresh and sweet apple scent filled the air.
As Fialar drank it, he could see the scars on his body disappear.
It is a kind of recovery potion.
“It’s a healing medicine made from the crushed golden apples of Idun (Iðunn).
It tastes good, but it’s too expensive to get…”
As Ivan mumbled that, Fialar took another golden apple juice and threw it at him.
hwik
“Would you like to have one of these too?”
Ivan pondered for a moment, then drank the golden apple juice he had received.
He doubted that he might have been poisoned, but he couldn’t show his doubt for nothing.
gulp.
As he took a sip, the splendid taste spreads in his mouth.
Indeed, a golden apple that was raised with Idun’s divine power.
It has a sweetness and freshness that surpasses ordinary fruits.
To be honest, it tasted much better than the apple juice he had ever had in his life.
“The weapons seem to be selling well.
Seeing you carry a few bottles of this kind.”
“Obviously.
It’s a weapon made by me.
But it’s meaningless unless you’re a hero who will leave my name in history.”
He was very proud of himself.
Is he that confident in his skills?
‘Come to think of it, leaving such a mark on my spear means that the weapon is not ordinary.’
As Ivan looked at his spear like that, Fialar opened his mouth.
“It’s not something the loser would say, but I don’t think you’re worthy of a hero’s name yet.”
Esirsson was a name that could never be carried unless he was the best of the Norse warriors.
No, it was a name they had put down for hundreds of years because they were too burdensome.
At least in the eyes of Fialar, Ivan was not qualified.
“But if it’s a bud, I can see it.
Follow me.
Shouldn’t you erase the scar on your spear?”
Ivan nodded his head and followed Fialar.
He glanced at the glass bottle in his hand and murmured.
“There are good gods in Asgard too.”