Anagin Chronicles

Chapter 001. The Decision (1)

A world where gods, nymphs, dwarves, satyrs, monsters, and humans coexist.

In one remote corner of that world, there was a small village.

This little village, hidden deep within the forest, was so isolated that most people didn’t even know it existed.

In short—it had no presence.

But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Having no presence meant there were no kings to collect taxes, no temples to demand tribute, and no bandits to extort protection fees.

Thanks to that, the villagers could fully enjoy the fruits of their own labor.

Of course, where there’s good, there’s always bad.

In a village without oppressors, there were no protectors either—so they had to face all the world’s disasters on their own.

Floods, droughts, wild beasts… especially wild beasts were the most dangerous.

The forest was so deep it could be called an uncharted wilderness, and the animals that roamed its edges were fierce and enormous, posing a constant threat to the village’s survival.

Well, that was all in the past now.

These days, the wild beasts posed no threat to the little village.

Why?

Because of a young man who lived in a hut on the edge of town—

A young man named Anagin.

Anagin was a ‘Gigant’, one who could wield the power of giants. Though his build looked ordinary, he possessed strength far beyond human comprehension.

As a child, he pulled trees from the ground with his bare hands, shattered boulders, and struck down wild boars and other beasts with his fists.

In a tiny village whose very origins were unclear, the birth of such a person was nothing short of a miracle—and thanks to him, the villagers were freed from the terror of wild beasts.

So despite his rough personality, everyone in the village treated Anagin kindly. And in return, Anagin took pride in himself.

He believed he was a hero.

Even if it was just a small village, he protected it—so he thought he deserved to be called one.

A hero from a storybook who could do anything if he just set his mind to it.

Perhaps that was why the emotion most familiar to Anagin was confidence, while the one most foreign to him was helplessness.

And yet, in the season of hope—spring—Anagin was tasting helplessness for the first time.

The same man who had taken care of wolves, bears, boars… and even the village drunkard.

“Cough…! Cough…!”

A weak cough echoed through the hut.

Anagin lifted his head toward the sound, feeling the bitter sting of humiliation—there was nothing he could do.

For the first time in his life, he was facing a situation that his strength could not solve.

It was awkward, confusing, and infuriating—but he couldn’t show it.

“Cough…! Cough…!”

If he did, his little sister lying in bed might get scared.

“Drink this.”

Anagin handed her a cup of water, pretending to be calm. His sister smiled faintly and took it.

He watched her closely.

A pale complexion.

A gaunt face.

Dry lips.

Cold sweat beading on her forehead.

They were the same symptoms as the plague that had taken their parents and the lives of the other villagers during the winter.

And now, that same disease had come for his sister.

Clench…!

Anagin’s fist tightened.

He had buried the corpses, burned the contaminated belongings, searched every corner of the forest for medicinal herbs—but nothing worked. The helplessness was maddening.

What angered him the most, though, was that he alone remained perfectly healthy.

It was said that Gigants who wielded Energy (Γι), the power of giants, were immune to illness — and it seemed that was true after all.

Everyone else was dying, yet he alone stood unscathed… It felt like some sick, twisted joke told by a cruel god.

“…What a shame.”

Lost in thought, Anagin heard his sister’s frail voice beside him.

She was the only family he had left.

In his heart, Anagin silently agreed.

He too thought it was a shame—that his sister hadn’t inherited the power of the Gigants like he had.

Even if one was born with Gigant blood, that didn’t guarantee the power would awaken.

“Haa…”

Exhaling quietly, Anagin asked what she meant. Surely her regret wasn’t the same as his.

“What’s a shame?”

“I wanted to go on a trip with you… Remember? You promised.”

A promise, huh… That’s right.

His curious little sister had always wanted to see the outside world—the one their teacher used to talk about.

She’d been so determined that she’d begged, pleaded, even pouted—something she almost never did—until Anagin promised to take her on a journey one day.

Honestly, he hadn’t been interested. He was perfectly content with village life and had no curiosity about the world beyond.

He only made that promise because it was what his sister wanted.

But now… it was a meaningless promise.

In the end, she was going to die.

“What nonsense is that? You’ll get better, and then we’ll go together.”

Anagin lied. His sister was going to die. The countless graves he had dug through the winter told him that much.

“Master’s bringing a new medicine tomorrow.”

It would be useless. Even the physician who had come from outside the village—his master—couldn’t stop this sickness.

“You’ll recover, and we’ll go traveling together. We promised, remember?”

Anagin spoke one lie after another—words even he didn’t believe. Lies, plain and simple.

It was the first time he’d ever told one. He’d bragged before, sure—boasted of his strength—but never lied.

Yet here he was, lying now, because he was powerless. Weak. And it felt awful. He wasn’t even good at it.

“Mm… okay, Brother.”

Even so, his sister nodded faintly, despite knowing he was lying.

“Haa… I’m… uh, going to the bathroom.”

Overwhelmed by the suffocating awkwardness, Anagin muttered another lie and slipped out of the hut.

Outside, the only things in sight were the forest sprouting with fresh green buds, and the starlight scattered across the night sky.

Some said a few of those stars were gods. Anagin gazed up at them silently.

It wasn’t because he had some softhearted habit of looking at the sky for comfort like a sentimental girl. He’d never liked looking up at anything.

But he vaguely remembered, before his father’s death, hearing a strange voice once while staring at this same night sky.

‘Would you like help?’

At the time, Anagin had ignored it. He wasn’t the kind of man who leaned on hallucinations.

The voice came again a few times after that, and each time, he ignored it.

When his mother died.

When his friends died.

When the girls who’d smiled at him died.

He ignored it every time.

Depending on a voice that didn’t exist—it went against his pride.

And so, eventually, the voice stopped coming.

Clap.

Anagin pressed his hands together and prayed to the silent air where that voice once was.

Or perhaps to the gods shimmering faintly in the night sky—it didn’t matter who, as long as someone would help him now.

Just this once, he prayed. Please… save my sister.

Surely that much wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

It was the first prayer of his life, and it felt awkward as hell. But strangely, it brought him a small sense of relief.

As if by setting aside his pride, the heavy burden on his shoulders had lightened a little.

Maybe that’s why people prayed.

“Haa…”

He sighed, feeling a little clearer.

Then, quietly, he went back inside and sat beside his sister once more. That was all he could do now.

And then—

“Brother.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep. Can you sing me a lullaby until I do?”

It was the first thing she’d asked for since falling ill.

Anagin took it as a good sign, and gladly granted her wish.

“As much as you want.”

“Hehe… you’re always so kind, Brother.”

She smiled.

And Anagin began to sing—the same lullaby their mother and father had once sung to him.

He sang until she drifted off to sleep.

And just like falling into a deep, peaceful slumber—

His sister never woke up again.

* * *

Thud—!

Thud—!

Thud—!

A lonely, secluded village graveyard in the middle of the forest.

There, Anagin was digging a new grave—a place for his younger sister, beside the resting spots of his father and mother.

The ground was still frozen solid, but it didn’t matter to him. Over the winter, he had dug as many graves as there were villagers.

Thanks to that, he managed to lay his sister to rest before her body began to decay. That was… something to be thankful for.

“…Have I finally gone insane?”

After covering her grave, Anagin muttered to himself.

Thankful?

What was there to be thankful for when he had done nothing—

nothing but watch her die?

Maybe he really was insane. He had buried the entire village that winter, after all…

Anagin looked around.

At the graves of his mother and father.

At the graves of the friends he used to play the fool with.

At the graves of the girls who were something between a friend and a lover.

At the graves of the loud old men and women of the village.

At the graves of the kind old folks who used to sneak him snacks.

He had known them all.

And he had buried them all.

Because he was the only one who hadn’t caught the plague—

he was the only one fit to dig their graves.

That was all he could do for them.

“…Maybe I should just kill myself too.”

Anagin muttered the thought aloud before he even realized it.

He didn’t really have a reason to live anymore.

There was nothing left to do, nothing left to want.

Dying didn’t sound so bad.

But there was… one thing holding him back.

It was how utterly filthy he felt.

Like unwashed shit clinging to his hands—

a sticky, disgusting feeling that wouldn’t go away.

He thought about why.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to figure out.

He’d been feeling it for days now.

That feeling of helplessness.

Of humiliation.

That disgusting sensation of being reduced to praying—

because there was nothing else he could do.

That was what made dying like this so unbearable.

He couldn’t stand the thought of facing his family and the villagers again

looking like such a pathetic fool.

And then—

Prrrrrrr!

The earth trembled softly, and a hot breath brushed against his neck.

He turned his head—and there it stood.

A wild boar, massive as a hut, with enormous tusks and a single glaring eye.

“…You?”

Anagin spoke to it like to an old acquaintance.

In a way, it was.

It was the youngest of the boar family that had once attacked the village. Back then, Anagin had beaten the rest of them to death—the siblings, the mother, the father—all of them. Only this one had escaped.

How did he know? That crushed, empty eye socket was his handiwork.

“Here for revenge?”

He asked, and the boar snorted, its breath steaming.

It sounded almost like a yes.

“Pffft… hahahaha…”

Anagin laughed.

Even a damn pig had come for revenge.

He felt twice as stupid for thinking about dying just moments ago.

“Thanks, for coming when I needed it.”

Then Anagin stood, rolled up his sleeves, and faced the beast.

The boar charged—a massive, thunderous force of muscle and rage.

And moments later, from the far side of the empty village, a tremendous crash echoed through the forest.

* * *

At noon—when the sun reached the very peak of the sky.

A middle-aged man appeared, his hair and beard glinting gold under the sunlight.

He was the only outsider who ever came to this remote village—and Anagin’s master.

With his usual pair of strange leather gloves, the man raised a hand to his brow to shade his eyes, looking up at the young man sitting atop a mangled, broken beast.

Bones crushed, flesh pulped—the massive boar lay still beneath Anagin.

Anagin looked down at his master.

“Master.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve found a goal.”

“And what would that be?”

“I suppose I’ll have to become a god.”

Even if only to wash away this humiliation.