On a completely different hemisphere of the newly created world of Hildarleikrheim, the orcs of Nidavellir competed for the honor of their rulers.

Their rivalries were significantly more heated and personal than the trials of the Midgardians. The rulers of the orcs were the chieftains of the Great Tribes. Each ruler had selected exclusively from their own tribe to form their teams. The tribes interpersonal relationships mostly consisted of long periods of war followed by brief stints of uneasy truce.

This meant that most of the trials devolved into chaotic bloodbaths with minimal points gained all around.

Iligan Ogolavi, chosen of The Savage Oracle Tribe, was having the time of his life.

His guitar roared out from his portable amp, tied to his belt. To his opponent’s credit, they weren’t rent limb from limb. Iligan thought as he stepped past the falling corpse.

The havoc of the earliest rounds had only been compounded as the Wild Hunt progressed. The large amount of kills combined with the rankings rewards meant that the lower levels Tiered up very quickly. By now, there were more than fifty competitors in the D-Tier.

Most of them were bogged down in the lower levels. Iligan was pushing C-Tier. Most of the battlefields were simply fodder to him. The only reason he had switched to actually using his guitar in the last two trials was because it made the slog through garbage more bearable.

At least this way he got to see trash disposed of properly.

Alfheim E-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

In yet another area of the youngest planet in the Nine Realms, the elves of Alfheim competed for supremacy.

Here, the scales were much more skewed.

A young elf, barely over his first century, stood in a kitchen. Arrayed in front of him were all the tools and elements needed to craft a wonderful five-course meal. From the rest of the kitchen, noises of creation could be heard.

Hollander Larrington, chosen of Elseljot, was experiencing a full-blown panic attack.

His profession was perhaps the most neglected aspect of his Player Status. He was at best a rank amateur chef, barely worthy of cutting meat in all but the most desperate and tragic of restaurants, especially in Alfheim. By contrast, his opponents were near mastery in their craft.

He was well and truly fucked.

However, there is a certain freedom to being thrown into the depths. A life that can only be found once you have surrendered yourself to the wave.

Hollander embraces this life.

He has nothing else to cling to.

His preparations finally begin, almost ten minutes into the thirty minute round. He combines the bold flavors of several exotic spices, a virtual melange of flavors, with stable and soothing starches of plain root plants.

His is a dish that will convey his unique palette with his humble upbringing.

He doesn’t care if it’s enough. It’s something he can do, and do well.

Svartalfheim F-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Hersadeth Rurdart, chosen of The Vagrants, was absolutely weary of this particular trial. She and her competitors had been tasked with clearing a maze.

The maze provided no hints, clues, or even vague assurances that they were traveling the right way.

Hersa had found fifteen dead-ends, and she was twenty-five minutes into it.

The only thing keeping her rage from boiling over was the utter and total monotony of her surroundings. Nothing changed, no matter how far in she ventured. Not the stone surrounding her, nor the challenges that met her. It was pure, unending boredom.

Yet still she soldiered on.

Vanaheim Top Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Similarly, Solfrid Skardidottir, chosen of Dacydice, was also growing listless with the competition offered by the Wild Hunt.

Almost exclusively, the Vanir Top Tiers killed first and questioned later.

In their normal day-to-days this was not only tolerated, but treated as their right, it went unquestioned. They could kill to their heart’s desire. The problem arose when they chose that option.

Here, they were exclusively met by other Top Tiers.

Solfrid had exchanged blows with seventeen separate Top Tier Players since the start.

She had failed to kill even a single member of her competition in each and every battle.

A day wouldn’t be enough for even a significantly advanced Top Tier to kill another of the same rank. Their trials had yet to last more than an hour each. It was so wholy insufficient that Solfrid had taken to refusing healing in between rounds. Still, nothing meaningful happened. The Top Tiers were such a battle for stalemate that barely anything truly registered.

Stats, classes, and professions ceased to matter at such lofty heights. Here, those who had reached the end of the grind gathered. Here, knowledge was taken for granted, if not outright looked down upon.

Solfrid was so very tired of it.

In the Top Tier, progress was measured in centuries. She had been born over two thousand years before this. Her last level up had occurred more than fifty years ago. She had been a Grandmaster of her chosen profession for more than seven hundred years.

She was so close to giving up, and it felt like home.

Niflheim A-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Okraix, son of Zaberzind and chosen of the same, exulted under the tempering that the Wild Hunt provided. He had been striving for Top Tier for nearly three hundred years. His father had lorded over him for every moment of his six centuries of life.

Now, here, Okraix had the opportunity to outgrow him. If only he was strong enough to seize it.

A direct descendant of Angrboda, Okraix possessed knowledge and power that far outstripped most of his fellow competitors. His insight and dedication did the rest of the job for him.

He was within a stone’s throw of Top Tier. If he kept up his current pace, he would reach a realm of power that he had only dreamed about.

Still, he clutched his stomach as he bled out on the ground.

He might not achieve his goal during this trial. A group of his opponents had united in arms against him. Their ambush had been successful in the first round of this trial.

He would be ready for them next time.

Jotunheim A-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Vidr, chosen of his mother Skadi, prince of Thrymheim, was frustrated with these trials. He had never had to work so hard in his life.

Still, his mother had chosen him specifically for this. He couldn’t disappoint her.

Skadi’s wrath was legendary even beyond Jotunheim. It was said that only Thor could match her in battle, and even he would not take her lightly.

If Vidr failed to secure a spot among the final chosen of the Jotun, hard work would be the least of his worries.

Banishment was the best result he could reasonably expect. Casting him out of Jotunheim entirely would be the worst.

Vidr tried to shake off his frustration and dark worries as he unlimbered his bow.

Helheim C-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Sigurmunda Einthorsdottir had been a resident of Helheim for nearly one thousand years. She hadn’t felt the burning strength of advancing a Tier in over eight hundred years. Locked in the land of the dead, unable to improve her Player status.

When she had still dwelled in the land of the living, she had been reckless. Her ambition had driven her too far, too fast. Hel had claimed her after her fifth death.

The time she had spent locked in Helheim had taught her patience.

Patience above all else.

Hel was the sole ruler of Helheim. She chose each and every member of her Wild Hunt competitors herself. None of them were unknown to her.

Still, even Hel herself could not be sure of the results of this competition.

Sigurmunda had learned from her first life. She knew now what was important, and how to advance as quickly as possible. She had started this Trial as a lowly level fourteen.

Now, the path to power was once again in front of her.

Sigurmunda was up to the task.

Muspelheim B-Tier Trial Four, Hildarleikrheim

Ubnir of the Clanless, chosen of Zaksius, knew better than to fight pointlessly.

He picked his moment before he charged.

When he did, his kill was assured. There was not a single member of the Clans that could stand against Ubnir in single combat. His strength was absolute among the Giants. His skills unequaled.

He had clawed his way up to B-Tier in a society driven to keep the clans in power. He knew hardship and strife better than he knew members of his own family. This event was not a challenge.

It was an opportunity.

Here, if he killed a member of the Clans, he could not be punished. The Wild Hunt was the reason he had progressed from D-Tier to B-Tier in just three trials. Yggdrasil, the Almighty, was his savior and his path.

Ubnir would reach Top Tier with so little effort he might as well have been a ghost. Each of his steps was as weighty as a host of troops. When he triumphed over the Wild Hunt, the Clanless would rule Muspelheim.

The fire giants were in for a rude awakening.