Chapter 141: Loki Cos to Deliver a Horse
The collision in the sky continued.
Power surged, sustained and relentless, as god and god kept grinding against each other without pause. Skaði watched with stiff shoulders and a tight throat, nerves wound so hard they almost humd.
She did not know that deep inside her consciousness, soone let out a quiet sigh.
What a silly girl.
Within Skaði’s mind, beyond the surface of thought, a gate opened inside the Mirror World.
A realm dark and profound, not truly belonging to Norse myth, yet connected to it through an intimate, abnormal link. That link existed only because the owner of this place had an unusually close relationship with Skaði.
At this mont, the owner shook her head and smiled wryly.
She wore Skaði’s face, yet she had none of Skaði’s ornate dress or regal headpiece. Her graceful figure was wrapped in a purple bodysuit, practical and tight like a second skin. She sat beneath a dark violet sky, arms crossed.
Countless purple spears were driven into the barren earth around her, forming a forest of blades.
These were not replicas of the divine weapon Gáe Bolg that Skaði carried.
They were genuine articles, reproduced again and again through the “wisdom” of the magic mirror.
Her na was Scáthach, mistress of the Land of Shadows, a boundary realm between life and death in Celtic myth, brushing against the edges of Norse legend.
A “transcendent” born within this millennium, yet soone who had stepped beyond life, death, and even the world itself.
Once, she was renowned as a mortal who slew gods.
She learned Norse Runes and Gáe Bolg from a goddess of the sa origin and refined herself through them, even though they did not belong to her land.
A millennium ago, she encountered an Underworld god from another country. They clashed, then beca friends, and from him she gained insight into the border of life and death.
She achieved transcendence.
She also glimpsed knowledge from beyond the world.
Wisdom of the Magic Mirror.
Though she was not within the Norse realm, her connection to Skaði allowed her to observe the entire chain of cause and effect.
So Scáthach understood one thing clearly.
That other “self” of Skaði’s had been guided into a trap.
“With his capabilities, how could he not sense Thor’s arrival? How could he not avoid it in advance?”
He could.
The confrontation with Thor was sudden, yes, but it was not unavoidable.
It was guided.
It was intentional.
Rowe wanted Skaði to lose hope in Asgard, bit by bit, until the only place left for her to stand was at his side.
As his “consultant.”
His “knowledge base.”
“King of the Wild Hunt, Rowe,” Scáthach murmured. A smile curved on her heroic face, sharp and pleased. “Courageous and resourceful. I truly look forward to eting you.”
She rose.
She pulled a spear from the ground, spun it casually, then walked deeper into the Land of Shadows.
Her hands were itching.
If she could not fight Rowe yet, she would find a demon beast here instead.
To satisfy the craving.
The Queen of the Land of Shadows smiled, unrestrained and delighted.
Her voice faded.
But Skaði’s expression remained tense.
Above, the radiance gradually dimd. The montum retreated. Cracks scarred the sky like torn cloth. The region swallowed by lightning revealed a vast emptiness, while the region swept by the Wild Hunt’s spear exposed the original, star like face of the world.
The two combatants still hovered there.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood fell slowly.
From both of them at once.
“A draw?” Thor stared down at the arm that had held the hamr.
Only emptiness remained.
Pale skin frad the torn edge, and the blood dripping from it carried a plain, flowing light.
A god had lost an arm.
A dead man had been wounded as well.
Rowe wiped the blood from his lips. There was pressure in his chest, sharp and unpleasant, and yet there was exhilaration too, like a laugh trapped behind clenched teeth.
His cloak snapped in the wind. His mask remained cold.
Thor had suffered an external injury.
Rowe had taken the damage inside.
Both had paid heavily.
Thor truly was formidable.
At this mont, even without activating Machina God mode, Rowe, in human form, already exceeded the general standard of a God King.
Yet that made the outco feel almost inevitable.
Thor was second only to Odin in the pantheon, and he was Thor who had experienced death once and returned improved through the Star Hunter’s technology.
“Do you still want to continue?” Rowe asked, voice carrying across the valley.
Thor’s reply rumbled out from within his armor, deep and vibrating.
“Can you still continue? I cannot anymore.”
A battle maniac did not an a complete lunatic.
Thor’s arm had been vaporized. Even with a body modeled after Sefar, regrowing an entire arm took ti.
Without his hand, he could not fight to his heart’s content.
He also believed Rowe could no longer fight at full strength.
Continuing would be aningless.
Better to stop.
“In the na of Thor, I acknowledge your na as Wild Hunt,” he said. “But as Thor of Asgard, I swear at this mont.”
“You are my greatest enemy, an enemy of life and death.”
“Next ti we et, I will defeat you.”
After speaking, Thor raised his remaining arm and grasped the heavy hamr that had fallen into the void.
Lightning roared.
Then it flashed and vanished.
Thor departed.
Heaven and earth returned to uneasy peace.
Rowe exhaled slowly, but he did not land at once. Instead, he closed his eyes, sensing sothing within himself.
Faint traces of lightning still crawled over the surface of his body. Thor’s influence had not fully dissipated.
Lightning symbolizes destruction.
But what cos after destruction?
Ground struck by lightning grows lush again.
Even lightning can give birth to life.
Within Rowe’s body, within this dead shell, a chanism of life stirred.
Subtle.
Small.
Almost laughable in its weakness.
But real.
“Born from death, I have already taken the first step.”
Rowe’s lips curved slightly.
He descended toward the ground.
High above the Asgardian realm, a god with a solemn face withdrew his gaze from the lower world.
The threat of the Giant King in Odin’s prophecy had always been imnse.
But the gods had never feared Rowe because of his individual strength.
They feared the giants behind him.
That was quantity, not quality.
His strength was unquestionable, but no one had believed he could contend with Thor alone and leave both sides severely injured.
That was before.
Now their perception had changed.
Even without relying on giants, the King of the Wild Hunt could still sweep through heaven and earth like a storm.
Caw. Caw. Caw.
In the Platinum Palace, ravens flapped their wings.
Orders spread.
His personal guards, the Valkyries, scattered to the four corners of the Asgardian realm.
To guard the sky’s edges.
The Wild Hunt returns from the abyss and contends with Thor in the heavens.
He commands storms. He leads death. His eyes burn like lava, and what he wields is a torrent that destroys worlds.
Thor marveled. The gods fell silent. Even the King of the Gods grew vigilant.
The Nibelungenlied.
The gods were horrified.
Skaði’s eyes, however, were simply complex.
Rowe’s boots touched the ground. The storm vanished. The mask was removed, revealing a face slightly pale.
“Let us continue our journey,” he said, as if nothing had happened.
The internal injuries that could have healed in an instant were deliberately shown.
After displaying Asgard’s “cruelty,” it was ti to display his own “goodness.”
Skaði frowned, suddenly unsure what to say.
Concern?
She could not bring herself to offer it. No matter what, in her heart, Rowe was still an enemy.
Mockery?
Even harder.
Because, to so extent, she had been touched. Soone had confronted the strongest divine might in Norse myth, second only to Odin, in front of her. For her.
After a pause, Skaði finally forced the words out.
“Th thank you.”
The purple haired goddess turned her face away. A faint blush rose across her delicate cheeks.
Reluctant.
Embarrassed.
And yet she still could not forget the cause of this predicant.
In the end, was it not Rowe’s fault she had fallen into this?
“You are welco.” Rowe yawned and waved a hand.
The lingering arcs across his armor dispersed completely. Without the mask, his pallor remained, and that deathly stillness still clung to him, but it had eased a little.
Drawing life from lightning.
Turning death toward life.
His condition had improved.
“Of course,” he added, “it would be even better if your attitude improved.”
“Thor’s blows are truly heavy.”
“My attitude is already good enough.” Skaði’s resentnt rose imdiately. “If it were not for you, why would Thor want to kill ?”
“Indeed.” Rowe nodded with complete sincerity. “Then how about I send you back, and you explain everything thoroughly to them?”
Skaði fell silent.
“So there is no regret pill in this world.” Rowe shrugged. “As long as you stand behind , I will always protect you.”
“Other possibilities may be lies, but at least that statent is true.”
Rowe’s goals were never beneath concealnt.
Skaði might sense that many things were intentional, yet his actions were woven from both open and hidden threads.
What if she knew?
What if she did not?
In the end, Skaði had no choice but to accept the present.
So she remained quiet.
Rowe did not mind.
The turmoil in her heart was exactly what he wanted.
A demon who manipulates hearts.
Soone had called him that before, had they not?
And now, to so extent, it was becoming more and more accurate.
Rowe exhaled softly and looked down the mountainside.
After the battle, even though the land below had not been completely destroyed, it had changed.
Ice and snow had lted, exposing raw rock.
Dense vegetation had withered and collapsed.
Ahead, the deep secluded valley still remained.
Rowe could feel it.
Fafnir was still there.
The Evil Dragon hid in the valley like a beast in a cage. A monster that once terrified countless heroes now did not even dare to raise its head.
It was not simply fear.
It was impossibility.
Thor’s na alone could make all things tremble.
The Wild Hunt King, who had led endless storm giants out of Jötunheimr, made hiding instinctive.
Rowe had fought Thor.
His goal had not changed.
Fafnir was still his target.
But before that.
“After Thor, do you also intend to fight , Loki, God of Sophistry?”
The air between the mountains carried a faint heat, scorched residue from lightning. Rowe’s voice rode that breeze, and Skaði stiffened.
She turned sharply.
Between the rugged rocks, sothing moved.
“Oh my, oh my.” A frivolous voice rang out, playful as a knife in a jester’s sleeve. “As expected of soone who can fight that man to such an extent.”
A figure stepped out.
Tall and slender, wearing a felt hat and loose clothes, with clown makeup that made gender indistinguishable.
Or perhaps there was no gender at all.
Because this was Loki.
Lord of Deception.
God of Mischief.
The ever changing one.
Loki spun once in place, then placed a hand over his chest and bowed.
“Great King of the Wild Hunt, I have no intention of being your enemy.”
His cunning eyes flicked to the storm spear still in Rowe’s grip. He rembered the brilliance that had collided with Thor only monts ago.
The curve of his painted smile sharpened.
“I am here only to bring you a gift.”
“A gift?” Rowe raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?” His tone turned thoughtful, almost mild. “Then we shall see whether this gift is enough to buy your life.”
Cold light flashed.
A gleam ford at the spear tip.
Loki froze. The heavy makeup could not hide the twitch in his expression.
Rowe’s threat was plain, shalessly direct. It blocked every retreat.
Loki hated that sort of rigidity.
It was why Thor was his nesis.
And in this mont, Rowe felt the sa.
Fortunately, Loki truly had co with a gift.
“You are looking for Fafnir to find a mount. But Fafnir is an Evil Dragon. Even if you force him into another shape, it still does not quite fit the na Wild Hunt.”
“I have brought you sothing that does.”
Loki had co to deliver a horse.
Rowe’s surprise was genuine.
Legend said Odin’s mount had been given by Loki.
Sleipnir, the eight legged celestial horse, born when Loki transford into a mare and mated with the divine stallion Svaðilfari.
Loki gave it to Odin, adding to the King of the Gods’ already blinding glory.
And now Loki offered Rowe sothing equal.
A whinny split the air.
Wind surged.
Skaði retreated instinctively, eyes obscured by the dark storm, unable to see what approached.
Rowe saw it clearly.
At the storm’s center stood a black divine horse, tall and extraordinary.
Twelve pairs of wings, each set different in size.
Eight legs, like Odin’s mount.
Its entire body glowed with coiled storm, radiating divinity.
“This is Sleipnir’s brother,” Loki said with pride, “a divine horse no less magnificent than Odin’s mount.”
“Great King of the Wild Hunt, I offer him to you.”
“For what?” Rowe asked, expression unchanged.
“To bring true change to this dull and boring world.” Loki laughed, delighted with his own answer. “I am the God of Sophistry. I hate anything eternally unchanged.”
Concepts give birth to divinity.
Divinity shapes personality.
As the embodint of sophistry, Loki could not help being like this.
As Odin’s sworn brother, he was also not afraid of Thor’s punishnt.
So he acted recklessly.
So he dared to gift Rowe.
Rowe nodded.
“I am very satisfied with your gift.”
He leapt.
The back of the eight legged, twelve winged horse dipped slightly.
Its intricate hooves shifted, lifting and falling in frantic rhythm.
It struggled.
Then it was tad.
The King of Storms mounted the steed of storm.
“Go forth, go forth, great King of the Wild Hunt.”
Loki’s figure faded, retreating into absence, yet his laughter only grew more unrestrained.
“Let this dull and boring world change because of you.”
Storms roared.
Currents spiraled.
Rowe lifted the long spear in his hand.
The authority of the Wild Hunt tightened around him like a crown.
He raised the spear.
Then he swept it toward the depths of the valley below.
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