Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1160 The Journey to Valhalla (Part 2)

According to ancient custom, the host must provide food to the guest and promise not to harm him, and the guest must swear not to draw his weapon in the hall after accepting the food. This is the ancient law of the Old Night, and no one can break it, or a curse will befall them. Rough grumbling came from all around; the warriors whispered amongst themselves, seemingly furious at Salomon's refusal. Some armed warriors squeezed through the fur-clad crowd and aged human servants to stand behind Salomon, seemingly awaiting the king's command from the high platform. The ghostly creatures dwelling in the shadows on either side of the hall whispered anxiously, uttering incredulous murmurs.

"You refuse the meat offered to you!" A warrior wielding a giant axe was closest to Salomon, closing in on the sorcerer until Salomon could smell the stench of rotting blood from his hair and animal hide. A low growl escaped the warrior's throat, revealing inhuman fangs. He wore the pelt of the wolf Salomon had seen before. "Are you insulting us, human king? You followed me here, and now you look down on our meat?"

Salomon didn't look at him, but instead suppressed his rage and surveyed his surroundings. He was now certain that these warriors were not human; their souls and even their reflections in the firelight were twisted into some kind of malevolent creature with long snouts. "I have already been treated with great hospitality. Your king has provided me with shelter and warmth; how could I ask for more?" he said politely, composing himself. "This is meat that will make the warriors stronger; I am merely a stranger, how could I possibly take away such a delicious delicacy?"

"Then drink it!" the soldier said fiercely. "If you refuse the mead, you are insulting our hospitality."

He beckoned to an old, frail human servant, who dragged with all his might a massive goblet forged from lead, haphazardly decorated with gold and gemstones—a mere facade that couldn't mask its appalling craftsmanship. The warrior slammed the goblet, overflowing with a liquid as black as night, before Salomon, raising an eyebrow with a malicious smirk. Despite the warrior's rough handling, the liquid remained motionless. When Salomon reached for it, he discovered the goblet weighed a ton, requiring both hands to lift it.

Salomon looked at the warrior, then raised the cup to his lips and drank deeply.

The mead, thick as night, was ice-cold, yet it nearly set him ablaze upon tasting. The bubbling, acidic liquid billowed smoke that filled his nostrils. Salomon closed his smoke-reddened eyes, enduring the pain in his throat and lips as he drank. He didn't know how much he drank or how long he drank, until the liquid level had dropped less than a finger's width when he finally put down the glass.

"You actually made the liquid level drop!" The soldier bared his fangs in surprise. "You actually drank that much!"

"Not bad wine." Salomon burped and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Then let's continue!" the soldier roared.

"Sorry, I'm already full. Thank you for your generosity."

"You're insulting me!" The warrior charged at Salomon, swinging his massive axe. Salomon immediately rose from his chair, dodging the blade that cleaved the bench, then turned and slammed his fist into the warrior's ear. A single blow slammed the inhuman warrior onto the long table, knocking over the plates of meat and bone fragments. The ghosts of darkness cheered and pounced, devouring the bits of meat clinging to the bones, their expressions still contorted in disbelief even as the warrior groggily stood up. The warrior angrily shook his head, roared again, and charged.

"Enough, Freych!" the king roared. "No matter how much you dislike him, this human king is our guest. He politely refused meat but drank his fill of mead. He observed the fireside etiquette; no one may harm him, or they will be banished from the hall." Freych bowed his head, then showed his throat in submission to the king, as did the other warriors in the hall. The king handed his spear to the antler-wearing priest, then looked down at Salomon. "Since our guest is so powerful as to drink our mead, is he interested in accepting another challenge?"

"Of course, a long night needs some fun." At this, the warriors around the long table erupted in boisterous cheers. Those holding wine glasses used the table as a drum and their glasses as hammers, while those without glasses used their fists. "To understand some things, I don't mind taking on a challenge."

"You have piqued my interest, human king who is not human," the king said with great interest. "Since you seek my wisdom, I will give you three challenges. You failed to finish the mead, so the first challenge has already been failed. The other two await you. To be fair, I will grant your wish if you succeed in completing just one. If you fail in both, you will have to stay here and serve me forever. The living cannot remain in Valhalla, so you must give up your life. Since you were able to knock Helmod down with one punch, it means you can join my undead hunters and fight for me."

"Okay, we've reached a deal." Salomon straightened his back. "If I win the challenge, you'll have to tell me why I came here."

"Then, the second challenge!" The warriors' banging on the long table grew increasingly urgent. "Next, it's a test of strength, Human King. See the beast before the throne? You must move it, by any means necessary. So, do you accept the challenge?"

Salomon walked towards the giant wolf still sleeping by the fire. He knew this wolf was the king's loyal pet and helper, and no one could command it in the slightest. Therefore, he didn't waste words trying to give orders to this giant wolf, which was as tall as the roof of a longhouse. Instead, he simply wrapped his arms around the wolf's belly. The wolf's fur was soft, and its warm fur wrapped around Salomon's frostbitten arms. However, he couldn't lift the giant wolf above his head.

"Have you given up?" the king asked.

"Not yet, I haven't even started!" Salomon said. "You allow me to use any method, don't you?"

"I suggest you start with the paws," the king said with interest. "If you can't move it, at least try moving its paws!" His humor made the warriors laugh. "I want you to move it, not just pick up a paw. Every warrior here can throw this wolf onto a rooftop. If you can't even do that, how can you stay here, join the pack, and fight for me?"

Salomon took a deep breath, bent down, and grasped the wolf's leg with both hands, then began to exert force. His back was tense, his face flushed, the veins in his arms bulged from the strain, his knuckles turned white, and sweat poured down his forehead. The granite floor near the platform cracked painfully beneath his feet. Salomon roared, and then, with a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, the giant wolf's paw slowly rose until it was completely off the ground. A distant boom echoed from the horizon, like massive rocks grinding against each other, the mountain itself groaning in pain. This commotion caused the warriors in the hall to whisper uneasily.

Salomon, panting heavily, dropped the wolf paw with a deafening roar.

"Ha! Well done, inhuman human king, but you have failed!" The king nodded approvingly. "There is one more challenge. If you fail again, you, as a living being, must abandon your life and join us, join the hunt of the undead. Are you ready to accept this final challenge?"

Salomon staggered to his feet. "Accept."

"I won't bully you. Give him a cup of mead first, so he can regain his strength."

The king waved his hand, and a servant immediately brought over a goblet. Salomon took the goblet and drank deeply; the cool mead gradually cooled his feverish body. Even though he was at a disadvantage, he still kept his eyes warily fixed on the dark corridors on either side of the hall. "The third challenge is very simple." With the king's command, an old woman limped out from among the servants and stopped in front of Salomon, raising her cloudy eyes, clouded by cataracts, to look at the sorcerer's face. She looked withered, wrinkled, and full of wrinkles, as if a gentle breeze could blow her away; the fine, dry hair on her head made it difficult to determine her age.

"You can wrestle with my old maid. She's the mother of the wolves, she taught us wrestling, and even in her old age, I believe she hasn't forgotten her skills. Don't make that face; she's defeated men who looked stronger than you, I saw it with my own eyes." The aging king's expression was sly. "Don't underestimate her, human king. If you want to join the pack, you'll have to beat her first!"

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(End of this chapter)