Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 720 Violent Negotiation (Part 2) Valhalla of the Dead

Asgard is a class-based society where the difference between nobles and commoners is almost like that between two different species. Nobles, with their greater divine blood, have the upper hand in both lifespan and power. The average Asgardian's lifespan is only five hundred years, while nobles live in the thousands. So-called "equality" simply doesn't exist in this world. Perhaps some long-lived nobles still remember Odin's conquest of the Nine Realms, but they remain silent about it, for it was precisely because of their silence that they survived the bloody purges and allowed their families to continue for millennia.

Those nobles still remember Odin's cruel methods.

Countless ancient families, existing since the reigns of Odin's father, Bour, and Bour's father, Buri, were uprooted. The hooves of Sleipnir, the eight-legged steed, trampled over the corpses of countless men, women, the elderly, and children, treading into the magnificent longhouse of their families. All books concerning that person were burned, all his supporters were killed, all sculptures and monuments praising his achievements were smashed, and the tongues of all bards were severed. The smoke from the burning corpses even briefly obscured the magnificent spires of the Golden Palace—the great Valkyrie, the powerful Valkyrie, the invincible Valkyrie. The cruel Odin ruthlessly erased the honor of those who had fought and died for him, and the one-eyed king on his throne extinguished the flames of betrayal with cold lies. Axes and blood became the excuse for oblivion; the ancient legends of the Valkyrie in the taverns were distorted and altered; the newborn Asgardians grew up listening to lies; in the revelry of mead and feasts, the truth was no longer present.

It all has to do with that damn prophecy.

But they knew that Ragnarok would one day come, and Nighogd, the venomous dragon that gnawed at the roots of the World Tree, would spread its wings. At that time, the equally cruel and merciless Goddess of Death would ride on the longship Nagilfa, made from the fingernails of the dead, rising from the cold, foggy world of eternal night, carried by icy springs and venomous snakes, to the realm of the gods, bringing destruction to this world.

"Of course, these are all legends. Look around us, my friend, Nighold is just a fairy tale to fool children, and the goddess of death doesn't even exist. No one can survive in Helheim, north of the Kinlunga Gap, where the dead live and the living live."

The Asgardian astronomer was a commoner who gained recognition for his knowledge and thus earned a position in the Golden Palace. He was the same person Salomon had met at the Asgardian observatory. After a couple of drinks, the old man declared confidently, "That's just a myth created by the Asgardian ancestors when they observed the vast and boundless astronomical wonders of the universe. It reflects their fear of tomorrow and their anxieties about their giant relatives. Then, bards sang it, exaggerating it to grab attention. We scholars absolutely cannot take it as fact."

"I had no idea an Asgardian would say such a thing." Kasirius winked behind the old man, continuing to use the topic to attract the stargazers' attention. Salomon, cloaked, weaved through the many men drinking and making merry in Grazheim. "I thought you would express fear about this legend, or analyze the rationale behind this prophecy in light of past history."

"I am a commoner, not a wizard like you. I believe in numbers. My lifespan is at most five hundred years, and even with the most expensive soul forge for healing, it won't exceed a thousand years. I have no time to indulge in noble legends. For a short-lived commoner like me, the pursuit of truth is the most important thing in this life. We were not created from ash or elm branches, the world was not born from Ymir's corpse, the light elves and dark elves were not creatures transformed from maggots, and the birth of dwarves has nothing to do with the flesh and blood of the giants Brimir and Blainn. Although the Aesir are gods, that doesn't mean we should be superstitious about them. If you don't mind, I have to go back to work..."

Kasirius was somewhat surprised; he hadn't expected the Asgardian scholars to possess such wisdom. He set aside his original task and instead asked the old man a question with a slightly respectful tone. "Please wait a moment, esteemed seeker of truth..."

Salomon squeezed through the door and opened the Venerable One's scroll in front of the model that reflected the state of the World Tree in real time.

"Good evening, my dear Goddess of Death," he said softly as he released the spell from the scroll, "I hope you are pleased with my gift."

"You've finally arrived! Before the Fimbulb winter comes!"

As the pure white prancing horse spread its wings, piercing through the clouds with light and heat, descended from the sky, the queen, her wounds still raw and bleeding from the thorny throne, rose to her feet. As the most powerful immortal being in Asgard, her wounds healed instantly. This was her nature, a chosen one born from the concept of death, though she still believed it to be an innate talent, just like her talent for necromancy—a testament to her future as the ruler of Asgard.

"It seems you're prepared to meet death with the utmost bravery." The Goddess of Death surveyed his equipment, then haughtily raised her chin. She spread her arms and took a deep breath of the deathly, icy air. The white mist that clung to the surface of the Geor River was pushed aside by the gale whipped by Pegasus's powerful wings, and the tops of the Ironwood Forest shimmered with a chilling white light. She loudly welcomed Salomon's arrival, "If your performance satisfies me, I will allow you to stay by my side forever as my most powerful guard, sharing with me the glory of ruling Asgard."

Salomon, perched on Pegasus's back, responded with a smile, "Well then, before everything begins, would you mind enjoying a feast in Asgard?"

"Of course, we didn't have a chance to talk properly last time. This time, I don't mind showing you my generosity before the battle. Get moving, you sluggish, lazybones! You rotting corpses, brittle bones, and stupid skeletons, hurry up and bring up what I'm serving my guests. Well, you two fools aren't going to move? Oh, I forgot you're both long dead." Hela turned her back to the arcane mage and strode into the depths of the palace, showing no concern whatsoever about a surprise attack. The passageways of Hela's palace, Eliudnir (misery), were extremely wide. The palace, which occupied an entire mountain range, had countless rooms filled with ghosts and skeletons. The agonizing screams of tormented emissaries poured out from the cracks in the doors, forming a trickle of wailing.

The goddess of death walked merrily, showing everything about herself to her guests.

"Look! This is my food, 'Hunger,' and this is my tableware, 'Gluttony'... Come, come, let me show you my bedroom, its name is 'Destruction.' Quickly, draw back the curtain called 'Fire,' and you will see nine rivers. Look, that river is called 'Slid'—I throw the blades I created into that river every day. The King of Lies has imprisoned me here for so long that now the river is full of sharp daggers. Do you see this large bed called 'Sorrow,' warrior? I love warriors, I love living flesh. If you defeat me, you will have the right to lie on it and share my pleasure."

"Really?"

"As long as you don't die by my hand, you have that right."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)