{Chapter: 106 - The Blacksmith of Seville}
Shaking his head, he decided to stow the weapon. With a simple thought, it disappeared into his system's spatial vault. In its place, he summoned twin weapons—two pitch-black tang knives with a slight ethereal shimmer.
"Much better."
Unlike the staff, these knives were much better—just precision and deadly silence. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling. The Berserker's Staff had too much potential to leave as-is. It needed... refinement.
He swung the knives in all directions and nodded in satisfaction. Sure enough, the two knives felt better and much easier.
Aether's double knife is good but unlike the Berserker!s Staff, it doesn't have any boost in power.
"It's time I find him," Aiden murmured.
The one who forged the staff originally—a lost Asgardian warrior-smith who had remained on Earth for centuries, hiding in plain sight. A relic of war turned scholar, craftsman, and recluse.
His name?
Elliott Randolph.
An ancient Asgardian who had once bathed in the fires of Nidavellir, now quietly living as a history professor in Seville, Spain, pretending to be human.
Aiden remembered snippets from reports—S.H.I.E.L.D. files, buried surveillance, encounters left undocumented by official records. Elliott had long given up war, preferring fine art, vintage wine, young girls and the pleasures of Earth's simpler joys.
He was the man who could reshape the Berserker's Staff into something more... suitable.
---
Seville, Spain – That Night
The city breathed with a quiet charm beneath the stars. Cobbled streets, aged stone buildings, and the scent of wine, citrus, and cigars hung heavy in the summer air. Aiden arrived under the veil of twilight, his figure blending into the rhythm of the city.
It didn't take long to find Elliott Randolph.
The professor was wealthy—immortality and centuries of life had their advantages. His estate sat atop a hill just outside the city center, a sprawling villa with panoramic views of Seville's skyline.
But as Aiden approached the ornate wrought iron gates, something caught his ear.
Moans.
Soft, high-pitched, unmistakably carnal and young.
He sighed, his brow furrowing in amusement.
"Of course... he's enjoying the perks of mortality."
Through the second-floor window of the villa, the warm glow of candlelight flickered behind silk curtains. Aiden approached the heavy oak door and rang the bell twice.
Inside, the moaning ceased.
---
In the master bedroom, a startled gasp cut through the haze of pleasure. The young woman blinked at the middle-aged man, now flushed and sweating.
"Are you expecting someone?" she whispered, reaching for a robe.
Elliott Randolph shook his head, voice husky. "No. Probably a delivery... stay here."
He slipped into a luxurious robe, tightening the belt with an air of practiced confidence, and made his way toward the door. But when he opened it, his confidence turned to alarm.
A young man stood before him, arms crossed, calm but intense. There was something predatory in the way he stared—like a wolf at the edge of a firelight.
"Who are you?" Elliott asked, his smile fading.
"You're Elliott Randolph," Aiden said without preamble. "But we both know that's not your real name, do we?"
Elliott's jaw clenched. "You've come to my house uninvited. That's trespassing."
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Funny. That's what Earth might say about you."
The silence stretched.
Elliott's demeanor shifted. "I don't know what you think you know, but you're mistaken. Now leave—before I call the authorities."
Aiden chuckled and, with a flick of his wrist, summoned the Berserker's Staff. It materialized in his hand like a phantom drawn from the ether, glowing faintly red. "Wanna call the police? Are you sure?"
---
Elliott stared at the staff in Aiden's hand with furrowed brows, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. The staff had an unmistakable aura—one that hummed faintly in the air, vibrating like a restrained beast. It seemed to pulse with something ancient and feral, a presence that couldn't be faked.
"…What is this?" Elliott asked slowly, his voice almost wary. His fingers flexed slightly, as if prepared to summon a defensive spell at any moment.
Aiden didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head and observed Elliott with a curious glint in his eye. His lips curved into a calm smile, but behind that expression was unmistakable resolve.
"Professor Elliott Randolph," Aiden said, his tone light but deliberate, "since I brought this staff all the way to your front door, I doubt you'll pretend you've never seen it."
There was a beat of silence. Elliott's face tensed, betraying the flicker of recognition before he smoothed his expression again. He frowned, visibly calculating his next words.
"…Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Aiden," the young man said simply. "And I was hoping we could have a little chat. Just the two of us."
A long pause followed. Finally, Elliott nodded reluctantly. "Alright," he said, gesturing inside the villa. "Come in."
As they entered, the soft tapping of footsteps echoed behind them. Aiden glanced toward the hallway as a blonde—hardly legal yet, draped in a silk robe and barefoot—walked out of the bedroom with clear irritation painted across her face. Her narrowed eyes lingered on Aiden before she gave Elliott a sharp look.
"I'll be going," she said curtly.
Elliott didn't stop her. He simply nodded as she slipped past them and left through the main entrance, slamming the door behind her.
Aiden watched her leave, then turned back to Elliott with a playful shrug. "Apologies," he said with a hint of mischief. "I didn't mean to interrupt your… academic pursuits."
Elliott gave him a sideways look, one part amused and one part annoyed. "You're not affected?" he asked suddenly, changing the topic with a hint of surprise in his voice.
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Affected by what?"
"The Berserker's Staff," Elliott replied. "It stirs rage and chaos in the heart of anyone who wields it. Even I can't hold it for long without risking madness. Yet you… you seem perfectly calm."
Aiden chuckled softly and leaned against the marble countertop of the villa's open kitchen. "If I were affected by it," he said coolly, "I wouldn't be here asking for a conversation. I'd be leveling the neighborhood."
The Asgardian professor stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking. Eventually, he turned and walked toward a nearby cabinet. "I need a drink," he muttered, opening a polished wood panel to reveal a small collection of old-world spirits. He poured two glasses, handing one to Aiden.
Aiden took the glass, swirled it briefly, then sipped.
"You still haven't told me how you know who I am," Elliott said after a moment of silence. "I've been careful. I've kept my head down for decades. Even Asgard believes I'm dead."
Aiden's expression didn't change. "I've been to Asgard," he said plainly. "And I left with the Dark Elves. If you keep up with the latest news then, you'd know the ship they used to hide on Earth is now mine."
Elliott froze. His hand trembled slightly, and he slowly placed his glass down on the counter. "That's impossible," he said under his breath. "The Dark Elves are ruthless. Treacherous. Malekith wouldn't follow anyone, let alone surrender his ship…"
Aiden's eyes glinted. "That's because Malekith is dead. Along with most of his kin. I ended them."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
"There's only one left," Aiden continued. "And he serves me now."
Elliott sat down, visibly overwhelmed, and rubbed his temples. "I… I need a moment to process this."
A long silence followed, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of an antique wall clock. Aiden didn't rush him.
Eventually, Elliott looked up again, his eyes searching Aiden's face. "No ordinary Earthling could do what you've done. Not without help. Not without… All Father himself intervention."
"Maybe," Aiden replied, lifting his right hand. In a smooth motion, a ring on his finger began to shimmer, and with a soft flash of red energy, his entire outfit transformed. In the blink of an eye, the casual clothes were gone—replaced by a sleek, ethereal combat suit layered in dark plating, etched with glowing light.
Aiden lifted his hand and showed him the reality ring Inside that ring swirling vortex of dark matter—Aether, pulsing with boundless power.
Elliott's jaw slackened in astonishment. He stood slowly, barely whispering the word, "Aether…"
Aiden's smile widened just a little. "Still think I'm ordinary?"
"No," Elliott said immediately. "That… That's one of the Infinity Energies. If you control that, then… everything you've said is true."
He exhaled deeply and collapsed into the chair again, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You're not just powerful. You're dangerous."
"That depends," Aiden said calmly. "I didn't come here to threaten you, Professor. I came because I need something."
Elliott arched a brow, already suspecting where this was going. "The staff…"
Aiden nodded. "It's powerful. Unstable, yes—but its raw potential is undeniable. But I don't want a staff. I want something more… personal. Practical."
Elliott folded his arms. "Go on."
"I want it reforged into twin blades," Aiden said. "Short, curved, perfectly balanced. Like Asgardian long knives. I'm more comfortable with them, and the power—" he tapped the Aether swirling above his palm—"would be easier to direct with weapons I've mastered."
"Since you possess the Aether," Elliott said in a low voice, his tone touched by a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, "I don't imagine the Berserker's Staff holds much value for you anymore. So tell me—what is it you really want from me?"
Aiden gave a small nod, stepping forward with calm confidence. "If my memory serves me right," he said, pausing to gaze at the staff resting ominously on the table, "you were once a blacksmith—an exceptionally skilled one at that. What I want is simple. I want you to reforge the staff into a pair of double-edged blades."
*****
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