Chapter 102: The Intruder Who Loved Beheading Gods
"Then shut up!"
"Yes, sir!"
Ares snapped to attention like a soldier under a general's command, his voice loud and rigid. But before he could breathe a sigh of relief, another figure rose from his seat.
Sweat poured down Ares's back like a waterfall.
It was Odin.
The Allfather of Norse mythology.
Was he going to compete for the fourth round too?
As Odin stood, both Hades and Shiva turned their gazes toward him—dangerous, sharp, and brimming with divine tension.
But Odin said nothing.
He simply turned and walked away.
Within moments, he had returned to his private chamber.
"Wait—!"
A panicked voice called out from the shadows. A cloaked figure emerged, eyes darting nervously.
"My master wishes to speak with you."
Odin remained silent.
The figure produced a panel. A hazy image flickered to life—an indistinct silhouette seated at the far end of a grand hall, obscured by divine light.
The voice spoke of the third round—how thrilling it had been, how suspiciously well-orchestrated. Was it Odin's doing?
Then came the true purpose.
A box was handed over.
"You, who possess deep knowledge of divine artifacts—perhaps you could study this."
Odin opened the box.
Inside were ten rings.
"Artifacts from another pantheon," the figure explained.
Ten rings?
Odin's eyes narrowed.
Could these be the legendary rings once worn by Solomon himself?
Had they truly been recovered?
Chapter 103: The Assassin Who Declares Death
In the Norse pantheon, two tribes had long existed: the Aesir, to which Odin belonged, and the Vanir.
Long ago, the two clans waged a brutal war. The Vanir lost.
But resentment lingered.
Some Vanir gods never accepted defeat. When a crisis struck, they betrayed their kin—nearly bringing ruin to the entire Norse pantheon.
"Lord Odin has refused," said a voice.
"As expected," replied another.
The speaker was Niord, once of the Vanir, now a sea god revered among the Aesir. Few remembered his origins.
He had been a hostage during the ancient truce, later accepted into the Aesir for his loyalty—and his hatred of his former kin.
"Status of the Celestial Gate?" Niord asked.
"Half of its guardians are now ours."
The Celestial Gate connected the Norse realm to the battleground of Ragnarok. But there was another gate—more vital.
A secret escape route.
If disaster struck, it would allow the gods to flee.
But Niord had altered its destination.
It no longer led to safety.
"Leave me," he ordered.
Once alone, Niord opened the box.
Ten rings gleamed inside.
He hadn't dared open it before. But now, knowing Odin had seen them, curiosity gnawed at him.
Could these be Solomon's rings?
The timing was suspicious. The other pantheon was in chaos. Perhaps someone had seized the opportunity to steal them.
Solomon had wielded power beyond even chief gods—though it cost him his life.
If Niord could unlock their secrets, perhaps he could replicate that power.
He exhaled slowly.
No. He would not be reckless.
If the enemy had handed them over so easily, they likely weren't afraid of what he might discover.
Better to remain cautious.
He approached the gate.
Runes glowed as he activated the mechanism. But anyone familiar with the gate's true configuration would notice something was wrong.
The runes were misaligned.
The gate shimmered and opened.
Niord turned suddenly.
Had someone been watching?
He sensed nothing.
He stepped through.
Had he looked closer, he might have noticed a faint ripple—like a still pond disturbed by the gentlest touch.
A subtle intrusion.
He emerged on a floating island.
Before him stood a massive door, flanked by two armored giants.
Another figure waited silently, took the box, and entered the gate.
Niord turned and left without a word.
He hated dealing with that man.
There was always a look in his eyes—contempt, disdain.
Understandable.
Niord had killed someone dear to him during the war.
Now, as a traitor, he was beneath him.
In a vast temple, a figure sat upon the throne of supremacy.
He watched the gate close.
"He doesn't seem to value Niord," said one god.
"Of course not. That man is too scheming," said another.
"The master favors Odin," added a third.
If Odin could be swayed, he would be a powerful ally.
"But Odin refused to study the artifact."
"Still unwilling to cooperate?"
"Or perhaps the artifact isn't worthy of his attention."
It wasn't truly Solomon's ring.
If it were, they wouldn't have handed it over so casually.
Niord likely believed it came from Heaven.
He was wrong.
None of the collaborators knew of each other. Each was isolated, kept in the dark to prevent leaks.
Suddenly, the supreme god released a terrifying aura.
"A parasite has entered."
The hall fell silent.
A screen appeared.
No enemy was visible.
The god waved his hand.
A shadow flickered.
Then—a slash.
The screen went dark.
Just before it vanished, guards were seen reacting.
Then—
The screen returned.
The shadow was gone.
But the guards were dead.
Beheaded.
No resistance.
No warning.
Just death.
The gods in the hall turned pale.
They knew this style.
There was one being who loved beheading gods.
Beyond infiltrating the divine realms, this force had also begun manipulating the human world.
They sowed discord.
Fanned the flames of conflict.
Their goal?
To make the gods lose faith in humanity.
When the gods finally declared judgment—when they initiated the end of days—that would be their moment.
But the "end" wasn't extinction.
It was the collapse of civilization.
Humanity would be reset.
Why not erase the species entirely?
Because humans were tied to the gods.
If humanity vanished, the gods would begin to fade.
New gods were no longer born.
Divine fertility had waned.
But through union with humans—through trials and blood—new gods could emerge.
Half-gods. Hybrids.
Some humans, infused with divine blood, could ascend.
Thus, humanity could never be truly erased.
But these infiltrators wanted to push the gods to the brink.
To make them destroy civilization.
To make them destroy their own future.