I barely had time to settle into my new role as God King of Vanaheim before disaster—or perhaps insult—arrived in the form of Thor. Young, brash, and overconfident, the Asgardian prince had been sent as a kind of ambassador, though his arrogance made the title laughable.
He walked into the throne room like he owned the place, Mjolnir casually in hand, eyes narrowing at me with pure disdain. "So," he said, voice dripping with superiority, "you are the new God King? Hmph… I suppose I should see if you're worthy of the Nine Realms."
The entire hall froze. My citizens looked on in horror and anger. To be challenged like this—by an outsider, no less, while I just took the throne—was an insult beyond words. Murmurs rose, and I could feel the tension radiating from everyone loyal to Vanaheim.
I rose from my throne, eyes locking with his. My voice was calm but carried the weight of authority. "If my people demand it… then I shall accept your challenge."
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Even Skírnir's jaw tightened, though he trusted me. I could see the citizens' anger shift into anticipation—they wanted to see the God King in action.
Thor's grin widened. He swung Mjolnir with a barbaric flourish, lightning crackling in the air as if to remind everyone of his power. But arrogance, I quickly realized, was a terrible weapon.
I moved.
I didn't even activate my divine power. I didn't need to. The knowledge of one of history's greatest swordsmen—Artoria Pendragon—flowed through my mind like a river of precision, strategy, and timing. Every movement was instinctive, every dodge calculated. Thor's hammer slammed where I had been a heartbeat ago; I was already elsewhere, weaving effortlessly around his attacks.
He swung again and again, each strike heavier and more furious than the last, and I countered—not with full strength, but with skill alone. A flick of the wrist, a precise angle of my blade, and I struck back, landing blows that should have staggered any mortal or god alike. Thor, however, kept swinging like a clumsy barbarian, completely underestimating me.
The fight dragged on, and it was almost comical how easy it was. I toyed with him, deliberately leaving openings, luring him into attacks he couldn't possibly land. Mjolnir's lightning crackled harmlessly past me; every swing met nothing but empty air or a swift, controlled riposte. The crowd's horror gradually turned into awe, and then into wild cheers.
"Is this… really the God King?" someone whispered, and the words carried through the hall like thunder.
Thor finally stopped mid-swing, panting, sweat on his brow, and eyes wide with shock. He realized, too late, that he had underestimated me—Vanaheim's new sovereign. I didn't even need to tap into my divine powers to achieve this victory. Skill, speed, and strategy were enough to put him firmly in his place.
I stepped forward, blade lightly pressed against his chest, and let him feel the full weight of the humiliation. The hall erupted in cheers, citizens bowing and clapping, Skírnir standing at attention with pride shining in his eyes. Thor's friends exchanged awkward glances, Loki smirked faintly, though he seemed uneasy, and the young Asgardian finally swallowed his pride.
"You… are truly powerful," he muttered, stepping back.
I sheathed my sword, voice calm yet commanding. "Vanaheim's strength is not to be questioned lightly."
Without another word, Thor, Loki, and their entourage departed. I watched as they left, feeling the satisfaction of justice and authority settle into my chest. My people roared their approval, their respect for their new God King cemented in that moment. The insult had been turned into triumph.
Vanaheim had survived its first test under my reign, and its enemies—at least in this instance—had learned exactly who they were dealing with.
I returned to the throne, calm and composed, letting the cheers wash over me. This was only the beginning.