After finally making it through that spine-prickling walk, Samael stepped into the flagship's main control room under the Valkyries' respectful escort and watchful gazes. As the door shut behind him, he let out a long breath, tension draining from his shoulders.
At the center of the chamber, a golden altar built from censerwood and inscribed with three concentric rings of Runes lit up in sequence.
Could it be Odin?
The Ancient Serpent muttered to himself, rubbing his brow with faint resignation.
Though he and the Aesir God King had formed an alliance of shared interests, disagreements were inevitable.
For instance, mobilizing Norse resources to chart routes across the Sea of Chaos, or dragging the Aesir gods into foreign conflicts.
The Third Greco-Persian War was about to erupt, and Greece might very well face total destruction.
A few days ago, after picking up the news from passing Celts and Romans, Samael had set aside any pretense of diplomacy and directly requested troops from Odin.
The far-sighted Allfather had shown him due courtesy—dispatching several hundred Viking longships, a contingent of Valkyries, and numerous Einherjar from Valhalla to serve under his command.
But the large-scale movements unfolding across Persia, Egypt, Rome, and even the Huns hardly looked like preparations for a conventional war. It was far more likely to escalate into a full-blown divine conflict.
When that happened, this modest force would be nowhere near enough.
And judging by the cargo stored in the ship's hold, Odin clearly didn't want to see even a small-scale clash.
So Samael had no choice but to set out first with the troops he had, planning to uncover the full truth behind Greece's crisis before deciding whether he could persuade Odin to change his stance when the time came.
At the end of the day, they were allies of convenience. Neither could trust the other completely.
Just then, three patterns of light activated in succession—and instead of Odin's solemn voice, a flippant, irreverent tone rang out.
"My dear son Jörmungandr, what are you doing out in the Sea of Chaos? Going on a long trip without telling your old man? Come here, let Father give you a hug…"
A handsome young man with black hair and green eyes, wearing a golden horn-shaped headband and dressed in a gold-and-green robe, emerged as a projection from the pillar of light. Grinning broadly, he threw his arms open toward Samael.
"Oh? What did you just call me?"
Samael's crimson vertical pupils narrowed, the smile on his lips turning brighter—and far more dangerous.
"Your Majesty! Wishing you a pleasant journey. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
The God of Trickery caught sight of the parchment scroll swaying lazily in Samael's hand before the light pillar. His expression froze instantly, like prey spotting a predator, and he instinctively shrank back.
"Leaving already? You activated the Golden Palace's Magecraft array to connect the two locations. Surely you didn't go through all that just to say hello."
Samael lifted a brow mockingly, tore open the parchment, and began reading aloud in an offhand tone.
"Tsk. Turned into a pigeon to spy on the Youth Goddess Iðunn while she was bathing and made off with three Youth Fruits. Then became a mosquito to bite the dwarf craftsmen Sindri and his brother, leaving them itching for three days and nights in retaliation for scolding you. On your way back, you even flirted with a beauty from the Elven Kingdom…"
"These—these are blatant slander!"
Loki forced a brittle smile, eyes darting as he protested. But beneath the scrutiny of those serpent eyes, cold sweat beaded across his forehead, and his grin grew increasingly stiff.
"What, I leave for a few days and you can't sit still? Had your fun and then came to confirm my whereabouts? That's hardly respectful toward the current King of Jotunheim, is it? Even if I'm not in Asgard, your little escapades can't be hidden from me. And they certainly can't be hidden from Odin."
Samael's expression darkened as he snorted softly.
"That's enough. I've already had Hela and the others clean up your mess. Normally I might let it slide, but while I'm away from Asgard, you'd better behave."
He paused, then tore open a spatial rift. Thousands upon thousands of parchments poured out in a flood.
"After all, you wouldn't want every single victim to find a detailed account of your exploits on their desk first thing tomorrow morning, would you?"
"Of course not. I've always been very well-behaved."
Imagining himself hunted across mountains and fields, Loki visibly shrank, nodding vigorously with a plastered smile and solemn assurances.
"No need to swear anything. I don't believe your promises anyway. Hela will be keeping an eye on you. If there's a next time, you might find yourself hauled off to Niflheim to keep the Fire Giant King Surtr company. He's been missing you, after all."
Samael's tone was mild, but the malice behind it was unmistakable.
Loki sucked in a sharp breath, body going rigid. He hurriedly stammered out another guarantee.
He was the one who had tricked Surtr into the Great God's Cage. If that monster ever laid eyes on him again, wouldn't he tear him limb from limb?
After enduring the scolding, Loki—soaked in sweat—finally received permission to cut the connection. Only then did he dare extinguish the Magecraft array. Thoroughly held in check, the God of Trickery could only weep inwardly at the sight of this new ruler of Jotunheim.
Just who was the father here, and who was the son?!
But there was nothing he could do. All his talent points had gone into illusion, deception, and running away. Experience had taught him one clear truth: he genuinely couldn't beat this serpent brat.
And to make matters worse, Fenrir and Hela were egging things on from the sidelines. Not one of those three troublesome children listened to him anymore.
Deceit and lies were such a vibrant and entertaining way of life! Why was he being told to reform? How was anyone supposed to live like this?
Once the communication was severed, Loki remained in the temple, grief-stricken and furious, nearly tearing his hair out.
Meanwhile, Samael, having properly "disciplined" the God of Trickery, felt thoroughly refreshed. The frustration left over from his disputes with Odin dissipated completely.
"Buzz—"
Just as the newly lighthearted serpent was about to leave the control room and head back for a nap, the Magecraft array behind him hummed and flared to life once more.
Samael turned around—and found himself staring at a demonic realm wrapped in seven towering black stone walls, shrouded in leaden clouds, everything within swallowed by shadow.
The Land of Shadows. A sunless darkness. Ireland's domain of the dead.
Inside the vast, gloomy hall, ghostly blue flames flickered. A graceful female warrior with purple hair and blood-red eyes lounged upon a grotesque throne built from bones and jagged stone. She wore a tight violet bodysuit and a black veil over her face. In her hand rested a crimson barbed spear. Her gaze descended from above, cold and solitary, like eternal winter.
"Lady Scáthach? You were looking for me…?"
Samael paused in surprise, asking casually.
After teaching her Primordial Runes, sparring in spearplay, and other exchanges, he had developed a fairly good personal relationship with the Queen of the Land of Shadows.
But this voyage had been meant to remain confidential. How had Scáthach obtained access to the flagship's communication Magecraft?
And the array operating in the hall was remarkably intricate. Wasn't she primarily a spearmaster? Since when had her Magecraft reached this level?
As suspicion stirred within the Ancient Serpent, the Queen of the Land of Shadows casually lifted the black veil from her face. A pleased smile curved her lips.
"Heh. The fleet has been sailing for three days, and you still haven't recognized me. How disappointing. A god who deceives other gods, only to be deceived himself. This little game of role reversal is rather amusing.
Never mind. Let me share some good news. I am currently consolidating the undead of the Land of Shadows, along with the forces of Jotunheim. If the need arises, I should be able to lend you my strength… my dear husband."
The Goddess of Winter, Skadi, seated upon the throne, smiled radiantly. Like ice melting under sunlight, her gaze toward her husband softened with a hint of quiet warmth, as though it were the clear sky after snowfall.
Samael's face, however, went rigid. Not a single word registered. Sweat poured down his back, and a loud buzzing filled his mind.
If Skadi was in the Land of Shadows…
Then who was the one currently in his bed?