On the Chaos Sea, the Viking fleet slowed to a steady crawl.
Scáthach leaned over the flagship's rail, wind tugging at her hair as she gazed toward the blurred coastline in the distance. Between her fingers, she turned a black scale over and over, her voice low and contemplative.
"How did it go?"
"It's settled. Though the situation was a little beyond what I expected."
At the same time, far from the sea, a group moved through barren plains into forested mountains. Riding at the head of the column, Samael seemed to sense something. He reined in his warhorse, drew out another faintly flickering black scale from his cloak, and replied, briefly recounting what he had seen.
"Do you need me to bring the fleet ashore?"
"No. This is someone else's territory. Mystery has thinned badly here, and the Ether concentration is too low. Without the Grand Temple to support me, I can only exert Divine Spirit-level power at best. If you come, you'll be suppressed the same way. Bringing more people might not help. It could alert the enemy and stir up unnecessary trouble. Brynhildr alone is enough with me."
Samael paused and looked up at the gloomy sky, resignation and gravity flickering in his eyes.
"Besides, even for this trip to Greece, Odin only agreed to let me go under the guise of a merchant caravan. Until we have leverage to persuade him, His Majesty will never allow the forces of Scandinavia to get dragged into Rome's chaos and risk setting ourselves ablaze."
Scáthach gave a slight nod, clearly in agreement. Resting her chin on one hand, she asked lightly,
"When will you be back?"
"I may stay here for a while…"
Samael scanned his surroundings, his brows slowly knitting together.
"Rome's situation is more complicated than I imagined. And someone connected to the Alien Runners has already appeared. If I don't get to the bottom of it, this could turn into something fatal. When that happens, it won't just be Greece. The entire world could be dragged in.
"I've also heard that Rome and Greece have already formed a Panhellenic League, standing together for warmth. The Greco-Persian Wars haven't begun yet. If the Persian Empire makes a major move, Rome is bound to react. Staying here for now might lead to unexpected gains."
"So what's your plan?"
"To be safe, we split up. You lead the Viking fleet and continue toward Greece through the Chaos Sea, disguised as merchant ships. Brynhildr and I will investigate along the way and circle around by land to reach our destination. We'll meet in Athens."
"Athens? Understood. Anything else?"
Scáthach stored every word away, turning them over in her mind as she continued to press him.
"If you reach Greece first, wait for my signal. Don't act recklessly."
"Understood. Anything else?"
"If you run into trouble and need help, take this scale and go find Holo. And if it's convenient, bring her some mead, roasted lamb, and apples now and then. It wouldn't hurt to build goodwill in advance. That girl has simple tastes."
"Anything else?"
"I'll leave the Valkyrie Corps to you. Thrúd is reliable. If anything comes up, discuss it with her. As for the other two, if Hildr and Ortlinde cause trouble, discipline them if you must. They'll behave in front of you."
"Anything else?"
"Uh… have Sigurd keep an eye on those Berserkers who go wild after drinking? And tell those high-and-mighty Druids not to stir up trouble on foreign soil."
"Other than that?"
"That should be it, right?"
Scáthach continued coolly. Her fingers tightened around the scale until her knuckles paled. With a faint, unreadable smile, she asked in return,
"Am I really that reassuring to you?"
Deep within the forested mountains, Samael's body stiffened. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes shifted quickly before his expression turned solemn.
"Of course! You're the one I trust most. It's precisely because you're there that I dare split our forces and investigate here without worry. Only you can keep that group of arrogant elites in line and leave me free of any concerns."
Samael paused, his tone turning even more serious.
"So take care of yourself. When we reach Athens, I'll treat you to the finest wine!"
The Queen of the Land of Shadows gave a faint nod. The hand gripping the scale gradually loosened. She lifted her eyes toward the hazy shoreline, a satisfied curve touching her lips as she let out a soft hum.
"Very well. I'll handle matters at sea. You deal with things on land. We'll meet in Athens…"
Only after the magecraft resonance was cut off from the other end did Samael dare to sever the connection. He let out a long breath, finally releasing the tension in his chest.
Tsk. Women…
The Ancient Serpent put away the scale, shaking his head as he looked around.
"Divine Messenger, once we pass through the valley ahead, we'll be there!"
The sudden voice at his side made Samael pause before he realized that the fervent, red-haired princess beside him was referring to him as the "Divine Messenger."
He glanced at the crimson dragon banner fluttering among the Celtic ranks and couldn't help rubbing his forehead with a wry smile.
He possessed the Authority of the Beast, the power to analyze the Spirit Origin of Magical Beasts and assume their forms.
Earlier, when he noticed the distress signal from this side, and in order to travel quickly, Samael had instinctively transformed into a giant dragon capable of high-speed flight.
To avoid exposing too many details of his identity and drawing Odin's attention or displeasure, he had simply repelled the Hunnic wolf cavalry in that dragon form.
He hadn't expected that by sheer coincidence, he would resemble the Magical Beast totem worshipped by the Celts.
After patiently probing the overly enthusiastic princess with indirect questions, Samael's expression turned subtle and complicated.
The Age of Gods of Scandinavia had influenced Ireland and Celtic civilization. Since the Celts rose relatively late, their culture, production, and beliefs remained comparatively primitive.
As a result, the worship of powerful Magical Beasts became their tribal totem.
The red dragon emblazoned on their banner came from an ancient and fantastical legend.
There was once a greedy, ferocious, and immensely powerful red dragon guarding a vast treasure hoard. Whoever slew it would gain inexhaustible wealth. Bathe in its blood, and one would become impervious to blades and arrows, earning supreme glory.
Yet generation after generation of heroes set out to challenge it, and without exception, all perished beneath its claws.
Its might, its riches, and the honor it symbolized captivated the Celts. And so it became their tribal emblem.
But the Celts knew only half the tale.
That greedy and powerful red dragon was named Fafnir…
That's right. It was the very dragon later slain by the warrior-king Sigurd in the Poetic Edda and the epic Völsunga Saga.
In truth, the one who guided Sigurd to kill that dragon was the very "Divine Messenger" standing before the red-haired princess.
Because after tracing the story back, the true culprit behind the dragon's transformation was his nominal father, the trickster god Loki. He had merely been the kind-hearted serpent cleaning up the aftermath.
Well… fine. He had also happened to be hungry. Taking advantage of the situation, he finished off the half-dead red dragon and roasted it for dinner. From that day on, this so-called form was added to the Magical Beast Spirit Origin records he had recompiled.