Chapter 133: Skaði: No Turning Back
The next day, still deep in the frozen wilderness, a streak of purple cut across the boundless white.
Skaði stood atop a sled.
Her long purple dress snapped and billowed in the gale, and the curves of her figure swayed with every sharp adjustment. She kept twisting her hips left and right, guiding the sled with effortless confidence, like the snow itself was an extension of her body.
It was no wonder.
Skaði was both the Snow Mountain Goddess and the Goddess of the Snowshoe. She loved gliding across snow, so Odin had granted her this divine position, a title that had not even been meant to stand alone at first.
And because of that, she had always been proud of her skill.
After a night of rushed travel, with their destination close, she suggested finishing the last stretch like this.
She wanted to show off.
She also wanted to recover the dignity she had lost in yesterday's fight.
"Oh dear," her clear voice rang out as she looked back, "too slow, Mister Deceased?"
"If this is your only speed, you will not catch up to me. You will not even be able to follow me to the entrance of Jötunheimr."
"Is that so?"
Skaði's eyes widened.
Rowe stood on the sled behind her, hands hanging loose at his sides, his entire body hidden beneath a robe. He barely seemed to move at all.
And yet he matched her perfectly, staying parallel, neither gaining nor falling behind.
The Goddess of the Snowshoe froze, genuinely dumbfounded.
She wanted to accuse him of cheating.
But he was not cheating.
His movements were simply so small, so precise, so ruthlessly calculated that every trace of force became maximum effect. It looked as if he was floating over the snow rather than riding it.
"It is truly surprising…" Skaði pressed her lips together, a strange frustration crawling up her spine.
Being defeated by him in combat was one thing.
Being outdone in the one field she considered absolute was another.
A voice surfaced in her mind, similar to her own yet clearly different, carrying the weight of a heroic presence.
That was her other self.
Scáthach, the Queen of the Land of Shadows, connected through the Mirror of Magic buried deep within Skaði's consciousness.
What is wrong with you again?
"Nothing," Skaði denied silently.
Hm? You are going to lie to me too? I can sense you are in a foul mood, my other self.
"I said nothing."
How could she admit something this embarrassing?
Even if it was herself on the other side of that mirror.
Rowe savored the sensation of near weightlessness, as though he was riding the air itself. Then he glanced sideways at Skaði.
"What is wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing. Do not ask again… hmm?" Skaði only realized the problem after the words left her mouth.
"I only asked once," Rowe said with a faint smile, as if he had found a thread and calmly tugged it.
"Do you truly want to uncover my secret that much?" Skaði did not fluster. She thought he would deny it. After all, prying into another's secrets was impolite.
Instead, Rowe answered with blunt sincerity.
"Yes. Very much."
"Wanting means wanting. Not wanting means not wanting. There is no point acting coy, and besides, you are merely my spoils of war."
"Do not overthink it, miss."
Skaði's heart tightened. For an instant she felt as if her thoughts had been held up to the light.
Rowe continued, calm and direct.
"Are you communicating with the you that you mentioned before, the other you?"
He did not need mystic eyes or prophecy for that. Her expression shifts were obvious.
And he was genuinely curious.
Why would the Celtic Queen of the Land of Shadows appear in the Norse domain?
"Yes, I am," Skaði replied, tilting her head. Even as she kept steering the sled with subtle shifts of her waist, her tone remained composed. "She is very powerful. Though I have only heard her voice and have not met her."
"But I know my spear skill is not even a tenth of hers."
"Is that so?" Rowe's gaze lifted forward. "I do not believe it, unless you call her over."
If I could call her over, would I be getting bullied by you?
Skaði turned her head away, refusing to look at him. Her cheeks puffed slightly with irritation.
Who made you angry? Not going to tell me? What a troublesome child.
There is an interesting fellow beside you. The distance is too great, my perception is blurry…
Scáthach's voice rambled with an ease that only made Skaði more annoyed.
"Speaking of which," Rowe said, "I really want to see that counterpart of yours."
"She must be very good to you, yes? You must also want to see her."
"Look. You want to see her, and I want to see her. Are we not on the same side?"
"What kind of ghost logic is that?" Skaði stared, slow to react.
"I am a dead man," Rowe replied leisurely. "What I say is naturally ghost logic."
For a moment, Skaði froze.
Then she laughed.
"You are actually quite interesting," she admitted, and then the humor faded from her expression.
Ahead, the snow had thinned, leaving a vast pale world stretching into silence. In the distance, the trunk of the World Tree finally loomed clearly.
A white, desolate giant that bound heaven and earth together, and more than that, bound the nine realms above and below the Norse world.
Of course, it did not mean one could simply climb.
The World Tree was immense, but the hollows that connected realms were comparatively tiny. As a creation cultivated from the remains of the Star Hunter, it was also a living entity that moved.
If one did not know the exact location of a passage, it was nearly impossible to pinpoint it.
Otherwise, Rowe would have come alone, and Skaði would not be needed.
"Follow me," Skaði said.
She twisted her waist, redirected the sled, and cut across the snow.
Rowe followed.
Four lines of skids stretched behind them, drawing a path across the white.
But by now, Rowe no longer truly needed her.
He felt it.
A faint tremor in the ground, and an uproar rising from beneath the World Tree.
"Those fellows…" Skaði slowed, then stopped. She stared toward a massive hollow ahead, her dark purple eyes turning solemn. "Why have they started again?"
That hollow was a passage to Jötunheimr, one of the three lowest realms beneath the World Tree's roots.
Since the appearance of the giants foretold by Odin, they had repeatedly attempted to force their way through the World Tree to Midgard.
Every time, they pushed closer.
Skaði had seen them from afar.
Now, the roars rolled up through the hollow like a warning that refused to fade.
They grew louder.
Heavier.
Skaði flinched.
Those lunatics.
The Goddess of the Snowshoe was afraid.
She could not understand that persistence, that madness.
Rowe, however, smiled.
Because he could feel it too.
Those fellows were coming.
Roar. Roar. Roar.
It was like thunder.
Like war drums.
Looking down into the hollow, it resembled an abyss carved into the tree. From its edge hung thick vine like tendrils, like ladders descending into darkness.
Giants gripped the vines with both hands, hauling their massive bodies upward. Their muscles bunched. Furnace heat rolled off them, turning the air into mist and vapor.
But as powerful as they were, an invisible force pressed down from the World Tree itself, making every upward pull a struggle.
That power was not a deliberate defense formed by the gods.
It was the World Tree's rule.
The Planet Eater civilization preached evolution. Under a primitive chaotic system, chaotic muddled giants were meant to remain at the very bottom.
They were shadows of the past.
Existences that had already died.
Their repeated failures to break into Midgard were not due to divine armies, but due to suppression written into the World Tree's nature.
Native giants had long since given up.
Only this group, the suddenly appeared ones, continued with stubborn obsession.
Skaði swallowed. She opened her mouth.
"How about we next time…"
She wanted to suggest waiting until the giants were less impulsive. There were too many of them, and among them were no shortage of terrifying god level presences. The Snow Mountain Goddess lacked confidence.
"What next time?" Rowe cut in, smiling. "Let us go down."
"Think about it. When those giants fail again and tumble back into Jötunheimr exhausted, is that not the best time for us to enter?"
When they are exhausted, I will be full of energy.
Skaði did not recognize the idiom, but she understood the intent.
This assault was more intense than ever. The ground trembled beneath their feet.
And yet it ended quickly, vanishing just as abruptly.
Rowe pointed toward the hollow.
"Listen. It is quiet now."
He had come too far to turn back.
He also had no intention of letting Skaði, such an excellent tool, slip away.
Since he had already taken her.
He would do it thoroughly.
Skaði nodded. She drew a breath and forced herself steady.
She was not a warrior. Her mental fortitude was clearly inferior to Scáthach's. But she was still a goddess recorded in Asgard, the highest realm of the World Tree.
She calmed herself quickly.
"Then let us go down," she said.
A dark purple spear materialized in the air and dropped into her grasp. A black magic staff formed at the same time, settling into her other hand.
Fully armed.
Rowe still looked unhurried.
"I am a dead man," he said with a light smile. "Those giants should not react so strongly to me."
"Just follow me."
"I hope you have not deceived me, Mister Deceased," Skaði muttered, studying him with narrowed eyes.
In the end, she nodded.
Before entering the hollow, she lifted her staff and marked the surrounding area with an imprint, a primordial rune.
If anything went wrong, she could use that rune to return to Midgard.
It was a safeguard against the giants.
And even more, a safeguard against Rowe.
No matter how smooth their exchanges had been, they had known each other less than half a day.
They were only cooperating.
She did not even know his name.
Rowe had already stepped forward.
Snow and wind began again between heaven and earth. The pale trunk swayed, and dark blue cubes like stars dotted its surface, casting mottled light.
The hollow was black as an abyss.
Rowe entered first, letting the darkness swallow him.
Skaði tightened her grip on spear and staff and followed close behind.
Their bodies fell.
How far was it from Midgard to Jötunheimr?
Further than the distance between life and death.
Because Jötunheimr lay even below Helheim, the underworld ruled by the goddess of death, Hel. It was a realm closer to death than death itself.
But Rowe was already dead.
And Skaði, as a god, was an existence that did not truly possess the boundary of life and death.
For them, the distance was almost meaningless.
When Rowe's feet touched ground, he patted his robe and raised his gaze.
Broken rocks.
Sheer cliffs.
Withered forests.
A dim yellow sky that looked like eternal twilight.
Rivers that seemed to have once cut across the land, now reduced to dry beds.
Silence pressed from all directions.
The wind hissed.
Skaði landed as well, then shivered.
Not from cold in the body.
From unease in the mind.
The discomfort of a goddess of the present stepping onto a land that belonged to an older era.
But it looks like… it is still very safe.
The young goddess, who had been braced for an ambush the moment they arrived, let out a quiet breath of relief.
Then she noticed Rowe.
He had not moved.
He stood facing the barren wind, still as a shadow.
The deathly stillness around him thickened, becoming almost tangible.
A new unease rose in Skaði's chest.
At that same instant, the ground shook, as if something immense was rising beneath them.
The scattered rocks across the land expanded and lifted.
Figures emerged from the earth.
How could those be rocks?
They were the heads of giants, hidden in the soil, revealing themselves.
Skaði's mind went blank.
These lunatics.
They can set ambushes now?
Rowe spoke softly.
"I have arrived."
Three simple words.
Yet each one echoed, and even the dim yellow sky seemed to ripple.
He had arrived.
The king had arrived.
"Roar!"
The giants from Tartarus, the Greek ones, bellowed in unison.
Then, beneath Skaði's stunned gaze, they dropped to one knee.
As if greeting a venerable king.
As if bowing to something sacred.
Skaði stared at Rowe.
"You…"
"Hm?" Rowe raised an eyebrow, almost amused.
"I am the king of giants you are looking for."
Skaði's shock turned sharp, almost horrifying.
She had never imagined that the undead beside her was the king of those strange giants.
He looked human.
But the scene in front of her forced belief into her hands.
Thankfully, she had prepared a way out.
Skaði instinctively moved to retreat, to use the rune she had left above to return to Midgard.
However.
Rowe lifted his hand and pointed upward.
"Thank you for attracting those fellows," he said, voice calm. "My collaborator."
Thunder exploded over Jötunheimr.
Lightning tore across the sky.
Figures appeared within it, descending in formation.
They held long spears, bodies wrapped in armor. Black wings unfurled from their backs, feathers scattering with every beat.
Valkyries.
Envoys of the gods.
Demigods that existed to harvest, guide, and judge.
They had been following Skaði.
Partly to protect her.
Partly to monitor her.
So they had witnessed everything.
Skaði's contact with Rowe, the giant king.
Her descent into Jötunheimr with him.
And now, this kneeling army.
The gods hated betrayal more than anything.
Even the goddess most favored by them would fall the moment a seed of suspicion took root.
And now it was not merely suspicion.
It was almost confirmed.
Skaði stood frozen, forgetting even to flee.
Rowe threw back his head and laughed.
He had known the Valkyries were there.
He had allowed them to be.
He had said it already.
He would not discard a free tool once it fell into his hands.
Skaði had never truly trusted him, not even once.
Rowe did not need her trust.
He only needed her to be forced onto his side, to provide strategies and counsel in an unfamiliar land.
That was enough.
The giants roared at the sky.
The wingbeats of the Valkyries filled the air with shock and fury.
Rowe lifted his hand.
Brilliant ripples of light spread beside him, and from within them, a sharp blade emerged.
Rowe reached out.
He gripped the sword.
And drew it upward.
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