Heimdall provided some intel: when he saw the enemies, each had a small stone floating above their head.
Etched with a rune.
As for its purpose, the Rainbow Bridge's guardian had no clue.
He assumed Odin would know, but Odin's face betrayed nothing.
Of course—Su Ming was a counterfeit Odin.
Heimdall was sent back to his bed, watching the tall, aged figure depart thoughtfully.
Su Ming knew a bit about Asgard, but the core of the Norse pantheon—rune magic—was largely a mystery to him.
It seemed simple: carve a symbol on a stone or bark, arrange them in a specific sequence, and gain supernatural power.
The mechanics were unclear, but Su Ming suspected it involved a ritual to draw power from the World Tree.
Like entering a password: get it right, and you withdraw from the World Tree's vault.
Longer passwords meant higher security—and greater power.
The World Tree's power likely didn't come solely from photosynthesis but was tied to the Well of Wisdom and the threads of fate below.
So, was the World Tree an ancient cosmic entity? A plant-like god?
Asgardians used magic freely, seemingly without cost or consequence, likely because it all stemmed from this tree.
Su Ming felt a twinge of guilt. Such a generous tree—what other cosmic entity was this benevolent?
And he'd burned it. Shameful.
The guilt lasted about 0.01 seconds before he dismissed it.
First, he'd check on Odin. If needed, he'd secure the real Eternal Spear for safekeeping.
Su Ming was piecing together Zemo's plan logically, but he wasn't sure if Zemo knew non-Asgardians couldn't wield the full power of the Rune King.
Nor could he be certain Zemo realized he was a fake, with the real Odin and Eternal Spear slumbering deep in the Golden Palace.
To be safe, Su Ming decided to hold both spears—real and fake.
He already had two legendary weapons: Nightfall and the Godslayer, both outshining the Eternal Spear.
Nightfall's greatsword was razor-sharp, cutting through nearly anything, its X-metal able to slice dimensional barriers—a traveler's essential.
The Godslayer was versatile: weapon, armor, barbecue skewer, zither string, bottle opener, even a drain unclogger. Perfect for thwarting cosmic cousins.
By comparison, the Eternal Spear had no edge and cursed Su Ming's luck to E-rank. Bad mojo.
If he got it, he'd stash it in his silk pouch, unused.
Mulling this over, he wandered the Golden Palace's depths, tapping walls for hidden rooms.
He didn't know where Odin slept and couldn't ask. Frigga might know, but she'd returned to her chambers, and visiting there was inconvenient.
The palace wasn't that big. Since Zemo might come, Su Ming's aimless roaming doubled as patrol and reconnaissance—a two-for-one.
Halfway through, he grabbed wine from a table, sipping, and sampled some roast meat.
Asgard lived up to its name. In a mortal palace, food and drink in corridors would be odd.
But here, with fireplaces lit and furs strewn across gleaming gold floors, food and drink made fine decor.
Sated, he finally found Odin's sleep chamber: the Odin-Sleep.
An unremarkable door bore a carving of Viking-like gods on a longship, battling at sea.
Su Ming knew this was Odin's true home.
The figure at the ship's prow was Odin's father, King Bor, with his brothers Vili and Ve. The one with two ravens on his shoulders was Odin himself.
At the ship's stern, a figure had been erased, the gold worn smooth.
Su Ming guessed it was the Serpent.
The father stood at the prow, guiding and shielding.
The eldest son stood at the stern, protecting the family with his shield.
The Aesir were, strictly speaking, family-oriented. Without various tragedies, their brotherly bonds would've been ironclad.
Now, of the carved figures, only Odin and the Serpent lived. Back then, there was no Hela—death meant oblivion.
Su Ming sighed and pushed open the door.
The heavy golden door creaked open, revealing a small room.
Smaller than Brunnhilde's home, it was diamond-shaped, with high walls bearing roaring fireplaces.
No decorations beyond a bed and some wine jugs.
But the metal walls, floor, and bed—pure gold—made it a five-element metal sauna. The fireplaces' heat reflected, concentrating on the bed at the room's center.
Shaped like a miniature longship, it cradled Odin.
"So hot, and you're not worried about heat rash?"
Closing the door, Su Ming stepped closer.
He eyed the old man on the longship bed, buried under layers of furs, and couldn't help but quip.
What was this?
If he was cold, take medicine. Sleeping in a dry sauna was absurd.
His target, the Eternal Spear, was clutched tightly to Odin's chest.
Too hot, too uncomfortable—grab it and go. Stranglehold clearly hated this place.
Su Ming bent down, gripped the spear, and tugged.
It didn't budge.
He made a helpless face. Even in a coma, Odin's grip was unreal.
Grabbing the spear with both hands, he braced his feet on the bed's edge. As he pulled, the metal groaned under strain.
But Odin held firm, immovable.
"You Asgardians are so stubborn. Clinging to your weapon like that?"
Su Ming wrestled with the spear, chatting with the comatose old man.
Zemo wouldn't be so gentle. He'd likely chop off Odin's hands to take the spear.
A comatose patient clutching a treasure was a problem.
But Odin's strength was immense, as if he and the spear were fused. No amount of prying or pulling worked.
Su Ming, sweating buckets, laughed in frustration.
This old mule. Time for the ultimate trick.
"Stranglehold!"
The symbiote, one with its host, understood instantly. It surged from Su Ming's chest, spreading over Odin.
Its tendrils sprouted countless smaller ones, like giant millipedes, and began tickling Odin's ribs.