Chapter 117: The Dragon Slayer Who Became the Dragon
Adamas sneered, his voice laced with venom. "Heh… then let's see who dies this time!"
His body tensed, every nerve on edge. Poseidon wasn't bluffing. His younger brother truly intended to kill him.
But before the clash could erupt, a thunderous voice cut through the tension.
"Enough! Stand down, both of you!"
Zeus had arrived.
His divine aura surged through the chamber, oppressive and absolute. The two gods, despite their fury, relented—if only out of respect for the King of Olympus.
Brunhilde exhaled, her breath shaky. The storm had passed… for now.
"My apologies, little sister Brunhilde," Zeus said, his tone gentle, almost grandfatherly. "You've witnessed quite the spectacle."
He turned to leave, but Brunhilde hesitated.
"Lord Zeus…"
"Yes?"
"…Nothing."
"Good. I look forward to Round Five. I hope the next human surprises me again."
He smiled, the image of a kindly elder. But to Brunhilde, that smile was monstrous—an illusion masking something far more terrifying.
She had been wise to hold her tongue.
No matter what shadows lurked behind Ragnarok, no matter what forces manipulated the war, Zeus would not stop. He would see Ragnarok through to the bitter end. If she tried to halt it, she would face his wrath.
"Phew…" Gray collapsed to the floor, limbs limp. "I thought we were dead for sure."
Herlock leaned against the table, pale and shaken.
"Who was that Adamas guy?" Alvette asked, still rattled.
"He called Hades his brother," Reginleif murmured, piecing together the clues from Poseidon's words.
All eyes turned to Brunhilde. She knew the truth—but she said nothing.
Instead, she sighed.
Her phone buzzed.
The gods had chosen their sixth warrior.
Brunhilde's expression twisted.
So… that scheming bastard was finally stepping into the arena.
She would summon him. A man she knew too well. A man whose presence stirred a storm of emotions within her.
He would want to kill this god. Of that, she was certain.
Chapter 118: The Trickster's Plot, the Valkyrie's Grief
There was a time when Brunhilde had walked among mortals.
Not as a goddess, but as a human—her divine essence sealed away, her powers dormant. It was a trial, a test of worth. Like Heracles of Greek myth, she would earn her divinity through hardship.
If she succeeded, she would ascend as a true god.
Her trial began in the mortal realm, where she met a man—a dragon slayer.
At first, she dismissed him. A mere human, dreaming of slaying dragons? Laughable. Most would faint at the sight of one.
But then, during an attack by the evil dragon Fafnir, he wounded the beast—destroying one of its eyes.
He hadn't killed it, but he had done the impossible.
Brunhilde was stunned.
His strength rivaled that of divine soldiers—mortals chosen by Valkyries and elevated through sacred rites.
She decided: once her trial ended, she would bring him to the heavens. He would become a god's warrior. No… more than that.
Her trial, however, was Fafnir itself.
She had to defeat the dragon alone, without divine aid. Only her wits and will.
They shared a goal. So she proposed an alliance.
At the time, she hadn't awakened her powers. She could only offer guidance—pointing him toward relics and weapons that might harm the beast.
Most failed.
So he forged his own weapon: Gram.
It began as a lump of metal—no ordinary iron, but the sacred ore meant for her trial. Together, they retrieved it from a hidden vault.
He shaped it into a sword. But even Gram couldn't pierce Fafnir's scales. The blade shattered.
To truly slay the dragon, Gram had to become a divine weapon.
One day, Brunhilde visited him and witnessed something extraordinary.
He was reforging Gram—not with hammer and fire, but with magic.
She hadn't known he could wield magic. He had no innate mana, but he borrowed nature's power—summoning lightning to fuel his spell.
The sword shattered again.
But the fragments turned to light, merging with his body.
He reached into the void—and light gathered in his hand, forming a blade.
Brunhilde felt it. This sword could kill Fafnir.
And so, she watched him slay the dragon.
He bathed in its blood. He tore out its heart.
He became a hero.
But what of her trial?
With Fafnir dead, she had failed. She couldn't return to the heavens.
Yet she didn't care.
She had forgotten the gods, forgotten her mission. She only wanted to live beside this man.
Then came the news.
Fafnir wasn't dead.
Brunhilde was stunned. She had seen the dragon die. She had seen its heart torn from its chest.
But the destruction left in its wake… no human could have caused that.
Someone told her: the dragon had always been by her side.
What did that mean?
Later, she was told where to find it.
She went.
And saw Fafnir—alive.
She tried to stop it. She failed.
The dragon mocked her weakness.
Her rage awakened her power.
But even as a demigod, she couldn't defeat it.
She turned to the man.
He confronted the dragon—and it vanished.
No… it only appeared when he was gone.
One day, she followed it.
She found its lair.
And saw the impossible.
The dragon transformed into a man.
She didn't see his face clearly.
But she knew.
It was him.
Her heart shattered.
The dragon slayer had become the dragon.
She was lost in confusion.
Then she learned the truth.
He wanted to become a myth. To do so, he needed countless lives.
She hadn't asked him. She couldn't.
Someone else told her.
Odin's messenger.
She trusted him. She trusted Odin.
But Odin offered no help.
She had to act alone.
Even awakened, she couldn't pierce his scales.
So she forged a false divine weapon—using her own flesh and blood.
It could only be used once.
He left on a journey.
She struck.
She stabbed the pale patch on his back—the one spot that looked vulnerable.
It was a trap. A decoy.
But it was also his true weakness.
She had no choice.
She had to stop him.
Even if it meant betrayal.
Even if it meant death.
As her blade pierced him, Odin's messenger appeared.
He laughed.
His form shifted.
He revealed his true identity—
The Trickster God.