Central Tower.
Compared with the red, tightly packed buildings around it, this tower rose far above the rest—especially the four gigantic stone heads on its facade: a wolf, a tiger, a human, and an eagle, symbols of Sakaar's faith.
After a string of security checks, the woman's ship slipped inside the structure.
At the same time—
Asgard.
Odin's daughter, Hela, had already defeated Thor and become Asgard's unquestioned strongest. What surprised her was that Odin's other son, Loki, was nowhere in Asgard. Rumor said the eastern region of Asgard had fused with the western edge of Jotunheim, forming the World Tree's tenth realm—and its ruler was Loki.
A boring, unexpected outcome. But the Goddess of Death had no time to deal with "Logic." She had a small problem right now.
"Perhaps you don't understand. I am Hela, Odin's firstborn, the commander of Asgard's legions and the first heir to the throne. I am Death."
Hela looked down from on high. Below, ranks of fully armored Asgardian soldiers stared up at her, shields locked, spears leveled.
"We were once an invincible army that swept the cosmos. Odin stopped at Nine Realms. I have returned to restore our glory. Kneel before me! March with me on a path of honor!"
Not a single soldier moved. They only glared.
This woman had driven off Thor and destroyed Asgard's dungeons. Every sign said she was no benevolent monarch.
"I don't care who you are or what you've done—surrender at once," said the Asgardian Royal Guard captain, Cornell, voice cold. "Or don't blame us for what follows. This is your final warning."
"Did you not hear me?" Hela sighed, then ran her hands back through her hair. It unfurled into jagged black horns as a killing chill and the breath of death spread from her.
With a roar, Cornell and the Royal Guard charged.
Sakaar.
Per routine, after entering the Central Tower, the woman—"Valkyrie," as she liked to call herself, a star-grade hunter—turned Thor over to the fighters' intake. While she was at it, she tossed in the bald guy who'd survived falling from the sky.
Hey, an extra head brings extra money.
Once he saw Saitama, Thor stopped struggling and sat with a weary calm. They'd exchanged a few words aboard the ship.
"Honestly, Saitama, it's been a long time," Thor said with feeling. "I meant to find you… just didn't think it would be like this."
After Doctor Strange helped him find Odin, Thor had witnessed his father's end with his own eyes. Even gods don't live forever. Asgardians last thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years—but Odin had reached his limit.
When Odin died, the power sealing the prison vanished. Hela broke free.
And then… with overwhelming ease, she shattered Thor's confidence—and his hammer.
To this day, Thor still dreamed of Hela crushing Mjolnir in her bare hand.
Terrifying.
Which meant Hela's strength had at least reached a star-destroying level. Mjolnir, like a dying star's core, was nothing before her.
With Odin gone, there was no one in all the worlds Thor could think to ask for help—except Saitama. If Heimdall hadn't sent him away in time, Thor wouldn't have survived, much less found Saitama.
Asgard, by now, was likely in new hands.
After all that, Thor had matured, a little weathered. Dropped on a strange planet and captured as a slave, he'd been worried—until he saw Saitama.
Then… he was calm.
"Long time no see, Thor. You don't look so good," Saitama smacked his lips. The woman—Valkyrie—had said she'd throw Thor into the fighting pits. As for Saitama, during processing…
This salted-fish bald guy heard there were lots of strong opponents in the pits, asked to be put in, and sat himself down on the alloy restraint chair.
Valkyrie could only shrug. More booze money either way. She sold Saitama, too.
They passed through a series of corridors. Holos along the way played an intro to the history of the fighting pits.
All of Sakaar was under the control of one being—the Grandmaster. By sheer might, he ruled countless nearby worlds.
"Looks kind of fun," Saitama thought. The passage ended; blinding white light fell from all sides.
"Not bad. Good merchandise this time."
A man with short blond hair in gold regalia, a crooked smile on his face, nodded in satisfaction.
The Grandmaster, absolute ruler of Sakaar.
"This one is ten million," Valkyrie slurred, pointing at Thor. After a beat, she jabbed a finger at Saitama. "This one… fifty million."
"In your dreams!"
The matronly guard at the Grandmaster's side glared. Ten million could outfit a hundred soldiers on a bargain-basement world like Sakaar—fifty million was insanity.
"Give her ten million. Transfer it," the Grandmaster said, unfazed by his attendant. His curious gaze settled on Saitama.
The Grandmaster's kind—akin to the Collector's—were rarer and older than Asgardians, and far more resilient. Ageless. Immune to disease. Physical attacks scarcely scratched them. He could regenerate frighteningly fast, ride his cosmic energy to float, project power, bend minds, rearrange matter, and skip through time and space.
A first-rate force in the Marvel cosmos. Which was why he could thrive in this dog-eat-dog corner of the universe, playing his cruel little games to beat the boredom of eternity.
With a glance he could tell the thunderer was strong—maybe stronger than Sakaar's reigning Hundred-Win Champion. But still a toy, within his arena and his rules.
Yet when his mind reached for the bald man, his senses… slipped?
From Thor he tasted worry, fear, anger. From the bald one—nothing. No ripple of thought. No pulse of emotion.
If anything… curiosity?
Curious about his situation, and nothing else?
"Uh… why are you staring at me?" Saitama asked. "When does the tournament start? What's the champion get?"
Grandmaster: "…"
Valkyrie: "…"
"Presumptuous! Watch your tone with the Grandmaster!" the matronly guard barked.
The Grandmaster raised a hand to hush her and chuckled at Valkyrie. "This one seems better. Fifty million. Pay her."
Saitama's eyes brightened a fraction. "So… what's the prize again?"
The Grandmaster's smile grew wider.
(End of Chapter)
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