113

Desire for Power

"Boom!"

A muffled sound echoed as Verrigan's Fist seemed to strike something, yet there was nothing visibly hit.

With the echoing boom, the black shadow that had been pursuing abruptly halted and vanished without warning.

Forseti was taken aback.

The surrounding darkness then receded like a retreating tide, and the yin-yang-faced shadow distorted away.

"You found me?" A surprised voice came from beside him.

Forseti jumped in surprise, turning to see King Kuer standing there, catching Verrigan's Fist effortlessly with one hand.

The Holy Light Pointer directed toward Kuer.

"All... Father of the Gods," Forseti stuttered.

Cul released his grip and asked, "How did you find me?"

Forseti quickly composed himself and pieced things together.

Clearly, the yin-yang face earlier had been an illusion created by Kuer. He must have been observing from here while Forseti battled the illusion. Perhaps to test his strength? Or maybe because of the Hunting Festival incident.

As a Tier 3 deity and blessed by Asgard, Cul stood as a pinnacle figure in the universe. Forseti knew he couldn't have detected him on his own.

But the Holy Light Pointer could.

Observing the Holy Deed's pointer emerge, Forseti speculated to himself that the God King must have been involved in some clandestine misdeeds...

Truly befitting the God of Fear.

Reflecting on the battle, Forseti realized how susceptible he'd been to fear during the confrontation, struggling to contain it several times.

His thoughts raced, but he couldn't concoct a convincing excuse, so he stammered, "I... I felt a presence beside me, and I didn't expect it to be you, Father of the Gods."

Cul furrowed his brow, silent for a moment, unsure if he truly believed Forseti's explanation.

After a pause, he smiled, "Despite the mishap, you did not disappoint me. You exceed my expectations."

"Father of the Gods, you flatter me," Forseti bowed humbly.

Kuer inquired, "Your light magic is quite unusual; I've never seen its like. Where did you learn it?"

Forseti reiterated the story he'd concocted earlier.

Cul mused, "Your father's recovered magic book? Where did he find it?"

"In Midgard," Forseti replied, recalling his father's note. His father had indeed battled on Earth, in a region called Maya.

"Ah, Maya, I know of it," Kuer said. "The Maya were once a significant kingdom in Midgard. They faced domination by the Egyptian tyrants, which persists to this day... A troublesome bunch, indeed."

Egyptian tyrants?

Forseti paused, pondering. Could it be Apocalypse?

Continuing, Kuer said, "What truly astounds me is that as a mage, you possess exceptional melee skills. You may not realize it, but your combat prowess surpasses that of most warriors in Asgard."

Nonsense, I'm a paladin, not a mage! Paladins specialize in melee combat! Forseti muttered inwardly.

"You must have dedicated considerable effort to honing your melee skills," Kuer observed, gazing directly at Forseti. "Tell me, why do you desire power?"

"With all due respect, Father of the Gods, one needs no reason to desire power. It is a universal aspiration. Reasons are required only when one lacks the desire," Forseti responded candidly.

Power in this world was akin to wealth or influence in his previous life—a universally coveted currency. Everyone desired it by default.

Cul chuckled, "You speak truth. Desire for power needs no justification."

"Now, I offer you an opportunity," he continued slowly. "Swear your soul's oath and pledge absolute, eternal loyalty, and you can join the Honorable Sky Hammer."

"Sky Hammer?"

Kuer explained, "It's a group I recently formed, comprising promising young Asgardian elites like yourself. Nuer and Gus are members of the Honorable Sky Hammer, my students and most trusted aides."

Forseti hesitated, "Father of the Gods, I fear I lack the qualifications."

Of course, he would not accept.

Cul would eventually be imprisoned by Odin. If Forseti accepted, would he be imprisoned for millennia alongside him?

Moreover, judging by the Holy Light Pointer's reaction, Cul undoubtedly had committed grave misdeeds.

Though Forseti didn't consider himself remarkable and often felt ordinary, he had no desire to consort with villains.

Cul frowned, then spoke again, "Do you know why I sought you out?"

"Because... of the Hunting Festival?" Forseti ventured tentatively.

"No, it was Ullr's assessment of you. He spoke highly of your abilities, and rightfully so," Cul said. "You are more than qualified. Do you think I, the King of Asgard, would overlook such potential?"

Forseti fell silent for a moment, "Father of the Gods, I fear our personalities may clash."

"Do you refer to the Hunting Festival? It was merely a contest, and I will ensure Gus offers you a personal apology," Kuer assured him.

"It's not just the Hunting Festival. Gus and I have a history, and our interactions have been strained. There is also tension between Nuer and myself."

Forseti explained, "I believe it's a clash of natures, difficult to reconcile. Joining the Honorable Sky Hammer might lead to further conflicts with them."

Cul remained silent.

Clearly sensing Forseti's internal resistance, Cul was a king, after all. He couldn't afford to appear overly accommodating, so he didn't press further, "It's a shame... I believe time will smooth over your differences."

"I hope so."

Leaving the palace, Forseti exhaled deeply, relieved to be free from that oppressive atmosphere. In Cul's presence, he always felt a weight of somber emotions.

No wonder Odin would eventually claim the throne. As the God of Fear, Cul exuded an "aura of fear." Who could endure it?

Yet, a curious notion unexpectedly crossed Forseti's mind.

If he had accepted today and joined the Honorable Sky Hammer—a faction of villains sealed away for millennia in the future—what kind of life would await him?

Back at home, Forseti squatted by the door, gazing at the Lightning Tree he'd planted.

Under his diligent care, the Thunderbolt Tree had thrived, recently bearing fruit.

Regrettably, he knew that the Lightning Trees outside the Thunder Valley, both Southern Orange and Northern Citrus, yielded no worthwhile fruit—only thumb-sized trinkets, less than half an arc, useless even for medicinal purposes.

Clearly, he needed to venture into the Thunder Valley.

Thoughts of the Valley of Falling Thunder stirred within Forseti, prompting him to reach into the Sanctuary space and retrieve an object.