Chapter 787

The relationship between this man and the goddess really was unusual.

Malik became even more convinced of his theory when he saw Hela hook Evenson under one arm and drag him close.

From Malik’s perspective, that was an extraordinarily intimate gesture. The Asgardians might be famously uninhibited, but surely even they observed some distinction between men and women.

There was another possibility, of course.

Perhaps the goddess was so furious that she’d abandoned all sense of decorum.

Malik dismissed that possibility almost immediately. Evenson had just brought Hela her first batch of followers. Surely she’d be pleased rather than angry.

So this had to be some kind of reward from a superior to a favored subordinate.

And if that was the case, their relationship was definitely not ordinary.

Just look at Evenson. His neck was crooked, yet he still had the nerve to speak to the goddess as casually as if they were old friends.

No ordinary subordinate would dare act like that.

"I’ll say one thing," Evenson grunted, his head still trapped beneath Hela’s arm. "You really don’t know your own strength. It’s just a matter of clothing. Did you really have to wrench my neck that hard?"

"This isn’t about the clothing." Hela glared at him. "I told you to find me followers, and you brought me a man dressed like a bear cub."

Her eyes narrowed.

"And he’s wearing fur. I hate people wearing fur in front of me."

"Right. Of course."

Evenson grimaced.

Long pain was worse than short pain. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes, and forced his neck back into place.

Crack.

He exhaled in relief and rubbed his face.

Then he paused.

There was a strange smell.

He sniffed again.

Hela’s armpit smelled like spicy beef.

His entire face had apparently been rubbed against it, and now he was hungry.

Is this what they mean by "appetizing"?

"You hate fur?" Evenson asked, cautiously rolling his neck. It felt considerably better. "I thought Asgardians liked that sort of thing."

Hela’s hatred of fur genuinely surprised him. For a warrior culture, wearing the hide of an animal you’d hunted was hardly unusual. Sif, for instance, had once owned an enormous fur cloak.

And during her time on Earth, Sif had been obsessed with a bearskin rug. She’d even taken it with her when she left. If SHIELD hadn’t intervened, Evenson suspected she might actually have gone hunting bears in Siberia just to experience wilderness survival firsthand.

She would probably have conquered the local food chain and started a streaming channel while she was at it.

"Opposition movements exist everywhere," Hela declared proudly. "I founded Asgard’s anti-fur movement myself. I was simultaneously the founder, president, vice president, and sole member."

Evenson rolled his eyes.

So just say you were the entire organization.

"After I took the throne, my first decree would have been a complete ban on fur throughout Asgard and all its territories."

No wonder your rebellion failed.

Apparently, the problem hadn’t been entirely military.

"You understand now," Hela said. "Wearing fur in front of me is a profound insult."

Her eyes dropped toward Malik.

"Fortunately, he’s wearing bear fur. If he’d been wearing wolf fur, I would have killed him on the spot. Fenrir would be offended."

Fenrir, the monstrous wolf of Norse mythology, was supposedly Hela’s brother.

That part was obviously nonsense.

Her actual relationship with Fenrir, however, was considerably closer than most people realized. He had been her mount, her companion in battle, and one of the creatures she trusted most.

Hela had once been a frontline commander. To someone like her, the bonds forged between soldiers and comrades were sacred. The connection between her and Fenrir had gone far beyond the ordinary relationship between rider and mount. They understood one another almost without words.

Perhaps that was why Hela hated fur so much.

If your companion died and you wore its skin afterward to pretend it was still with you, that wasn’t remembrance.

That was cowardice.

Death could not sever a bond like theirs.

"I suppose that was my oversight," Evenson admitted. He hadn’t expected Hela’s attachment to her mounts to run quite this deep. "But you never gave me any requirements for how your followers should dress. I had to make a judgment call."

"You’re remarkably good at making excuses."

This was only their second meeting, yet Hela had already developed a strong opinion of Evenson’s talent for arguing.

"This is entirely your fault. If you hadn’t gone out of your way to dress them like this, none of this would have happened."

"Fair enough. But the ceremony required it."

Evenson immediately pushed back.

"The preparations before a ritual, the formal procedures, all the little details—they exist for a reason."

He gestured toward Malik below.

"The point isn’t to make you look good. Rituals reinforce authority. The more elaborate the preparation, the more solemn the ceremony appears. The more elaborate the distinctions between ranks, the more obvious those distinctions become."

He spread his hands.

"Ritual isn’t simply politeness. It’s a constant reminder of hierarchy and of everyone’s place within it."

"Hmph. You think I don’t understand that?"

Hela snorted.

"Ritual creates hierarchy. You think that’s some great revelation? I simply don’t care for it."

She straightened.

"I’m not some foolish mortal king, nor am I a god invented by human superstition. I am the goddess who brings death to the world. I possess overwhelming power, and therefore I possess overwhelming authority. I don’t need meaningless ceremonies to reinforce it."

She pointed downward.

"Simple is better. Kneel before me—or die."

Evenson sighed.

"Doesn’t that get exhausting?"

Hela blinked.

"What?"

"Constantly demonstrating overwhelming power. Constantly reminding everyone that you’re in charge. Do you really want to spend every waking moment doing that?"

He shook his head.

"If you don’t, then you need something that reminds people of your authority without requiring you to personally threaten them every five minutes."

It was the same reason a ruler couldn’t simply parade soldiers through the streets every day to remind everyone who controlled the army. A nation couldn’t wage war every morning just to reinforce the king’s authority.

Ceremony was cheaper.

And it never got tired.

"Besides, mystery matters for gods. You need to remain unknowable. Once people understand everything about you, their fear and reverence inevitably diminish."

Hela glanced sideways at him.

"You certainly seem to know a lot about this."

Evenson’s expression immediately became offended.

"Are you questioning my professional expertise?"

He placed a hand over his chest.

"I am a formally educated occult professional."

Warlock Fundamentals, Professional Warlock Ethics, Volume Three: The Complete Guide to Looking Like You Know What You’re Doing.

Hela stared at him.

Then she sighed.

"Fine. Fine."

A smile suddenly appeared on her face.

"Since you seem so concerned about ceremony, I’ll graciously accept your advice."

She straightened her back, raised her chin, and looked at Evenson.

"Now, present yourself before me. Will you perform the bow we discussed, or are you going to kneel like last time?"

Evenson’s expression froze.

He had dug this hole himself.

He would rather die than climb into it.

"Don’t bring that up again. I already told you, I didn’t intend to kneel last time. It was—"

He paused, desperately searching his memory.

"Ah! Right. My robes were too long. I accidentally stepped on them and fell."

Hela’s expression remained utterly unimpressed.

Evenson remembered the incident all too well.

He had fought her for what felt like three hundred rounds rather than kneel. Eventually, she’d accepted his stubbornness and allowed him to remain standing.

Then he’d exhausted himself, tried to stand properly, and immediately collapsed onto his knees.

It had been humiliating.

"And besides," he added quickly, "I already performed an excessively formal greeting last time. It would be inappropriate for you to make me repeat it. Let’s just count that one toward this occasion."

"Hmph."

Hela gave a quiet laugh but didn’t press the matter.

She had accepted his excuse, though her opinion of the situation hadn’t changed.

Besides, she had little interest in demanding elaborate formalities from someone she personally respected.

"Enough. Let me see the followers you found for me."

Hela turned toward Malik.

Evenson lowered his voice.

"That’s the leader of the family I told you about. The girl beside him is his daughter. And I’m currently grooming her to become the organization’s executioner."

"An executioner?"

Hela looked at Stephanie with renewed interest.

Then she started walking toward the edge of the platform.

"What are you doing?"

Evenson hurried forward and blocked her.

"I just explained that gods need to maintain their mystery. Were you not listening?"

He sounded genuinely exasperated.

"If this weren’t necessary to secure their loyalty, allowing them to meet you face-to-face would already be an enormous breach of protocol. And now you want to walk down there and stand on the same level as them?"

He gestured emphatically.

"You can’t just stroll over and let them hear you speak directly!"

There was one particularly important detail he left unsaid.

You’re covered in grease, you smell like seasoning, and there’s a suspicious stain on your cloak. Have you been using the thing to wipe your mouth?

If Malik got a good look at her like this, his faith wouldn’t merely weaken.

It would evaporate.

"Improper?" Hela considered the word before pointing at Evenson. "Then what you just did was improper too."

"No, no." Evenson shook his head rapidly. "That was advice. Completely different."

"Then what should I do?"

Hela crossed her arms and resumed her imposing posture, making sure Malik below could see her.

At the same time, she quietly asked Evenson the question.

"First, you need a throne."

Hela waved one hand.

Several enormous blades of black metal flew through the air.

They slammed together, forming a towering obsidian throne.

Hela sat upon it with effortless authority.

"And then?"

"Stay exactly where you are. If you need to say something, tell me and I’ll relay it."

Hela nodded.

Her lips moved.

Evenson immediately called down to Malik.

"The goddess has determined that your display of respect is sufficient. You may rise."

"Thank you, Goddess!"

Malik nearly sagged with relief.

He was accustomed to comfortable chairs and soft carpets, and his knees were no longer what they had once been. Kneeling on hard stone for that long had been agony.

When he stood, his legs nearly gave out.

Stephanie caught him before he fell.

Such a magnificent goddess.

Malik couldn’t even begin to imagine possessing the right to speak to someone like her directly.

Then he looked at Evenson.

And felt a stab of jealousy.

That should be my job.

Once he became Hela’s high priest, he would be the one standing beside her and delivering her decrees.

Evenson had stolen his future career before he’d even started.

"The goddess is pleased that you have abandoned your false faith and devoted yourselves to the true god," Evenson announced. "She has decided to reward your loyalty."

Malik and the others immediately dropped back to their knees.

Now this is a god worth following.

Hela, however, stared at Evenson in confusion.

"I never said that."

Evenson leaned toward her and whispered, "First meetings need a gift. Otherwise, how are you supposed to win their loyalty?"

"A gift?"

Hela’s brow rose.

"You expect me to reward them? They came before me without a single offering!"

"The offering is supposed to come from the followers. A god demanding one directly would be rather undignified."

"I don’t care."

Hela turned her head away stubbornly.

"I just ate the last of my food. If they don’t replenish my supplies, everyone is going to have a very bad day."

Evenson immediately softened his voice.

"Don’t worry. You think I would make the same mistake they did? I’ve already brought supplies. I’ll leave them where they won’t see me do it. There should be enough to last until you’re released."

Hela’s expression transformed instantly.

Her eyes brightened.

She even licked her lips.

"A ruler should be willing to accept good advice."

She nodded solemnly.

"If you say they should be rewarded, then they should be rewarded. You brought the purified water and cooking gas, right?"

Evenson nodded.

"And I’ve brought several different flavors this time. You’ll have plenty of variety."

Hela nearly smiled.

Then, without warning, she flicked her wrist.

A sword shot through the air.

It struck Stephanie directly in the chest.

Everyone froze.

Malik screamed and lunged toward his daughter.

But there was no blood.

The sword shattered into countless particles that dissolved into Stephanie’s body.

"Thank you for your blessing, Goddess."

Stephanie had initially been terrified.

Then she realized she wasn’t hurt.

Instead, something had changed inside her mind.

A new understanding had appeared there—an instinctive comprehension of swordsmanship that hadn’t existed a moment ago.

For the first time, she felt as though she understood the sword as an extension of herself.

Evenson stared at Hela.

"What did you just do?"

"Nothing."

Hela leaned casually against her throne.

"I merely gave the girl some of my swordsmanship. It’s nothing particularly special. It was standard training for my army back then."

She frowned at Evenson.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A muscle twitched in Evenson’s cheek.

"I was talking about giving them a few nice words. That’s all. You actually gave her something."

He shook his head.

"How generous."

There was something strange about the people he knew.

They could be extravagantly generous with everyone else while being miserly with themselves.

Perhaps life really was a mirror.

Be stingy with it, and it would return the favor.

Evenson sighed and turned back toward Malik.

"The goddess has bestowed her blessing. Stephanie has been elevated to the rank of Hela’s chosen warrior and has become a member of the goddess’s army."

He raised his voice.

"Rejoice in this glorious blessing."

Malik stared at his daughter in stunned silence.

The first follower of the Goddess of Death had just received her first true blessing.

And Stephanie had become something far more than merely a follower.

She had become one of Hela’s warriors.