Chapter 791

"This is getting serious. It looks like they aren’t satisfied with gaining power for themselves. They actually want to use that power to cause widespread unrest."

Beep-beep...

"And apparently, the Berserker Staff isn’t limited to empowering a single person. It can strengthen multiple people at once."

Beep-beep-beep...

"But the worst part is that these insurgents have clues about the locations of the other pieces of the Berserker Staff, while we don’t have the slightest idea where they are."

Beep-beep...

"So what we need to do now is—"

"I think there’s something seriously wrong with your attitude."

Agent Coulson had been pacing back and forth, laying out the case for his team, but the constant electronic beeping in the background was driving him insane.

Finally, he snapped.

He walked over to Evenson, who was lounging on the couch, and snatched the phone right out of his hands.

Beep-beep, your mother just got married...

Coulson took a deep breath and fought to regain his composure.

"We invited you here to help us solve this case, not to leech off our Wi-Fi while playing games."

"Come on."

Evenson immediately reclaimed his phone, looking genuinely offended.

"If you want me to take this seriously, you should at least give me something worth taking seriously. This whole situation..." He glanced at the screen, searching for the right words before finally settling on, "...is just a bunch of idiots screwing around."

With that, he went straight back to his game.

"Skye, give me some luck."

"Huh?!"

Skye, who had been sitting on the adjacent couch watching him play, nearly fell off it.

Everyone else abruptly forgot about the case and turned to stare at Evenson.

"What?"

Evenson raised both hands, looking genuinely baffled.

"I’ve got a card pack to open. What’s wrong with asking Skye to give me some luck? You people need to get your minds out of the gutter."

"...Right."

The others collectively sighed in relief.

Skye, however, suddenly brightened.

She leaned closer and whispered, "Actually, if you can figure out how to remove this electronic bracelet, I can hack the game’s backend and adjust your drop rates. Completely custom work. No risk of getting your account banned."

The bracelet was part of Skye’s punishment for leaking classified information last time. Its capabilities were impressive enough to make virtually all contact between her and electronic devices impossible.

It was a nightmare of modern security technology: titanium construction, automatic lockdown when electronic interference was detected within ten meters, a self-concealing mechanism if removed or lost, an automatic alarm whenever someone attempted to contact her, and two separate passwords controlling isolated storage systems designed to interfere with one another.

Owning electronics wasn’t enough.

You actually had to be able to use them.

"I don’t have the authority to mess with your bracelet."

Evenson wasn’t tempted in the slightest. If anything, he looked offended.

"And listen carefully. Even if I’m the unluckiest player alive, even if I’m so unlucky that I could rot to death in the middle of nowhere, I will never cheat."

"Whatever."

Skye puffed out her cheeks, rolled her eyes, and quietly moved away.

"All right. Maybe we’re simply looking at the same situation from different perspectives."

Coulson was the first to recover from the derailment and desperately tried to steer the conversation back toward the investigation.

"But those idiots you mentioned are in possession of extraterrestrial technology."

"Mhm."

Evenson set his phone on his thigh and nervously rubbed his hands together.

"That’s the only thing separating them from all the other idiots you’ve dealt with. And it still isn’t enough to make them a serious threat."

He suddenly slapped himself on the forehead.

Judging from his expression, his latest card pack had gone badly.

He exhaled, tossed the phone aside, and stood.

"Honestly, I have trouble understanding these people. Not just because they’re Norwegian. I genuinely can’t figure out what they’re trying to accomplish."

"Norway is famous for having an extremely generous welfare system. People can practically sit around all year doing nothing and still receive enough benefits to live comfortably. I’ve even heard their prisons are so nice they look like hotels."

He shook his head.

"Honestly, I’m jealous. If their immigration policies weren’t so strict, I’d consider moving there."

He looked around at the others.

"So what are they complaining about? Their lives are already that good. Did their king announce a diesel tax increase?"

"People who have too much free time have always existed," Melinda said with a shrug.

"If someone is starving, then yes, they’ll riot. That’s survival. But when someone has everything they need and nothing meaningful to do, boredom starts eating away at them. Eventually they go looking for excitement."

She paused.

"Call it a death wish."

"Exactly."

Evenson nodded confidently.

"That’s why I don’t think they’ll accomplish anything. Their collective case of death-wish syndrome has simply gotten out of hand. They want something exciting to do."

He made a dismissive gesture.

"You slap them around a little and they’ll come to their senses."

"And putting their psychology aside, their actual capabilities aren’t impressive either."

Evenson pointed toward a photograph on the screen.

"This guy is Nastrond, right?"

After receiving confirmation, he continued.

"He might have some ambition, but I’d say there’s an even better chance that he simply wants to play leader. His little cult has a terrible organizational structure. No clearly defined positions, no hierarchy, nothing resembling discipline. They’re basically a mob."

"Some of the gangs in New York are better organized than they are."

He shook his head.

"And the clues came from that novel I sold."

Evenson’s contempt was obvious.

"If the book had been a meticulously researched autobiography, I’d reassess them. At the very least, I’d assume they were genuine believers."

"But I deliberately turned it into the most formulaic wish-fulfillment novel imaginable. It’s the kind of book you read to kill time and relax."

He stared at the screen in disbelief.

"And these idiots actually believed it. They went into a forest and started chopping down trees because they thought they’d find something described in the book."

"Seriously. I still can’t believe it."

He looked genuinely disgusted.

"Who takes a book like that seriously?"

"Your girlfriend seems like the type," Melinda casually remarked.

"She reads it for fun. She doesn’t actually believe it."

Evenson immediately defended Claire before realizing where the conversation was going.

"Anyway, that’s why I have every reason to believe Nastrond has not only a severe case of death-wish syndrome, but also a side order of delusions."

He picked up the plastic model of the Berserker Staff fragment and idly waved it around.

"There’s another problem. Their vision is incredibly short-sighted."

He tossed the model aside.

"What they should have done was lie low, build up their strength, and strike when they were ready. Stay hidden until the final blow. You know, slow and steady. Don’t get greedy."

He turned toward Ward.

"Right, Agent Ward?"

"Uh..."

Ward’s heart skipped a beat.

Why was he being dragged into this?

"Under normal circumstances, yes."

"Exactly."

Evenson nodded.

"But Nastrond found only one piece of the Berserker Staff. He hasn’t even assembled the whole thing, yet he couldn’t wait. He dragged his entire organization into the open and practically announced himself to the entire world."

He folded his arms.

"So maybe even he doesn’t realize that his real goal has nothing to do with whatever ideals he’s preaching."

"He wants attention."

Evenson’s expression became thoughtful.

"He wants people watching him. If he’d discovered livestreaming a little earlier and had somewhere to vent his frustrations while feeding his ego, maybe he wouldn’t have gone down this path."

He shrugged.

"High-welfare countries aren’t exactly breeding grounds for civil unrest. Even if some lunatic stood on a barstool and started giving a revolutionary speech, he wouldn’t exactly have an army of loyal followers waiting to join him."

"Add in the organization’s terrible management, an incompetent leader with obvious psychological issues, and his complete lack of foresight, and what exactly are you all so worried about?"

Coulson and the others exchanged glances.

Unfortunately, Evenson’s analysis made a disturbing amount of sense.

After all, Warlocks were experts at betraying people.

And in front of someone with Evenson’s knowledge of the arcane, these amateurs barely qualified as a threat.

"There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned," Melinda said.

She looked up at him.

"The reason you’re so relaxed isn’t just because these people are incompetent, psychologically unstable, and lacking in conviction."

She gestured toward the Berserker Staff.

"You also know exactly what this thing can do. And you don’t consider that power particularly impressive either, do you?"

"Exactly."

Evenson nodded.

That was the truth.

Compared to what he had seen before, the power of the Berserkers wasn’t especially frightening.

One Felguard under his command could probably cut through several of them alone.

"So what is the staff actually capable of?"

Coulson leaned forward.

"I mean the complete staff."

"In Asgard, the Berserkers exist as an organized military unit."

Evenson chuckled.

"And it’s a rather unusual one."

"Asgard’s military might is enough to make most of the universe nervous. Their warriors are professional soldiers, well trained and carefully drilled. Their troops are generally drawn from strong populations and undergo rigorous training."

"The Berserker Legion is different."

He held up a finger.

"Farmers. Bricklayers. Stonecutters. Even criminals thrown into the unit as punishment."

"In Asgard’s warrior culture, people in those professions occupy the bottom of the social ladder. Joining the Berserker Legion is one of the few ways they can distinguish themselves."

"And the process is easy."

"You don’t need years of brutal training. You just grab the Berserker Staff, and suddenly you’re a Berserker."

"A soldier created almost instantly."

Evenson spread his hands.

"So you can probably guess how highly the regular Asgardian military regards them."

For a moment, nobody spoke.

There was really only one word that came to mind.

Cannon fodder.

Their actual combat ability was difficult to judge without seeing them fight, but judging by their origins, they sounded less like elite warriors and more like medieval peasants handed pitchforks and thrown onto a battlefield because the lord needed more bodies.

"According to legend, Berserkers fight like enraged beasts. They tear through everything in their path."

Evenson grinned.

"One Berserker is supposedly worth twenty warriors."

He laughed.

"Unfortunately, those twenty warriors are ordinary human soldiers. And we’re talking about ancient humans, most of whom were probably malnourished."

He pointed toward Nastrond’s message left on the streets of Norway.

"We are gods!"

Evenson scoffed.

"They clearly have no idea what a god looks like."

"Forget Thor. Loki could probably take twenty of them by himself."

"Why do I somehow feel even less motivated after hearing you explain it like that?" Coulson muttered.

"That’s probably the normal reaction."

Evenson collapsed back onto the couch.

"Berserkers are driven almost entirely by rage, which means they sacrifice a lot of their rational judgment. The Legion has always suffered from poor coordination and organization."

"And considering Nastrond’s awful leadership and his personal limitations, his group is probably even worse."

"But the staff seems capable of giving superhuman strength to anyone who touches it," Melinda pointed out.

"Even if these people aren’t particularly capable, what happens if their numbers keep growing? Leaving an army of empowered criminals running around the streets isn’t exactly harmless."

"The Berserker Staff’s power comes entirely from the runic magic carved into it."

Evenson shrugged.

"No fingerprint scanner, either, so yes, technically anyone can use it."

"But the magic was designed specifically for Asgardians."

"It forcibly draws out the user’s physical potential. For an Asgardian, whose body is naturally powerful, the strain is relatively minor."

"For a human?"

He looked around the room.

"Anyone here ever heard of the Eight Gates?"

"I... know a little."

Skye raised her hand immediately.

When she realized she was the only one, her confidence faded.

"Basically, humans have a lot of physical potential that’s normally locked away because using all of it would destroy the body."

"So the magic does something similar?"

"More or less."

Evenson nodded.

"Using it once probably wouldn’t cause catastrophic consequences. You might just end up spending your old age with every joint screaming at you whenever it rains."

"But if you keep using it the way Nastrond does—holding onto the staff constantly and refusing to let go—you’ll eventually destroy yourself."

He made a grim gesture.

"And I mean the spectacular kind of death. Blood pouring from every orifice. Bones snapping. Organs giving out."

He leaned back.

"Magic always comes with a price."

"So even if we do nothing, these people could kill themselves within a few days."

Evenson took a drink of water.

"And the magic only gives them physical strength. It doesn’t reinforce the rest of their bodies. They’re still human."

"Ordinary firearms can still kill them."

He smiled.

"So if they get any more troublesome..."

He glanced toward Melinda.

"Remember those operations we handled in Eastern Europe?"

Melinda’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

"The Pope could send the Swiss Guard and wipe them out."

Coulson blinked.

"Eastern Europe?"

He looked between the two of them.

"What exactly were you doing in Eastern Europe?"

"Sorry," Evenson and Melinda said simultaneously.

"You don’t have clearance for that."

Coulson stared at them.

"If your assessment is correct, then this probably isn’t going to cause anything resembling a major uprising."

He frowned.

"But they’re already causing trouble. People are getting hurt. Some may even die."

"We can’t simply ignore that."

"And regardless of how limited its abilities are, the Berserker Staff is still a dangerous extraterrestrial artifact. We need to deal with it."

"All right."

Evenson sounded completely uninterested.

"If that’s your decision, then I’ll point out one thing."

"Between the two threats, the Berserker Staff is more dangerous than Nastrond and his followers."

"So we don’t actually need to rush in and arrest him."

"Watch him."

"Track him closely."

"If he genuinely believes the story in that novel, he’ll keep searching for the remaining pieces."

"All we have to do is follow him."

Evenson’s smile sharpened.

"Let him collect the rest of the staff for us."

"Then we’ll take the whole thing in one shot."

"Huh. That’s convenient."

Melinda switched the display on the large screen.

"According to satellite tracking, Nastrond and several of his followers have already traveled to Seville, Spain."

"He moves fast."

Evenson considered that for a moment.

"Same alliance, no visas needed to cross the border, a shared currency, and relatively small countries where you can drive across a national border without much trouble."

He grinned.

"Europe really does make life convenient for criminals on the run."

Then he suddenly stood straight, his expression becoming solemn.

"God save the Queen. Long live the British Empire!"