Chapter 19
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Three days.
Heimdall exhaled through his nose as the thought echoed in his mind. Three whole days. That was how long Eir's group had remained in Midgard. The Oracle hadn't responded to any of his telepathic messages during that time—and that was never a good sign.
He had already alerted the Headmaster of the Valhalla Institute, who in turn grew increasingly concerned about the students' safety.
They were supposed to return to Asgard two days ago. Even if they had a valid reason to linger in Midgard, the Oracle would have at least informed him. That was standard protocol.
Frustrated but patient, Heimdall reached out to her once more making a telepathic link to her. A full minute passed with no answer. Just as he was about to cut the link, her voice rang in his mind.
"Lord Heimdall?"
The unmistakably calm, youthful voice of Oracle Aada echoed in his head. "Sorry for not responding to your messages these past few days. We've had... important people to deal with. But don't worry—everyone in the village is safe. Even the Valkyries."
The assurance eased some of his tension, but something felt off. Her voice lacked its usual warmth. There was a stiffness to it. Robotic, almost.
"Who are these 'important people,' Aada?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Some Christian missionaries arrived at our village. They're staying a few days. I've had to do all the talking with them, so I couldn't respond earlier."
Heimdall's face twisted in quiet irritation.
Christians... The very reason the Nordic factions had lost so many of their followers. Spreading the so-called Word of their God, they swept across lands, converting people who once revered the old gods.
He didn't necessarily hate the peace they preached—kindness, forgiveness, charity—but their intrusion was unforgivable. Who gave them the right to trespass on Nordic soil? To steal their believers? To flaunt their superiority with hypocritical slogans about loving thy enemy? History had shown that they don't really follow their own teachings.
What a load of sanctimonious bullshit.
"How long are they staying?"
"Another four days," Aada answered simply.
The tension between the Nordic and Biblical factions had never fully eased, even after centuries. Neither wanted open war, but the mutual disdain was deep-rooted since the day they entered Nordic lands.
"Where are Miss Eir and the young Valkyries?"
"They've distanced themselves from the village. Eir thought it best to avoid unnecessary attention. She doesn't want the missionaries discovering their presence."
That made sense. There was a fundamental rule observed by all supernatural factions: never reveal your world to ordinary humans. Breaking this law brought severe repercussion to the humans and bringd chaos in the human world. The supernatural world had no place in ordinary human affairs especially in the modern world. History had taught all of the Pantheon and Factions that when religion is brought up, humans are very capable of destroying them shelves.
"I assume they're still dealing with the undead problem?"
"Yes, Lord Heimdall."
He nodded. "I'll contact you again in three days. I'm sure the young Valkyries are eager to return to Asgard."
"Understood."
The telepathic link snapped shut.
But even with the new information, Heimdall's unease lingered. Something wasn't right. Aada's tone. Her phrasing. It all rang hollow.
He couldn't explain it—but his gut told him trouble was brewing.
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Meanwhile...
For the past three days, Rossweisse had been in recovery. Though her movement was limited, Nikolai and his children made sure she had everything she needed—food, safety, rest. Her body had healed faster than expected.
They'd done all of it without asking for anything in return. That kindness burned warmly in her chest.
She knew she needed to repay them somehow.
Now that most of her wounds had healed, she was finally able to move without pain. Stiff, yes, but functional. Clad in her Valkyrie armor again, she walked to the back of the cabin where the area has been cleared to make a training grounds for Nikolai and his sons.
Artom and Igor were already sparring, monstrous forms on full display. Their clawed hands clashed, as they practiced grapples and strikes with brutal precision.
Despite their intimidating transformations, they still looked like excitable boys—sweet, loyal, and endlessly energetic. The contrast was bizarre, yet endearing.
Then she spotted him.
Nikolai was doing push-ups with a boulder tied to his back and he lifted it up easily
His muscles flexed with every movement, veins bulging, breath steady. She stared at the unbelievable sight, stunned with surprise.
'Gods above... that shouldn't be possible,' Rossweisse thought, brows raised.
Humans are supposed to be fragile in the supernatural world, she thought. She was not trying to be condescending—just a truth. Although some humans in the past had risen above that limit. Just like King Arthur, Merlin and many more—but most of them had one thing in common.
Sacred Gears.
She suspected Nikolai Volkov was one such anomaly. Likely the wielder of a Creation-type Sacred Gear. That black mist that cloaked him during battle—it formed armor, weapons. She had seen it.
Even more impressively, it seemed to extend to others. Artom and Igor could manifest the same dark equipment their father had in his arsenal. ' It has to be a shared Sacred Gear.', she reasoned. Or something entirely different...
"Good morning, Rossweisse," Nikolai said, smiling as he stood upright, letting the boulder drop with a thud to the ground. "You need something?"
"Well, now that I'm not bedridden, I thought I could stretch my legs." She performed a few light stretches, nodding at the sparring boys.
"Well then, I'd say start with light exercise. Don't go crazy just yet," he advised—then paused. "Also… Would you like to spar? With me."
"Huh?"
"I mean a friendly match," he clarified. "I don't get many chances to fight skilled warriors that is also a magic user. I'd like to test myself."
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{Rossweisse's POV}
Honestly, I didn't know why I agreed.
Maybe because he was serious. Maybe because, as a warrior myself, I understood the need to hone one's edge. Or maybe… it was my way of repaying him.
We agreed on one rule: no high-tier offensive magic. Just weapons and some low-tier magic. A fair duel.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Artom and Igor jumped with excitement as they cheered for us at the side."PAPA! MAMA! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Nikolai chuckled. "Looks like we have an audience."
"Seems so." I smirked. "Want to start this in the old-fashioned way?"
I picked up a pebble. "When it hits the ground, we go."
"Perfect."
I tossed the pebble. We locked eyes. I summoned my sword. He conjured his own mist-forged blade and shield.
He's definitely wielding a Sacred Gear... I thought, admiring the craftsmanship of his conjured weaponry.
THUD.
The moment the pebble struck the ground, Nikolai lunged forward, charging straight at me with a mist-conjured shield raised.
I raised my hand and fired an ice spear, more out of curiosity than urgency—just to test the durability of his shield.
The spear shattered his shield on impact. Cracks webbed through the magical construct before it burst apart in a puff of black mist.
He skidded to a stop, blinking in surprise before letting out a breathless laugh. "I thought we weren't supposed to use strong offensive magic."
"Sorry," I replied casually, lowering my arm. "That was one of my weaker offensive magic."
I wasn't trying to show off—it was the truth. Compared to the rest of my arsenal, that ice spear was barely above basic.
His eyes widened, lips curling into a grin as he summoned another shield. "And here I was worried about you being too soft. Now I'm wondering what'll happen if you actually try. This is gonna be fun."
I wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or a threat.
Truth be told, I was more of a mage than a warrior. Magic is my strongest point, but that doesn't mean that I am that clumsy with the sword.
"This is my first time fighting a real magic user," he admitted, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please—use your offensive magic. Hit me with everything you've got. This is going to be so much fun."
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{3rd Person POV}
Nikolai went on the offensive. As expected, Rossweisse fired another ice projectile. But this time, he dove into a forward roll, avoiding the spear, then launched into the air using the momentum.
Summoning a Dane axe mid-air, he took advantage of its huge reach, and brought it down in a heavy arc.
Rossweisse, anticipating him, took a step back and launched skyward with flight magic. His axe slammed into the dirt, shaking the ground.
She retaliated with a fierce dropkick, slamming into his face. He staggered. She conjured two runes, sending a torrent of water at his feet and followed it with ice magic—freezing his legs to the ground.
'Keep your distance.' That was what her combat instructor told her when facing oponents who choose melee combat and with her being a magic based warrior, it was very important to keep her distance to ensure victory.
"Prepare yourself!" she warned, summoning several runic circles that began humming with elemental power.
Elemental barrages of fire, water, lightning, wind, and ice rained toward Nikolai.
"Blyat!" he swore, summoning a massive black shield and embedding it into the dirt.
The elements hammered the barrier, shaking the earth. His shield cracked, hissed, and finally melted away into a dented, misty wreck.
Rossweisse blinked in concern. 'Did I overdo it?'
"Nikolai?"
CHINK!
A metal chain shot from the mist, latching around her waist.
"Gotcha!" Nikolai growled, yanking her toward him like a slingshot.
She twisted mid-air, sword ready to slice the chain—but he was already summoning another shield, blocking her swing.
Not backing down, she immediate followed her attack by using the pomel of her sword, aiming for his head . He despawned the chain and his shield and twisted his body to the side to avoid the pomel of her sword. He grabbed her wrist mid-strike and disarmed her. She tried to fire a point-blank ice blast, but he ducked under it by instinct.
Then, he tackled her to the ground, pinning her beneath him. One hand held both her wrists above her head. The other summoned a dagger—cold steel against her neck.
He grinned. "I win."
Her cheeks flushed slightly—not from embarrassment, but adrenaline.
His victory, while achieved with a hint of cunning trickery, was nonetheless undeniable. "Yes, you won," she admitted softly, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Though slightly annoyed, she accepted defeat with grace, recalling one of the most brutally drilled-in lessons from her Valkyrie training: "Never assume your enemy is defeated—make absolutely sure he is."
.
.
.
.
It took her a few disoriented seconds to become painfully aware of her current situation. When the realization finally dawned, her cheeks flushed a brilliant, mortified crimson. The position they were in was beyond compromising—it was utterly intimate. Her arm was firmly pinned above her head by his steel-like grip, and he was straddling her thighs, completely immobilizing her. Their bodies were agonizingly close. So close, in fact, that his ragged, uneven breaths brushed warmly against her flushed face, causing goosebumps to dance across her skin. Her heartbeat raced wildly in her chest, pounding like a war drum. A strange, simmering warmth bloomed in her stomach and spread downward to places she absolutely refused to acknowledge.
"U-Um... are you okay, Rossweisse?" Nikolai's voice was gentle, almost boyishly confused. He had finally noticed her vivid blush. "Your face is real red. You sick or something?" Concerned, he instantly released his crushing hold on her wrist and awkwardly helped her sit up. "Artom! Go get your mama some water, fast!"
"Ok!" the eager raven squawked and fluttered off.
"H-Hey, talk to me, yeah?" he urged nervously, leaning closer with genuine worry in his wide, innocent eyes. But how could she speak? How could she even think straight when the scent of his skin—sweat, forest musk, and a faint trace of blood—still lingered in her nose?
This was the very first time any man had ever been this close to her. The first time she'd ever been touched, held, pinned in such a vulnerable and embarrassingly suggestive position. Her Valkyrie discipline screamed at her to snap out of it, but her flustered hormones were in a full-blown mutiny.
"I-I'm fine," she managed to stammer, voice barely above a whisper, "It's just… y-you were way too close to me."
Nikolai's eyes widened, and his face turned an apologetic shade of pale. "Ah, shit! I'm sorry! I didn't mean nothin' like that! I didn't mean to be indecent or anything, honest!"
She quickly nodded, accepting the apology with a shaky breath. She knew, deep down, he hadn't meant anything improper—his intentions had been entirely innocent. If anyone else had dared do such a thing to her, she would have filed a formal harassment complaint and broken a few fingers while she was at it. But Nikolai was different.
Still... deep within the recesses of her mind, a wicked little voice—sweet and seductive—kept whispering on loop:
"Touch him. Touch him. Just a little. Go on... touch him!"
Oh, this was so humiliating!
"Papa, I brought the water!" Artom returned triumphantly, holding a tiny wooden bowl of water with his hand, just in time to save them both from emotional implosion.
Rossweisse took the bowl with trembling fingers, grateful for the distraction. She could already imagine Sigrun's smug grin and merciless teasing if she ever found out about this. No doubt the elder Valkyrie would never let her live it down.
She groaned internally.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you all so much for reading this story so far. I truly, deeply appreciate the love and support you've shown through your amazing comments and generous power stones. Your encouragement fuels this journey, and I'm endlessly grateful for every one of you!
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