Vergil let out a short laugh afterward, the sound echoing almost too casually for soone clearly irritated seconds before.
"…Hah." He ran a hand over his neck, shrugging his shoulders as if relaxing after a warm-up. "Interesting." His smile widened more genuinely now, almost amused. "I barely set foot here and I'm already being watched."
He slowly raised his gaze, analyzing the destroyed corridor, the shadows between the broken columns, the high points of the curved walls.
"From the very first second," he continued. "As soon as I crossed the portal." His eyes narrowed, alert. "Odin doesn't waste any ti."
Vergil took a few steps, his gaze sweeping the space with surgical precision. He expected to find more hidden eyes. More ravens. More tricks.
But nothing.
The air was… clean.
He clicked his tongue, disappointed. "Tsk. Looks like the old man realized that watching like this isn't going to work." A crooked half-smile appeared. "Clever. Too late, but clever."
Brynhild still stared at the spot where the raven had been obliterated, black feathers slowly dissolving into ethereal particles before disappearing completely. She took a deep breath, trying to reorganize her thoughts—the attack, Thor, Odin, Vergil.
Then she looked back at him.
"…That blow," she said cautiously. "Mjölnir." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Not even many gods can stop that head-on. You… caught it with one hand." There was a pause. "How?"
Vergil stopped walking.
He turned slowly to her.
The smile was still there—but now there was sothing different about it. Not arrogance. Not provocation.
Sothing almost… bored.
"That?" he asked. "That wasn't even the real Thor."
Brynhild frowned. "What did you say?"
Vergil tilted his head slightly. "What you saw was an avatar. A strengthened projection. A borrowed body carrying a fraction of the real power." He shrugged. "Impressive for intimidation. Useful for testing." His smile widened slightly. "Not enough to kill ."
Silence settled again.
"The real Thor," he continued, "wouldn't set foot here before the tournant. Not now." His eyes glead for a mont. "Odin wouldn't risk such an important piece so soon. Not when he's still trying to understand what I am."
Brynhild felt a shiver run down her spine.
"So that was just…" She searched for the word.
"A warning," Vergil finished. "And a test." He turned again and began to walk. "They wanted to see how I would react. If I would retreat. If I would hide. If I would bleed."
He chuckled softly. "They failed at every single one."
Brynhild followed him, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the ruins of the corridor. "You speak as if you're already several steps ahead."
Vergil glanced at her quickly over his shoulder. "Because I am."
He paused for a mont, gazing at the distant ceiling of the coliseum, as if he could see beyond it—beyond the stands, beyond the gods, beyond the sky itself.
"This tournant," he said calmly, "isn't about entertainnt. Nor about champions." A slow smile appeared. "It's about sothing much bigger, so any precaution is worthwhile. Honestly, I won't give anyone an opening, not even the gods."
He looked back at Brynhild. "Shall we go? I want to relax a bit before this thing starts; I'll destroy them all anyway." He spoke calmly.
Brynhild didn't know how to respond. "This man… isn't he afraid of disrespecting the gods?" she thought, rembering Dionysus… "No, he doesn't care about the gods at all."
Brynhild blinked a few tis, pushing away her thoughts before they betrayed her face. Then she simply nodded, resuming her professional posture with a quick turn on her heels.
"This way," she said, resuming her walk.
The corridor gradually changed as they advanced. The ancient walls gave way to more refined structures, with stabilizing runes embedded in the tal and black marble. The lighting beca softer, more controlled, less ritualistic and more… comfortable. There was still power there, but now it was tad, organized—made for observation, not combat.
Vergil walked behind her unhurriedly, hands in his pockets, as if he were going to watch so kind of show.
After one last turn, Brynhild stopped before a large double door, adorned with symbols that blended Norse runes and older arcane seals. She touched one of the glyphs, which glowed softly before the doors opened in absolute silence.
"This is your private room," he announced.
Vergil entered.
And raised a slight eyebrow.
The space ahead seed less like a war anteroom and more like an exclusive box in a divine coliseum. A large, comfortable sofa occupied the center of the room, upholstered in dark leather with silver details. In front of it, a gigantic screen covered a good part of the wall, currently off, but clearly connected to the main arena.
To the right, a discreet refrigerator built into the wall, already stocked with various drinks—from divine ad to sothing clearly not made for mortals. Next to it, a counter full of snacks, candied fruits, dried ats seasoned with magical spices, and so items that Vergil recognized as… curiously human.
"Hmm." He took a few steps, observing everything calmly. "Not bad."
Brynhild entered soon after, closing the doors behind her. "It's a space reserved only for high-level competitors," she explained. "Isolation, protection, and a complete view of the arena. You'll be able to follow everything until your call."
Vergil sat down on the sofa unceremoniously, resting an arm on the backrest and crossing his legs. The contrast between the recent destruction in the corridor and this almost dostic tranquility elicited a low laugh from him.
"A VIP box before the massacre." He looked around once more. "You really know how to treat your guests."
Brynhild crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the entrance. "Don't confuse comfort with absolute security," she warned. "We are still under the gaze of the gods."
Vergil opened the refrigerator, grabbed a random drink, and opened it with a soft snap. He took a carefree sip before replying:
"Let them watch." A calm smile appeared on his face. "That way they learn."
The screen flickered slightly, as if awaiting the start of the show.
Vergil sank a little further into the sofa.
"Now that's more like it," he murmured. "I can relax."
Brynhild stood for a few seconds, just observing.
Vergil seed… too comfortable. Sprawled on the sofa as if he were at ho, drink in hand, his gaze too calm for soone about to enter a divine massacre. That disconcerted her more than any display of power.
She realized she'd been staring for too long when he spoke, without even turning his face:
"What is it?" he asked casually. "Are you going to keep analyzing or do you want to say sothing?"
Brynhild looked away reflexively. Cleared her throat.
"I…" She hesitated, sothing rare for soone like her. Her tone ca out lower than she intended. "Freyja." A pause. "How is she… really?"
Vergil didn't answer imdiately.
He looked at her.
Not mockingly. Not provocatively. His gaze softened—just a little—as if that question had pierced through so layers of irony. "Sit down," he said simply, patting the space beside him on the sofa.
Brynhild blinked, surprised. For a second she seed to consider refusing… but she eventually gave in. She walked to the sofa and sat down sowhat stiffly, maintaining a minimal distance, her posture too upright for soone sitting on soft upholstery.
Vergil let out a soft sigh.
Without asking permission, he put his arm behind her, gently pulling her closer, in a calm, almost automatic gesture. There was no force there—only presence.
Brynhild stiffened for a mont… and then relaxed, almost against her will.
"It was Sapphire who led to her," Vergil began. "She's… isolated." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "A place far away. Far from Odin's eyes."
"So she's alright?" Brynhild asked quickly, hope escaping her voice before she could contain it.
Vergil let out a short, humorless laugh.
"…Well." He repeated the word, as if testing it. "Yes." A pause. "I an… no."
He rested his elbow on the backrest, his gaze lost on the blank screen. "She's alive. Conscious. Strong." The arm around Brynhild tightened slightly. "But cursed. Still trapped."
Silence stretched.
Brynhild closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "So… why did you go see her?" she asked, her voice firr now. "You don't do anything without a reason."
Vergil smiled slightly.
"Precaution," he replied bluntly. "This tournant is fucking weird." He tilted his head, his eyes becoming more attentive. "Rules changing. Nervous gods. Avatars being sent to test the waters." A low laugh. "Sapphire gave a few things and asked for so favors in return to prepare . That's why we went to see her."
Brynhild opened her eyes, glancing sideways at him. "I understand, that's why Brisingan…"
He looked at Brynhild, then "Yes, we have to be cautious."
Brynhild was silent for a mont… "Why are you telling all this so easily?" she questioned, still close to him.
Vergil looked thoughtful. "I don't know? I think you're trustworthy," he said, shrugging, "I have good taste in won," he concluded with a laugh.
Brynhild stared at him for a few seconds, clearly confused.
The answer had been too simple. Too casual. And yet, there was sothing about it that disard her more than any direct threat. Trustworthy. Good taste in won. She didn't know if it was charm, manipulation… or just the raw truth of soone who saw no reason to lie.
She opened her mouth to answer—
The living room door burst open.
"MY HUSBAND!" The voice echoed through the box like a thunderclap laden with drama.
Vergil didn't even move.
He rely sighed, closing his eyes for a mont, like soone who recognizes exactly who has just arrived.
Brynhild turned her head in ti to see a woman enter almost gliding across the floor, enveloped in light, golden fabrics, adorned with jewels that seed to capture the ambient light. Raw, divine beauty—not sharp like Freyja's, nor martial like the Valkyries', but overwhelming, captivating, impossible to ignore.
Aphrodite.
Her eyes imdiately landed on Vergil.
Then… they descended.
And stopped on Brynhild.
On his arm around her. In closeness. In silent intimacy.
Aphrodite's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
The air grew… heavy.
Brynhild felt an imdiate shiver, as if she had just stepped into an emotional minefield.
"Ah." Aphrodite tilted her head slightly, her tone still sweet—too sweet. "I see I've arrived… in the middle of sothing."
Vergil opened his eyes and finally smiled.
Not a provocative smile. Nor a predatory one.
But a genuine smile.
"I thought you weren't going to co see , I'm glad you did," he comnted calmly.
That was enough.
Aphrodite's expression changed instantly. The irritation dissolved like mist in the sun, replaced by a sparkle in her eyes and a wide, almost childlike smile.
"Darling~♡" She practically floated to him, completely ignoring personal space. "Let go of that Valkyrie and stay with ~♡"
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