Chapter 416: Devoured by Dogs

The lord of the hunt had raised this entire table of people himself, yet this time, they hadn't even held out against a single teaching Scholar.

Meanwhile, a random stranger had just shown up and given him more than this entire table's combined returns.

At that thought, the antlers tilted slightly toward Loki, and the pack of hounds beneath them began to move.

The first hound lunged in to bite his shoulder, and the second went for his leg.

Then came the third, and the fourth.

By the time the hounds scattered, a wet, bloody mess was sprawled across the frost. It was impossible to tell which piece was a shoulder and which was a thigh.

Only a severed hand resting three steps away remained completely intact, becoming the single most whole piece in the pile of remains.

The lord of the hunt's gaze descended once more. White vapor rose from the frost, stitching that gory mess back together strand by strand.

When the mending was finished, Loki sat up casually, looking exactly as he had before the mauling.

He worked his newly reattached jaw.

Finding it in working order, he cracked a grin and spoke.

"Your craftsmanship," he said to the antlered figure, his tone entirely devoid of respect. "Much better than last time. Last time, you stuck my left ear on the right side."

The antlered figure ignored him. This table of people he had raised was essentially ruined; they had gone out once and gotten their entire nest wiped out.

"Don't look at me like that." Loki spoke again, his face bearing that same loose, lazy expression, as if he hadn't just been torn to shreds by a pack of hounds.

"Then again, you owe me an explanation. The Celtic table—you never told me that one was untouchable."

"You just told us to devour. In this game, devouring other tables is encouraged. The more you devour, the faster you accumulate.

"Over the years, the previous generation of the Norse devoured the Germanic Pantheon, and Greece devoured the Black Soil River. No one ever stopped them.

"So why is it that when we went to devour the Celtic table, that white-haired old bastard came looking for trouble with a book in hand?"

The other penalized companions on the frosty ground pricked up their ears. This was the one question their entire table hadn't figured out.

The lord of the hunt remained silent for a moment before speaking.

"The gods of the Germanic Pantheon table lost their roots long ago. No one has made offerings to them in centuries, and the same goes for Greece and the Black Soil River.

"They are dead mythologies dug out of their graves, old bones displayed on the table. You can devour old bones however you please.

"But the Celtic table is different. Around the Gaelic Highlands, the history and the sacred wells have survived for thousands of years.

"During the holidays, the old folks in the mountains still carve that slanted line on stones. Connected behind that table is a living faith native to the Empire that hasn't completely died out yet."

Loki's expression slowly shifted.

"A living faith naturally has living guardians," the lord of the hunt continued.

"The Hunter families of the Gaelic Highlands have guarded those inscriptions for generations.

"That white-haired old man is one of the people guarding those things. He doesn't need to follow the rules of the salon to come after you.

"The salon is indeed a game, and games have their own circles.

"But you played the game outside the circle, bringing it right to their doorstep. That's not just a team battle anymore; that's a home invasion.

"When the master of the house comes back to beat the thief, he doesn't need to reason with him."

Loki leaned against the gravel, silent for a long time.

He thought back to the night of the team battle, to the beef and barley bubbling in the pot on the other side, and the very real firewood that had been chopped.

At the time, he had even mocked them for burning such an honest fire.

It turned out the reason the fire was so honest was because someone was guarding it.

Moreover, the lord of the hunt was actually deflecting the blame; he had never mentioned that the Celtic table had such deep ties.

Perhaps even he hadn't been sure if Loki's table devouring them completely would draw retaliation.

By withholding this intelligence and letting Loki test the waters himself, he could reap the benefits no matter the outcome.

Just as Loki calculated in his mind, the lord of the hunt showcased his spoils.

"However, you devouring that table did indeed yield me some gains."

The vanguard of the procession behind the lord of the hunt parted down the middle, opening a path.

At the end of the path, pinned down by the pack of hounds, were a few items—the remnants of the Celtic table Loki had previously devoured.

The Dagda's wooden club was broken, only half of it remaining, clutched in a disembodied hand.

Lugh's long spear was gone, leaving only his sling. The pouch was empty, holding nothing.

Only three of the ravens adorning The Morrigan remained, perched motionless on a shoulder.

Brigid had no fire; her two hands cupped a ball of empty air.

MacFie had taken a portion earlier, and now the remaining corpses and ether had been collected by the lord of the hunt.

Absorbed into his Wild Hunt procession, repurposing the waste.

Loki looked at this scene, feeling rather displeased.

So it was just shifting from the left hand to the right hand; in the end, the one who profited was the figure right in front of him.

"What? Displeased?"

The lord of the hunt's voice echoed from a great distance, carrying over the sound of hooves.

Loki smiled. "Displeased? Why wouldn't I be pleased? You profiting is the same as us profiting.

"How could we possibly be displeased?

"But then again, according to the rules of the Wild Hunt, you still have to clean up the mess for this batch of people. Haven't you just given yourself a whole pile of extra work for nothing?"

The lord of the hunt was noncommittal.

With a mere exertion of his will, the several people currently undergoing punishment were all lowered to the ground.

"I have a task for you."

"What are we hunting this time?" Loki asked out of habit.

The lord of the hunt exhaled a very faint wisp of white vapor from his horn.

It condensed into a mirror in midair, completely blank on its surface.

"Before the Day of Mourning, a little guy gave me a good item that no one else had been able to offer in centuries.

"After handing it over, he vanished from my sight.

"But I saw a shape above his head, and it relates to the game between these tables."

The people who had finally been released from their punishment were panting heavily on the ground. Upon hearing this, even their breathing grew lighter.

"What shape?" Loki asked.

"A Caduceus, and winged sandals. You all should recognize them."

There was no sound on the frost. Everyone recognized that divine name, but no one dared to speak first.

Loki took a few steps toward the blank mirror.

"So, you want us to find this person?"

The lord of the hunt flicked his reins.

"It isn't a strict task. The main reason I'm not actively searching for him is because of the two Virtuosos standing behind him.

"They intervened together and blocked my mark.

"Just keep an eye out when you have the time. It's better if you can find him, but it doesn't matter if you can't.

"Since he has taken a seat at that table, you will run into him sooner or later."

With that, the horn blew, and the hooves of tens of thousands of mounts slammed down in unison.

The thunderous clatter trampled across the rock-hard Veil Tundra, stamping two long, deep hoofprints into the frost.

Loki stood in place, watching the procession trample past overhead.

Only after the sound of the hooves had completely faded did he withdraw his gaze.

"Did you all hear that?"

The others still hadn't fully recovered their wits.

"Don't look so downcast." Loki squatted in front of them. "It's a lot better than me getting torn to shreds piece by piece by massive dogs, right?"

The strangulation marks around Freyja's neck were still bruised. She frowned. "Didn't you hear?"

Loki was still toying with a patch of melted frost in his palm. "Hear what?"

"The lord of the hunt just said it. That person has two Virtuosos backing him."

A sudden silence fell over the frost.

Tyr spoke up as well. "This isn't right.

"Even the direct heirs of the top nobility have to serve the Virtuosos of their own families with absolute reverence, never daring to slack on their sacrifices.

"So what right does he have to make two Virtuosos vouch for him?"

The living half of Hela's face began to pale as she guessed, "Unless... that person can offer stakes high enough to make two Virtuosos willing to act."

Freyja added, "The lord of the hunt said it himself just now. He offered a good item that no one else had been able to provide in centuries."

The dejection on their faces from having just been punished was overshadowed by much more complex emotions.

It wasn't just envy and jealousy, but also an indescribable sense of awe.

When this table of theirs entered the salon, which of them hadn't been backed into a corner?

Skadi did it for her mother in the sanatorium, and Tyr, Freyja, and Hela hadn't been in much better situations.

They amassed power and devoured other tables; a single misstep would see their severed heads raised high. They traded their lives for a slim chance to climb upward.

Yet this person casually handed over a single item and could instantly get two Virtuosos to stand up for him. The gap between them was so massive it left them breathless.

"Who exactly is that person?" Tyr muttered to himself.

His question echoed the thoughts of everyone present. Soon, all eyes slowly turned back to Loki.

When Freyja spoke, the slight politeness she normally maintained was completely gone. "Loki, is your intelligence gathering just completely incompetent?"

The hint of a smile on Loki's face completely froze.

"Our whole table was almost wiped out by that white-haired old bastard this time, all because of your faulty intelligence!"

Enduring the pain in his back, Tyr also voiced his condemnation. "And there's a heavyweight at the Greece table who can mobilize two Virtuosos, yet you knew absolutely nothing about it!"

"We'll run into them sooner or later.

"When the time comes and we charge in headfirst, only to realize there are two Virtuosos standing behind them..."

His meaning was perfectly clear: they would get wiped out all over again.

Hela's half-face also turned cold. "Since you are the head of the table, you carry the lives of everyone here on your back.

"Yet the intelligence you provide gets more unreliable every single time."

These people had just endured their punishments and were holding onto a belly full of fire with nowhere to vent it.

But Loki was Loki after all. That trace of stiffness on his face lasted for only a split second before he cracked a wide grin.

"You're entirely right."

He directly admitted it, which ironically left the people preparing to continue their attack unsure of what to say next.

Loki threw his hands open. "My intelligence was indeed flawed."

"However," he quickly changed tack.

"Everyone, have you thought about this? Why couldn't I find anything out?"

The others waited for him to continue.

"Behind the Celtic table is the oldest and most hidden lineage native to the Empire.

"They value these things more than their own lives, hiding them dead tight on both sides of the veil.

"Tell me, is that something I could uncover just by rummaging through archives in the dark all by myself?"

He looked around the circle.

"To do that, you'd need to plant roots in the Highlands for generations and be able to access the core of those Hunter families."

The others calmed down, feeling that his words actually held some truth.

"And regarding that person from Greece," Loki added.

"With two Virtuosos standing behind him, he's protected so strictly that even the lord of the hunt himself can't locate him.

"If even the lord of the hunt can't track him down, do you expect me to be able to?"

By the time he finished speaking, he had twisted his own dereliction of duty into the opponents simply being too strong and hiding too deeply.

"Everyone, I admit my intelligence work truly wasn't good enough.

"But that precisely proves that our current adversaries are increasingly unfathomable.

"Behind the Celtic table is the living faith of the Empire, and behind Greece are at least two Virtuosos.

"If we resort to infighting at a time like this, wouldn't we just be letting others profit?"

Freyja stared fixedly at Loki. Of course, she knew this was pure sophistry.

Poor intelligence work was just poor intelligence work. All that talk about opponents being too strong or hiding too deeply was just him making excuses for himself.

But she couldn't catch him on any leverage to press the issue.

"So what do you suggest we do next?" she asked.

"Next." Loki chuckled.

"We need to think of a way to redirect the danger somewhere else."

"Redirect it somewhere else?"

"Exactly." Loki's sinister ideas began to bubble to the surface.

"That person the lord of the hunt is obsessing over—he might be protected by two Virtuosos right now, but those Virtuosos can't shield him forever."

Freyja vaguely understood what he meant. "Are you saying we should wait and see, and just watch the show?"

"Waiting and watching the show is certainly one method, but it's too passive. I prefer to be a bit more proactive."

He slowly began to pace. "Don't forget about that lunatic Apophis."

Freyja demanded, "Are you out of your mind? Is he someone the likes of us can afford to provoke?"

Loki smiled meaningfully. "Of course not.

"That's why I don't plan on provoking him myself. I plan to make the Black Soil River clash with Greece."