Chapter 868

The conflict between Frigga and Hela had ultimately been reduced to one thing: who held the title.

On the surface, that didn’t sound particularly important.

Hela only cared about expanding Asgard’s territory. Politics, economics, education—none of it interested her. What she wanted was to conquer worlds while preserving the genuine mother-daughter bond she had with Frigga.

In theory, the solution was ridiculously simple.

Frigga could proclaim herself the Holy Emperor of Asgard, while formally naming Hela First Princess and First Heir to the Throne. Once Hela was freed, she would inherit the title of King of Asgard, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, and whatever other glorious military titles were necessary to satisfy her.

Problem solved.

If even that wasn’t enough, they could split the title between them.

You govern the realm. I’ll lead the armies.

Everybody wins.

Unfortunately, that was precisely why the problem wasn’t simple.

Titles mattered.

Authority mattered.

Legitimacy mattered.

Once someone possessed the legal and traditional right to command, their rule became proper. Their orders became legitimate. Their authority carried the weight of tradition behind it.

The real question wasn’t whether Hela could tolerate Frigga becoming a revered queen mother with considerable influence.

She probably could.

The problem was where that authority came from.

Hela could accept Frigga exercising enormous power within Asgard—but only if that power ultimately came from Hela, the rightful monarch.

She would never accept having someone else grant her the throne.

King, queen, emperor, empress—it didn’t matter.

Hela had never cared about ceremonial recognition in the first place. She considered even Asgard’s traditions acknowledging her as the first heir unnecessary.

So why would she tolerate someone else bestowing the throne upon her?

Evenson’s seemingly perfect solution was therefore little more than an argument over wording.

And sooner or later, an argument over legitimacy would become an argument over strength.

Hela didn’t need to worry.

Once she escaped her prison, she would be overwhelmingly powerful. Faced with that kind of absolute strength, Frigga would eventually have to yield.

But would Frigga willingly accept that outcome?

If she refused, there was only one way to resist Hela: become stronger herself and command a military force powerful enough to challenge her.

That would normally be nearly impossible.

But Frigga had one enormous advantage.

Fel blood.

Frigga had survived this long by relying on fel blood, and the substance had granted her extraordinary power. More importantly, she had discovered just how much potential it possessed when combined with high-born Asgardian women.

The new Valkyrie army was being built around precisely that discovery.

Frigga had already made no secret of her desire for more fel blood when speaking with Evenson. They had even agreed to work together to acquire it.

Now that Hela had become an immediate threat to her position, Frigga’s hunger for that power would only grow.

Which meant their partnership had suddenly become much more valuable.

Evenson couldn’t help laughing at the thought.

"Hm."

Sif looked at him strangely. "What’s so funny? You don’t actually think your plan is going to work, do you?"

Sif hadn’t thought through the situation as deeply as Evenson had. She simply sensed that something was fundamentally wrong with the proposal.

"Instead of worrying about my plan," Evenson said, sidestepping the question, "you should worry about yourself."

"Myself?"

"You don’t seem entirely comfortable with the idea of Frigga ruling Asgard either."

Sif’s eyes widened.

How did he know?

The answer was obvious.

If Sif were absolutely loyal to Frigga, then the moment Hela had revealed herself and announced her intentions, Sif should have walked away.

She wouldn’t have participated in the discussion.

She wouldn’t have argued.

And she certainly wouldn’t have listened to Evenson and Hela calmly discuss how to arrange the succession.

Everything they had been discussing amounted to treason.

An absolutely loyal subject wouldn’t sit around debating who should rule.

If someone had approached an absolutely devoted royalist and casually suggested overthrowing the current dynasty, they wouldn’t politely stay for the rest of the conversation and offer their opinion on who would make the better monarch.

Yet Sif had remained.

She had listened to everything.

That meant her loyalty wasn’t absolute.

And in Evenson’s experience, loyalty that wasn’t absolute could become disloyalty at precisely the wrong moment.

"I know you believe Thor would make the best king," Evenson said, clasping his hands behind his back. "You have personal feelings involved, and you served directly under him for years. That’s understandable."

"But you need to remember something. You’re now one of Frigga’s closest confidants. If you find yourself fundamentally opposed to her on an issue this important, you can probably guess how that ends."

"Frigga doesn’t want you studying the art of political entrapment because she thinks you’re a fool. She’s cultivating you because she expects something from you."

He paused.

"You should probably learn where the phrase ’lure your enemy into the trap’ actually comes from."

Sif stared at him for several seconds.

"I... understand."

"Good. Make sure you really do."

Evenson’s expression softened slightly.

"When this is over, go straight back. And don’t contact Thor. Not now. The situation is too sensitive. If you lose control of yourself, you won’t just hurt yourself. You’ll hurt him too."

He was saying it as a friend.

He could already imagine Thor wandering around Earth somewhere while Sif, unable to stand missing him any longer, decided to send a romantic letter.

That would be disastrous.

Especially if someone translated it and found a few suspiciously incriminating words in there.

At that moment, Sigrun glanced toward Lorelei, who was still sitting in the corner.

"So what do we do with her?"

The implication was obvious.

Lorelei had originally been sent here by Hela as a disposable piece. The mission was essentially finished.

And yet, somehow, she was still alive.

Maybe it was time to correct that.

"Heh."

Evenson, Sif, and the others all turned toward Lorelei.

Lorelei immediately backed into the wall.

"No. Absolutely not."

She shook her head so violently that tears flew from her eyes.

"Don’t kill me! If you’re worried about taking me back to Asgard alive, just leave me here on Earth! Lock me up somewhere! I’ll behave. I won’t escape. If anyone comes to rescue me, I’ll personally yell at them!"

"Dream on," Evenson said coldly as he approached.

Apparently Lorelei wanted free room and board on Earth now.

There was no such thing as a free lunch.

Outside the bar, however, Coulson and the rest of the SHIELD team were growing increasingly anxious.

"It’s awfully quiet in there."

Coulson crouched behind the hood of a vehicle, a heavy machine gun braced against his shoulder.

Evenson and the others had been inside for far too long.

And nothing had happened.

That was wrong.

Coulson had worked with Evenson enough times to know what happened whenever the man started throwing spells around.

Explosions.

Shockwaves.

Structural damage.

Occasionally something that looked suspiciously like a localized natural disaster.

If Evenson had been fighting inside that bar, Coulson expected the building to have ceased existing by now.

Yet there was nothing.

Not even a muffled explosion.

Coulson suddenly remembered Sif’s earlier explanation of Lorelei’s powers.

"Don’t tell me that woman actually managed to turn him."

"She didn’t," Melinda said while feeding another belt of ammunition toward Coulson. "Evenson uses magic. He’s not exactly easy to manipulate."

She hesitated.

"His resistance to that kind of thing should be... pretty high."

Her confidence faded halfway through the sentence.

She had firsthand experience.

There was only so much confidence she could fake.

Mack, meanwhile, seemed remarkably unconcerned.

Every now and then, she glanced at Coulson and Melinda with an expression that practically screamed What are you idiots worrying about?

There were two women inside who could probably make Evenson regret every bad decision he’d ever made.

If something really had gone wrong in there, they were probably already beyond saving anyway.

A loud CRASH interrupted the thought.

Someone blasted through the bar’s window.

The figure spun through the air several times before slamming into the dirt and rolling repeatedly before finally coming to a stop.

It was Lorelei.

"Demon! Face the judgment of the law!"

The bar’s front door swung open.

Sigrun emerged wearing full armor, a shield in one hand and a flail in the other. A flagpole rose dramatically from her back, while tiny lights covering her armor glowed with an almost absurd intensity.

Everyone stared.

Sigrun stared back.

Then, without changing expression, she reached up and pressed a button on her shoulder.

The lights went out.

The flag disappeared.

"Much better."

Lorelei groaned from the dirt.

She slowly lifted her head, then secretly hammered herself twice in the chest where nobody could see.

A mouthful of blood appeared.

She coughed dramatically.

"Unbelievable... the Black Badge agent was too strong..."

She staggered.

"I’ve lived a good life. That sunset..."

She paused for dramatic effect.

"...was my youth running away."

She collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Silence.

A moment later, Evenson and Sif emerged from the bar.

Coulson approached them with a deeply suspicious expression.

"What happened?"

Evenson shrugged.

"Honestly? I’m not entirely sure myself."

He had already prepared his explanation.

"The location of this bar was... problematic."

Coulson stared at him.

"Problematic how?"

Evenson immediately launched into a solemn recitation.

"The celestial currents converge beneath the earth. Mountains conceal the veins of power, while the stars mark their course. Stone and soil divide yin and yang, creating a place where the dead may gather—"

Coulson’s expression went blank.

"Can you tell me something I can actually understand?"

Melinda, however, had gone pale.

"You mean this place is..."

"An undead nexus," Evenson said gravely.

Coulson’s sunglasses slid down his nose.

"What?"

"Magic exists throughout nature. Sometimes it gathers in particular locations."

Evenson spoke with absolute seriousness.

"This place happens to be an unusually powerful magical convergence, one with an especially strong affinity for necromantic energy."

He pointed toward Lorelei.

"And that woman is a practitioner of dark magic. She constructed a powerful necromantic ritual here and pushed the site’s natural properties to their absolute limit."

"That was what created those green-haired zombies you saw."

Coulson’s mouth twitched.

"If we hadn’t arrived in time, she might have produced something considerably worse."

"So I entered the building, destroyed the ritual, severed the magical energy flowing through the area, and prevented a much larger disaster."

Evenson paused.

"By the time I finished, the Black Badge agent had already apprehended her."

Coulson stared at him.

"Right."

He slowly turned toward Melinda.

"Tell the training team they’ve got a new exercise site."

Melinda blinked.

"Sir?"

"Have them shoot the building. Then throw grenades at it. Then call in artillery."

Coulson looked back at the bar.

"Make the whole thing disappear."

As he walked away, another thought occurred to him.

Maybe SHIELD University needed a course in magical geomancy.

Something practical.

Something that taught agents how to locate these mysterious magical hotspots.

He’d call the graduates—

JD agents.

He smiled to himself.

Then his attention returned to Lorelei.

"So what happens to her?"

Coulson’s expression became considerably darker.

There were a lot of unpleasant possibilities.

Wooden stakes.

Garlic.

Holy symbols.

Chains.

A coffin.

Fire.

Preferably all of the above.

Evenson sighed.

"Her powers were tied to that ritual. Once I destroyed it, her abilities were stripped away with it."

He spread his hands.

"She isn’t dangerous anymore."

Coulson studied him suspiciously.

"You sure?"

"Of course."

Evenson looked offended.

"I’m professionally trained."

Coulson stared at him.

That answer did not make him feel better.

Still, Lorelei would eventually be handed over to Asgard, so there wasn’t much point arguing.

"Fine. We’ll pack up and hand her over to Lady Sif."

"That won’t be happening."

Sigrun stepped forward.

"She illegally entered American territory and has committed at least twenty counts of first-degree murder. Under American law, she must stand trial here and serve her sentence before she can be extradited to Asgard."

Sif’s eyes narrowed.

"Frigga ordered me to bring her back alive."

"And I am telling you that the law requires otherwise."

Sigrun didn’t budge.

"Crimes are prosecuted where they’re committed. That’s basic law."

She considered the matter.

"Besides, twenty counts of first-degree murder shouldn’t amount to more than a couple of centuries."

Sif visibly relaxed.

"Oh."

She waved a hand.

"Only two hundred years? That’s fine. I can wait."

Coulson’s face went dark.

Two hundred years.

Not two years.

These immortal people had absolutely no sense of scale.

As everyone began preparing to leave, Ward lingered.

He glanced back at the bar.

Just once.

Then they departed.

Not long afterward, before the SHIELD training team could arrive, John Garrett and several operatives appeared at the site.

Garrett surveyed the ruined bar with barely concealed excitement.

"Move!"

He pointed toward the ground.

"Get the coordinates. Measure every radiation signature and anomalous energy reading."

His eyes gleamed.

"A location capable of bringing the dead back to life could be invaluable to the Death Soldier Program."

He paused.

Then grinned.

"Enough talking."

"Bury me in there and let’s see what happens."