Marvel With Zanpakutou

Chapter 825: Shocking the Gods

Since his conversation with Old John, the man intentionally distanced himself from Yvette.

As Old John had said, he was a man without a past, and such men often meant trouble. After months of living together, even the most oblivious person could tell there was something secretive about him.

However, the villagers, being naturally kind and straightforward, did not pry or ask too many questions. Yet, deep down, the man knew that his past was not as simple as it seemed. If he stayed in the village much longer, he might threaten the peaceful lives of these innocent people.

He could only repay their kindness by leaving quietly and not dragging them into trouble.

Thus, he decided to leave after the Fire Festival.

The Fire Festival was an ancient village tradition. On this day, the villagers would gather by the river, carrying torches, to escort a Viking ship filled with offerings to the gods as it sailed. When the ship was about to leave the river, the villagers would throw their torches onto it, setting it aflame.

The ancient Norse believed this would allow the warriors in Asgard and Valhalla to enjoy the offerings and mead, blessing the village with a bountiful harvest and safety in the coming year.

The annual Fire Festival was the most significant event for the remote village.

Every household was busy preparing offerings, ranging from slaughtered animals to homemade sweet mead. Old John’s task, as it had been every year, was to carve the statues of the gods, a responsibility he had always taken on himself.

The man carried a massive log, more than ten meters long and several meters wide, slowly making his way to the stone yard.

Thud

The log hit the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

"Cough, cough... Damn it, can’t you put it down more gently?" Old John came stumbling out from behind the dust, coughing and glaring at him. "I asked you to fetch an ash tree, not a whole damn forest!"

"You said the bigger, the better, right?" The man gave Old John a puzzled look. "I searched half the mountain and found this one. It should be big enough for your carving, right?"

"I...," Old John’s mouth twitched. He had asked for a large tree but hadn’t expected one quite this size. Shaking his head with a sigh, he muttered, "Well, I suppose bigger is better. This ash tree is big enough for me to carve all the gods."

The man sat down nearby, curious. "If it’s just carving, why does it have to be an ash tree?"

"You don’t know anything," Old John scolded him. "Legend has it that the World Tree is an ash tree, and only statues of the gods carved from ash can communicate with the gods in Asgard."

"I see."

The man didn’t ask any more questions.

Old John, fully focused, picked up his carving tools, his expression becoming serious. "I’m going to carve the faces of the gods now. Don’t disturb me, or I won’t be so nice about it."

"Sure, I’ll just watch. I won’t bother you," the man said, settling in to observe Old John at work.

Old John took a deep breath, his arms bulging with muscle, and his demeanor suddenly changed. He no longer seemed like a simple older man but more like a battle-hardened general. His eyes gleamed with a fierce determination, wholly focused on the task.

The man was taken aback, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. That look in his eyes, that presence... It stirred something deep inside him.

Oblivious to the man’s reaction, Old John began carving the ash tree. His chisel and hammer fell in rhythmic strikes, sending wood chips flying as the rough bark peeled away, gradually revealing a human face on the tree trunk.

Hours passed, and the first carving, a lifelike depiction of a god, appeared on the ash trunk.

Old John sighed deeply, exhaustion evident in his eyes as sweat trickled down his face. "I’m getting old. I didn’t expect carving just one god to take so much out of me."

The man stared at the statue, feeling an unexplainable sense of awe.

"Let’s continue!" Old John, catching his breath, prepared to carve the other gods.

The ash tree needed to bear the gods’ likenesses, with the entire trunk standing at the center of the Viking ship as a giant totem. Old John had his work cut out, with at least a dozen more gods to carve. Each statue grew increasingly difficult as he worked his way up, carving the gods according to their rank.

By night’s fall, Old John was utterly exhausted, collapsed on the ground, drenched in sweat. "Alright, I’ve finished all of them. Now it’s your turn to carry the totem to the ship."

The man walked over to the totem and counted the statues. There were twenty-two gods in total.

At the very top was the statue of a burly man with a beard, wearing a golden belt and holding a hammer that summoned thunder. It was unmistakably the mighty Thor, the god of thunder.

But something was missing. Based on what the man knew, there should have been twenty-three gods. The most important one, Odin, the All-Father, was absent.

"Old John, why didn’t you carve the All-Father?" the man asked, voicing his curiosity.

"You think I don’t want to?" Old John gave him an exasperated look. "The All-Father, Odin, is supreme. I’ve never seen him, so I leave his place empty as a tribute."

That answer was... amusing.

The man raised an eyebrow, teasing, "So, have you met any of the other gods?"

Old John’s expression flickered with a trace of panic before he quickly recovered, shaking his head. "I’m just an ordinary man. Of course, I’ve never seen the gods. I just carve based on the stories passed down through generations."

Old John stood up and urged, "Stop overthinking things. Get the totem back to the ship. Tomorrow is the Fire Festival."

"Wait, Old John. Maybe I can help." The man suddenly stopped him, eyes drawn to the carving tools, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu washing over him. "I... I think I can carve Odin. Can I give it a try?"

"You? Luka, you must be joking." Old John’s eyes widened in shock. "That’s Odin, the All-Father. If you make a mistake, you could anger the gods."

Carving the faces of the gods wasn’t a task for just anyone. It could lead to losing the gods’ blessings or invoking their wrath if done incorrectly.

"Let me try. Please," the man insisted, staring at the statues increasingly familiarly. "I think... I’m starting to remember something."

Old John hesitated, but seeing the determination in Luka’s eyes, he relented. "Alright, but don’t force it. If you feel it’s not right, stop immediately, understand?"

"Don’t worry," the man said, taking a deep breath as he picked up a carving knife.

Old John frowned, skeptical. He knew that carving required dozens of tools, yet Luka was starting with just a knife. It seemed overly ambitious.

Just as Old John was about to say something, he saw a faint blue light flash in the man’s eyes. In the next moment, the knife moved with incredible speed, leaving behind a trail of flickering afterimages.

Shhh shhh shhh

The blade danced, wood shavings flying.

For a moment, Old John thought it was his imagination, but it seemed Luka had transformed into a godlike figure. With each stroke of the knife, there was a chilling aura, making the hairs on Old John’s neck stand on end.

"It’s done," the man exhaled, tossing the knife aside.

"Done?" Still in disbelief, Old John stared momentarily before realizing what Luka had said. "What? You finished already?"

"Yeah, it’s done." The man nodded. "Take a look. I think it’s fine."

Cold sweat broke out on Old John’s forehead. He rushed forward, preparing to scold Luka for rushing, but the words died in his throat as he beheld the carving.

At the top of the totem was a statue of an older man with a long beard. A golden patch covered one eye, while the other gleamed like a hawk’s, radiating authority. The statue exuded a powerful aura as if the god was staring down at the world, the embodiment of Odin, the All-Father.

Old John staggered back, his face pale with fear. "It’s... it’s Odin! The All-Father, Odin!"

Boom!

Thunder rumbled across the sky, dark clouds swirling overhead.

A fierce wind howled, carrying with it the sound of thunder. In the distance, it seemed like a gaze pierced through the clouds, transcending the barrier between worlds, fixing itself upon the man and Old John below.

The man slowly raised his head, meeting that gaze from the heavens.