Marvel With Zanpakutou

Chapter 826: A Heart Without a Home, A Love Without a Beginning

Old John was utterly stunned.

What had he just witnessed?

Amid the violent storm, the man stood tall and unyielding, his gaze sharp as a god’s, locked onto the heavens. His eyes met the golden light within the dark clouds, and a vast, overwhelming pressure filled the air.

The statue of Odin, which stood above all the other gods, appeared to come to life. The single eye of the All-Father shone with divine authority, and an almost tangible gaze swept across the scene.

As that gaze passed over Old John, he was overcome with a bone-deep chill. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground in fear.

"God... God of gods..."

Trembling, Old John knelt with his face pressed into the wet earth, unable to raise his head to meet the divine stare of the statue.

The gaze of the Odin statue lingered on Old John for a brief moment before shifting to the man, who displayed a thoughtful, almost human-like expression. The statue seemed to understand something but chose not to speak, instead letting out a soft sigh.

Sigh...

Odin’s gaze receded, and the statue’s lifelike vitality faded away, returning it to its original form, devoid of any divine aura.

At the same time, the strange weather phenomenon vanished. The thunderstorm abruptly ended, the thick clouds dispersed, and the immense divine pressure disappeared as if it had never been.

Yet, the lingering dampness in the air and the wet earth beneath their feet were undeniable signs that everything had happened—it was no illusion.

Old John slowly raised his head, his expression complicated. He glanced at the man, opening his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated. In the end, all he could do was shake his head and sigh. "Luka... after the Fire Festival is over, you should leave this place as soon as possible."

The man remained silent but nodded slightly.

He had lost his memory, but he wasn’t a fool. The terrifying scene from moments before clearly had something to do with his forgotten past.

Simply carving a statue had drawn the attention of Odin, the All-Father. It was like something out of a myth—unbelievable, yet it had actually happened.

This meant that whatever past he had forgotten was far more frightening and complicated than he had imagined.

After that encounter, Old John and the man were lost in thought, walking back to the village in silence.

As the man carried the carved totem behind Old John, he couldn’t help but feel a growing curiosity about the man’s hunched figure. Old John’s reaction earlier had been far too extreme—not just fear, but almost as if he were afraid of punishment.

"Old John, you..." the man began to ask but stopped as he noticed Old John had come to a halt.

"I know what you want to ask," Old John said, his back still turned. He seemed deep in thought and sighed after a moment of silence. "You’re leaving soon, so I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. But you must promise to keep it a secret from the others. Can you do that?"

"I can," the man replied, nodding. "I’m sorry... I just want to understand more about my past. Maybe then I can remember who I am."

"I understand." Old John sighed again, lifting his head to gaze at the night sky. "The truth is... I’m from Asgard, the realm of the gods in Norse mythology. In human terms, I suppose I would be considered a god."

The man frowned in confusion. "But why are you here, then?"

"Because... I grew tired of war," Old John said, his voice calm. "The endless battles became unbearable. During one campaign, I escaped from Asgard and came to Midgard—what humans call Earth."

"I’ve lived here for a long time, traveling across many lands over the centuries," Old John continued, his figure seeming more lonely under the moonlight. "Eventually, I found this place and adopted Yvette. She gave my life meaning again, and I don’t want anything to disrupt that."

Old John turned to face the man, his expression complicated. "The fact that you drew the attention of Odin means your past is far more powerful, terrifying, and complex than you realize."

The man lowered his eyes, contemplating.

"I don’t wish to delve into your past," Old John said thoughtfully. "Nor do I want to know how someone as powerful as you ended up losing your memory. Those are matters that ordinary people like us have no right to question."

"I don’t mean to offend, but..." Old John paused, his face etched with concern. "People like you, just by existing, bring disaster and misfortune to those around them."

"I... I know," the man said quietly, trying to sound nonchalant but finding it impossible to force a smile.

For a brief moment, he considered pleading with Old John to let him stay—to live as an ordinary farmer, spending his days hunting and chopping wood, enjoying mead, and listening to the villagers’ tall tales—a simple, peaceful life.

As for his past? What did it matter?

But... it wasn’t possible.

As Old John had said, someone like him staying here would only bring calamity to the village.

...

The next day was the Fire Festival.

The annual event brought the village to life. Homes were adorned with deer antler decorations, and villagers dressed in fur coats carried barrels of sweet honey mead to the village square and slaughtered and preserved livestock.

When everything was ready, the offerings for the gods were loaded onto a Viking ship, with the giant carved totem standing tall at its center.

As night fell, the Fire Festival officially began. The villagers held torches as they pushed the ship into the river, singing ancient songs with powerful voices, creating a grand and solemn atmosphere.

The man was swept up in the mood, singing along as Yvette clung to his arm, her voice soft and melodic.

Together with the villagers, they followed the ship to the edge of a waterfall. As it approached the drop, laden with offerings, the man imitated the others, throwing his torch onto the ship.

The flames engulfed the ship, which slowly drifted toward the cliff. Carrying the year’s bounty and the villagers’ hopes for the future, it tumbled over the edge of the waterfall.

"To the great Odin!"

"To the great gods!"

Old John’s booming voice led the crowd, who cheered as the ritual concluded. Now, it was time for celebration.

The villagers returned to the town, feasting on rich food, drinking honey mead, and dancing around a massive bonfire. The air was filled with joyous singing, creating a festive atmosphere.

Yvette’s face glowed red in the firelight, her shyness and youthful excitement shining through. With her golden hair flowing, she looked like an angel who had descended to Earth.

Carrying a deer horn cup filled with mead, she approached the man with nervousness and excitement. Her bright eyes met his, and the man could feel the innocent affection in her gaze, along with her youthful charm.

"Luka... I..."

Yvette gathered all her courage and offered him the cup of honey mead. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips trembled slightly as she tried to express the feelings she had been holding inside.

"I’m sorry, Yvette," the man said softly, shaking his head as he stood up, gently ruffling her hair. "I’m leaving soon, and I won’t be coming back. Please take care of yourself and Old John."

The man didn’t let her finish her confession.

He knew that their relationship would change forever once feelings like this were spoken aloud. Even though he was leaving, he wanted to preserve things as they were, at least for now.

"W-why?" Yvette’s eyes dimmed, her face losing its color. "Is it... because of my grandfather?"

"No," the man shook his head.

"Luka, I’ll... I’ll talk to him. Don’t go, please. Stay with us. I won’t bother you anymore... just don’t leave," Yvette’s voice quivered with desperation.

"Yvette... forget about me," the man said gently, touching her forehead. "I don’t even know where my own heart is, so how could I stay here or respond to your feelings? It’s better if you just forget me."

"L-Luka..." Yvette bit her lip hard, trying to hold back her tears. She stubbornly whispered, "I... I could go with you..."

"No."

For the second time, the man interrupted her.

Yvette’s eyes’ last bit of light faded as he rejected her. Her petite frame trembled in the cold wind.

Was it cold?

Yes, Norway’s winters were always cold.

But... not as cold as her heart.

A heart without a home, a love without a beginning.

Yvette’s first love ended on that festive night before it could even begin.

The joyous songs of the villagers drowned out her quiet sobs, as the man walked away from the bonfire, disappearing into the darkness at the edge of town.