Nidavellir.
The realm where the dwarves lived among the Nine Realms.
From afar, the planet looked like countless black chocolate balls scattered unevenly across its surface in the vast universe.
The dwarves, the most skilled forging race in the Marvel Universe, lived atop these black chocolate balls of varying sizes.
Ever since Asgard came into being, the dwarves had been forging equipment for All-Father Odin.
The weapons of Asgardian warriors, as well as Thor, the God of Thunder's Mjolnir, had all been forged by these clever and resilient dwarves.
Of course, everything in the world was an exchange of benefits, and the same held true in the universe.
The dwarves worked for Odin, while Odin, in the name of Yggdrasil and the All-Father, provided the dwarves with protection and food.
Just as no species was perfect, the dwarves possessed the most advanced forging techniques, but their combat power could be described as utterly pathetic. Any remotely powerful race passing through the universe could kick them around.
"Stop right there!"
At the entrance to Nidavellir, two Asgardian warriors gripped their spears warily, glaring at the three figures approaching from afar.
They were the warriors stationed in this region of space to guard the dwarves, so naturally, they could not allow outsiders to intrude.
Yet the three figures closed in at incredible speed. Just as the Asgardian warriors wondered whether they should raise the alarm, a brash shout rang out from nearby. "Don't get worked up, it's me!"
The two warriors narrowed their eyes and looked into the distance. Then they saw the eldest prince, Thor, clad in silver armor and a red cape, approaching with a foolish grin alongside two strangers.
"Eldest Prince."
As Asgard's great heir, Thor's reputation was enormous. The two soldiers hurriedly saluted him.
"Hello. These are my