Former Dark Elf King

"Your His Highness Beckett, we have arrived."

In Svartalfheim, at coordinates 213.646, warships blotted out the sky in the dim light, and the people living on the ground looked up, their eyes filled with astonishment.

Why are there such unfamiliar warships above their heads?

Did they lose the war?

The people living in this tribe gaze at each other, and they can all see a hint of undisguised surprise in their comrades' eyes.

This is one of the most secluded places in all of Svartalfheim. Unless Malekith's army has been completely defeated, they cannot think of any other reason why outsiders would find this place.

"An extremely secretive tribe?"

The tribe was exactly as Aura had described: mostly elderly people, mostly women, and mostly young adults.

Malekith, the king of the Dark Elves, lives in such a place.

Beckett frowned, leaped down from the hatch, and landed steadily at the entrance of the tribe. Hela, using her black longsword as a cushion, followed closely behind, her long black hair fluttering, instantly putting everyone in the tribe on alert.

"Daughter of Odin!!!"

Hela and her group, who had already made a name for themselves in the War of the Nine Realms, were naturally familiar with the situation, even though they hadn't been out in the world for a long time.

"Malekith, come out here." Ignoring the group's surprise and uncertainty, Beckett crossed his arms and looked around. His powerful voice made everyone in the tribe look at each other in disbelief.

What the heck?

Malekith?

If that radical representative dares to move in here, they'll make him experience the agony of being torn to pieces in no time.

"Malekith is not here. This is the resting place of our Dark Elf King. I urge you, no, I should say all of you, to leave here immediately."

"Otherwise, you will bear the consequences."

The five middle-aged men in the entire tribe exchanged glances, and the leader immediately raised his spear, issuing a warning to Beckett.

"What did you say?"

Beckett turned his head and said, "The Other."

"Yes, Your His Highness Beckett!" The Other, holding a scepter on the warship, waved excitedly, then kicked the bound and gagged Aura off the ship.

Let's go!

Thump!

"Cough cough... cough cough cough..."

A cloud of dust billowed up, and Aura had fallen on her backside, frowned in pain. But The Other picked her up and brought her in front of Beckett, saying, "Stop pretending. I clearly kicked you in the stomach. Why are you clutching your butt and yelling that it hurts?"

"You--"

"Aura?!"

An enraged Aura's eyes widened, but before she could speak, a powerful arm, carrying a familiar scent, gripped her throat.

"Aura!"

The middle-aged man, who had clearly recognized his own Aura, looked fierce. Amidst the billowing black mist, his body was already covered by black and silver armor.

Call out!

The energy wave emanating from Beckett's fingertips pierced directly through the middle-aged man's chest, shattering his finely crafted armor into pieces.

Is this your source of confidence?

Beckett grinned maliciously, gradually increasing the force as he enjoyed watching Aura struggle in his hands.

"How pathetic."

Beckett's eyes grew colder. "Placing your hopes for salvation on a bunch of good-for-nothings."

"That's enough, young man."

A peaceful energy surged from within the tribe. As soon as the words were spoken, Beckett felt as if his hand was being slapped by an energy. He subconsciously loosened his grip, and Aura landed, able to catch her breath.

"I can leave here and pretend nothing happened."

The old man, with his frail voice, aged body, and cane, appeared at the tribe's gate, making Beckett extremely wary.

He felt a tremendous threat.

"King?!"

"Wang, why are you out here?!"

Before they could even get angry, the four middle-aged men's expressions suddenly changed, and they hurriedly stood in front of the old man to protect him.

"King? This is what Malekith really looks like?"

Upon hearing this, Beckett subconsciously compared the phantom of Malekith that had previously appeared at the Asgard encampment, and found that the two were completely unrelated.

"Don't look at me, I don't know who he is either," Hela replied coldly, equally puzzled.

"I am Asgardians, not Svartalfheim."

"You must be the little girl Odin used to keep by his side. Time really flies... cough cough..."

The old man looked at Hela, and then, as if an old wound had recurred, he clutched his withered chest and coughed incessantly.

"Who are you?"

"He is the true king of our Dark Elves! Malekith is nothing but a scoundrel who has been resurrected and usurped the throne!"

Finally regaining her composure, Aura stood up, her purple eyes filled with rage towards Malekith. The words that came from her mouth, however, made Beckett raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Interesting."

"A drama of changing dynasties?"

"Young man, Aura brought you here, I think it must be because you showed what she considered to be enough strength to defeat Malekith ... cough cough... but believe me, you should leave this place."

"Malekith of Svartalfheim is about to truly rise again. The entire Nine Realms will be plunged into darkness, becoming his personal paradise. No one can stop him, not even Asgard, not even Odin."

The old man coughed, an unhealthy flush rising on his weathered face, and the uncontrollable spitting of blood threw the group into a frantic frenzy.

"No, Your Majesty, this man was able to easily defeat Vilruzz, who has become the god of death and battle. I saw it with my own eyes!"

"My lord, he will surely be able to defeat Malekith." Aura, with her back to Beckett, knelt on one knee before the old man and respectfully stated her conclusion in detail.

"The God of Death and Battle?" After hearing Aura's description, the old man smiled and shook his head.

"That Tyrannosaurus's real name is Dark Fighting Death Dragon Beast. It is not a legendary god, but a combat weapon bred by the Dark Elves in ancient times."

"It's just a biological weapon that can be mass-produced."

As the second oldest king of the Dark Elves after Malekith, he had always longed to lead his people to develop peacefully and had personally trained twelve high-level warriors to maintain the Dark Elves in the royal family of Svartalfheim. He had once owned one when he was a child.

Unfortunately, because they weren't properly cared for, they starved to death shortly after hatching.

"Young man, you do not belong to this world. There is no need for you to lose your life here for no reason. So, leave this place."

After admonishing Aura, the old man leaned on his cane and looked at Beckett, who had been watching coldly from the sidelines.

"What's your name?" Beckett squinted, suddenly becoming interested.

"Zion," the old man coughed, giving his name.

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