Arthur and the Valkyrie

A horn sounded.

War had arrived, and the bloody slaughter began!

The sacrificial flames blazed fiercely, accompanied by the chanting of hymns. Before this message could reach the ears of the great Allfather Odin, Odin's handmaidens had already arrived.

Wearing gold and silver helmets adorned with feathers or shaped like bird wings, clad in tight crimson battle garb, carrying shining spears and shields, and riding nimble little white horses, the Valkyrie Thrúd had followed the scent of war here.

The Valkyries, the shieldmaidens of Northern European mythology, were daughters of Odin and daughters of mortal kings. Odin had entrusted them with the mission of bringing warriors slain on the battlefield to Valhalla.

Thus, the Valkyries were also known as "seekers of the worthy dead." They rode horses that transformed into swans and flew toward battlefields. Today, having caught the scent of gunpowder, they came to King Lot's northern court.

Wednesday was Odin's day, Friday was the day of Frigg, queen of the gods, and today, Thursday, was Thor's day. The Valkyries transformed into mist and hid above the court, only for the thunderstorm to scatter their forms.

"I don't know why, but I feel this stormy weather foretells Thor's mood—angry, ready to pour itself out. But that has nothing to do with my work. Whatever Thor's mood may be, bringing the souls of human warriors to Valhalla is a responsibility we cannot shirk."

A Valkyrie hovered above the castle, concealing herself as she watched the battle between the two sides. Yet the torrential rain washed over her body and dispelled her invisibility.

Indeed, the tribal assemblies of the Germanic peoples were often held on Thursdays. Thus, everything discussed in sacred assemblies was under Thor's protection.

Thor had always been regarded as the protector of assemblies.

Thus, the "young" Valkyrie could only hide inside the castle and observe its movements from concealment.

It was the Blood Eagle Ritual, the most exalted rite for worshipping Odin. Throughout history, whenever the ritual was successfully performed, it invariably earned Odin's attention and favor. The souls of those who died in battle would be brought into glorious Valhalla, while the victors would receive Odin's blessing.

"How is the battlefield?"

A Valkyrie in green armor rode a white horse across the battlefield between the Celts and the Saxons. Looking into the distance, she asked for intelligence from Scandinavia.

The souls of those slain in the Blood Eagle Ritual were often unquestionably the bravest human warriors. To gods with long lives, courage alone made one an ideal fighter. Martial skill could be honed in Valhalla, and the bodies granted to the worthy dead were far stronger than human bodies. They could also bear Odin's divine power. Such outstanding warriors were rare enough to deserve the Valkyries' highest regard.

"The battle remains undecided. On one side are King Lot of Denmark's seven sons; on the other are seven princes and elite warriors from the Danish tribes. They are fighting so fiercely in that cramped hall, grappling with one another, that I can't see either side's true skill at all.

"Yes, having adults take a test by children's standards means anyone can get full marks.

"Sister Sigrdrífa, look! Potatoes—so many potatoes! The nobles are throwing them indiscriminately onto the battlefield, blocking the warriors' sight, movement, and paths. The warriors' situation has become even more difficult."

The Valkyrie Sigrdrífa listened to her sister's report. At present, she was neither in Valhalla nor in Northern Europe. She was in England, Britain.

For Valkyries, finding human heroes who had died in battle was the mission Odin had granted them, as well as their duty. Even in the divine realm, the Valkyries competed with one another.

A Valkyrie's ability and glory were clearly measured not by her combat prowess, but by her performance. To meet her KPI targets, Sigrdrífa had long resided in Britain.

It was not only Northern Europeans who believed in Odin. Many Germanic peoples in Germany also worshipped the great god Odin, and the most famous among them in Britain were undoubtedly the Saxons who had invaded Britain.

Woden was what the Saxons called Odin.

In Britain, ever since Arthur became king, Saxons from across the sea had poured into Britain like locusts. This battlefield of invasion and resistance had endured from Arthur's coronation until his ordained end approached. Only then did this protracted war conclude with the Anglo-Saxons' surrender.

Now that the war was over, the Valkyries' good days of gathering souls from both sides' battlefields had finally ended. Yet Sigrdrífa still could not let go of the soul of the man before her—the greatest warrior in Britain.

Arthur, King of Camelot and leader of the Knights of the Round Table.

He was no longer merely a warrior fit to charge into battle. He could become the commander of an army of worthy dead. After all, he was a king rarely seen even in human history.

Her golden hair, fair skin, and tall figure made her seem nearly two meters tall, yet she possessed an oddly delicate air. Her form was flawless. Her stunning beauty was no less than Queen Guinevere's in her youth—perhaps even surpassed it.

Sigrdrífa, Odin's Valkyrie, had traveled frequently through Britain ever since the eras of Vortigern, King Uther, and King Arthur because of the Saxon invasions.

Though she appeared to be only twenty years old, a beautiful woman in the bloom of youth, Arthur still knew that she was fundamentally unlike a human.

Human beauties were like lush, blooming flowers. They were captivating and radiant in their prime, but once that flowering period passed, they swiftly withered and could no longer draw anyone's attention, fit only to become fertilizer.

This was a battlefield. Arthur had led his Knights of the Round Table to defeat the Saxons' final resistance. It could almost be called the decisive battle.

Wearing armor and mounted on a tall brown horse, Arthur looked at the beautiful Valkyrie riding a small white horse in the distance. Though she appeared to be in the finest years of a woman's life, he had first met her when he was a child.

Had she been human, she would have aged beyond recognition long ago.

Human years could not measure a Valkyrie. Through the accumulation of countless years, her time spent fighting had been unimaginably long. Even Sir Lancelot or Arthur himself could not claim with certainty to surpass her in martial skill.

Sigrdrífa wore green armor and carried a blue-and-white lance in her right hand. The two were old acquaintances, and Arthur knew her name. He also knew she possessed the authority to bestow victory.

Odin was the god of war. Only he could decide which side received the victory of battle. In truth, Odin did not actively interfere in human wars. He merely embraced the victors, and victors were usually those with greater strength.

Among the Valkyries was one named Sigrdrífa, who had acted on her own and bestowed Odin's victory upon the other side. Her punishment had been to sleep forever, until the great hero Sigurd awakened her.

Arthur had confessed to this Valkyrie when he was young, only to be rejected.

The Valkyrie had also invited Arthur to join her, and he had refused.

Becoming one of the worthy dead meant regaining youth, obtaining immortality until the end of the world, attending the gods' feasts, and gaining countless benefits. It was the dream of innumerable mortals, but not what he sought.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty. You have won this war. Congratulations, Arthur. You have defeated our master Odin. You have defeated a god!"

In an even voice, Sigrdrífa spoke of Arthur's achievements—achievements of supreme merit for a mortal.

For a mere human to defeat a god was an unprecedented feat in history. He had caused the plans of a supreme god to fail. It was almost unimaginable.

Even Heracles, while still mortal, had only fought Apollo, the sun god, to a draw. Just as they were about to decide the outcome, Zeus had stopped them.

Arthur was worthy of the Valkyries' highest honors. If he wished to go to Valhalla, all nine Valkyries would surely come together to welcome him.

This man who had defeated their master Odin.

Odin was the one behind the Saxon invasion of Britain. The last branch of the Celtic gods, the Irish divine clan—the descendants of Danu—had likewise been defeated by Odin, who had assumed the name of Balor, the Evil Eye Demon God.

Yet the war of gods was the war of gods. On the human battlefield, Arthur led his Knights of the Round Table to final victory, just as the gods who once protected the earth had done.

"Are you leaving?" Arthur asked, sorrow stirring within him.

It was not the sadness of seeing his childhood "lover" depart. Rather, it was sorrow at seeing something eternal and unchanging vanish, at watching familiar people and things disappear.

His own ordained end was approaching as well.

"Yes. There is no longer war here. Even if there were, warriors who believe in the new gods might not be willing to follow us Valkyries. Therefore, I must leave. My next stop may be Germany, Byzantium, or the Rus Principality. But you have only temporarily defeated my master. A god's life is eternal. Once you die and your kingdom collapses, my master will surely return. This land will once more fall under Saxon rule, and your life will reach its end."

"Thank you for the warning. Though you are a Valkyrie, you have always been as gentle as a mother. But when I heard you speaking with your companion, I seemed to catch a familiar term. Can you tell me what has happened in distant Northern Europe?"

Arthur asked the Valkyrie. In her conversation with her companion, he seemed to have heard a name that felt familiar.

Sigrdrífa had been the one to tell Arthur that his ordained end was near. Their bond had formed through countless meetings on battlefields, even though he knew that her ultimate purpose was to take away his soul.

"King Lot is holding a blood sacrifice. Both sides are slaughtering one another, using this staged war to settle their dispute and please Odin. Those who die in the ritual will all go to Valhalla."

Not every soul slain in battle was qualified to enter Valhalla. The Valkyries remained on battlefields to select the bravest among them.

"Of King Lot's seven princes, only three remain. Those warriors from the savage Anderson tribe truly deserve to be called warriors blessed by Thor. Thor, the thunder god who calls himself the protector of assemblies, has interfered in this war and granted them strength. The great god Odin has remained silent because King Lot's prince Gawain did not gouge out his own eyes. Without doubt, he is not brave enough and cannot receive Odin's protection.

"Human fate—success and failure, whom victory will favor—often rests upon the gods' joys, angers, loves, and hates."

Like a bard narrating a knightly tournament, Sigrdrífa recounted scene after scene taking place in Denmark.

"Yes, the Norns, who represent fate, weave tirelessly forever. Under the authority of Odin and Thor, they are like the most wanton women of the Moulin Rouge, always flirting with customers who possess power and wealth, fanning the wicked arrogance of these evil men."

"Thrúd, do not personally attack the three goddesses."

Sigrdrífa frowned and rebuked her Valkyrie sister for her crude remarks. Though Valkyries were demigods, as daughters of Odin, daughters of Thor, and princesses of mortal kings, they did not fear the three goddesses of fate.

"Oh!" Thrúd said dejectedly. She had finally had a chance to badmouth the Norns in front of an outsider, only to be scolded by her sister in public.

If you are going to attack them, attack only one. You are making too many enemies, Sigrdrífa thought. Saying such things before Arthur would undoubtedly expose the lack of unity among the goddesses of the Aesir.

"Haha, just as I thought! Just as I thought! Sometimes even Odin and Thor's plans cannot succeed, because there are always warriors in the human world beyond their expectations. Look! Even with the blessings of the three witches of fate, it is all useless now. The heroic Prince Gawain grips a huge axe, displaying extraordinary heroism. He pays no heed to the three witches' emotions, cares nothing for hardship, fears no challenge, and swings that bloody giant axe belonging to Lot, son of Odin. Like a demon god from hell, he charges through them, cutting them down as easily as chopping vegetables!"

Thrúd's transmission was vivid and animated. She too had become immersed in this sacrificial spectacle intended to please Odin. For Valkyries, who worshipped strength and revered warriors, no one was more beloved than a brave fighter.

Once a heroic warrior died in battle, he would receive a Valkyrie's pure kiss as his reward. In truth, this was no lie.

For example, the sleeping Valkyrie Sigrdrífa, awakened by a great hero, had shared a love poem with that hero. In the poem, the Valkyrie's name was Brunhild.

Though love between human warriors and Valkyries rarely ended well, when they encountered someone who won their hearts, they were like moths flying into flame, utterly unable to control themselves.

"Prince Gawain is truly valiant! Worthy of being Odin's grandson, worthy of being a prince, worthy of the name of a mighty warrior!"

Thrúd praised the bravely fighting Prince Gawain with delighted enthusiasm. As Arthur listened to the Valkyrie's account, he could feel Gawain's heroic spirit through her description, even from another land.

King Lot was his brother-in-law, and the prince born to his sister and King Lot was Gawain—his nephew.

"The ancient Edda describes how the hero Sigurd's deeds were also driven by courage. Prince Gawain is like Balder, the god of light, like a sun illuminating the whole earth. The enemies have abandoned the other princes and are now joining forces to kill Prince Gawain, the prince destined to inherit the entire kingdom and become a son of Odin."

"Lady Thrúd, then is Prince Gawain afraid? Does he feel fear? Does he have any worries?"

Arthur asked Sigrdrífa. His voice traveled through the connection between the Valkyries to distant Denmark.

"How could he? When an elephant retreats at the sight of a mouse, it is not out of fear, but compassion. Anger without strength is meaningless. Just as a sparrow cannot defeat an eagle through anger, nor can a rabbit frighten away a lion, look at Prince Gawain's bearing. He is completely unscathed in this battle, handling it with ease. Just as Thor is invincible whenever he swings Mjölnir."

Thrúd happily concluded her account of the battle. Sigrdrífa gave Arthur a slight nod, then rode her white horse into the sky.

I really want to meet Gawain. Perhaps once I finish wrapping up this final war, I can invite my sister to bring her Gawain to live in Camelot.

Arthur did not notice Thrúd cry out, "Too cruel! Too terrible! These people actually want to use an infant as a sacrifice to Odin! They demand that Prince Gawain pierce the infant's body with a spear to prove his courage. Since three princes on Gawain's side are still alive, only one victor can receive Odin's blessing!"

A stunned expression appeared on Sigrdrífa's face.

According to historical custom, both sides in such bloody and brutal battles were evenly matched. Only the strongest warrior could claim victory, and only one person would remain.

To obtain Odin's reward, even if multiple people remained on the victorious side, they would kill one another until only one was left. Yet Gawain had clearly chosen not to kill his brothers to confirm final victory.

Of course, that did not mean Gawain had not won. A king's valor included the valor of his warriors, and Odin was also a king.

Clearly, the other princes disputed Gawain's victory and demanded another contest in a different trial.

Kill the infant!