Once the name left his mouth, Laufey stopped talking. He tossed fried chicken into his mouth while watching the two small humans before him with great interest, as though hoping to see surprise or panic on their faces.
But there was neither. Daisy looked utterly baffled. Who was Freyr?
Deathstroke remained impassive, merely staring calmly at the bonfire some distance away as he thought. Palm-sized snowflakes drifted onto him, instantly vanishing like they had fallen into a pool of water in the night.
"My instincts tell me you weren't lying, but it probably wasn't the real Freyr. He was dead—completely Kick the Bucket dead."
Su Ming sighed, turned toward the throne, and pulled out a barrel of liquor from his pouch, gesturing for Laufey to drink with him.
"At the end of the Second God War, Odin cut off his head and used Gungnir to grind it to pieces outside the gates of the City of a Thousand Sails, intimidating the Vanir into surrender. His headless corpse was thrown into a cave beneath Yggdrasil, where the Poison Dragon devoured it and turned it into venom. During the war, he made a deal with Surtur. After his death, his soul was taken away as firewood and transformed into fire elemental energy."
Laufey nodded, though a trace of surprise appeared on his face. He grabbed the barrel as if it were a small cup, punctured the lid with his thumb, and drank the liquor together with the splintered wood.
"If I didn't know how short-lived Midgard humans were, I might have suspected you were at our side back then. You're right. Freyr really did die that way. The coalition that initially attacked the Aesir consisted of more than a dozen races and tens of millions of soldiers, but after that god war,