Baldr and Hela's trip to the Scandinavian island had come up empty.
The warriors who had been holding a funeral around the bonfire were gone. All that remained were shattered wine barrels, broken cups, body parts like ears and teeth that someone had lost, and the smoking embers of the fire.
The one-eyed God of Light crouched down and reached out to feel the warmth beside the bonfire. He spoke to his sister, who stood nearby in the sea breeze.
"They left some time ago. A large number of dense footprints lead toward traces of the Bifrost by the shore, and nearly everyone took long strides. Something urgent must have interrupted the funeral. Look, they didn't even take the teeth that were knocked out. Those could have been strung into a necklace as a protective charm."
In barely a dozen seconds, Baldr had made his judgment. Asgardian warriors were often excellent Hunters. Whether pursuing Beast through dense forests or tracking Frost Giants across snowy plains, it was a necessary lesson in their growth.
That was how Asgard's army worked. There was no centralized training, no lining up for drills. Their society itself valued martial prowess, and everyone consciously honed their skills according to tradition, fighting all kinds of prey and mastering the purest killing techniques between life and death.
Few collected torn-off ears or gouged-out eyeballs, since those things could not be eaten.
But Asgardians liked collecting teeth as trophies. No matter the animal, teeth were its most fundamental weapon. They believed wearing a prey's teeth meant carrying its honor and courage.
Hela still wore that expressionless little face. Hearing her brother's words, she merely nodded calmly. "I don't know what happened either. I attended the funeral, but nobody wanted to fight me, so I left to find you."
Baldr