This warrior called Greatwood kept letting his hand slip, and every time it did, Baldr was sent flying. Only an idiot like Thor would think it was an accident.
The God of Light still emerged from the ruins in a daze, supporting his brother. When he saw the freshly erected totem pole amid the snow on the ground, he narrowed his eyes.
He gave the towering warrior beside Hera a long look. The man's honest-looking face was full of apology, but Baldr did not think it was that simple.
The precision, the force, the direction of impact—it was as though everything had been carefully calculated. Even this time, he had been sent flying into the ruins of the same house as before. How could that be an accident?
However, Jörmungandr had already breached the city. A corner of the Golden Palace's protective barrier had been shattered, and the monster's enormous body was pouring into the city, its huge maw devouring lives. Clearly, this was not the time to investigate someone throwing totem poles around.
Baldr took a deep breath. Black snowflakes landed on his shoulders, making his golden hair look misty, while the white vapor from his breath condensed into frost.
"Thor, are you ready?"
Both brothers wore solemn, serious expressions, and their gazes held the gleam of anticipation for destiny.
"Of course! My long-lost brother, the God of Thunder of Asgard is always ready to fight!"
They both smiled knowingly. The scene today reminded them of the happy days when they had hunted together in the past. Though the enemy before them had changed, battle—and certain other things—never had.
Thor raised his great axe while Baldr carried the still-cold Gungnir. Together with the Asgardian warriors around them, they charged at Jörmungandr.
The Warriors Three also let out a battle