Chapter 361: An Inescapable Fate

There must always be a sense of priority. For Solomon, neither the adventurous archaeologist nor the Umbra Witch's tomb held as much importance as the grumpy old man in front of him. Of course, Solomon wasn't naïve enough to think that the Allfather, having relinquished his throne, had truly become just another elderly man. The staff in Odin's hand, radiating unmatched magical brilliance, was none other than a disguised form of Gungnir. At any moment, Odin could unleash its power—a strike so precise that none could escape it.

Queen Frigga invited Solomon to stay for dinner. It was an offer he couldn't refuse, not just because of the amicable tone she used, as though inviting a younger relative, but also because of the alliance between Asgard and Kamar-Taj. With Frigga heading off to gather vegetables and mushrooms for the meal, Solomon was tasked with ensuring Odin returned to the cabin without incident.

"Keep an eye on him," Frigga had warned. "He might decide to chase after the goats that just passed by."

The Allfather seemed to have shed the burdens of kingship entirely. Gone was the majestic aura of a god-king, replaced by the cantankerous demeanor of an old man who complained about his pension and his ungrateful children.

"Why can't I? We could have goat meat tonight!" Odin exclaimed, oblivious to the fact that he had once compared Jane Foster to a goat. Faced with the choice between Frigga's vegetable salad and roasted goat, the Allfather would choose the latter without hesitation—even if it meant catching a neighbor's goat. He had had enough of Frigga's newfound obsession with human health shows and their preachy endorsements of balanced diets.

"That goat belongs to someone else, Allfather," Solomon reminded him firmly. He couldn't let Odin bring the neighbor's livestock back to the cabin. Odin, however, seemed entirely unbothered, more interested in plans to drink and eat with the local elderly men after dinner. Frigga had already quashed such ridiculous ideas, pointing out that Asgardian liquor and human frailty would likely land those mortals in the hospital—a far cry from the "keep a low profile" directive the Sorcerer Supreme had given them.

"Call me something else! Remember, I'm your grandfather now!"

"Alright, Grandfather Wednesday. Can you walk back to the cabin without incident? And can you promise to stop hunting bears and goats? Dogs too—don't think I didn't see the two giant dogs you brought with you. They were gnawing on bones outside when I arrived."

"They're wolves, not dogs—Geri and Freki," Odin corrected with pride. "They helped me hunt that bear yesterday." He suddenly regained the bearing of a legendary Asgardian king, speaking with a tone brimming with pride. "A man must hunt to provide for his wife! Now that I'm old, it's your turn to hunt. It's tradition…"

"I think I'll just open a portal to the supermarket and buy some aged beef, Grandfather Wotan," Solomon replied, ignoring Odin's ramblings. He figured the Allfather was merely bored from spending too much time among mortals.

Reluctantly, Odin accepted the suggestion but insisted Solomon chop firewood and roast the leftover bear meat from the previous day.

And so, dressed in his impeccably tailored bespoke suit, Solomon found himself wielding an axe, splitting wood while Odin lounged on a stump nearby, feeding the wolves scraps of bear meat. Every time Solomon turned away, Odin would act the part of a typical old man, pretending not to hear whatever Solomon said.

But in truth, Odin was carefully observing the successor of Kamar-Taj.

Odin couldn't fathom how the Sorcerer Supreme had trained this young man. In a private conversation, she had once shared some of the trials Solomon had faced. Analyzing them, Odin concluded that Solomon lacked Thor's brazen courage and Loki's cunning, yet he possessed a unique aptitude for leadership.

Solomon knew how to handle different people, always maintained a measured approach, and seemed to have contingency plans for every scenario. He understood the importance of long-term vision—a trait that set him apart.

It wasn't a matter of circumstance; it was innate. Solomon was born to lead.

As for Solomon's own desires, Odin realized they were irrelevant. The burden of salvation had already been thrust upon him. Unless Solomon abandoned everything and followed the path of darkness promised by the silver key, his choices would invariably lead him toward his predestined fate.

This led Odin to reflect on his own failures as a father.

Looking back, even Odin himself admitted his methods had been flawed. Yet, he couldn't fully blame himself; the secret he harbored—the circumstances surrounding the death of the previous Allfather, Borr, and Odin's own inaction—had cursed his lineage.

Borr's curse had already manifested in Hela, and Odin feared it would extend to all his children. Contrary to appearances, Odin wasn't a patriarch who favored sons over daughters. If Hela hadn't succumbed to madness, he wouldn't have opposed her ruling Asgard. She lacked Thor's naivety and Loki's shortsightedness, and her sheer might could have secured Asgard's dominance in the cosmos.

Though Odin hadn't witnessed the battle in Niflheim, Frigga's reports suggested that Solomon Damonet was uniquely capable of countering Hela.

Thus, Odin now observed Solomon as one might scrutinize a prospective son-in-law.

In the future, Asgard would need Kamar-Taj's cooperation to confront cosmic threats. Merging the two forces wasn't out of the question. In Odin's mind, having Solomon aid Hela would herald a new golden age for Asgard.

For now, however, Odin's antics were mere playful teasing—family banter that Solomon, unfortunately, failed to grasp. Swatting away the two overly friendly wolves, Solomon shot the old man a glare as he caught him sneaking a drink.

Odin's ravens, Huginn and Muninn, were likely still traversing the Nine Realms, ensuring the Allfather remained well-informed. But this vigilance meant Odin could only indulge in alcohol while keeping an eye out for Frigga's sudden return. If caught, dinner would consist of her dreaded "healthy meals."

Boiled chicken breast was truly awful.

"Come here and have a drink," Odin beckoned. He handed Solomon a small flask, watching intently until Solomon took a tiny sip. Predictably, the mystic choked, coughing violently as though his lungs would burst. Only then did Odin relent.

"A man must know how to drink," Odin declared, reclaiming the flask and taking another swig. He sighed contentedly before shoving the flask back at Solomon, who was still coughing, his face flushed.

"How else will you face battle or pilot a spaceship? Hurry up—before Frigga gets back, we can have another round. If you don't drink, my daughter will surely look down on you."

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [www.p@treon.com/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]