Chapter 362: Anchor Point

Solomon could swear on his life: he had no interest in Hela. Even if he drank every drop of the potent liquor in the flask, staggering drunk and half-conscious, with the two giant, slobbering wolves licking his face, his opinion wouldn't change.

While Hela and the witches shared similar temperaments, their motives couldn't be more different. Witches lacked any desire for power, while Hela was entirely driven by it. Odin's teachings had shown Hela the deepest truths about power, and so she embraced its simplest, most brutal form—violence and conquest. She believed that with a sword in her hand and an army at her back, she could conquer the universe. It was a belief she held with unshakable certainty.

Even now, Hela believed that the people of Asgard still remembered her as Odin's eldest daughter, the rightful heir to the throne, with her accomplishments immortalized by poets who longed for her return to save a waning Asgard.

But Odin wasn't the type to leave loose ends. Through a calculated campaign of propaganda, a suicidal mission, and the symbolic act of "remodeling," he had erased Hela's name from Asgardian history, paving the way for Thor.

The ruthlessness of it all was undeniable, prompting whispers that Odin's blood ran as cold as the ice atop the highest mountain peaks. Yet if Solomon placed himself in Odin's shoes, he believed he would make the same choices.

This wasn't much different from the purges carried out by the founders of earthly dynasties to eliminate their meritorious generals. Such figures diminished the sanctity and authority of a ruler, believing that power belonged not solely to monarchs, but to those who could wield influence and lead rebellions.

Eliminating them was something rulers had to do, and Odin had done just that.

This was the nature of divine authority. Hela wasn't the first to be purged; Borr's ministers had also met their end under Odin's spear. The golden throne was thus draped in the darkest shadows of the Nine Realms. Wherever Odin sat, his rule brought terror and power, and his every word heralded war. His spear left a trail of warriors and enemies drenched in blood. Death and war were his name, and every action he took symbolized the price of royal power—the skeletal remains of countless lives beneath the throne.

It was during this period that Asgard achieved its greatest military glory, extending its influence not only over the Nine Realms but into several galaxies beyond. Countless cosmic empires had no choice but to retreat before Odin's might.

Although Odin later cultivated the titles of poet and wise king, anyone bold enough to challenge his authority would encounter the Allfather's most terrifying form.

Now, however, that same fearsome figure was little more than a grumpy old man, indistinguishable from a cantankerous, one-eyed elder.

As he poured liquor down Solomon's throat, Odin rambled on about his plans for Hela. He was fully prepared for her inevitable escape from imprisonment and had multiple contingencies in place. These included enlisting Solomon to calm her and prevent her from returning to Asgard until Thor had ascended the throne. If that failed, Odin considered having Solomon accompany Hela to Asgard, sit on the throne with her, and redirect war toward their destined enemies.

But Odin's lengthy monologue fell on deaf ears. Solomon, half-listening, focused on drinking to avoid committing to anything. The best way to evade responsibility was to feign ignorance, and he played the part flawlessly.

Thankfully, Frigga returned in time to rescue Solomon. One glance at his flushed face and the flask in his hand told her everything. Frigga was far more adept at courtly maneuvers than Odin. She cast two sharp glares at her husband, confiscated the enchanted flask, and led Solomon and the drooling wolves inside, leaving Odin grumbling in the cold Nordic wind.

"Little rascal! The sly fox raised a sly pup!" Odin spat on the ground.

He had planned to send Solomon to Asgard to meet the goddess of history, Saga, offer her mead, and listen to her recount the legends of Asgard. It was a daily ritual for Asgard's kings—hearing the stories told by Saga signified one's ascension to the highest echelons of Asgardian power.

Perhaps Solomon had already guessed Odin's intentions and pretended to be drunk to escape them.

But Odin wasn't overly concerned. For beings like him, death was merely a state, and with proper precautions, he could always return. Even if he didn't, he was confident the plan would continue. Even if Solomon failed, Odin believed Thor would still rise to his full potential—stronger than Hela.

Humming a little tune, Odin stood and, leaning on his staff, wandered toward the distant, snow-capped mountains shrouded in clouds. He had an agreement with the Sorcerer Supreme: Solomon would become a worthy king—that much was guaranteed.

This, at last, was true cohabitation, Solomon thought as he lay awake in bed.

Sharing a bed instead of a couch was the essence of it—a simple truth. He and the witch had long since passed the cohabitation phase, their habits perfectly synchronized. It was natural that they had finally come together as a couple—an outcome no one could dispute.

He grabbed the fat cat lying between him and Bayonetta and tossed it aside before crawling closer to the witch.

"Come here, my little kitten."

Bayonetta smiled as she stirred awake and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as though he were still the little boy who might fall off the bed.

Solomon believed his deep infatuation with Bayonetta was well-founded. The warmth he found in her was something Athena could never provide. His endless longing for that warmth was the anchor that kept his humanity firmly rooted. Everything here made him content—from the floating dust in the air to the sunlight creeping through the curtains, everything affirmed his desire for life.

He pressed closer to the witch, inhaling her scent and feeling the warmth of her body, before closing his eyes again. Bayonetta gently toyed with his long black hair as he drifted back to sleep.

Jeanne had already been sent away—she had slept on the couch last night.

"Boya, if you don't come home every day once you start university, I'll blow up your campus!" Bayonetta whispered into his ear with a playful threat that would serve as criminal evidence in any court.

But Solomon didn't open his eyes. Instead, he snuggled closer to her, eliciting a delighted laugh from the witch.

[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]