Chapter 41- The Banquet and the Secret of Mjölnir
Leo and the others returned to their quarters to prepare for the banquet. It was already late afternoon.
Back in his room, Leo once again examined the materials he had taken from the vault. Dragon’s Fang. Soul Crystal Spheres. Lightning Kirin’s Feather. Each one glowed faintly beneath the lamplight, humming with a power he could feel deep in his bones.
After a moment of quiet admiration, he carefully tucked them back into his storage pouch.
Not tonight.
He changed into the same style of formal attire he had worn to the previous banquet. The fabric felt noticeably lighter and cooler this time, fitting him perfectly, as if it had been tailored specifically for him.
When Leo looked into the mirror, a strikingly handsome man stared back. There was no trace left of the ordinary man from Earth.
He chuckled softly to himself.
...
The sun was setting, and the banquet would begin soon. Leo glanced out the window and saw numerous nobles already making their way toward the palace.
He left his room and walked through the corridors, which were brightly lit by sparkling magical lights and flickering torches. Guards stood at regular intervals along the walls, spears held upright. As he drew closer to the banquet hall, the regular guards were no more but instead there were Valkyries. Every one of them was beautiful and graceful, yet the aura they emitted was cold and unapproachable.
Finally, he reached the same enormous great hall where the previous banquet had been held.
He stepped inside.
Long tables stretched from one end of the hall to the other, draped in pristine white cloths and laden with platters of food. Roasted meats glistened under the lights—whole animals skewered and seasoned, their skins crackling. Baskets overflowed with steaming fresh bread. There were fruits Leo had never seen before: some that glowed faintly, others that shifted colors in the light, and still others whose scents defied description.
Wines of deep red, liquid gold, and shimmering blue sparkled in crystal glasses, each catching the light in its own unique way.
The air was rich with the scents of smoke, exotic spices, and a deep sweetness—honey, mead, or perhaps something far older, fermented across centuries.
Nobles in luxurious robes embroidered with gold thread mingled throughout, their fingers heavy with jeweled rings.
...
Leo scanned the room for familiar faces. He soon spotted the other participants and made his way over.
Kai sat at the far end of the table, with Lyra beside him and Gandalf seated across from them. When Lyra saw Leo approaching, she waved excitedly. "You made it! Come sit with us."
Leo nodded and took the seat beside Gandalf.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Don’t know," Gandalf grunted. "Come drink." The old dwarf raised his glass. His beard was already stained with wine, and his cheeks glowed red.
"The mead here is better than anything you’ve ever tasted. Stronger than last time, too."
"Hiccup."
The dwarf was already hiccupping, thoroughly drunk.
Leo smiled wryly at the dwarf’s antics and shook his head.
Their table was circular, with five seats. Four were already occupied.
Glancing at the empty chair, Leo asked, "Who is that spot for?"
"Princess Freya," Lyra replied. "She’ll be here soon."
As they chatted, a loud announcement rang through the hall.
"His Majesty the King, the All-Father, is entering!"
Moments later, King Odin and his entourage appeared. The king moved with regal authority, a majestic crown atop his head and a midnight-blue cloak trailing behind him. His gaze swept across the crowd as he walked at a measured pace.
Everyone stood and knelt in respect.
Odin proceeded directly to his throne. "Rise," he commanded. The hall rose as one.
A servant promptly brought an elegant cup filled with wine. Odin lifted it high.
"To the blacksmiths," he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly through the vast hall. "To those who proved their worth, and to the spirit of creation!"
The hall erupted in cheers. "To the participants!"
Glasses clinked, and the banquet began in earnest.
Food arrived in waves: tender meats that fell apart at the touch of a fork, warm bread with soft centers and crisp crusts, and fruits that tasted like distilled sunlight.
Freya, who had stood beside the king for a time, eventually made her way to their table and took the reserved seat.
Everyone ate and drank with gusto.
Then a figure approached their table.
Silver hair. Purple robes. A sharp jaw and high cheekbones. The unmistakable bearing of high nobility.
Duke Erik.
He stopped in front of Leo, studying him closely.
"So you’re the human who took first place," the Duke said.
Leo stood and offered a respectful bow. "Duke Erik. It is an honor."
The Duke did not return the bow. He tilted his head, regarding Leo like a curious specimen. "I’ve never heard of a human blacksmith. Are you certain there wasn’t some mistake?"
A tense silence fell over the nearby area.
Kai’s hand tightened around his glass. Lyra’s smile faded. Gandalf paused mid-drink.
Leo was surprised by the blatant provocation but met the Duke’s eyes steadily. "Oh? And what makes you say that, Sir Duke? I forged a hammer and carved the runes in front of three hundred witnesses. Which part of that demonstration was unclear? Or are you questioning the fairness of the judges?"
The words landed heavily. The Duke’s expression remained unchanged, but something shifted behind his eyes as he recalculated.
"A human from far away lands....," the Duke continued smoothly, each word chosen with care, "Carving runes that even Asgardian masters could not recognize. It seems... unlikely."
Freya stood abruptly. The scrape of her chair cut through the murmurs.
"Duke Erik." Her voice was ice-cold and precise. "The judges verified everything. The hammer is real. The runes are real. The title is real. Even the king. all Father witnessed it and acknowledged it. Or are you stating, even the King was tricked?"
The Duke turned to her, his face impassive. "Princess, I meant no disrespect. I was merely... questioning."
"Question all you like," Freya replied. "The facts remain unchanged."
The Duke held her gaze for a long moment, then offered a shallow, formal bow—the kind that conveyed far more than words.
"Of course, Princess."
He turned and walked away, his robes whispering across the floor. Heads turned to follow his departure.
Leo sat down. His hands remained steady, though his jaw was tight.
Kai leaned toward him, voice low. "Don’t let them get to you. They’re just jealous."
Gandalf grunted from across the table. "Aye. Let them talk. Your hammer speaks louder than their words."
Leo nodded and took a sip of wine. It had gone cold. He didn’t care.
King Odin gestured to his butler. The man stepped forward and tapped a glass with a spoon. A wave of magical sound rippled through the hall, drawing every eye.
The king rose and moved to the front.
"I now wish to toast a brave hero who forged something truly unique—something no one in Asgard has ever achieved. Even the judges found it baffling..."
"To Leo Stone, the Divine Rune Blacksmith!"
"To Asgard!"
"To the future!"
The king toasted three times. The hall erupted in thunderous cheers, glasses raised high.
The banquet continued late into the night.
Leo eventually grew tired of the constant stream of nobles approaching to greet him. With the king already having departed, he decided it would not be rude to leave early. He slipped out of the hall and headed toward his quarters.
But a hand caught his arm.
He turned. Freya stood there, her face slightly pale and sharp in the dim light.
"Walk with me," she said.
He nodded and followed.
They walked in silence through the empty corridor. Torches lined the walls, stretching their shadows long and thin.
Freya stopped by a large window. Moonlight spilled across her face, turning her skin to light silver.
She gazed at the moon. "Father said he will keep his word."
Leo looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"As I told you during our first meeting, the matter of Mjölnir is a serious issue. No one outside a very small circle knows about it. If word got out that it is damaged, Asgard could face invasion at any moment."
"So you must not tell a soul."
The wind howled through the open window. Freya’s silver hair shimmered and danced in the moonlight, strands brushing across her face. She gently tucked them behind her ear and turned to Leo.
He stood there, momentarily dazed. When her eyes met his, he saw her beauty fully illuminated by the moonlight.
"Beautiful..." he muttered.
"Hmm? Are you listening to me?" Freya asked.
"Oh—yes, yes! Ahem, I meant the moon looks so beautiful tonight. You were saying..."
He tried to hide his embarrassment, but his cheeks still burned.
"I need to tell you something," she continued. "About Mjölnir. About what really happened."
Leo’s hand clenched. "I’m listening."
"Not here." Freya’s voice dropped, low and urgent. "My father wants to speak with you. Privately."
"When?"
"Now."
...
She led Leo through corridors he had never seen before, deeper into the palace, past locked doors and guarded passages.
They passed numerous paintings of previous kings. At the end of one corridor hung a grand portrait of Thor—massive, red-bearded, holding Mjölnir high. Lightning crackled around the weapon. Thor’s eyes burned with fierce intensity, and his smile was wild and untamed.
They soon reached a private chamber. The walls were made of smooth obsidian, black as night, reflecting the torchlight like dark water.
A throne carved from the same stone rose from the floor at the center, as if it had grown there naturally.
King Odin sat upon it. No crown. No cloak. No guards. Just a man in a simple shirt, his single eye deep and weary.
He seemed smaller without his royal trappings. Older. Burdened by centuries of weight.
"Sit," Odin said.
Leo sat on a cold stone bench across from the throne.
Odin studied him. His single eye held depths Leo could not name—loss, hope, desperation, and ancient knowledge.
"Tell me what you know of Mjölnir," the king said.
Leo’s mouth went dry. "It’s... broken. Thor’s hammer." He paused. "You want me to fix that?"
"That’s what Freya told you. But that is not what I asked."
Leo hesitated.
"Tell me what you know."
Leo swallowed. "Mjölnir was forged by the sons of Ivaldi—the same forgers who made Gungnir and shaped Sif’s golden staff."
Odin’s expression remained unchanged. "You speak like a historian."
"Just the things I know."
The words lingered in the air. Odin’s eye narrowed slightly. Then he leaned forward.
"Come," he said. "I will show you something."
...
He led Leo through a heavy gate into an underground chamber. The staircase narrowed as they descended, growing darker and deeper until the light from above vanished entirely.
They reached a vast, ancient chamber. The ceiling arched high into shadow. The stone floor, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, felt cold through Leo’s boots.
The air smelled of iron, ash, and something older—something deep and profoundly wrong.
At the center, resting on a stone pedestal, stood a black iron hammer.
"Mjölnir."