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Chapter 167: The Bell Resounding Through The Nine Realms
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 11:10:07 +0000 UTCBoom, boom, boom.
Across the Nine Realms—except for Midgard—the resonant, majestic sound of a golden bell echoed from the peak of the World Tree. The deafening chime carried an overwhelming power and grandeur.
In Jotunheim, ever since Thor’s reckless intrusion and subsequent chaos, King Laufey, ruler of the Frost Giants, had torn up his alliance with Asgard. Now, he had been meticulously planning his invasion. When the golden bell’s sound reached his ears, a flash of excitement appeared on his cold, icy face.
“The golden bell of the World Tree has been rung. Asgard... seems to be in trouble. Hahaha! Excellent! Those arrogant Aesir finally meet their reckoning.”
King Laufey knew well what that bell signified.
It was an artifact forged from a branch of the World Tree itself after countless years of tempering—a golden bell.
Once struck, the chime would resonate throughout all Nine Realms.
The artifact was created by Odin, the All-Father of Asgard, and was only rung when Asgard faced grave crisis.
“Joanna, my beloved daughter, gather our army. Prepare for war—we may soon cross into Asgard.”
King Laufey raised his right hand, forming an ice-crystal scepter, and struck it hard against the ground.
Frost magic surged forth, summoning the Frost Giants one after another.
Among them, a woman dressed in an elegant ice-blue gown approached. Her tall, graceful figure radiated both strength and nobility, her face cold as winter.
“Great ruler of Jotunheim, commander of the Frost Giants, conqueror, father—King Laufey. Your daughter Joanna offers her sincerest respect.”
The beautiful woman stepped before Laufey, raised her hands, and bowed gracefully. Her voice was clear and cold, like the song of a winter bird.
This woman was Laufey’s last surviving child. His other children had either fallen in battle or been taken by Odin. Joanna lived only because she was a woman. Though she possessed remarkable talent in Jotunheim’s ice magic, she could not compare to Loki—let alone Thor.
“Father,” Joanna said softly, “we cannot use the Bifrost. Jotunheim is too far from Asgard. Even with our Titan-class starship, it would take far too long to reach them.”
Before approaching her father, Joanna had already guessed his intent, and now she sought to dissuade him.
“There are many dimensional cracks scattered across the realms,” Laufey replied. “Thanks to your brother—one you’ve never met—we Frost Giants know how to use them.”
Laufey’s tone carried satisfaction.
Just as Joanna said, without the Bifrost, the distance between the Nine Realms was immense. Even advanced spacecraft could take years to traverse them.
That was precisely why Asgard, with the Bifrost, could conquer the Nine Realms—while the other realms remained vulnerable.
But Odin’s second son, Loki, was Laufey’s bloodline—and an ambitious one at that. The God of Mischief had long conspired with the Frost Giants, and Laufey was already well aware of Loki’s methods for crossing between realms.
Meanwhile, similar disturbances stirred across other worlds.
In Svartalfheim, the dark realm sealed away by Asgard, Malekith—the ruler of the Dark Elves—opened his eyes as the golden bell tolled.
One by one, the slumbering Dark Elves began to awaken, breaking free of Asgard’s ancient seal. The race that had once nearly plunged the Nine Realms into eternal darkness was rising again.
In Hel, where Hela, Goddess of Death, had been imprisoned, the goddess suddenly opened her eyes.
Her dark gaze gleamed with both coldness and delight as a manic smile spread across her face.
“So… someone else dares to bring Ragnarök to Asgard before me?” she murmured. “Interesting. If I ever get out of here, I’ll have to thank them personally.”
Hela appeared as an ordinary woman of Midgard, but those who truly knew her understood the terrifying divine power she concealed—power so immense that even Odin had feared it.
In Muspelheim, the kingdom of flames, Surtr, the Flame Giant, stood motionless. His expression was unreadable amid the infernal glow.
Surtr had lived longer than almost any being in existence—even before Odin’s father’s time. He had heard the golden bell toll many times before.
He no longer cared for Asgard’s fate; only one thing truly mattered to him—the day he would reclaim the Eternal Flame and fulfill his destiny.
Whether it was Jotunheim, the Dark Elves’ realm, or the Fire Giant’s domain, every corner of the Nine Realms was now stirred by Asgard’s ringing bell, each ruler eyeing the weakened realm with ambition.
Before the grand gates of Asgard itself, Allens arrived, flanked by the Sentry and accompanied by Loki, the God of Mischief.
“Loki, second son of Odin, and the Midgard invader—halt your advance! Otherwise, you will taste the Spear of Judgment!”
Asgard stood tall and resplendent, its gates shining like a crown atop golden spires. The Gates of Asgard were the only entrance to the realm; beyond them lay the heart of Asgard itself.
Behind those gates, hundreds of Asgardian warriors stood ready for battle. Their faces were grim, their weapons and energy cannons aimed skyward at the Sentry.
Though Asgardians disdained reliance on technology, the presence of unknown enemies filled them with unease—especially the deceitful Loki.
The mere mention of the God of Mischief brought memories of chaos and betrayal to their minds.
“I, Loki of Asgard,” declared the Trickster, puffing his chest with arrogance, “am the rightful heir to the throne! Odin, the All-Father, sleeps in the Odinsleep, and as his second son, I shall inherit the crown!”
As Allen’s magical double, Loki’s words carried pride and venom, echoing with unshakable confidence.
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