Chapter 611: The Sin Required Here

The banquet dispersed.

The Gods went to prepare the burial of Bader and Nanna, the married couple.

As for Huo De Er.

He sat in the corner, staring at the ground, his thoughts unknown.

According to the original ending.

Later on.

Aoding will have a child, Wali, with the female giant Linde.

Wali grows up the moment he is born, reaches adulthood in a day, and immediately shoots Huo De Er, avenging Bader.

Now Yu Lin has directly cleared his injustice, effectively rewriting his ending.

Additionally, a son of Loki and Siguen is also named Wali; to avenge Loki, the Gods turned him into a wolf.

As for why they didn't save Bader.............

Only Bader's death will trigger Loki's revenge, bring about the Twilight of the Gods, cause the Nine Realms to be destroyed, and thus allow Yu Lin to help the Gods forge a new Nine Realms.

Therefore Bader must die.

Then, when the new Nine Realms are completed.

Yu Lin will then intervene again to pull Bader out of the realm of the dead, that is, from the hands of the death goddess Haila; that should be about it.

Hmm, that's it for now.

Yu Lin stopped pondering and stepped forward to follow the Gods.

As he caught up with the Gods.

Huo De Er abruptly lifted his head, looked toward the direction of the Gods, and a vague, indescribable expression appeared in his blind gaze.

"Didn't expect the Prophecy... couldn't intervene with Yu Lin..."

He shook his head, stood up, and said, "Bader."

"Everything will be fine."

Loki ran to the Human World.

The salty sea breeze, carrying sand and grit, slapped his face; he squinted, gauged his bearings, and then headed inland.

This place, later called Denmark.

Now it remains a barren coast, with sparse pine woods, low shrubs, occasional stone cottages whose roofs are layered with thick thatch, and thin wisps of smoke drifting from their chimneys.

Fishermen and herders live here; they cast wary glances at the oddly dressed stranger, but no one approaches to speak.

Loki walked along the coast for a long time as dusk fell, and a few dim yellow lights appeared in the distance.

It was a small town, modest in size, with dozens of wooden and stone houses clustered together around a tiny harbor, a few fishing boats beached on the sand, their hulls coated with mud and seaweed.

Loki circled the town and found a tavern.

It was called a tavern, but in reality it was just a slightly larger stone house, with a Wooden Plaque at the door depicting a crooked wine cup.

He pushed the door open, and a cloud of stale air mingled with ale, roasted meat, sweat, and sea scent hit his face; he frowned and stepped inside.

The tavern was dim, with a few oil lamps hanging from the beams, their flames flickering in the sea breeze.

Long tables were packed with people: local fishermen clad in oily leather jackets, crude ceramic cups at hand, loudly debating today's catch; merchants from the south in relatively respectable wool coats, huddled in a corner whispering, casting wary glances around;

and a few who looked like mercenaries, armor discarded at their feet, scarred arms exposed, stabbing roasted meat with daggers and shoveling it into their mouths with ferocious gusto.

A vacant table sat in the corner; Loki walked over, sat down, and waved at the proprietor.

The owner was a short, stout middle-aged man, his apron stained with wine and blood; he came over and wiped the table with a dirty rag.

"What will you drink?"

"Alcohol," Loki said.

The owner glanced at him, turned, fetched a ceramic jar from the shelf, and poured a cloudy liquid into the black ceramic cup before him, foam spilling over the rim, sliding down the cup walls, leaving a small wet ring on the table.

Loki lifted the cup and took a sip; it was astringent, sour like diluted vinegar.

He frowned, then took another sip.

His gaze drifted casually around the tavern; the fishermen, merchants, and mercenaries held no interest for him.

Then he noticed another table in the corner, where a few people were seated.

They wore garments unlike anyone else present: long gray robes with simple black trim at the collar and cuffs, hemp rope belts at the waist.

At the head was a middle-aged man, gaunt, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, yet his eyes shone brightly.

Before him lay no wine cup, only a coarse ceramic bowl filled with clear water.

Two young men sat beside him, similarly attired, their eyes equally bright.

They whispered something to the others in low voices, barely audible, yet Loki heard them clearly.

"... He is the only true God, the creator of heaven and earth and all things."

"The idols you worship are merely wood and stone carvings, eyes that cannot see, ears that cannot hear, mouths that cannot speak..."

Loki's mouth twitched slightly.

He recognized their identity: Christians.

In recent years, they had come from the south, from Rome, from Ga Lu, from Britain, crossing the sea on crude vessels to this land.

They carried parchment scrolls and wooden crosses, their scriptures and hymns, and the crucified God they worshipped, preaching everywhere.

The drinkers listened; some showed curious expressions, some frowned, some lifted their cups and gulped down a mouthful without comment.

"... Those who believe in Him will attain eternal life; those who do not, their sin is already sealed..."

Loki listened, a cold curve forming at his mouth, like ice forming on winter branches.

"That Aoding fellow,"

he muttered softly, his voice audible only to himself, "just lets these things come..."

He didn't finish speaking, shook his head, lifted his cup and took another sip.

At that moment, a figure walked up from behind and sat beside him.

The man wore coarse cloth like the others in the tavern, gray and inconspicuous, his hood pulled low, covering most of his face.

He waved to the proprietor and ordered a drink.

The proprietor filled his glass; the man lifted it, tipped his head back, downed the whole cup, set the cup on the table, and it thudded with a dull sound.

Loki didn't turn his head, nor did he move.

He stared at the half‑empty cup before him, at the tiny cracks on its wall, at the pale brown ring the wine left on the bottom.

"You sly, treacherous fellow,"

"What are you doing here? Just drinking?"

"Hahaha," the man laughed.

He didn't rush to answer, but waved to the proprietor again and ordered a second drink.

When the wine was poured, he lifted the cup and drained it in one gulp again.

"Loki,"

he said, his voice carrying a smile; the smile wasn't forced, he truly found it amusing:

"Is your sly, treacherous nature any worse than mine, Gai Yin?"

Loki said nothing.

Gai Yin turned his head, looked at him, his eyes reflecting the oil‑lamp flame, flickering.

"You caused the death of your brother's son,"

"I killed my own brother; we're the same kind."

"Enough with the nonsense," Loki replied, his voice hard:

"What are you here for? To deliver a message, sell a favor to Yu Lin, curry his favor?"

He turned his head, looked at Gai Yin, and a cold smile tugged at his mouth:

"I advise you not to think that way; compared to you, Yu Lin has a better relationship with me."

Gai Yin waved his hand casually, "No, no, no, don't think of me that way."

He propped his elbow on the table, leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered as if whispering a secret:

"I just came to make a deal with you."

Loki's eyebrows twitched.

"Deal? What kind of deal?"

"I want the sins of this place."

"The sins here, the whole of Northern Europe, those who have fled, have nowhere to go, don't know whom to trust... I want them all."

Loki stared at him, saying nothing.

Gai Yin withdrew his hand, crossed his ten fingers, and placed them on the table.

"As a reward,"

"you may command me to do three things."

Loki's eyes narrowed slightly.

"How about it?" Gai Yin asked again.

Loki lifted his cup, drained the remaining wine in one gulp, set the cup on the table, and it emitted a muffled thud:

"Fine."