Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 774: Odinvaldr’s voice

Chapter 774: Odinvaldr’s voice

"Hmph! How dare you rebel against your home!"

The harsh voice echoed through the silent battlefield, immediately drawing every gaze. While nearly every Viking present could fully understand Freya’s choice, there was one who could not accept it—the middle-aged Lord.

His expression twisted in fury and disbelief, unable to grasp how events had spiraled so disastrously out of control. Everything up to this point had been a catastrophic failure, and he knew that if he didn’t take decisive action now, he would face the unimaginable wrath of his Master for such a spectacular debacle.

But Freya did not flinch. She turned calmly, without any sign of fear, her eyes radiating the intense aura of an embodiment of sin itself.

"Antorus, Lord of War of Valhalla," Freya stated clearly, her voice cutting through the tense silence. "If you want to attack, then do it. Stop hiding behind hypocritical arguments to justify your false accusations."

Shock, awe, and admiration swept through the gathered Vikings. They watched in astonishment as the young woman stood defiant against a figure whom many of them feared too much to even meet his gaze. Freya, however, showed no dread, looking directly into Antorus’s eyes, openly challenging his authority and forcing him to reveal his true intentions.

The middle-aged Lord’s eyes widened briefly, startled by Freya’s audacious rebuke. He was a central figure of Valhalla, commanding billions under his rule and wielding control over the realm’s strongest military force. It had been millennia since anyone dared to look him directly in the eye, much less speak back to him with such open defiance—and yet now, a mere Legend had done exactly that.

"Your insolence knows no limits," Antorus growled, voice trembling with anger. "How could Valhalla stand proudly if we allow a traitor like you to roam freely?"

Again, Antorus tried to mask his ambition behind a façade of justice and honor, but the deception was transparent, causing a deep frustration to ripple through the hearts of the watching Vikings. The Empress narrowed her eyes sharply, clearly troubled by Antorus’s words. Yet before she could act, Antorus spoke again, his voice colder and more threatening.

"As Lord of War, it is my duty to defend Valhalla from threats, both external and internal. I will fight anyone who dares interfere with my righteous judgment."

Antorus turned a sharp and challenging gaze toward the Empress. She clenched her fists, conflicted and hesitant. She was immensely powerful but also very old. Engaging in battle with Antorus now would trigger disastrous consequences she might not be prepared to handle, leaving her momentarily at a loss on how to proceed.

Seeing the brief hesitation in the Empress’s eyes, Antorus smiled coldly, readying himself to strike before anyone could stop him.

However, just as the Lord of War raised his hand, a thunderous roar echoed across the sky.

"THUMPPPPPPP!"

The golden storm carrying the might of the Primordial God of Bloodshed and Battle, Odinvaldr, erupted once more with unprecedented power. Freya had already openly shattered her connection with Valhalla, clearly declaring her allegiance to another realm. By all logic, this should have severed her ties with the Primordial God, causing the divine storm to diminish. Yet, against all expectation, it surged forth with even greater intensity.

Before anyone could grasp what was happening, a pillar of brilliant Divine Power cascaded down from the sky, flooding into Freya’s body. Totems once again began manifesting across her flawless skin, rapidly spreading and intensifying. They grew stronger and stronger, swiftly surpassing mortal limits, pushing her into the Legendary Realm—and continued rising.

But the astonishing spectacle did not end there. In the very next moment, a second pillar of divine energy descended, targeting not a Viking, but the unconscious True Depravita of Wrath.

Shock rippled across the faces of all present, including the Empress and even the Lord of War himself. Never before had Odinvaldr bestowed his sacred blessing upon an outsider, not even Vikign from other realms.

Yet now, this mysterious figure had somehow earned the divine favor of the Primordial God. Under the stunned gazes of every warrior, divine power surged into Vlad’s battered form. It didn’t manifest totems on him but instead nurtured his flesh and spirit, healing every injury, mending every fracture, and strengthening him far beyond what he had ever been.

For ten full minutes, the twin pillars of divine energy continued unabated. Finally, Freya’s body erupted with dazzling totemic power, waves of strength cascading outward. Every Viking present felt it: Freya had ascended, her Totemic Path elevating clearly into the High Legend Rank.

Simultaneously, the True Depravita of Wrath’s eyes snapped open. A monstrous physical force surged from within him, so immense it seemed as if a blazing sun pumped divine plasma through his veins rather than blood. With this awe-inspiring transformation complete, the golden storm at last began to fade.

Yet, before anyone could fully process these miraculous events, a commanding voice echoed clearly and powerfully through the heavens.

"COURAGE. HONOR. BROTHERHOOD."

It was a voice none had ever physically heard, yet each and every Viking instantly recognized it. Some warriors, overwhelmed by the profound presence, could not help but shed tears as they gazed reverently skyward, understanding deep in their souls that it was Odinvaldr himself speaking directly to them.

"LOYALTY AND FREEDOM ABOVE ALL THINGS!"

As these powerful words reverberated through the hearts and souls of every Viking, the divine presence slowly receded. However, its impact remained profound and lasting. It was as if a mighty hammer of determination had struck each of them deeply, rekindling the fire of their ancient values and reigniting their deepest convictions.

The Superior Legends exchanged silent yet resolute glances, nodding subtly to one another. Where fear and frustration had once lingered, now only courage and unwavering resolve shone brightly.

Together, as one unified force, they moved without hesitation, forming an impenetrable barrier around Freya and Vlad. Their message was clear: no harm would come to these two warriors. No matter who stood against them, the Vikings of Valhalla would defend their newfound allies to the bitter end.

Antorus was just as shocked by the voice of the Primordial God of Bloodshed and Battle as everyone else. Though he managed to hide his reaction behind a stern expression, there was no excitement in his heart—only a deep sense of fear and confusion. Yet, as a seasoned Lord, he quickly suppressed those emotions and turned his attention back to the scene unfolding before him.

"Hmph!" Antorus sneered with disdain, trying to appear unaffected by the Superior Legends’ newfound resolve. But even as he dismissed them with a glance, his eyes caught something that made him freeze—millions of Vikings advancing as one.

They surged forward like an unstoppable ocean, forming ranks around Freya. They had no power to oppose a Lord, and everyone, including Antorus, knew that a single wave of his hand could annihilate them. Yet, they stood there, unwavering. They were willing to lay down their lives for justice, for Freya, and for the ideals their gods upheld.

A frown crept onto Antorus’s face. He could feel his power thrumming at his fingertips, ready to obliterate the defiance. And yet... something held him back. A massacre of this magnitude—even if justified in his twisted reasoning—would cast a dark stain upon his name, and perhaps worse, awaken the true wrath of Odinvaldr.

Before he could act, he felt two sharp, unrelenting eyes pierce into him. He turned, and there stood the Viking Empress.

Her expression was calm, but her killing intent was a tangible force that coiled around him like a noose. It stunned him. He had believed her too old and too weary to defy him in earnest. But the look in her eyes told a different story—one of unwavering resolution and absolute willingness to fight to the death if necessary.

The pressure mounted.

Antorus could feel it pressing from every direction. Millions of eyes were locked onto him, their gaze filled with resolve, fury, and unshakable conviction. They weren’t just defending Freya anymore. They were defending something greater: the very soul of Valhalla.

And in that moment, Antorus faltered.

He clenched his fists, his power humming in defiance, but he made no move. With a bitter scowl, he turned without a word and vanished into the distance, his departure marked not by defiance, but by retreat.

The battlefield fell into silence.

Then slowly, like the dawn breaking through a long and weary night, a wave of understanding and unity passed through the gathered Vikings. They looked to one another—not with fear, but with recognition. They had stood together, united not by command but by conviction. And they had succeeded.

Though it would be foolish to believe the danger had passed, what they had accomplished was no small feat. They had turned back a Lord not with force of arms, but with the weight of their collective spirit. They had remembered who they were: warriors of honor, of courage, of brotherhood.

The voice of Odinvaldr had not just shaken the heavens—it had shaken their hearts awake.

And in that awakening, Valhalla was reborn.