Chapter IX: The Ballad of Blood and Thunder
The restaurant thrummed with the mundane chatter of common folk—merchants haggling over imaginary profits, lovers whispering sweet nothings that would sour by morning, nobles pretending their blood ran bluer than it did. Into this theater of mediocrity swept Solution, a tempest wrapped in silk, playing the part of a highborn lady with such conviction that even the gods themselves might have applauded.
Behind her, Sebas moved like a shadow given form—silent, watchful, the perfect bodyguard.
But perfection, as they say, often cracks under pressure.
Solution:(voice rising like a crescendo) "You call this a meal?! I've tasted battlefield rations with more dignity! This—this refuse—tastes like something scraped from a kennelmaster's boot!"
The waiter flinched, his hands trembling like leaves before a storm. "M-my apologies, madam. I—"
Solution: "Apologies?! Apologies?!" (She rose, chair scraping against wood like nails on a coffin) "I do not wish to breathe the same air as this establishment a moment longer. Sebas. We. Are. Leaving."
Sebas:(bowing slightly) "Understood, my lady."
Solution swept toward the exit, her performance flawless, her rage manufactured yet magnificent. Every eye followed her—some with pity for the staff, others with envy for her fire.
Outside, she spotted their driver stuffing his face with bread like a starving dog.
Solution: "Zach! Yes, you—cease your gluttony this instant and prepare the carriage! I want this pestilent town fading into memory within the hour, or I'll have you walking back to the capital as my footstool!"
Sebas:(to the gawking patrons) "Please, return to your meals, ladies and gentlemen. The evening's entertainment has concluded."
The room waited in silence—the kind that precedes revelation or violence, sometimes both.
Sebas knocked thrice, each rap measured, respectful. "Excuse me, Miss Solution."
He entered to find her standing by the window, moonlight painting her features in silver and shadow. But it was the figure behind her that commanded the room's gravity—Thor, the Thunder Berserker himself, lounged in a chair as if it were a throne, Mjölnir resting against his leg like a sleeping dragon.
His presence was weight. His silence was thunder waiting to speak.
Sebas dropped to one knee immediately, fist pressed to chest.
Sebas: "Greetings, Lord Thor, Vanguard of Asgard, He Who Shakes the Heavens."
Thor's crimson eyes flickered with something like amusement. He nodded once—permission granted, words unnecessary.
Solution:(voice softer now, stripped of theater) "I fear I took the performance too far, Master Sebas. The charade... it tasted too sweet on my tongue. Forgive me."
Sebas:(rising) "There is no need to lower your head to me, Solution. In this masquerade, I am merely your butler—a servant playing servant. The irony is not lost on me."
Solution: "Perhaps. But beneath the masks we wear, the hierarchy remains. As a member of the Pleiades, I am your subordinate first, foremost, and always, Master Sebas."
Sebas: "Just so." (He glanced toward Thor) "Lady Shalltear has grown... restless. Her patience wears thinner than spider silk. I believe it's time she tasted battle again."
Thor:(voice like distant thunder, slow and deliberate) "Shalltear hungers. Good. Hunger sharpens the blade." (He leaned forward slightly) "Tell me, Solution—does our worm squirm as predicted?"
Solution:(covering one eye, her smile turning predatory) "Yes, my lord. Even now, Zach conspires with filth in the alley behind us. Sellswords. Cutthroats. Men who believe violence is currency and women are coin."
Her other eye glowed faintly—Dark Vision, peering through walls and shadow.
Solution: "They plan to ambush us outside the city walls. Rob us. Use me for..." (her smile widened) "...entertainment unfit for decent conversation."
Thor:(a low chuckle, like rocks grinding together) "Predictable. Mortals so often confuse opportunity with fate." (He stood, and the room seemed to shrink around his frame) "Everything unfolds as Ainz orchestrated. The pieces move across his board like sheep to slaughter."
Solution:(hesitating) "One more thing, Lord Thor... When Zach has outlived his usefulness... might I request him? For... personal enjoyment?"
Thor:(crimson eyes gleaming with interest) "Oh? And what use does a slime have for such a creature?"
Solution: "He believes he will devour me, my lord. So I thought..." (her tone dripped venom and honey) "...I'd let him have a taste first. A slice of heaven—brief, sweet, intoxicating—before I drag him screaming into hell."
For a moment, silence.
Then Thor laughed—a sound like thunder rolling across mountains, raw and unrestrained.
Thor: "Sadistic. Creative. Delicious." (He approached her, lifting her chin with one gauntleted finger) "You may have him, my dear Solution. Make his last moments memorable."
Solution:(shivering with delight) "Thank you, Lord Thor. Your generosity knows no bounds."
Thor:(smirking) "Generosity? No. I simply appreciate artistry when I see it."
The carriage rattled along the lonely road, wheels grinding against earth like teeth against bone.
Inside, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation.
Shalltear reclined with aristocratic grace, her two vampire brides flanking her like crimson-eyed statues. Across from her sat Sebas, composed as always. And beside him—Thor, massive and imposing even seated, with Solution perched upon his armored lap like a prize he'd claimed.
She squirmed slightly, flustered, her usual confidence cracking.
Thor:(voice a low rumble) "Why so quiet now, my sadistic little slime? Where is that wicked tongue of yours?"
Solution:(flushed) "I... I am unworthy of occupying my lord's lap. This honor is too great—"
Thor: "Nonsense." (He adjusted her slightly, his grip firm but not cruel) "You played your role exquisitely. This is your reward. Accept it." (He glanced at Shalltear) "Now then, Shalltear Bloodfallen—you understand the next movement in our symphony of slaughter?"
Shalltear:(eyes gleaming with bloodlust) "Let me guess, Lord Thor. Our foolish prey has finally bitten the bait dangling before them?"
Thor: "Like starving fish to chum. Perfectly."
Shalltear: "About time. I've been starving for action—my fangs ache, my claws itch. With luck, we'll find some martial artist or mage worthy of Lord Ainz's attention... and I can return to his side where I belong."
Sebas: "If I may, Lady Shalltear?"
Shalltear:(waving dismissively) "Speak, Sebas."
Sebas: "There is something I've wanted to ask you for some time. It's... evident that you and Lady Aura share a certain... tension. One might even call it animosity."
Solution: "Yes, I've noticed that as well. Is there history between you two?"
Shalltear:(laughing lightly) "Animosity? Hardly. We get along splendidly—in our own way. There's no bad blood." (She leaned back) "I tease the flat-chested insect because my creator, the Supreme One Lord Peroroncino, commanded it so."
Sebas: "I see... but why would—"
Shalltear: "Because Lady Bukubukuchagama—Aura's creator—is Lord Peroroncino's sister. Siblings, you understand, have a certain... competitive affection." (She smirked) "Once, I overheard my creator speaking with Lord Ainz about his sister's work. Apparently, she was a voice actor in something called an 'H-game.'"
Solution: "H-game?"
Shalltear: "A... form of human entertainment. Visual stories with... romantic themes. Quite explicit, from what I gathered—"
Thor:(eyes closed, seemingly asleep, Solution pressed against his chest) "Mortals and their strange diversions..."
Sebas: "Thank you for sharing, Lady Shalltear. Learning of the Supreme Beings' histories is truly humbling. Your transparency honors us."
Shalltear: "Think nothing of—"
WHINNY!
The horse shrieked. The carriage lurched, wheels grinding to a violent halt.
Then—knock, knock, knock—mockingly cheerful against the wooden door.
Mercenary:(voice crude and slurred) "Knock-knock, girlie! Why don't you step outside? We just wanna play with you a little!"
Zach:(voice oily, eager) "You'll let me have a turn afterwards, right? I mean, I am the one who delivered them to you on a silver platter."
Mercenary: "Sure, sure, kid. Once we're done breakin' her in—"
The door opened.
Not kicked. Not forced. Simply opened—calm, controlled, deliberate.
Shalltear descended like a vampire queen stepping from her crypt, moonlight crowning her in silver.
Mercenary:(laughing) "Well, well! Ain't you a pretty little morsel? Listen, sweetheart, this ain't your lucky night. Just play along nice and easy, and maybe—maybe—we let you keep breathin'. Besides..." (He reached out toward her chest) "You got one hell of a pair for such a little—"
SHLICK.
His hand hit the ground before his brain registered the loss.
Mercenary: "Wh—what—WHERE'S MY HAND?! WHERE'S MY GODDAMN HAND?!"
Shalltear:(voice cold as winter's heart) "As if I would allow vermin like you to defile me with your filthy, disgusting appendages."
Mercenary: "Oh god—oh god—what the hell are you?!"
Shalltear:(sighing) "Humans make far too much noise."
SHWICK.
His head tumbled from his shoulders like a dropped apple, rolling twice before stopping in the dirt, eyes frozen wide in terror.
From inside the carriage, Thor's voice rumbled like an earthquake's prelude.
Thor: "Let the massacre begin."
What followed was not battle.
It was art.
Shalltear and her vampire brides moved like crimson phantoms beneath the full moon—fangs flashing, claws rending, blood painting the earth in abstract horror. Screams rose and died like discordant music. Men who had lived by violence discovered what true violence looked like.
Thor emerged leisurely, Mjölnir resting on his shoulder, watching the carnage with the appreciation of a connoisseur admiring fine wine.
Thor:(inhaling deeply) "Ah. The perfume of fear and copper. Exquisite."
He strolled toward the treeline, where Solution had already begun her own hunt.
Solution:(voice sweet as poisoned honey) "Mister Zach... this way..."
Zach stumbled toward her, eyes wide with terror yet still clouded by lust—because even facing death, some men remain idiots.
Zach: "L-listen, lady, I didn't—I mean, I was forced to—they made me—"
Solution:(smiling, arms open invitingly) "Shh. It's all right. Come here."
He reached for her—instinct, desperation, stupidity—and his hand sank into her flesh like water accepting a stone.
Zach: "What—NO! NO! STOP! STOP IT! OH GOD, SOMEONE—ANYONE—PLEASE!"
His screams were delicious.
Then—footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Inevitable.
Zach looked up, hope flickering in his dying eyes—
—and saw Thor.
The Thunder God stood silhouetted against the moon, Mjölnir gleaming, crimson eyes burning like coals from Muspelheim's forges.
Thor:(voice low, almost gentle) "God is not here, little worm."
Zach: "P-please—mercy—I'll do anything—"
Thor: "But I am here." (He gestured to Solution) "For my loyal servant. Finish your meal, dear Solution."
Solution:(giggling) "With pleasure, my lord."
She pulled him in slowly—savoring every scream, every desperate thrash, every muffled plea—until only silence remained.
When she reformed, redressed, and composed, Thor approached, gauntleted hand resting on her shoulder.
Thor: "A lovely evening's work, Solution. Did you enjoy yourself?"
Solution:(breathless) "Immensely, my lord. Thank you for choosing me for this mission."
Thor: "Shalltear and her brides are pursuing the true target now. I must return to Carne Village before Ainz arrives." (He paused) "But when you reach the capital, Solution... I will return. And I will take you on a proper date through its streets. Does that please you?"
Solution:(blushing deeply) "Yes, Lord Thor. Very much."
Thor stepped closer, gauntlets removing themselves with a clang. He cupped her face—surprisingly gentle for hands that shattered armies—and kissed her, slow and deliberate.
Thor:(pulling back slightly) "Sweet. Like honeyed wine and murder."
Before she could respond, he raised his hand. Lightning crackled, reality tore, and a Gate shimmered into existence—a doorway stitched from thunder and starlight.
Thor: "Until we meet again, my sadistic slime."
He stepped through.
The gate closed.
Solution stood alone, touching her lips, smiling.
Morning came to Carne Village like a drunk stumbling home—awkward, bright, unwelcome.
Thor, now wearing the face of Loke Dahlström—a rugged adventurer with blonde hair and sharp Nordic features—stood in the village square, Nemu perched happily on his broad shoulders.
Beside him, Enri walked, eyeing the goblins she'd summoned, who glared at "Loke" with barely concealed suspicion.
Loke: "When you're both comfortable visiting my home, Nemu, Enri, I'll treat you to the finest desserts Nazarick has to offer. Sweets fit for Valkyries."
Nemu: "Are they super sweet, Papa?"
Loke: "Sweeter than summer honey. My favorite is strawberry cheesecake—clouds of cream, berries like rubies, crust that crumbles like blessed gold."
Nemu: "Did you hear that, Enri?!"
Enri: "I did, Nemu. I can't wait to try it, Father."
Nemu:(laughing) "Papa is the best!"
Loke:(hugging both) "And you two are the finest daughters a warrior could ask for."
A commotion erupted near the village gate—shouts, clanging armor, the unmistakable sound of drama.
As they approached, Loke took the opportunity to explain his dual identity.
Loke: "Listen carefully, both of you. To many, I am Loke Dahlström, an adventurer and faithful follower of Thor, the Thunder God. But in truth..." (He smiled) "...I am Thor. However, mortals do not accept gods walking among them without consequence—worship or war, reverence or rebellion. So this face..." (He gestured to himself) "...allows me to walk freely, to protect you without the burden of divinity."
Enri frowned, puzzled. Nemu looked fascinated.
Enri: "So... you're pretending not to be a god?"
Loke: "Precisely. A small deception to avoid a large disaster."
At the gate stood Momon—the Dark Hero, clad in obsidian armor—and Nabe, her expression a mix of aloofness and barely concealed shyness.
Behind them, an adventurer party surrounded a cart carrying a blonde boy with hair obscuring his eyes.
Loke:(grinning, arms wide) "Finally! Momon, my brother-in-arms!"
Momon:(clasping forearms) "Loke Dahlström. It's been too long, old friend."
They gripped each other's forearms—warriors acknowledging warriors.
Loke turned to Nabe, whose gaze flickered away nervously.
Loke: "What's wrong, Nabe? Not happy to see me?"
Momon:(whispering) "One of the adventurers was... persistent in his attentions. She claimed you were her fiancé to make him cease."
Loke:(eyes gleaming with mischief) "Oh, my dear Nabe. Don't be shy. I missed you terribly."
Nabe: "I—I'm not shy, L-Lord—I mean, Loke—it's just—"
Loke removed his helmet, revealing sharp features and a roguish smile. He leaned in and kissed her—firm, claiming, deliberate.
Her face turned crimson.
Loke:(pulling back, grinning) "Welcome back, my dear fiancée."
To Be Continued...
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