The long night lay still. Silver-gray moonlight draped over the earth like a thin, misty veil, casting everything in a dreamlike glow.
Beneath the shifting shadows of the trees, Brynhildr unfastened her breastplate and slipped her gown halfway down, light as swan feathers, revealing the graceful line of her collarbone. Pale green hair fell over the gentle rise of her chest, brushing against skin as smooth as jade.
She scooped up a handful of cool stream water and poured it over her forearms, washing away the lingering stickiness of smoke and soot, like a white swan bathing in a quiet lake.
"Cough… cough…"
Just as her fingers reached behind her back to undo the clasp of her bodice, a sudden sound came from the branches behind her.
Brynhildr froze.
Someone.
Her violet pupils contracted sharply. In the next instant, her expression hardened, killing intent flashing across her beautiful face. Light flared at her fingertips. Within a swirl of rising blue flame, the violet spear materialized in her grasp. She twisted and leapt in one fluid motion, ether erupting around her as she thrust toward the source of the sound.
Branches were sliced apart by the spear's cutting aura.
And then she saw who stood there.
Brynhildr's face changed instantly. She withdrew the spear at once, halting her attack mid-motion, and landed lightly on a bare tree trunk.
"Uh… a misunderstanding… I just got here…"
Samael raised both hands helplessly, his gaze drifting away with obvious guilt.
Some advantages really weren't worth taking. Every so often, it was better to behave like a decent person.
"My apologies, Your Highness. I disturbed you…"
Remembering the earlier cough, Brynhildr assumed nothing more of it and hurried to apologize.
Their eyes met. Samael awkwardly pointed toward her chest.
Only then did Brynhildr come back to her senses.
Her attire was far too revealing, large stretches of skin exposed to the night air. A deep flush rushed across her face, nearly crimson. Both of them turned their gazes away at once, and the air between them became painfully awkward.
Samael wisely turned his back to her and stepped a little farther away, casually changing the subject.
"How have you been adjusting to Britannia these past few days?"
"Mm…"
"Dinner was good. It reminded me of the banquets at the Golden Palace."
"I'm glad it suited your taste, Your Highness…"
As their conversation drifted along in fragments, Brynhildr gradually relaxed. With soft rustling sounds, she finished dressing and came to stand respectfully at Samael's side.
"You've been taking care of my daily needs these past few days. Thank you. It hasn't been easy."
"Your Highness, I am your spear. Your shield. Serving at your side is my mission. Please… do not treat me with such kindness… I am not worthy of your praise…"
The more politely Samael spoke, the more ashamed Brynhildr seemed to feel. Her voice carried unmistakable self-reproach and pain.
"As your attendant, I've never truly been of use. Instead, I've repeatedly become your burden, forcing you to rescue me!
Please treat me as a tool. No pity. No concern. To be spent upon the battlefield, that is the proper fate of a Valkyrie!
Excess emotion will only dull our edge. It should not exist!
Your kindness is something I cannot repay, nor do I deserve it!
We are puppets without hearts. If we are shown affection, we begin to crave more and more. And if that happens, I might shamelessly start to…"
She abruptly realized what she was about to say. Her violet eyes widened. She covered her lips, cutting off the confession mid-breath. Her head lowered, gaze fixed uneasily on the ground, a faint and unnatural blush spreading across her cheeks.
Sensitive. Fragile. Lonely. Desperately longing for recognition. A paranoid streak.
Samael rubbed his forehead with a silent sigh.
Without meaning to, he had stirred up the inferiority and shame Brynhildr carried from her past failures.
Perhaps it was because they had been created using fragments of the Sefar Star Core. Whether it was the prototype Brynhildr or the nine later original Valkyries, each of them bore, to varying degrees, certain flaws in their personalities.
The more emotional contact they experienced, the more obvious these flaws became.
Brynhildr standing before him was a clear example, torn between defining herself as a weapon and as a person.
With patient guidance, perhaps they could gradually shape a more complete and independent sense of self.
Of course, it was better to guide than to suppress.
"Enough. It's only a setback or two. Right now, you're the only one by my side, and the road ahead is long. There will be plenty of chances to win it back. Remember, what I need is a warrior who never yields, not someone who drowns in self-pity."
Samael lightly patted Brynhildr's shoulder, his voice firm as he delivered the reminder. Then he spoke of what would come next.
"Starting tomorrow, at a fixed time each night, I'll personally teach you how to use the Primordial Runes and additional combat techniques."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The dullness in Brynhildr's violet eyes vanished at once, replaced by a bright, almost radiant light.
In Asgard, His Highness Samael stood on equal footing with Thor.
And in terms of sheer combat ability, Lord Thor was a peak existence whom even Father Odin found difficult to restrain.
With His Highness Samael's instruction, next time she would surely be able to help.
But the light in her eyes wavered, and hesitation returned.
"Your Highness, you are too kind to me. I fear…"
"What is there to fear? Let me teach you another rule of Asgard. Return blades with blades. Return wine with wine. Return kindness with kindness."
Samael placed his hand on her shoulder again and looked straight into her eyes as he spoke.
Return kindness… with kindness…
Brynhildr trembled slightly, murmuring the so-called rule to herself. As she lowered her gaze, understanding slowly dawned, and a faint brightness returned to her eyes.
"It's late. Finish your bath and get some rest. Training starts tomorrow."
"Mm."
Samael glanced at the moon and stifled a yawn, speaking casually. Brynhildr watched him go, her reply softer than before but steadier, more assured.
Once he was out of sight, he finally let out a long breath.
That was close…
As for that "rule," Asgard had nothing of the sort. He had made it up on the spot to treat Brynhildr's psychological knots.
By the time he reached the corridor, the Ancient Serpent felt his tension drain away. The moment his guard dropped, exhaustion swept over him.
From Mesopotamia to Greece, from the North to Rome… why was it that everywhere he went, he ran into problem children?
If anyone was suited to playing big brother confidant, it was that scummy Merlin. Couldn't they find someone else to torment?
Rolling his eyes, Samael grumbled inwardly as he dragged his weary body to his room. He pushed the door open and staggered toward his soft, welcoming bed, then fell forward without ceremony.
Hm?
The moment he made contact, the strange softness and elasticity beneath the covers jolted his muddled mind awake. Frowning, he reached out instinctively to feel.
A second later, Samael withdrew his hand, lifting something out from under the quilt.
A little girl?!