Odin returned to Ásgarðr carrying the heavy secret obtained from the prophecy of the dead.
To ensure Baldr's safety, Frigg made a decision.
She took out the magical sword forged by the Vanir God-King 'Narcissus' from Odin's treasury, later gifted by Freyr—Tyrfing.
This sword possessed unparalleled sharpness in the Nine Realms, enough to cut through any threat.
"Take it, my child," Frigg handed the sword to Baldr, her eyes full of a mother's anxiety and resolve.
"It will protect you from any possible danger that approaches."
However, perhaps believing that Baldr's light needed no such darkness, she deliberately concealed the most important information:
Tyrfing was a cursed sword that drinks blood whenever unsheathed.
Baldr took the richly adorned sword, feeling its great power, but knowing nothing of the magic that lurked within.
Grateful for his mother's love, he wore the sword at his waist, hoping to dispel the anxiety caused by his nightmare.
At this moment, his blind sister Hödr, who had been with him all this time, quietly approached him.
She whispered in Baldr's ear:
"Brother, you have such a powerful divine sword, why not show the gods its power? Your brilliance, combined with the sharpest blade in the Nine Realms, will surely amaze all the gods. Go out for a walk, so that the beings of Vanaheimr and Miðgarðr can also see the majesty of the God of Light."
Almost simultaneously, a seemingly casual voice sounded from nearby, like Loki sighing into the air:
"Alas, always staying in the Golden Palace, no matter how bright your heart, it will be dimmed. A truly brave man should hold a sharp blade and travel the world, so that all may see his fearlessness."
Baldr, trapped by his nightmares, felt the walls of the Golden Palace were somewhat suffocating.
Going out to relax... perhaps it could indeed dispel some of the fog.
"Alright," Baldr was finally moved, "I'll go for a walk."
And so, Baldr, the god of light, with the magical sword Tyrfing at his waist, left Ásgarðr and began his parade.
He did not know that step by step he was moving towards the net woven by fate.
At the same time, in Vanaheimr, Týr, somewhat irritated and puzzled by Ares's recent abnormal silence, was also walking alone, trying to clear his thoughts.
A coincidence of fate brought the two brothers together on the edge of a remote forest in Miðgarðr.
"Brother Týr!" Baldr saw Týr, a sincere, slightly apologetic smile on his face.
He was still confused about being beaten before, but he held no grudge, instead reflecting on himself due to Týr's usual justice.
When Týr saw Baldr, a flicker of mixed feeling appeared in his eyes.
He nodded in response.
However, Hödr, who had followed Baldr, played her role 'at the right time' at this very moment.
She tightly grasped Baldr's sleeve and said to Baldr in a tearful and aggrieved voice:
"Brother, Brother Týr treated you like that before... is that all? I don't believe Brother Týr is a god who beats people for no reason... Brother, don't you want to know~ Did he really misunderstand you? Compete! Yes, if you compete like real brothers, maybe you can resolve the misunderstanding?"
Baldr was already suspicious of Týr's previous actions, and with Hödr fanning the flames, perhaps a desire to prove he wasn't a coward arose deep within, and he was swayed.
He looked at Týr with a questioning gaze: "Brother Týr, shall we compete like brothers, okay? Maybe it will help us all understand each other better."
Týr looked at Baldr's sincere and slightly troubled face, then at Hödr, who was 'pitifully' beside him, clutching her brother's sleeve.
He was silent for a moment, and finally said in a deep voice: "Alright."
He believed that a bit of friendly competition could indeed ease the relationship and see how Baldr was doing.
Baldr was relieved to see Týr agree, and subconsciously held Tyrfing at his waist.
As a sign of respect, he decided to use this divine sword given to him by his mother.
However, the moment he drew the sword from its scabbard, a sudden change occurred!
The moment the dark-bladed body of Tyrfing was drawn, it seemed to come alive, emitting a strange hum!
The bloodthirsty will was like a flood breaking a dam, instantly flowing back along the hilt to Baldr's hand, and then attempting to corrupt his reason!
Baldr was horrified to find that he simply could not fully control the sword!
His hand seemed pulled by an invisible thread; he was no longer holding the sword, but the sword itself was manipulating him!
Whoosh!
The sharp and incomparable sword light, with an ominous black radiance, cut irresistibly towards Týr!
This strike was as fast as lightning, extremely ruthless, completely beyond the bounds of a 'competition', aimed directly at Týr's vital points!
Týr's eyes suddenly narrowed!
He felt the deadly threat contained in this sword, and the strange, mad will.
At the critical moment, he did not draw his own equally dangerous magical sword—Dáinsleif—but reacted quickly, using his exquisite combat skills, twisting aside and guiding his waist—
Clang!
A piercing clash!
Týr precisely used his scabbard to parry the sharpest edge of Tyrfing, and at the same time, his wrist trembled, and a skillful force traveled along the sword's blade, jolting the wrist of the hand holding the sword!
"Ah!" Baldr only felt a sharp pain in his wrist, could no longer hold the sword, and Tyrfing flew from his hand, crashing to the ground nearby with a clatter.
And he himself was thrown back by this force, landing on the ground.
Baldr sat on the ground, pale, gasping for breath, his eyes full of fear he had never seen before.
He looked at the magical sword on the ground, still emitting a faint cold light, and his body involuntarily trembled.
It wasn't him fighting; it was the sword fighting!
He had almost... he had almost killed his brother when things spiraled out of control!
"This... the sword..." Baldr's voice was tearful, "it... it controlled me!"
Týr looked at Baldr's frightened appearance, then at the unusually sinister Tyrfing, frowned, and took a deep breath.
He stepped forward and, instead of picking up Tyrfing first, reached out his hand to Baldr.
"This is too dangerous, Baldr," Týr's voice was serious.
"You shouldn't use it."
At this moment, Loki, watching from the shadows like a spider waiting for prey to enter its trap, felt the moment had come.
With an expression of 'concern' and 'surprise' on his face, he stepped out of the forest's shadow.
"Oh dear! That was truly dangerous!" Loki patted his chest, looking as if he were still in fear.
"Baldr, are you alright? Týr, your reaction was so fast!"
He walked between the two brothers, his eyes darting between Tyrfing on the ground and Dáinsleif at Týr's waist, his eyes gleaming with calculation.
"It seems, Baldr, you're not very accustomed to such powerful divine weapons," Loki pretended to be thoughtful, and then, as if inspired, proposed an already premeditated idea:
"By the way, Týr, although your sword is also famous, it seems... 'gentler' than this Tyrfing that almost caused a catastrophe when drawn? For safety's sake, why don't you brothers exchange swords for now? Let Týr, who can better control power, use Tyrfing, and let Baldr use Dáinsleif, which is more reliable, so he won't be controlled by a weapon again."
When Týr heard this, his heart stirred.
He glanced at Baldr, who was still in shock, and then at the sinister and awe-inspiring Tyrfing.
Indeed, letting Baldr, who clearly couldn't control Tyrfing, continue to hold it was like holding a bomb that could explode at any moment.
Although Dáinsleif was also bloodthirsty and dangerous, at least under his control for many years, he could still manage it, and such a completely 'against the guest' situation would not occur.
Weighing the lesser of two evils.
To protect Baldr from an even more serious tragedy, Týr made a decision after brief consideration.
"Yes," Týr said in a deep voice, untying Dáinsleif from his belt and handing it to Baldr.
"You use this one. I'll keep Tyrfing for now."
Baldr looked at the interestingly crafted magical sword that Týr had handed him, then at Tyrfing on the ground that had frightened him, and almost without hesitation took Dáinsleif.
"Thank you, Brother Týr... I... I really don't dare use that sword anymore."
Thus, thanks to Loki's 'enthusiastic' suggestion and seemingly reasonable logic, the exchange of the two ominous magical swords was completed.
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