Týr bent down to pick up the cold Tyrfing and sheathed it at his waist.
He felt a faint resistance and a cold touch from the blade, but his strong will suppressed it.
Baldr, on the other hand, held Týr's Dáinsleif. Although he also felt the darkness and longing hidden in the sword, compared to Tyrfing's madness that had nearly devoured his soul, this feeling was indeed much 'gentler'.
He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had escaped a great disaster.
Only Hödr, deep in her empty eyes, a trace of cold light passed through at the successful implementation of the plan.
Loki did not stop there.
His emerald-green eyes sparkled with suspicion and an imperceptible provocation, and he tilted his head, saying in a tone pretending to be concerned:
"Wait, Týr. This Tyrfing... is a magical sword that cannot be controlled. Its power is so brutal, so bloodthirsty. Are you really sure you can handle it completely? In case it affects you like it did Baldr, causing unnecessary damage in Miðgarðr, or... if it hurts the innocent, that would be bad."
His words were like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, seemingly concerned, but actually questioning Týr's control.
When Týr heard this, a flicker of displeasure appeared in his eyes.
As the god of justice and war, he was absolutely confident in his will and combat skills.
He said in a deep voice: "I have my own measure. This is just a sword; no matter how evil, it cannot shake my will."
He had been struggling against Dáinsleif's bloodthirsty instinct for many years and had already tempered his nerves like steel.
Baldr also quickly nodded; he was full of trust in Týr:
"Yes, Uncle Loki, Brother Týr can definitely control it. Moreover,"
his face once again flashed with a bit of innocent pride belonging to the god of light, and he patted his chest.
"Don't forget, I am protected by the oath of all things! No matter what magical material this Tyrfing is made of, if it was born in the Nine Realms, it can never harm me!"
This firm statement became the last piece of the puzzle, and they fell into the trap carefully laid by Loki.
A look of 'sudden realization' and 'relief' appeared on Loki's face. He clapped his hands and smiled: "Ah! Right! Look at my memory, how could I forget the most important oaths! Since you are absolutely safe, Baldr, why don't you..."
He changed his mind, making the suggestion again.
"Why don't you brothers use the swords you now have and compete again? This will also help Týr get familiar with his new sword, and Baldr can get used to Dáinsleif. With the protection of the oath, this is definitely a fail-safe competition!"
This suggestion sounded reasonable.
Baldr had just lost control of the edge of Tyrfing and needed a 'safe' fight to regain confidence, and he also believed Týr could understand the scale.
And Týr, on one hand, wanted to please his brother, and on the other, was very eager to feel the power of Tyrfing and see what was so strange about it.
Based on the assumption that Baldr was 'absolutely safe', there seemed to be no reason to refuse.
"Alright," Týr agreed again, his hand resting on the hilt of Tyrfing.
Baldr also took a deep breath and gripped Dáinsleif, which Týr had given him.
He felt the 'gentle' but still cold touch emanating from the hilt of the blade, and his heart became much calmer.
The two brothers stood opposite each other.
Týr's eyes were focused, and he slowly drew Tyrfing from its sheath.
The dark blade did not reflect light but seemed to absorb the surrounding light, radiating a pulsating cold.
He felt the bloodthirsty desire emanating from the blade, but his strong will was like a dam, firmly blocking it.
Baldr also adopted a fighting stance, trusting in his brother's control and the oath that would protect him.
"Begin," Týr called out softly and took the lead in attacking.
He did not use his full strength; his sword was calm, intended for testing and guiding.
Baldr swung Dáinsleif to block, and the two magical swords clashed for the first time!
Clang!
The sound of metal and iron rang out! However, at this moment, a change occurred!
On the blade of Dáinsleif, those ancient runes that were previously dim and looked like dried bloodstains suddenly flashed with a demonic red light!
This was not Dáinsleif's bloodthirsty instinct, but the fate of killing a brother, given to it at its birth, was being triggered at this very moment!
He noticed that the invulnerable blade of Tyrfing, at the moment of contact with Dáinsleif, seemed to have encountered its destined 'victim'.
With a slight and chilling "crack" sound,
the blade of Dáinsleif was easily severed by Tyrfing, like a hot knife through fat!
The broken half-blade, carrying the strange power of the 'brother-killing' fate, as if pulled by an invisible hand, transformed into a dark streak barely visible to the naked eye, and with an almost 'inevitable' trajectory, it drew a deadly arc in the air and flew with great precision across Baldr's defenseless neck.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Before the proud and relaxed expression on Baldr's face could change, he felt a cold touch from his neck.
Immediately after, his vision began to spin.
He saw the blue sky, the dense canopy, Týr's astonished face, the uncontrollable smile at the corner of Loki's lips, and Hödr's pale, pained... face.
Finally, he looked down and saw a headless body in magnificent divine armor standing motionless, the severed part of the neck smooth as a mirror, and then golden divine blood gushed like a fountain.
"I... how can I see my own body?" This was the last absurd and terrifying thought before Baldr's consciousness dissipated.
"Not yet... the head..."
The light was extinguished.
Plop—Baldr's flawless head rolled onto the ground, covered in dirt.
The decapitated body also crashed to the ground with a thud, and golden divine blood quickly stained the emerald-green grass red.
"Hoo... hoo..." Hödr let out an almost suffocating gasp, her blind face turning towards where the smell of blood was strongest, and a few drops of her brother's warm blood splattered onto her pale face.
She reached out a trembling hand and touched the blood on her cheek, and then, with eerie piety, licked the drops of blood from her lips.
The blood of light had finally merged with her dark lips and tongue.
A twisted and satisfied smile appeared on her face, and mad tears flowed from her empty eyes.
Loki could no longer contain himself, and he let out a low, joyful laugh, the laughter echoing through the silent forest, full of the ecstasy of a successful plan and relentless mockery of fate.
Týr stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.
Tyrfing in his hand still exuded a cold aura, and the tip of the sword dripped with golden blood.
His eyes were wide open, staring at Baldr's headless corpse on the ground, and he looked in disbelief at the magical sword in his hand, his mind blank.
What happened? He just... he just blocked it... Baldr is dead?
Killed by the fragment of the sword he himself had given to Baldr?
The moment Baldr's life force vanished, Narcissus (Hades), who was sitting quietly in his temple far away in Vanaheimr, slowly opened his eyes.
"Fate has been fulfilled..." he whispered to himself.
All things in the Nine Realms had indeed sworn to Frigg not to harm Baldr.
But Dáinsleif was a product of him, Narcissus, using the very concept of fate as material and 'creating' it according to the laws of the world of Chaos.
It was neither gold nor wood, neither dead nor alive, and naturally not subject to the restrictions of the oath of all things.
However, even if Dáinsleif itself was not bound by the oath, to use it to kill Baldr, it needed to bypass another obstacle—the Executor's Oath.
All the gods of the Nine Realms had also taken the oath.
All but Týr, who had not sworn because he was far away in Vanaheimr.
But they all ignored the most fundamental fact, which was hidden in plain sight—
Baldr himself had never sworn an oath to himself 'not to harm himself'!
A god naturally does not swear to himself not to harm himself; it is taken for granted, but it became the most important part of the loophole of fate.
Therefore, for the power of Dáinsleif's fate, 'Kill the brother', to successfully activate and affect Baldr, the executors could only be two beings not bound by the 'Do not harm Baldr' oath:
One was Baldr himself.
The second was Týr, who had not taken the oath!
Loki's poisonous plan, Hödr's paranoia, Týr's sense of justice and guilt, Baldr's innocence and pride... Everything was skillfully woven together, finally leading Týr and the broken magical sword to the only target.
Týr, the god of justice, inadvertently used the magical sword he had exchanged with his own hands to sever his brother's life force, becoming the 'brother' who killed the light in the prophecy.
The radiant Baldr died at the hands of his most trusted brother, under the cruel joke of fate.
The prelude to 'Ragnarök' had officially begun.
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