I was happy seeing Mr. Recht crawling away like a first grader whose candy had just been stolen. I let out a loud sigh and turned back to Heinrich.
"Well, kid, this was fun, but now let's continue trying to find Votan. So why do—"
I stopped mid-sentence because, as I looked at Heinrich, I saw that he was gazing with wide eyes in the general direction of the main factory. I couldn't see it because I was facing Heinrich, but then I slowly turned and looked in the direction he was staring.
I instantly understood why he was confused.
Rather hastily stepping toward us was a small man, about 3.2 feet tall. He had rough skin and wore welding goggles. He had long white hair and a rough beard that was beautifully braided. He was covered from head to toe in a black substance, presumably oil or tar.
He stopped right in front of us, looked at Heinrich, then at me. His face never changed expression; it was as hard as stone. Then he spoke in a harsh voice.
"I don't like humans, especially you, Mr. Jaeger. Last time you were here, we had to bring two of our men to the hospital, and one died of lead poisoning—and I don't mean the sickness."
I remembered what he meant.
I had been here about a year ago to arrest a follower of the Jotun Cult. Two of his friends had tried to protect him, so I beat them up. Then I saw my target reaching for a revolver, but I was faster and shot two holes through him.
Now that I thought about it, maybe I should have just incapacitated him. But the Jotun Cult was the greatest trafficker between the worlds of gods and humans, so maybe it wasn't that bad.
I looked at the small man and said,
"Well, Regin, it's nice to see you too. Maybe next time, when a known cult member is hiding among your people, don't ignore him. Maybe we could have resolved it without spilling blood."
The tension between us was gigantic. You could feel it if you were standing anywhere near us.
We stared at each other for about a minute.
Then the tension completely vanished, and both of us smiled.
I knelt down and, with a loud crack, we gave each other a headbutt and laughed.
Regin started first.
"It's good to see you again, Tom. Still the same old asshole I love."
I was amused.
"Yes indeed. And you still have a weak headbutt, my friend."
I stood up again and then noticed Heinrich, whom I had completely forgotten.
"Oh, I completely forgot. This here is Heinrich, my newest protégé. He is just learning the ways of Schutzgeists and magic."
I turned to Heinrich.
"And this here is Regin Hreidmarson, brother of Fafnir and creator of Gram, the Dragonslayer Sword."
Regin wore a prideful expression and stroked his beard for a moment. Then he gestured toward Heinrich and asked,
"Well, boy, introduce yourself. Or do you want to let Tom do all the work?"
Heinrich immediately excused himself.
"Oh, sorry, of course. Well, I'm Heinrich Schröder, and I work for the Cologne Police Department. I was on my way to inform Mr. Jaeger about a murder, and then we were attacked by cultists. Now I'm a part of this wonderful and weird world."
While saying this, he spun around slowly and gestured as if he wanted to point at everything he saw.
"And you are Regin, powerful dwarf of the Rhinegold myths, brother of the dragon Fafnir, and of course adoptive father of the her—"
Regin's face turned sour because he knew exactly which name Heinrich was about to say—a name best left unspoken in this facility.
I noticed it too and interrupted Heinrich.
"Heinrich, we are not here to identify who played what role in an ancient story. So let's not talk about it, especially that name."
I turned toward Regin. He was still tense. I could tell because one eyebrow was raised, as if he were waiting for something unfortunate to happen.
I spoke to him.
"Well, Regin, it's nice seeing you again, but you know we're not here just to visit old friends. We want to see the boss. I need to talk to Votan."
Regin thought for a moment and scratched his head with his long, rough fingernails.
"Alright, listen here. The boss is still pissed off at you, drittsekk, because of what happened last time. I can bring you to him, but he'll probably want a flyting, and you know how good Votan is at those."
I knew this wasn't good.
I exhaled deeply.
"Well, if there's no other way, lead us to Votan, my good friend."
And so he did.
Without another word, Regin hastily walked toward the giant building from which he had come. The closer you got, the smaller you felt. It must have been over two hundred meters high—a strange cacophony of metal pipes, dark smoke, and strange burning smells.
We stepped through a heavy iron door, which Regin opened with ease. Looking at it more closely, I guessed it must have been at least ten centimeters of solid steel.
Inside, the factory was hot as hell.
Everywhere were strange creatures: dwarves with gray skin, beings with scaly appearances and long ears, and giant hairy men and women carrying heavy objects through the halls.
Regin guided us through the chaos as if he were the navigator ant of this massive nest.
We eventually walked across a catwalk suspended above glowing molten liquid.
After a short while, Regin stopped.
"Wait a minute. I forgot the next direction. Give me a second."
Maybe the navigator ant comparison had been an exaggeration. Maybe the ant had drunk too much mead.
Meanwhile, I looked out over the giant factory. From here, you could see nearly everything.
I noticed Heinrich gazing down at the glowing rainbow-colored liquid, leaning against the railing. It had to be extremely hot because steam rose from the vats toward us.
I stepped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Nordisk Stål."
He was pulled from his trance-like stare.
"W-what, sir?"
I smirked and nodded toward the vats.
"This is what it's called. Nordisk Stål—or Nordic Steel in our language. It's a magical ore found in Valhalla, or more specifically, in the realm of Odin."
Suddenly Regin shouted from farther down the catwalk.
"I hope I didn't hear that name! It's forbidden!"
I answered just as loudly.
"I didn't say anything. What do you mean?"
He grumbled several Nordic curse words and fell silent.
I continued speaking to Heinrich.
"This metal is used to create weapons. Those weapons possess astonishing power. They can harm and kill mythical creatures. Lesser creatures, such as a Beschnikel, can be killed outright by them. Even moderately powerful demigods like dwarves can die from such weapons.
"But if you want to kill something stronger, like one of those cultists, you have to find their weakness or exorcise them. Gods can't truly die. They can only be banished."
I pulled out my silver revolver. Golden roses with long thorns wrapped around its frame, imprisoning a skeleton within their vines.
"This weapon was created by my friend Regin and then blessed by my Schutzgeist. It can fire an infinite number of Nordic Steel bullets. But against the cultist, it wasn't enough."
Heinrich nodded thoughtfully.
"Sir, if you'll allow the question, why is it not good to say that name?"
I knew I had to be careful.
I leaned closer and whispered.
"Well, you know the legends. In those legends, that person wasn't exactly kind to the gods. He destroyed Votan's spear, stole his beloved Brunhilde, and tried to kill Regin."
Heinrich's face became confused.
"Tried? But in the legend he kill—"
I interrupted him.
"Yes, he tried to kill Regin with his own sword, Gram. But Regin dodged, and all he managed to do was slice off one of his ears. The point is: never say his name. No one likes him here. Everyone in this factory hates him."
Heinrich nodded. It looked as though he still wanted to ask something, but wisely chose not to.
Then Regin suddenly called out.
"Now I remember! Follow me."
We stepped down from the catwalk and eventually found ourselves before a giant wooden door.
Beautiful carvings covered its surface.
On the left side was an army of beautiful warriors clad in golden armor. At their front stood an elderly man in a chariot drawn by a white horse. Beside him flew a golden-haired woman, while seven winged women descended from the skies in attack.
On the right side stood only a single man.
He had long blond hair and carried a silvery sword. Despite standing alone, he faced the army without fear.
Upon his finger gleamed a golden ring.