Chapter 777: Freyja is alive and training.

Freyja advanced first.

Without warning, without long preparation, just momentum. Her wings—half light, half shadow—opened forcefully behind her, lifting the air around her as she emerged in front of Vergil, her sword already descending in a clean, direct, practiced cut.

Vergil didn’t move until the last second.

Then he tilted his body.

The blade passed where he was.

It missed.

Freyja immediately twisted her wrist, correcting the angle, drawing her sword back with precision and attacking again, now in sequence. One, two, three blows, each faster than the last, each coming from a different angle, each calculated like someone who truly knew how to fight.

Vergil took a step back.

Then half a step to the side.

Then he simply turned his body.

Nothing exaggerated. Nothing dramatic. He simply... wasn’t where the attack was coming from.

The fourth blow came with more force. She brought the sword down with her entire body weight, using her wings for momentum, trying to close the distance in one swift motion.

Vergil raised his hand.

He grasped her wrist.

He stopped the movement before the blade completed its arc.

Freyja froze for a second.

Not for lack of strength.

But because... she couldn’t continue.

He released her arm.

Without pushing.

Without attacking back.

He just let go.

She took a step back, breathing heavier now, her eyes fixed on him, trying to understand what was happening.

"Again," he said calmly.

She advanced.

Faster.

Now without pause between attacks. The sword cut through the air in continuous sequences, mixing technique with brute force, trying to force a mistake, any opening, any moment when he wasn’t ready.

Nothing.

Vergil dodged.

Always at the right time.

Always with the bare minimum.

She tried to change the rhythm. She feigned a high attack and came from below. Then reversed. Then she spun her body, using her wings to alter the trajectory mid-movement.

Nothing.

The blade never touched.

Not even close.

She stopped.

Heavier breathing now, chest rising and falling rapidly, gripping the sword tighter than necessary.

"...this makes no sense," she said, her voice heavy with frustration.

Vergil didn’t answer.

He just watched.

She gripped the hilt of her sword.

"I am the Valkyrie Queen," she continued, taking a step forward, as if stating that would change anything. "I have thousands of years of training."

She raised her sword again.

"I have fought wars. I have defeated lesser gods. I..." she hesitated for a second, her eyes narrowing, "...I know how to fight."

She advanced again.

More direct.

Without trying to vary.

Without trying to be unpredictable.

Just strength and speed.

Vergil tilted his head slightly.

And stepped aside.

Again.

The sword passed.

Nothing.

She stopped abruptly this time, not trying to continue the combo, not trying to correct. She just stood there, looking at her own blade as if trying to find the flaw in it.

"...why?" she murmured.

Silence.

Vergil took two steps towards her.

Without haste.

Without tension.

Freyja slowly raised her gaze.

Confused.

Irritated.

And... bothered in a way that wasn’t just by the fight.

Vergil stopped in front of her.

And, for the first time since they started, the corner of his mouth moved.

A simple laugh.

Not loud.

Not mocking.

Just... natural.

He raised his hand.

And ran it through her brown hair.

Without warning.

His fingers sank in, lightly ruffling the strands as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Freyja froze.

Completely.

The sword lowered a few inches.

"...what—" she began, but didn’t finish.

Vergil continued the gesture for another second before letting go.

"You still haven’t gotten used to it," he said.

Simple.

Direct.

She blinked.

"...to what?"

"To who you are now."

He looked at her more closely.

There was no pity.

There was no exaggerated superiority.

Just... realization.

"You have a new energy," he continued. "But you’re only focusing on one."

Freyja frowned.

"I’m using my strength," she replied, almost defensively.

Vergil shook his head slightly.

"You’re using part of it."

She was silent for a second.

He continued.

"You still fight as before," he said. "Like a goddess."

A short pause.

"But now you’re also a demon."

The words hung in the air.

Freyja looked away for a moment, as if trying to process it all in her head.

"...shouldn’t that make me stronger?" she asked.

"It already has," he replied.

She clenched her free hand.

"Then why can’t I touch you?"

Vergil didn’t answer immediately.

He took a step to the side, passing by her slowly, as if assessing her posture, the flow of energy, every detail.

"Because you’re not using everything at once," he said.

She turned her face slightly to follow him.

"You’re alternating," he continued. "Ancient instinct tries to maintain order. New energy tries to adapt. But you’re not letting them work together."

Freyja was silent.

Thinking.

He stopped beside her.

"You still separate them," he said. "Divine on one side. Demonic on the other."

She looked at her own hand for a second.

The energy there... it really did seem divided. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"...and shouldn’t I?" she asked.

"No."

Direct.

No margin.

She took a deep breath.

"...this is strange," she murmured.

"It will continue to be," he replied.

Silence.

She lowered her sword completely now.

And for the first time since they began—

She didn’t seem ready to attack again.

She seemed... confused.

She placed her hand on her chest, without fully realizing the gesture.

There was something there.

A different sensation.

It wasn’t pain.

It wasn’t uncontrolled energy.

It was... something else.

Lighter.

Warmer.

And strangely... uncomfortable.

"...what is this?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

Vergil looked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Freyja frowned slightly, still touching her chest, as if it were growing inside her without permission.

"...this wasn’t here before," she said.

He observed for another second.

"...it was," he replied.

She looked up.

"You just didn’t notice."

She blinked.

"...is this part of the energy?"

"Also."

She remained silent.

Trying to understand.

But unable to fit it into anything she knew.

"...it’s irritating," she murmured.

Vergil let out a small chuckle through his nose.

"It’ll get worse."

She grimaced slightly.

"...great."

Silence again.

But different now.

Less tense.

Freyja looked at the sword.

Then at her hands.

Then at him.

"...so I need to use everything at once," she said.

"Yes."

She took a deep breath.

Adjusted her posture.

Her wings moved slightly behind her.

And this time—

When the energy surged—

It didn’t come separately.

Not completely.

Still unstable.

Still confused.

But...mixed.

She advanced again.

Slower.

More carefully.

Vergil didn’t move immediately.

The sword came.

He dodged.

But this time—

He stopped.

For a brief instant.

Almost imperceptible.

Freyja noticed.

Her eyes gleamed.

"...I got closer," she said, almost surprised.

Vergil nodded slightly.

"Yes."

She gripped the sword again.

And, even without fully understanding—

She smiled.

A little embarrassed.

A little excited.

And with that strange feeling still there in her chest—

Growing slowly.

...

The hall of Asgard was silent.

Not the comfortable silence of an empty place, but that heavy, oppressive kind that seems to press down on the air and make even breathing difficult. The golden columns, the tall stained-glass windows, and the constant light that normally conveyed grandeur now only served to highlight the emptiness forming in the center of that space.

At the top, Odin stood.

Not seated on the throne.

Standing.

Which, in itself, was already a problem.

His presence filled the hall in an oppressive way, not because of the volume of energy released, but because of absolute control. Every tiny movement seemed calculated, restrained, as if any variation were a deliberate choice.

In front of him—

Thor.

And Heimdall.

Both silent.

Neither dared to interrupt.

"...you’re kidding me."

Odin’s voice came out low.

But not weak.

It was too controlled.

Thor slightly clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. Heimdall, on the other hand, remained completely still, as always, but there was tension there, however minimal.

Odin stepped down a step.

Slowly.

"Repeat it," he said, without raising his voice. "I want to hear it again."

Thor took a deep breath.

"Freyja was...," he began, choosing his words with unusual care for someone like him. "The Plan didn’t go as we anticipated. It wasn’t a fair confrontation... they were much stronger and—"

"She died?" Odin interrupted.

Directly.

Thor froze for a second.

"...yes."

Silence returned.

Heavier.

Denser.

Odin tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to fit that information into something that simply didn’t make sense to him.

"Dead," he repeated, almost as if testing the word. "They were far stronger."

One more step forward.

"You let Freyja die."

It wasn’t a question.

It was a conclusion.

Thor opened his mouth to respond.

But there was no answer that could correct that.

Heimdall spoke.

"There wasn’t enough time for a coordinated response," he said, in his usual neutral voice. "Vergil and Sapphire were... far stronger than our information indicated... Thor was teleported to Helheim while we were fighting."

Odin turned his face slowly toward him.

"And that should reassure me?"

Heimdall didn’t answer.

Because there was no right answer.

Odin looked back at the two of them.

"...you know what she was," he said, now a little shorter, but no less heavy. "Not just a Valkyrie. Not just a goddess." He stopped.

And for the first time—

There was something beyond control in his expression.

Irritation.

"...and yet, you tell me she was ’Dead’?" Odin’s face was so serious that Thor and Heimdall trembled.

Odin closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, "She’s alive," he concluded after checking. "But she disconnected from our Pantheon, there are no more records of her... she was reincarnated as a demon, probably."