The Eternal Realm, Palace of Light.
Karsa sat upon his throne clad in golden armor, his crimson eyes gazing down at the twelve Gold Saints kneeling before him.
A faint sense of accomplishment stirred within him.
These twelve were the elite core of his faction, tasked with managing every middle and lower-ranking member of Valhalla.
So long as they remained steady, Karsa could control the entirety of the Divine Realm even from afar.
Yet, he felt no true interest in this power struggle.
He had joined the “Trial of the King” solely because he did not wish to defy his father’s will.
A nagging question persisted, however: what was Odin’s true intention with this event?
Anyone with eyes could see that his brothers, Thor and Loki, were no match for him.
If Odin wanted him to lead, why not simply abdicate?
Why go through all this trouble?
Deciding the mystery would naturally resolve itself upon reaching Earth, he set the thought aside.
“Today I depart for the mortal realm.
During my absence, all affairs of the Palace are entrusted to Saga of Gemini.
Everyone else is to obey his commands implicitly!” “We obey your divine will!” the twelve, including Saga, bowed in unison.
Karsa nodded with satisfaction.
Every Saint was a peerless warrior capable of independent command.
Shaka of Virgo, in particular, had—like Karsa—attained the Eighth Sense, the Alaya-vijnana, granting him power on par with the gods themselves.
By rights, the leader should have been the wise Shaka, but Shaka preferred tranquility and solitude.
Karsa chose not to force him, opting for Gemini instead.
In terms of sheer combat power, Saga was second only to Shaka, rivaled only by Dohko of Libra.
Moreover, Saga possessed a rare gift for administration; he handled the mundane issues Karsa couldn’t be bothered with.
Over time, he had earned the title “The Incarnation of God”—a testament to both his power and his managerial prowess.
After finalizing the arrangements, he led his Saints to the Bifrost launch platform.
The gods were gathered in full pageantry.
Frigga, the Queen, stroked Karsa’s cheek, her eyes filled with maternal anxiety.
“When you reach Midgard, do not provoke needless conflicts.
Stay safe.
When you see Thor and Loki, give them my love.
Midgard is not the Divine Realm; take care of yourself.” Frigga went on and on.
Karsa listened with forced patience until Odin, appearing annoyed, finally signaled for her to stop.
When it was the All-Father’s turn to speak, he looked at his detached son and sighed.
He dismissed his attendants, leaving only Karsa in the vast chamber.
“You have known for a long time that you have an older sister, haven’t you?” Karsa glanced at his father with a look of mild surprise and gave a silent nod.
“I saw the frescoes beneath the palace walls when I was twelve.” Odin sighed again.
“Then you know why we were estranged.” Karsa tilted his head, waiting.
Odin did not mince words.
“I know you have no ambition for the throne, but your history of brutal conduct has often made me want to seal you away as well.
But you are my son.
I imprisoned Hela, and I do not wish to repeat that tragedy.” “As I have aged, my strength has failed me.
Hela’s seal has begun to stir.
The reason I insisted you participate in this trial—despite knowing your lack of interest—is to solve this problem once and for all.” Karsa’s eyes sharpened.
“You mean…” He made a cutting motion across his own throat.
“Execution?” Odin glared at him, whiskers bristling.
“She is my daughter!
Your sister!” Karsa remained impassive.
If you won’t let me kill her, what do you expect me to do?
Odin seemed to read his son’s mind, taking a deep, calming breath.
“Hela’s power is drawn from Asgard.
As long as she stands on this land, her strength will grow until it is unrivaled.
I spent my life failing to solve this threat, which is why I locked her away.
But your birth gave me hope.” The All-Father looked at Karsa with desperate expectation.
“Your power is the only thing that rivals hers.
More importantly, the ‘Cosmo’ you have developed has potential beyond even what you show now.
You are the only one who can handle her.” “Once you reach Midgard, I will lift the seal on Hela’s power.
I will allow her to join this ‘Trial of the King’ and give her a chance to compete for the throne.
Your task is to crush her—to show her how small her power truly is.” Karsa stood silent.
Fighting fire with fire?
“If I win this trial,” Karsa asked, “will you make me the ‘King of Gods’?” Odin smiled—a brilliant, genuine smile.
“My foolish child, with the influence you hold in Asgard, if you truly wanted to be King, who could possibly stop you?” “I simply do not think you are suited for the role, not that you are incapable of it.” Karsa was rendered speechless.
It was true.
With his twelve Gold Saints—two of whom were Eight Sense masters—he could suppress even an All-Father.
With the countless heroes of Valhalla at his beck and call, he could seize control of Asgard in an instant.
If his father truly wanted to stop him, he would have been stripping Karsa of his power, not holding a ‘Trial.’ The reality was clear: Odin did not oppose Karsa becoming King; he simply worried that his arrogant, aloof son lacked the temperament to rule with a delicate hand.
Yet, even if Karsa ruled poorly, Asgard would not suffer.
Karsa’s presence was a deterrent no one dared challenge.
Odin understood his son better than anyone.
He knew Karsa viewed power as a trivial toy, something easily attained but ultimately dull.
Karsa only accepted this trial because, deep down, his father’s opinion still held weight.
He chose to indulge his father, even if he found the entire game tiresome.
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