Chapter 58: The Conspiracy of the Gods!

The night grew deeper.

Inside a room within the Lord's Manor, Duncan sat at the head of the table, with the Raven Queen, Thryth, and Anya seated on either side. Until London and the surrounding territories were retaken, Southampton would serve as his gubernatorial residence.

He truly disliked living in fortress-like castles.

Candlelight flickered.

On the left, Anya listened with rapt attention. When she heard about Duncan grabbing the head of the monstrous sea serpent and smashing it against the reefs, she felt as if she were right there in the moment, a charming, captivating flush spreading across her exquisite face. Anya was indeed prone to blushing all over, especially when deeply excited. Hearing Duncan recount his experiences in the Nordic regions set her heart racing, and she crossed her slender legs, rubbing them together ever so slightly.

The Raven Queen, Thryth, remained as quiet as a marble statue from ancient Greece. She was not surprised that Duncan could slay a sea monster; in her eyes, Duncan's strength was already very close to the heroes of ancient Greek legend.

However, upon hearing of the troll and the Mother of Monsters, Thryth finally changed her expression, a trace of lingering fear in her demeanor as she said, "Too risky!"

"That Mother of Monsters was clearly a primitive shamanic deity from the Dark Ages."

"After the Nordic pantheon gradually assimilated Germania and Scandinavia, many primitive religious deities perished or were absorbed by them."

The Norse gods had fought their way up as well; in the past, they had frequently eliminated and annexed the faiths of other deities.

That was not Duncan's focus. He produced a package from which a rich, bloody stench emanated and tossed it onto the floor. "This is what the banshee left behind."

Thryth opened it. Inside were the cervical vertebrae connected to the spine and a segment of a tail.

Anya let out an involuntary gasp, covering her small mouth with her hand to suppress a scream. She had certainly never looked upon anything so terrifying before, having previously lived the life of a pampered Roman noblewoman.

Thryth maintained a calm expression. She glanced at Anya, who immediately quieted down and lowered her hands. A wind of magic manifested in Thryth's palm as she closed her eyes and murmured, "This monster excelled at bewitching human minds. Its remains still retain a certain power."

"If crafted into a wondrous item, it could prove quite useful."

With that, Thryth stood up, picked up the banshee's cervical spine, and slowly spoke as if deep in thought, "From here to the spine, one could make a sword."

"Though it cannot be made too long, it can only be a one-handed sword."

"From here to here, one could make a whip. It would enhance the user's charm and domination abilities. With supernatural power assisting it, it could force enemies to submit to the user's will when lashed."

A banshee spine sword, and a banshee spine whip.

This was already the maximization of their utility.

Hearing this, Anya's eyes brightened. She cast a yearning look toward Duncan, her gaze lingering on the banshee's tail, clearly coveting the spine whip.

Her combat prowess was weak, but the spine whip could amplify her charm magic.

Duncan patted the back of her hand, conveying that even if she hadn't asked, he had intended to give it to her. Anya had rendered great service and richly deserved a reward.

"Time will likely be too tight," Thryth said with a solemn voice.

"Unless we can find the legendary dwarves, forging this will take a very long time."

"Avalon won't be able to help much either."

Speaking of Avalon shrouded in mist, Severus had gone to offer sacrifices at the stones of Avalon once more, preparing to urge them on and ask the Guardian Fairies whether that Sword of Promised Victory was finished yet.

When on earth would it be forged?

He was in a rush, extremely rushed. Duncan never took his own life seriously, frequently dancing on the edge of a blade.

From now on, he would go and ask every single day.

"No matter," Duncan shook his head.

The banshee spine sword would probably work well against monsters, though its effectiveness against humans was uncertain—yet it was certainly terrifying to behold.

At this thought, he slowly stood up. "That is not important."

"Actually, there is another item."

"Take a look for yourself!"

Duncan slowly opened his palm. His hand was completely empty, yet beneath Anya's shocked gaze, the Chalice of Blood materialized out of thin air, just like a treasure from myth and legend. This was her first time witnessing a wondrous item appear from nothingness.

Thryth stood up with an expression of agitation, murmuring, "The Chalice of Blood?!"

"You recognize it?"

Thryth had not expected Duncan to actually acquire such a legendary artifact. After a moment of contemplation, she said slowly, "This is the Chalice of the Devil."

"Legend says it is a treasure bestowed by Satan."

"But legends are unreliable. It is more like a treasure born alongside myth. What it looked like in the past is unknown, but as the Church introduced its holy relic—the Holy Grail—certain legendary items from the Dark Ages were transformed into a Chalice of Blood such as this."

Understood.

Once the Church had the Holy Grail, dark legends birthed the Chalice of Blood.

Most were held by the devils of the Church's descriptions, and some of those devils were deities of primitive religions.

The name of heresy, judging all things.

Thryth glanced at Duncan, then cast her gaze toward the curious Anya, and softly said, "The entities of the Norse pantheon have also been searching for the Holy Grail, because it is the only legendary artifact left behind by a deity who walked the mortal realm in recent eras, and the era is not far removed from our own."

"The Holy Grail?"

"Why are they searching for that?"

Thryth seemed to perceive Duncan's doubt and slowly shook her head. "I am not certain either."

"But it should be related to Valhalla."

"The myth of Ragnarok actually originated only a few centuries ago. When the gods of ancient Rome first encountered the Norse gods, the myth of Ragnarok did not exist."

"It was only after the rise of monotheism that rumors of Ragnarok began to appear."

Strictly speaking, the myth of Ragnarok was born in the first century AD, merely four hundred-odd years ago.

Around the time shortly after Jesus, the myth of Ragnarok took shape.

The Norse pantheon was also finding ways to ensure its survival. Odin traded his eye for wisdom; he could not fail to see the prophecies of the future, and his scheming rested upon Valhalla.

The concept of the Einherjar was the key to preventing the Norse pantheon from perishing!

Thryth glanced at the blood within the chalice, then her gaze fell once more upon Anya, before she slowly shook her head at Duncan, implying that Anya was utterly incapable of fusing with such a legendary wondrous item.

Within it lay relics of the Dark Ages; even she herself risked being corrupted.

Humanity in a matriarchal society had not yet formed established moral codes, and the concept of marriage had not even been born. To put it bluntly, it was driven by primitive reproductive desires, and not just anyone could digest the blood within the chalice.

Duncan waited for a moment. Seeing that Thryth did not seem to know that it could activate mythological resonance, he slowly spoke, "This item fell into my hands."

"And it seems to possess some rather special uses."

With that, Duncan detailed the mythological power he had acquired within the true illusion realm.

Anya listened with rapt fascination, imagining that if she were to encounter such a situation, she too would possess immense magical power.

A two-star blank card's unwarranted confidence.

Thryth's expression grew increasingly shocked. She stared at the blood within the chalice, harboring not an ounce of doubt regarding Duncan's words. After a moment of rumination, she said, "I fear it can only be utilized under extraordinary circumstances."

She understood Duncan's implication.

Duncan wanted to ask whether he could employ the power of the Chalice of Blood when facing Attila the Hun, the Scourge of God.

Thryth decisively vetoed the idea. "The blood within the chalice is far too scarce."

"It can sustain itself for at most a quarter of an hour."

"Furthermore, it cannot affect too many people. How to wield it must be studied with utmost care. It is merely a medium of the mythological era; the slightest carelessness could destroy this legendary artifact entirely."

She closed her eyes to sense it, then murmured, "Moreover, it is a legendary artifact birthed using the Holy Grail as a prototype."

"I fear that once activated, certain individuals within the Church will also be affected."

"The Hermetic Order possesses a Holy Grail as well."

"If the Chalice of Blood resonates with that forged Holy Grail, I know not what consequences might ensue."

In some myths of the Holy Grail from her past life, the person who ultimately found the grail entered directly into Heaven.

The ending sounded favorable, but the person was likely already dead.

Thryth's meaning was crystal clear: this thing was far too dangerous and best left unused unless absolutely necessary.

It was a double-edged sword!

Duncan nodded slightly, and the Chalice of Blood vanished from his palm.

He would keep it for now and perhaps ask Odin if he wanted it when the opportunity arose, seeing if he could trade it for a divine artifact. If someone truly drove him to desperation one day, he would simply ignite the Chalice of Blood and let everyone engage in mythological resonance with reality for a fierce battle!

Anya could be disregarded.

However, if Duncan and Thryth entered a mythological state, their combat power would be explosive!

This trinket could serve as a trump card to turn the tables.

The night was now late. Seeing that Thryth showed no signs of leaving anytime soon, Anya seemed to guess something, smiled seductively, and shed her long dress of her own accord, leaving behind only a thin silk nightgown. Thryth's gaze trembled slightly; their last attempt had not gone smoothly, and today Anya was here as well, which happened to allow Anya to guide her—perhaps some new progress could be made.

Duncan behaved exceptionally well at that moment, handing the initiative over to Anya. The esoteric techniques of Aphrodite's mystery cult were astonishing; all he had to do was lie back and stay firm.

The first rays of dawn gleamed.

Duncan had slept for only half the night, yet he woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and full of vigor, beginning his preparations at early dawn. Although he knew Attila the Hun would be defeated in this battle, he still needed to carefully deliberate on how to extract the maximum benefits.

Giving up was simply out of the question.

Though the war was perilous, historical battles with a guaranteed victory achieved by coasting were rare; opportunities had to be seized.

Having returned from the North, he had acquired two singular abilities: the troll had provided one point of legend rank, while the Mother of Monsters had provided four points. Evidently, the latter formed the core portion of the legend.

The harvest of legend rank did not necessarily depend entirely on raw strength; by comparison, human monarchs offered the highest cost-effectiveness.

Supernatural monsters ultimately remained outside mainstream society.

——[Regeneration (Singular Ability): Your wounds will slowly heal over time. You possess a regenerative ability far surpassing ordinary mortals; non-fatal injuries can be repaired, and severed limbs can regenerate over time.]

He had a lingering suspicion that the troll was not the one slain by Beowulf—perhaps it was killed by the King of Denmark, and the Mother of Monsters likely had more than one offspring.

Operating under the identity of the Mother of Monsters, she maintained her own legend and power. The ones who died were merely her progeny; she herself remained hidden, waiting for the chance to spawn another. As long as monsters continuously emerged, she, as the Mother of Monsters, would forever retain her legend.

This was merely Duncan's conjecture, devoid of concrete evidence.

Yet seeing how much Avalon in the mist cared about legend rank, one knew that for supernatural entities to maintain their existence, they could not merely hide away; they had to exert a certain influence upon reality.

The era at the twilight of myth was akin to a grand receding tide; all supernatural existences had to find ways to sustain their survival.

——[巨人之力（一星）【特异能力】：你的实力已经朝着传说中的巨人迈进，你可以突破半巨人的力量上限，随着时间一点一点获得接近真正巨人的恐怖怪力。]

——[Giant's Might (One-Star) [Singular Ability]: Your strength has marched toward the legendary giants. You can break through the strength ceiling of a half-giant, acquiring terrifying, monstrous strength approaching that of a true giant bit by bit over time.]

Last time he was a half-giant, and this time a true giant; this must be the further fusion and enhancement of similar abilities.

Duncan's current strength already stood at the absolute peak of mortal limits.

However, should he wish to elevate himself further, it became somewhat difficult, for he had to raise the ceiling for mortals. He had to prop up this heavenly vault before he could grow stronger still.

Yet in the twilight of the mythological era, the height of the ceiling was constantly declining. For him to prop it up might signify the return of the mythological era.

Even if he failed to achieve that, it might instigate events that would alter the entire world.

Duncan had always cared deeply about what Thryth had said: Why were the Norse pantheon searching for the Holy Grail? And what about Valhalla! And the Einherjar?!

Driven by causality, his mortal avatar had become "einherjar-ized."

If the Norse pantheon wished to avoid perishing in the future, they needed a legend—a substantive, reality-interfering power capable of influencing the operation of this world.

They certainly did not desire the death of myth, so they had most likely placed heavy stakes upon the Einherjar.

Duncan did not worship the Norse pantheon, yet his mortal avatar had undergone einherjar-ification.

What about everyone else?

Those legendary heroes, half-god, half-mortal existences, apostles bearing the name of holiness, and the like—would they, too, undergo einherjar-ification alongside them?

The Einherjar did not resemble legends; rather, they seemed integrated into the fundamental laws of this world.