Chapter 152: Olaf: Absolute Power

After landing, Olaf waited for half a minute, but no next challenger appeared.

This was only natural. Putting aside the fact that after Jax set the precedent, no one present dared to underestimate the two of them lightly, the question remained: who should step up?

Thor had suffered a defeat, and a miserably crushing one at that. Moreover, this was not a standard arena environment, and Odin was watching from the stands. If someone stepped down into the ring and happened to win, it would be even more awkward than losing. What position would the victor leave Thor in? And if they lost, the trouble would be substantial as well—two matches, two defeats, and Asgard would lose every shred of its prestige.

Asgard certainly valued martial prowess, but its people were not entirely fools. This was precisely why Olaf was left standing alone in the center of the arena.

Glancing around at the Asgardian audience, Olaf felt a slight loss for words.

It was not that he was disappointed about potentially missing the chance to stretch his limbs; rather, he was thinking that if there were no opponents, Odin’s promised double loan might vanish into thin air. That would be a considerable loss.

Inside the arena tunnel, Sif was hurriedly straightening her equipment, having just been dragged over by Volstagg.

Volstagg had reasoned that under such circumstances, only Sif was truly suited to take the field.

First of all, Sif was currently Asgard’s strongest warrior among her generation, even including Thor in that calculation; every time Thor managed to suppress Sif, it was entirely due to relying on Mjolnir in his hand.

Furthermore, Sif was widely regarded as the future queen. Thus, even if she won, the negative consequences of victory could be averted. Although it might deal a slight blow to Thor's pride, as long as they married in the future, that pride would naturally be recovered.

This was a sound idea and currently one of the better choices.

However, another god in the arena—one far too excited to remain still—was not about to let Volstagg and the others have their way.

*Whoosh! This is an opportunity to overtake on a curve. As long as I seize it and win back the face Thor lost, my chances of ascending to the throne will become even greater!*

Loki kept psyching himself up, temporarily casting the possibility of defeat to the back of his mind.

With a hint of regret, Olaf slotted his axe back behind his back and shuffled toward the edge of the ring, his hopeful gaze sweeping across the stands and the other tunnels, wishing that someone might finally show up in the nick of time.

Beneath the stands, Heimdall silently picked up the Bifrost sword and adjusted his golden armor.

He had already prepared himself to step into the ring and shoulder the blame.

Asgard could not possibly have no one to field. Asgard's current situation was far too awkward, and every choice was worse than the last.

Still, as a seasoned veteran and long-time guardian of Asgard, as well as an elder to Thor, he figured he would fare somewhat better than an ordinary Asgardian warrior if he entered the arena.

Just as Sif and Heimdall were preparing to step forward, a figure emerged from each of the tunnels.

"Asgard, the God of Mischief, Loki."

Countless phantom duplicates of Loki spoke in unison, their voices merging into a low, buzzing resonance. This was the method Loki had devised.

Loki figured that Olaf’s weapon was somewhat similar to Thor’s, meaning he was likely another muscle-headed brute just like Thor; therefore, the tactics used to deal with Thor should work just as well against Olaf.

Olaf stared fixedly at one of the phantoms, his mouth slowly opening into a wide grin.

Loki felt an inexplicable sense of wrongness. How could this guy spot his true body at a single glance?

*No, no, no. It must be a coincidence, a mere coincidence.*

Thinking this, Loki swapped positions with one of his illusions.

"Earth, Clock Tower, Berserker, Olaf."

While smiling, Olaf followed protocol and announced his identity.

The arena battle commenced!

*Swish!* With a single sweep of Olaf’s right hand, Loki only saw an afterimage trace through the air before he felt a shadow carrying a violent gale howling right past his ear.

Olaf maintained his throwing posture, a fan-shaped web of fractures extending directly from his feet to the edge of the arena.

Meanwhile, embedded deep in the arena wall was an axe glowing with a crimson light.

Right beside the axe, Loki stood frozen like a wooden statue, his head turning mechanically with a rhythmic, rusty *clack-clack*.

Seeing the thoroughly ruined wall behind him, cold sweat instantly poured down his spine. The arena's structural materials had been reinforced countless times, yet it had been battered to this extent.

If that axe had landed on him, he would have been split cleanly in two. Fortunately, Olaf had missed!

Olaf simply smiled and said nothing. The probability of him missing a throw was roughly the same as the probability of Thor suddenly going berserk and beating up Jax.

*Swish, swish, swish!*

Still lingering with fear, Loki began frantically shifting his positions, painting a circle of afterimages across the arena.

*Undertow Throw!*

The giant axe embedded in the wall flew back into Olaf’s hand, and together with his other giant axe, it was hurled outward.

One axe flew to the left, the other to the right.

The churned-up dust transformed into two howling storms that instantly engulfed Loki and all of his illusions.

Up in the stands, Jax frowned slightly. Olaf was laying it on a bit too heavy.

*Stance Ejection! Random Teleportation!*

Loki exhausted every trick in his arsenal to barely dodge this wave of attacks.

The moment the twin axes returned to Olaf's hands, Loki struck preemptively, unleashing *Gravity Crush*, *Debilitating Weakness*, and *Dampen Resolve*, hurling one negative spell after another onto Olaf.

Following that, Loki pushed his hands forward, and two jagged icicles erupted from the ground, surging toward Olaf.

*Ragnarok!*

Odin’s mind began frantically sounding alarm bells. Down below, Olaf suddenly seemed to have transformed into the natural predator of their Asgardian divine race.

Growing visibly larger by more than a full circle, Olaf channeled the raging fire and lightning born from the elemental riot, while the negative spells cast by Loki instantly shattered and dissolved without leaving a trace.

*Reckless Swing!*

Olaf leaped high into the air, bringing his twin axes down directly along the path of the oncoming icicles.

A mountain-splitting, sea-overturning colossal force swept forward, wreathed in lightning, carving a path straight up the icicles and reducing everything in its middle to powder.

Paralyzed and suppressed by the sheer terror of his natural predator, Loki could only watch helplessly as the shockwave of that terrifying power lashed against his body, sending him crashing into the wall.

Olaf smacked his lips thoughtfully. Why did this Loki’s divinity feel somewhat different from that of the surrounding Asgardian deities? Was he an adopted child?

*Cough!* Loki staggered to his feet, raising his right hand in preparation to surrender. He genuinely felt that the person before him intended to kill him; that bone-chilling sense of crisis made the back of his neck prickle with pain.

However, halfway up, the injury on Loki’s shoulder caused his arm to drop back down. In a continuous motion, this action no longer looked like a surrender, but rather a signal for the battle to continue!

Olaf’s eyes lit up. *Oh, look at that! Even now, he's asking for an active offensive?! The Asgardians' fighting spirit isn't bad at all! In that case, I won't hold back either!*

*Vicious Strike! Reckless Swing!*

Waves of kinetic axe-qi danced wildly through the arena, batting Loki toward the east, and before he could even hit the ground, swatting him back toward the west.

Rest assured, however, Olaf’s control over his own strength was still remarkably precise. He definitely wouldn't kill Loki; at worst, it would just keep him bedridden for ten days or half a month.

Once Loki fell completely unconscious, Olaf brought his movements to a halt. Since the opponent was already knocked out, continuing to beat him would no longer be a fair match, but rather sheer sadism.

Sweating slightly, Olaf's body returned to its normal size. He looked up toward the surrounding spectator stands and then awkwardly scratched his head.

He had gotten a bit too carried away with the fight just now; the spectators in the stands looked as though a wave of Asgardians had fainted en masse. The deterrent effect of *Ragnarok* had worked a little too well on these divine beings.

Hastily scooping up the unconscious Loki, Olaf leaped back to where Jax stood.

Fortunately, the people here possessed formidable strength; Odin, Frigga, and the others merely felt slightly unwell and showed no signs of fainting.

Taking her second son from Olaf’s hands, Frigga wore an exceptionally foul expression, her face set in a permanent scowl.

Had Odin not forbidden her from entering the arena due to the vast disparity in their status, she would have let these people witness the true power of Asgard's premier sorceress.

To engage in a friendly competition and yet strike harder than the last—what was the meaning of this?!

"Let us call it a day," Odin said, standing up. His face bore neither joy nor anger, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking.

"Prepare a container; we do not offer delivery services," Odin said coldly as he passed by Jax.

Jax offered an awkward smile. At a time like this, it was best not to talk back against such petty intimidation. Sometimes, a flawless victory simply made people too easy to resent.