Baldur Odinson:The light of Asgard

Chapter 21: The Last Guardian of the Battlefield

The battlefield was silent once more.

Baldur stood among the ruins, his breath steady but his body aching. The golden light surrounding him flickered like embers in the aftermath of battle. The remnants of the fallen warriors had faded, their spectral forms dissolving into the cosmic wind.

But one remained.

A single warrior, standing tall and unbroken amidst the ruins of a war that had long since ended.

He was different from the others. His armor was untouched by decay, his form entirely solid, as though time had no hold over him. His weapon—a massive glaive of shimmering white energy—was held at his side, its edge gleaming with an unnatural light.

Baldur wiped blood from his chin and grinned.

"You let them test me first," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Smart."

The warrior didn't speak.

His gaze was unreadable, cold, yet not cruel. He was assessing, weighing, deciding something.

Then, finally, he raised his weapon.

Baldur's grin widened.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

They moved at the same time.

Baldur exploded forward, golden energy burning around him like a comet, the sheer force of his acceleration shattering the ground beneath him.

The warrior was just as fast.

Their weapons met in a flash of pure energy—

Light against Light.

The force of the impact rippled outward, sending shockwaves through the ruins. Entire structures collapsed under the pressure, the shattered remains of a once-great civilization reduced to cosmic dust.

But neither warrior yielded.

Baldur twisted mid-air, shifting his energy into a hard-light spear, a technique that had always worked against lesser opponents.

He aimed directly for the warrior's center mass, a strike that should have ended the fight instantly.

The warrior caught it.

Not blocked. Caught.

Baldur barely had time to react before the warrior pivoted with inhuman precision, using his momentum against him. A second later—

CRACK.

Baldur slammed into the ground, his ribs burning from the impact.

He coughed, rolling onto his feet.

Then he laughed.

"Okay," he muttered, stretching his neck. "That was actually impressive."

The warrior watched him. Studying.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he raised his glaive once more.

Baldur exhaled, golden energy flaring at his fingertips.

"Alright, old man," he said. "Let's go again."

This wasn't like the battles he'd fought before.

His enemies in the past had relied on raw power, overwhelming strength, speed.

But this warrior?

He was different.

He never wasted movement. He never attacked without purpose.

Every strike was deliberate. Precise. Efficient.

Baldur recognized it almost immediately.

This warrior wasn't just fighting to win.

He was fighting to teach.

Not by words. Not by instruction.

By force.

Every counter, every block, every perfectly timed maneuver—it was a message.

You're too aggressive.

You move without thought.

You waste your power.

Baldur gritted his teeth.

Fine.

If this was a test—then he'd pass.

Baldur changed his approach.

He stopped relying on his speed alone.

He stopped using big, flashy attacks.

He shrunk his movements, minimizing wasted energy.

And the moment he did—

The fight changed.

The warrior's stance shifted, his expression flickering with something close to approval.

Baldur moved differently now.

Instead of charging forward recklessly, he watched.

Instead of attacking first, he waited.

The warrior lunged.

Baldur didn't dodge outright.

He sidestepped at the last possible second, his golden energy flickering—

And for the first time, he countered perfectly.

His blade sliced across the warrior's side, a clean, precise strike.

The warrior staggered back.

Baldur's breath came slow and measured.

The fight was shifting.

And they both knew it.

The battle slowed.

Not because they were weaker.

But because they understood.

Baldur moved with purpose now. His attacks weren't wasted. His energy wasn't uncontrolled.

He wasn't just fighting.

He was learning.

The warrior stepped back, lowering his weapon slightly. His expression was still unreadable.

Then, without a word, he took his glaive—and stabbed it into the ground.

The fight was over.

Baldur wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breathing heavy. "That's it?"

The warrior watched him for a long moment. Then, for the first time, he smiled.

"You have learned."

Baldur raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And what exactly did I learn?"

The warrior turned, gesturing toward the battlefield around them.

"This was the final stand of an army that once protected the fabric of the cosmos," he said. "We did not fall because we were weak. We fell because we could not evolve."

His gaze locked onto Baldur's.

"You can."

Baldur felt something shift inside him.

It wasn't just about getting stronger.

It was about adapting. Learning. Becoming something more.

He clenched his fists, golden energy pulsing around him.

He felt different.

Not stronger.

More complete.

Baldur exhaled, looking at the warrior. "So what now? You going to vanish into the wind?"

The warrior chuckled.

And then, before Baldur could say another word—

He was gone.

Baldur stood alone in the ruins of the battlefield.

The silence was absolute.

No whispers of the fallen. No lingering energy.

Just him.

He took a deep breath, flexing his fingers.

His power hadn't changed.

But he had.

He knew how to fight now. Not just with instinct, not just with speed and power.

But with purpose.

His eyes turned upward, toward the stars.

He had learned something valuable here.

But this was only the beginning.

His next destination?

A world of criminals, bounty hunters, and outcasts.

The Black Market of the Cosmos.

Baldur's golden light flared.

Then, in an instant, he was gone.

The next trial awaited.