Bella didn't have a bad impression of Clint Barton.
Since arriving in this world, she had always preferred to judge people based on her own experiences, rather than memories of the fictional characters she once knew from another life.
Barton, once just a name and face from a movie, was now a living, breathing human being in front of her — someone with quirks, flaws, and real presence.
After a short period of contact, she could tell: Barton wasn't a man of many words, but he was reliable.
Steady in battle, sharp when it mattered, and occasionally, he even let slip a dry joke or two.
A good teammate.
A moment later, another figure climbed up from the pit below.
It was a middle-aged man in a neat black suit.
He had carefully trimmed black hair and a gentle, warm smile that immediately gave off an impression of trustworthiness — a man who could disarm a room simply by existing.
"Goddess of Judgment," he greeted cheerfully.
Bella tilted her head slightly.
"You can call me Saber," she said coolly.
There was no need for the title anymore.
The name "Goddess of Judgment" had been more of an accident than a choice — a label thrust upon her during battles she never intended to make public.
From now on, she would choose her own identity.
The man smiled even more warmly.
"Saber. You can call me Phil Coulson."
Phil Coulson.
As he spoke, he couldn't help but wonder about her chosen alias.
Saber — the sword-wielding knight, the vanguard cavalry — the name suggested strength, precision, and honor.
Fitting, he thought.
"Would you like to take a look?" Coulson asked, gesturing politely toward the center of the camp.
"You don't mind?" Bella asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Not at all," Coulson replied easily.
"To be honest, we haven't had much success with it. Maybe you'll see something we've missed."
There was no hidden meaning in his tone — he was being sincere.
They had been studying the hammer for days without uncovering a single meaningful clue.
Since the Goddess of Judgment — no, Saber — had clearly come for the hammer, perhaps she could shed some light on it.
Fury and Coulson both agreed: it was better to build bridges with powerful allies than to create enemies unnecessarily.
Tony Stark had reasoned the same way — which was why, despite S.H.I.E.L.D.'s usual protocols, no hidden trackers or sabotage devices had been installed in Bella's custom motorcycle or her firearms.
If it had been anyone else, they would've been tagged like a zoo animal.
But not her.
Bella herself understood it perfectly.
Right now, she was still flying under the radar — her real focus was gaining strength, leveling up through the elimination of gangsters, dark creatures, and whatever else crossed her path.
Saving people had mostly been incidental — like the time on the Manhattan Bridge.
If it hadn't been for the truckload of children, she probably wouldn't have intervened at all.
Same with the dark mist incident.
And thus, unknowingly, she had gained the public image of a righteous vigilante.
She didn't mind.
S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury, Tony — all these powers could dance their political games.
As long as they didn't get in her way, she couldn't care less.
Since Coulson was offering goodwill, Bella decided to accept it.
Gracefully dismounting from her motorcycle, she fell into step beside Coulson and Barton as they made their way deeper into the encampment.
They passed through layers of iron fencing, moving through guarded checkpoints and rotating corridors.
Finally, they arrived at the heart of the site: a temporary building made of reinforced white plastic sheeting, built around the object of all this fuss.
The hammer.
Even from a distance, Bella could feel the overwhelming energy radiating from it.
Inside the makeshift structure, a metal elevated platform had been built around the hammer, with several technicians in white protective suits bustling around it, scanning and prodding with various instruments.
Nothing was laid down within a few meters of the hammer itself — it remained untouched, sitting where it had fallen, embedded deeply in the earth.
As they approached, Phil Coulson gave a quick summary of the events surrounding its arrival — a sudden impact, massive readings of unknown energy, failed attempts to retrieve it.
Bella listened with half an ear.
Her attention was fully on the hammer.
As Coulson finished speaking, he signaled for the inspectors to step back and clear the area.
Barton watched quietly, arms crossed, eyes curious.
Bella hesitated briefly at the edge of the platform.
Then, stepping forward, she reached out.
She placed her palm gently on the handle of the hammer.
Huuuh~
She let out a slow exhale, allowing her magic to flow naturally from her hand.
Golden ripples spread out across the hammer's surface, shimmering faintly in the dim lighting.
For a few seconds, it looked as if the golden waves were analyzing the hammer, trying to read its essence.
Then — nothing.
The light faded.
Bella withdrew her hand, her expression wry.
Exactly as she had suspected.
Mjolnir — the hammer — was protected by the divine power of Odin himself.
Her magic could not penetrate it.
She couldn't even scratch its surface, let alone uncover its secrets.
As for lifting it?
She tried — gently at first, then applying more strength.
The hammer didn't budge an inch.
It didn't even tremble.
Bella sighed inwardly.
She wasn't naive enough to believe she could brute-force it.
Mjolnir had been forged from the heart of a dying star.
Its handle was crafted from the sacred World Tree itself.
If she recklessly poured force into it, she risked drawing Odin's attention — and she had no desire to test the patience of a being classified as a Godfather-level threat.
Bella turned away without regret.
Some things, she thought, would come in their own time.
From the elevated platform, Phil Coulson watched her closely.
Seeing that Bella had apparently given up, he shrugged with a friendly smile.
"No luck?" he asked.
Bella didn't answer directly.
Instead, she climbed the steps back to the platform, walking past Coulson and Barton without looking back.
She left behind only a single sentence:
"This hammer is called Mjolnir."
Her voice was calm, almost casual.
But the weight of her words crashed down like a thunderclap.
Phil Coulson and Barton exchanged stunned glances.
"Mjolnir?" Coulson echoed.
The name rang a loud, ominous bell in his memory.
Norse mythology.
The hammer of Thor.
The weapon of the God of Thunder.
If Bella — the Goddess of Judgment, Saber, whatever she chose to call herself — was telling the truth...
Then it meant Norse mythology wasn't fiction at all.
Or at least, not entirely.
And if Thor existed — if Mjolnir was real — then what about the rest?
Odin, the All-Father?
The Twelve Main Gods of Asgard?
The implications were staggering.
The Earth, by comparison, would be like an anthill facing a raging storm.
Even with all the advanced weaponry and superheroes humanity could muster, against true gods... resistance would be futile.
Phil Coulson's expression grew grim.
Barton's hand instinctively tightened on his bow.
After a moment's stunned silence, Coulson pulled out his communicator and called headquarters.
"Director Fury?"
"Coulson. What's the situation?" Fury's voice came through the earpiece.
Coulson took a breath.
"Sir, I'm afraid I have some very bad news to report."
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