S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reaction was faster than expected.
The afternoon of the day after Artoria and Minerva arrived at this town on the edge of the desert, Phil Coulson's hologram appeared silently in their motel room.
In the image, he was still wearing that crisp suit, his smile professional and subtle, but those eyes, which were always calm, were now flickering with clear, unmistakable inquiry.
"Ms. Artoria, good day. Upon learning of your arrival in New Mexico, the Director believes this is a rare opportunity."
Coulson's voice came through the encrypted channel, clear and direct, "You possess insights into extraordinary phenomena and extraterrestrial civilizations that are beyond our reach."
"Our current research in Puente Antiguo has encountered some... obstacles that exceed conventional scientific frameworks."
"I wonder if you would be willing to visit our temporary research station as a consultant and provide some judgments after on-site observation? Of course, this fully respects your personal wishes and itinerary."
The invitation was straightforward, yet it left room for maneuver.
Artoria had intended to observe it up close anyway; S.H.I.E.L.D.'s olive branch came at just the right time.
"Certainly, Agent Coulson," she nodded in agreement, "See you in an hour."
Without complex preparations, one hour later, the rented ordinary SUV drove past the last cordon set by S.H.I.E.L.D. in the desert.
The dry wind rolled sand against the car windows.
In the distance, a crude camp composed of temporary prefabricated houses, communication antennas, various engineering vehicles, and instruments came into view, surrounding a clearly isolated area at its center.
The air was filled with more than just the scent of sand and soil.
As they neared the core of the camp, an indescribable "presence," a mixture of heaviness, antiquity, and majesty, became increasingly clear.
It was not a sound or a scent, but more like a "pressure" that acted directly on the level of perception, causing one's heartbeat to unconsciously slow down and one's spirit to subconsciously focus.
Artoria knew that this was mjolnir, the rule-based radiation naturally emitted by the mjolnir.
Coulson and Natasha Romanoff were already waiting in the shadow of the main research vehicle.
Coulson was as thoughtful as ever, while Natasha leaned against the car door, her red hair like a cluster of quiet flames under the scorching sun.
Her gaze swept over Artoria and Minerva as they got out of the car, lingering on Minerva for a slightly longer moment before moving away, a hint of an inscrutable arc playing on the corners of her mouth.
"Welcome, you two," Coulson stepped forward, without unnecessary pleasantries, "The situation is a bit special, please follow me."
He led the two through the neatly arranged array of instruments and tense-looking Agents, toward the core area surrounded by a double cordon.
As they approached, the pressure originating from the "hammer" intensified layer by layer.
It was not violent; on the contrary, it was abnormally quiet, like a mountain sitting still, like a deep sea abyss, merely by its own "existence," it redefined the rules of the surrounding space.
And then, Artoria saw it.
The Mjolnir, Mjolnir.
It just sat there quietly, almost casually "stuck" in the ground mixed with yellow sand and gravel, half of the hammer body submerged in the soil and stone.
The exposed part presented a dark metallic gray that had been tempered by countless years and the baptism of war, without any luster, even a bit rough.
The design was simple, without any luxurious decoration; rather than a divine artifact that shook the Nine Realms, it looked more like an unfinished embryo forged by some ancient blacksmith.
However, anyone with even a slight spiritual sense would not mistake the soul-trembling essence contained beneath its ordinary appearance.
With it as the center, the air and light within a radius of dozens of meters appeared subtly distorted.
The sand and dust seemed to be pushed away by an invisible barrier, forming an eerie "clean" zone.
Several of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced detection instruments were buzzing futilely more than ten meters away, but the data streams refreshing like a waterfall on the screens could never reach that core mystery.
And on the other side of the isolation zone, in a newly built observation shed with one-way glass, Artoria saw the other key to this trip—Thor.
He had changed out of the inappropriate hospital gown he wore when they first met, and was now wearing a dark gray training suit provided by S.H.I.E.L.D.
His tall body was curled up on a simple folding chair, his long golden hair having lost its former luster, hanging somewhat messily over his shoulders.
His hands were tightly clasped on his knees, his blue eyes staring unblinkingly at the mjolnir not far away.
The look in his eyes was complex enough to be heartbreaking—anger, unwillingness, deep frustration, and a kind of bewilderment and confusion that even he perhaps did not fully understand, like a giant beast that had lost its claws and fangs.
Two fully armed, cold-looking Agents stood like statues to his left and right behind him, their vigilance far outweighing any protection.
"As you can see," Coulson lowered his voice, his tone grave, "the target object cannot be moved by any known physical means, and the energy field around it presents a stable but unparsable topological structure."
"And Mr. Thor insists that he is connected to it, and shows a strong... sense of belonging, but he also cannot shake it in the slightest."
"The information we have obtained is limited and carries a strong... non-scientific narrative color."
He looked at Artoria, his intention clear: Can you provide more explicit guidance on the "extraterrestrial advanced civilization" you hinted at earlier?
Artoria did not answer Coulson immediately.
Her gaze moved slowly between the mjolnir and Thor.
In the field of spiritual perception, the Asgardian divine power within Thor, which should have been burning like a star and illuminating the universe, was now completely locked by a supreme, complex, and stern golden seal, dim as a candle in the wind.
And that hammer was like a silent lighthouse, or a solemn examination paper, standing quietly at the intersection of fate, waiting for the only qualified answerer.
"May I observe it from closer?" Artoria asked, her voice calm.
Coulson and Natasha exchanged a look.
"Please be cautious, do not attempt any form of physical contact," Coulson nodded in agreement, while Natasha turned slightly, almost imperceptibly, adjusting to a posture more conducive to dealing with emergencies.
Artoria signaled for Minerva to stay put.
Minerva's optical sensor's blue light was steady, flickering slightly to indicate understanding.
She walked forward alone, slowly, crossing the last safety line set by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s instruments, and stepped into the "clean" zone covered by the invisible force field.
With every step she took, the sand and stone under her feet seemed to convey an unusual sense of solidity.
As the distance closed to five meters, four meters, three meters... the rule-based pressure originating from the mjolnir did not increase linearly, but like mercury pouring to the ground, it permeated in every possible way.
It did not suppress the body, but rather seemed to act directly on the depths of the soul, interrogating the "weight" of the essence of existence.
It was at this distance that Artoria stopped.
She could even "smell" a faint, desolate, and majestic aura in the air—that was the eternal scar left in the rules of this place by the supreme power and will of the All-Father Odin when he cast the spell.
She stood quietly, her emerald eyes clearly reflecting the ancient war hammer.
Without mobilizing magic, without extending spiritual power, she simply opened her heart, using the purest "spirit" to feel and touch this "concept" from the divine realm.
The violence of thunder, the sharpness of conquest, the ancient oath of guarding the Nine Realms for thousands of years, and at the very core, the stern laws regarding "Kings," "sacrifice," and "qualification"... the torrent of information coming one after another seemed to awaken from the hammer body, showing her the tip of the iceberg.
At the same time, deep within her body, that spiritual essence of Artoria Pendragon, the Knight King, which originated from the "role-playing" system and was rooted in her soul, seemed to be drawn by some kind of synchronous frequency and began to vibrate slightly on its own.
It was not the surge of power, but the resonance of "concepts"—the determination to sacrifice for ideals, the awareness to bear everything for the people, the heaviness and nobility of practicing the King's path with a mortal body...
This "King" mark and "guardian" belief branded in the epic of another World, its core, actually produced a subtle and profound resonance with certain definitions of "worthy" in Odin's spell.
A thought flashed through her mind like lightning: With this spiritual essence of the "Knight King," she might... actually meet the "qualification" set by Odin?
This realization startled even her, and immediately, a strong sense of absurdity and resistance surged up.
No, this was impossible, and it shouldn't be.
Who was she? An ordinary college student transmigrator who had luckily encountered a chance, a traveler relying on the system to survive in the cracks between Worlds.
Artoria's power and destiny were borrowed "costumes."
Even though she had worn them for a long time and had insights in her heart, she had never regarded herself as a true "King."
Lift Mjolnir? Bear the thunder authority and guardianship duties of Asgard? This was absolutely not her path, nor was it her wish.
However, just as her thoughts fluctuated, and that "King" demeanor within her leaked out a trace due to the agitation of her thoughts—
Hum.
The Mjolnir, that hammer body that had been silent for eons, "trembled" imperceptibly for a moment.
It was not a physical displacement, but on the "rule" level of its existence, a ripple that only those with perception beyond the mundane could capture spread out.
The heavy pressure did not increase, but instead seemed to... "recognize" her, conveying a hint of an indescribable, almost "confirming" and "waiting" obscure thought.
Immediately after, without warning, a "gaze" whose vastness could not be described and whose antiquity could not be measured descended out of thin air.
This "gaze" did not come from the hammer, but from an unspeakable, extremely high place, piercing through layers of dimensional barriers, ignoring the barriers of time and space, and landing precisely on Artoria... and the "King" spiritual base deeply rooted in her soul that had been triggered.
Odin.
The All-Father.
There was no form, no sound, only the "will" and "existence" that were pure to the extreme.
Merely by being "seen," Artoria felt that everything around her—the desert, the camp, the crowd, and even the time in her hands—suddenly went far away and faded, as if she herself was standing alone in a sea of stars of absolute nothingness, with no roots under her feet and infinity above her head.
That gaze carried a depth that could see through the ages, examining and measuring, its "weight" enough to make stars collapse and gods bow their heads.
Artoria's breathing stopped at that moment, her soul feeling as if it were exposed between absolute zero and the core of a star.
But she did not retreat, nor did she panic.
The strangeness of transmigration, the unpredictability of the system, the experiences of many Worlds, the bond of life and death with Minerva, and even the persistence for peace and bonds that belonged to "Artoria" deep in her heart... all of this forged a heart that had been tempered but had not lost its original self.
She forced herself to stabilize her spiritual platform, gather her will, not to resist, but to calmly and peacefully "look back" at the source of that gaze.
At the same time, she used that trace of "King" demeanor that was leaking out as a bridge to transmit a clear thought, the intention was pure, without mixed thoughts:
"I am a traveler from outside the realms, passing by this place by chance. This hammer is sacred, this child is extraordinary, this is your family affair."
"I have no intention of coveting the authority of Asgard, nor do I have the heart to interfere with the God King's trial."
"However, I have a predestined meeting with this child and see his confusion. If he is walking on a wrong path, I am willing to provide some guidance as an observer and a friend, without violating moral principles."
"This body stands in this World, and there are also people and lands I wish to protect. I only seek peace and for each to follow their own path."
The thought was transmitted, silently, yet as heavy as an oath.
That vast "gaze" remained as quiet as the eternal starry sky throughout the entire process of her transmitting her thoughts.
Time seemed to be stretched, or it seemed that only a moment had passed.
Finally, the examination and inquiry contained in that gaze, which were enough to freeze the soul, slowly melted and receded like snow under the sun.
Replacing it was a more complex, indescribable meaning—perhaps it recognized her "essence" and "stance," perhaps it was a filing of her "strange existence," or perhaps, it was simply receiving the information and not commenting for the time being.
Immediately, as abruptly as it came, that "gaze" that enveloped everything quietly retracted and dissipated into nothingness.
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