“If this is really the Convergence of the Nine Realms, then the spatial rift should be right where I crossed in. As long as I retrace my path, I should be able to return to Earth.”

With that thought, Rowan’s worry eased.

A thunderous roar split the sky. The flame dragon, jets of fire blasting from its back, bellowed and lunged again.

The serpent beneath Rowan answered with a hiss, lashing its tail.

At the level of a High Lord, the serpent’s speed and strength were terrifying. Its tail cracked across the dragon’s head, carving a bloody groove.

But the beast’s hide, rough and jagged like volcanic rock, held firm.

Pain only enraged it further. Stabilizing itself midair, the dragon surged forward even faster.

“Foolish creature.”

Rowan’s patience was wearing thin. His thoughts had already turned toward Surtur and the Reality Stone.

The fire dragon was strong strong enough to clash with his serpent but hideous. Its form reminded Rowan of a grotesque, mutated lizard. He found it distasteful.

A sharp hum split the air.

One of Rowan’s SSS-grade flying blades shot forth, streaking like a comet straight for the dragon’s brow.

By now, Rowan’s mental mastery had reached the peak of High Warlord. The speed of his blade was blinding.

The dragon had never faced such an enemy. Caught unawares, it let out a strangled cry as the blade pierced its skull.

The weapon bored inside, spinning violently, shredding through flesh before bursting out the other side.

The dragon’s roar died in its throat. The fire faded from its eyes. Its massive body plummeted, crashing into the volcanic plains below.

From its wounds leaked not blood, but molten, semi-solid lava.

Deep beneath the Fire Realm.

On a throne of obsidian, Surtur stirred. His expression darkened in shock.

The fire dragon was dead.

The mortal who had stumbled here from Midgard was… this powerful?

Gripping Twilight, his colossal sword, Surtur’s gaze flickered with unease.

High above, Rowan stood on the serpent’s head, eyes narrowing at the scorched black-red earth below.

“Well, since I’ve already come to Muspelheim… I may as well pay Surtur a visit.”

In Thor: Ragnarok, Surtur had been crushed by Thor. That meant the fire giant must already be severely weakened likely not even at a planetary level anymore.

Rowan’s thoughts quickened.

Surtur was once the ruler of a realm, a being who had rivaled Odin in his prime. He might still be hiding treasures worth taking.

“Let’s go. I’ve got my vibranium armor and the Black God set. Even if I can’t win, I can escape.”

Decision made, Rowan smirked.

Coming all this way without robbing Surtur would feel like a waste.

“You stay in the air and don’t wander off,” he told the serpent.

With that, he dove.

As he fell, his armor flared to life, vibranium plating and Black God suit activating in unison.

Headlong, he plunged into the tunnel where the fire dragon had emerged.

Under his control, the 365 blades of the Dimensional Drill rearranged into a sharp spiral, boring easily through the molten rock.

Following the dragon’s trail, Rowan searched deeper.

Soon, his psychic sense brushed against an immense underground chamber.

Without hesitation, he rushed toward it.

Inside, Surtur’s face twisted in fury.

He had hesitated, uncertain whether to confront this Midgardian. But when the man barreled straight into his lair, all doubts vanished.

This was no accident. This was provocation.

Surtur rose from his throne, Twilight Sword in hand, his towering frame over ten meters tall shedding a faint, smoldering glow.

The ground trembled as Rowan burst from the rock in a shower of molten shards.

His drill reformed into a spinning weapon as he hovered in the chamber, eyes locking onto the giant across the hall.

The two stared at each other, the very air between them heavy with tension.

Rowan studied the figure: a massive yet gaunt body, crowned with horned blackened bone, his core aflame with dim red fire.

This was Surtur.

From surrounding caverns poured countless creatures dark humanoid demons, their skeletal cracks glowing with molten orange, horns jutting from their skulls, eyes burning like coals.

They shrieked at the intruder, their numbers in the thousands.

Rowan didn’t spare them a glance.

At best, they had the strength of common soldiers. No threat. And none of them could fly.

His eyes never left the fire giant.

“Surtur.”

Hovering in midair, Rowan guided his drill down until he floated a hundred meters away.

“Midgardian!” Surtur’s voice boomed, shaking the chamber. “Who dares to fly before the great Fire Giant?”

Rowan chuckled, amused at the giant’s arrogance despite his frailty.

Up close, Surtur looked even weaker than Rowan expected. Barely twelve meters tall, his frame skeletal, the fire within him dim and guttering. He radiated the twilight of death itself, a relic clinging to existence.

And still, he postured. No wonder Odin had crushed him so thoroughly.

“Come down, Midgardian!” Surtur barked. “Kneel before Surtur, the mighty!”

Rowan’s smirk deepened.

Surtur’s bluster only confirmed what his eyes saw weakness. The fire giant didn’t even dare to strike first, afraid to waste the last of his dwindling power.

“Pathetic.”

Rowan’s voice was cold.

In an instant, eight SSS-grade blades shot from his back, streaking through the air toward Surtur.

He hadn’t come here to talk.

Surtur might be weakened, but he was still ancient, and Rowan wasn’t about to give him the chance to reveal some hidden trick.

The giant’s eyes widened. He had expected an attack, but not this fast.

In the blink of an eye, the eight blades crossed a hundred meters, converging on his skull, chest, and limbs.

Panicked, Surtur raised Twilight, fire gathering to meet the strike.

Too slow.

The blades pierced his body as though through paper.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep