Such an Asgard truly had a reassuring sense of peace.
But this peace was built upon violence.
Asgard’s current peace was bought by Odin and Hela washing the Nine Realms in blood over thousands of years; every inch of land beneath its feet was soaked in the sweat of the conquerors and the blood of the conquered.
This peace was temporary, a fragile balance maintained by force; once cracks appeared in the power maintaining this balance, the peace would be easily pierced like a city wall made of paper.
And what Asat Pramad needed to do was give a gentle push on that crack.
He leaned against the rough trunk of a large tree, the dice slowly spinning, while his consciousness flew toward the deepest part of the Golden Palace.
A doomed-to-be-fruitless dialogue was taking place there; he could sense Hela’s aura and Odin’s aura colliding, confronting, suppressing, and resisting each other within that hall.
“It is starting again,” Asat Pramad said softly in his heart.
The perception of the Lord of Annihilation allowed him to capture the faint emotional fluctuations emanating from the Golden Palace, fluctuations carrying a complex entanglement of anger and restraint, impatience and endurance, ambition and concession.
Every argument between Hela and Odin was like chiseling a crack into a wall; the more times it was repeated, the deeper the crack would become, until at a certain moment, the entire wall would collapse with a crash.
Asat Pramad patiently waited for the arrival of that moment.
He was like an audience member sitting in a theater box, overlooking the actors on the stage acting out a drama whose script he had long been familiar with.
He knew what would happen next, knowing every turning point, every emotional outburst, and every word that might touch Hela’s inner heart.
But he would not intervene in advance.
Timing was a hunter’s lifeline; striking too early would alert the prey, while striking too late would miss the best opportunity.
He just needed to watch, wait, and then appear when he should appear, speak when he should speak, and give that final push when he should give that final push.
For the rest of the time, he wandered through the streets and alleys of the Realm of Gods, enjoying the rare sight of tranquility in Asgard.
This stroll of Asat Pramad’s lasted for a full month.
During this month, undercurrents surged beneath Asgard’s surface calm.
Hela and Odin had a fierce dispute almost every two or three days, a frequency far exceeding before, and each dispute was sharper and more unsparing than the last.
The locations where those disputes occurred were not fixed; sometimes it was in the main hall of the Golden Palace in front of various priests and generals, sometimes behind closed doors in the council chamber with only the father and daughter, and sometimes in a certain corridor, a certain garden, or even at a certain banquet.
But the result remained unchanged: parting on bad terms.
Asat Pramad watched all of those disputes as a spectator.
Sometimes he hid in the shadows of the pillars in the Golden Palace, sometimes he stood on the roof beams at the top of the council chamber, and sometimes he simply sat on a stone chair not far from the arguing parties, lazily enjoying this brewing father-daughter rupture.
The first argument was about the reinforcement of troops at the borders of the Nine Realms.
Odin advocated transferring some of the troops stationed in the conquered territories back to Asgard to strengthen the defense forces of the realm itself, reasoning that the Nine Realms had already submitted and there was no need to waste a large military force in areas that could no longer rebel.
Hela firmly opposed this, believing that any conquered territory harbored the possibility of rebellion, and withdrawing troops was equivalent to signaling to those nations not yet fully tamed that Asgard was weakening.
“Father, you are declaring to the Nine Realms that we are contracting our defense line!” Hela’s voice echoed in the main hall; she propped her sword on the ground, her hands folded and pressed upon the hilt in a tough posture.
“I am reasonably allocating resources,” Odin’s voice remained calm, but a faint anger could already be heard beneath that calmness.
“Do you not understand how great the logistical pressure of an army is?
Maintaining the existing garrison has already consumed one-third of the national treasury’s budget, and continuing to increase troops will only drag us down.”
“Budget?” Hela sneered, “Father, when have we ever cared about a budget?
When has Asgard’s treasury ever worried about income?
As long as we can continue our conquests, the spoils of war will naturally fill any deficit!”
“Is this your logic?
Using more wars to solve the problems left by the last war?” Odin gripped the Eternal Spear tightly, golden divine power faintly circulating along the spear shaft.
“Hela, war is not child’s play.
Every expedition causes us to lose soldiers, and Asgard’s population cannot withstand such endless consumption by you!”
“Population?” Hela’s smile became even sharper, “Father, you must have sat in the Golden Palace for too long.
It has been a long time since I heard you use such weak words as ‘population’ to discuss Asgard’s future.”
“Mind your words, Hela.” Odin’s voice dropped abruptly, a calmness more oppressive than a roar.
“I am your father, and also your king!”
“Of course I know.” Hela met Odin’s gaze without backing down, “Precisely because you are my father, I hope you can sober up a bit.”
This argument ended with Hela flicking her sleeves and leaving.
Asat Pramad stood on the roof beams of the hall, watching Hela’s figure stride away from the Golden Palace.
“More is still needed.”
The second argument was about the management of the newly conquered territories.
Asgard had captured several civilized Worlds located at the edge of the Nine Realms in recent campaigns; the population, resources, and strategic positions of those Worlds were quite valuable, but on the issue of how to manage them, the father and daughter once again developed serious differences.
Odin advocated adopting a mild assimilation strategy, granting those Worlds a certain degree of autonomy, and gradually incorporating them into Asgard’s civilization system to avoid rebellions instigated by oppression.
Hela advocated directly implementing military control, establishing a colonial government directly administered by Asgard, and using iron-fisted methods to ensure that all resources of those Worlds could be used by the realm of gods.
“If you are too good to them, they will think you are easy to bully!” Hela held her sword in her hand, the tip pointing to the ground, the dark green blade contrasting with the dark floor tiles.
“But if you treat them too poorly, they will resist to the death.” Odin’s voice was unhurried, but the sharp light shining from that single eye indicated that he was trying his best to suppress his anger.
“Hela, you have fought wars for so many years, do you still not understand that violence can win a moment, but benevolence can win an eternity?”
“Benevolence?” Hela let out a short sneer, “Father, back then, did you treat the Fire Giants of Muspelheim with benevolence?
When the nobles of Vanaheim knelt before you begging for mercy, did you ever show benevolence to them?”
“That was wartime.” Odin’s tone became even deeper, “The rules on the battlefield are different from the rules in peacetime; you know this distinction very well.”