“Peaceful times?” Hela repeated the word, like tasting a sour fruit.
“Father, do you think these are peaceful times?
You sit in the Golden Palace, looking at the star map of the Nine Realms and feeling that everything is under control, but I am telling you—just last month, an attack against an Asgardian trade post happened in Jotunheim!”
“That was just a small-scale riot.”
“A small-scale riot would spread to three cities within three days?” Hela’s sword lifted an inch, the dark green light flowing on the blade reflecting in her pupils.
“Father, you are old, and you can no longer see the situation clearly.”
This sentence was like a needle, precisely piercing Odin’s most sensitive defense line.
He was silent for a full three seconds, then spoke with a voice carrying a frozen-like coldness: “Hela, you had better take back those words.”
“I am speaking the truth.”
This argument ended when Odin heavily smashed the wine glass in his hand onto the stone table.
The gold-rimmed crystal cup shattered into countless pieces, and the dark red wine liquid spread across the white stone surface like a puddle of undried blood.
Hela stood in place and watched him for a moment, then turned and left, her pace unwavering.
Asat Pramad sat on the railing of the terrace outside the council hall’s window, his legs dangling in the air, with a posture as relaxed as if he were enjoying an interesting performance.
“Almost there.” He whispered to himself, “The timing is almost ripe.”
The third argument, the fourth argument, the fifth argument.
Each time was more intense than the last, each time made the atmosphere in the Golden Palace more oppressive, and each time cast a heavier shadow in the hearts of the Asgardians.
Those Asgardians who originally only whispered in private began to openly express their concerns.
Conversations in the marketplace discussed it, soldiers in the barracks discussed it, and attendants and officials in the Golden Palace also discussed it.
“What on earth is wrong with Your Highness?
She wasn’t like this before.”
“His Majesty has also become increasingly silent lately.
The last time I saw him standing on the balcony for a whole afternoon, doing nothing.”
“Do you think…
will they really fight?”
“Stop talking nonsense!
How could a father and daughter actually fight?”
“But look at that stance…
it’s almost no different from a war.”
Asat Pramad sat in the corner of a tavern, with a mug of ale he didn’t need to drink placed before him, the surface of the liquid in the cup rippling faintly.
This tavern was located in a residential area at the foot of the Golden Palace, a place frequently visited by Asgardian low-ranking soldiers and commoners, where the truest voices could be heard.
“I heard that the Valkyrie side was recently urgently redeployed.” A man wearing semi-old leather armor lowered his voice and said to his companion.
“It seems that Your Highness Hela requested to transfer the Valkyrie into her direct guard, but His Majesty did not agree.”
“Then how did His Majesty arrange it?”
“His Majesty sent the Valkyrie to guard the Bifrost Bridge, saying it was to strengthen border defense.”
“Isn’t this just transferring Your Highness’s people away?”
“Shh!
Keep it down!”
The conversation between the two was drowned out by the noisy background noise of the tavern, but Asat Pramad heard every single word.
“Interesting.” He picked up the wine glass and gently shook it, a ring of fine bubbles rising on the surface of the ale.
“Odin is beginning to deploy in secret.
He is contracting the forces Hela can mobilize, placing elites like the Valkyrie right under his own nose.”
This showed that although Odin said with his mouth that he wanted to maintain peace, in reality he was also preparing for a possible conflict.
As the King of Gods, he wouldn’t be naive enough to think that words alone could appease his daughter’s anger; he needed a backup plan.
“After all, the Lord of the Nine Realms is not held for nothing.” Asat Pramad put down the wine glass, stood up, left a gold coin he didn’t know where he got on the table, and then turned and walked out of the tavern.
The hubbub of the tavern gradually faded behind him.
He walked through a few alleys, passed a newly harvested wheat field, and finally arrived at the top of a small hill.
From here, one could overlook the full view of Asgard.
Golden Palaces shone in the sunlight, surrounding buildings spread out in an orderly fashion, distant waterfalls hung down into the void like silver ribbons, and the light of the Bifrost Bridge crossed the sky.
The scenery was beautiful, but Asat Pramad’s gaze did not linger on the beautiful view.
He was looking at the details—the number of patrolling guards on the streets had increased, several new ballistae had been added to the walls of the Golden Palace, and the energy fluctuations coming from the direction of the Bifrost Bridge were more frequent and intense than a month ago.
Odin was preparing, Hela was preparing, and the entire Asgard was secretly preparing.
And the root of all this began with the conversation when Asat Pramad first appeared before Hela.
There, a larger storm was brewing.
On the twenty-ninth day, Hela and Odin argued again.
The intensity of this argument far exceeded any previous one.
The venue of the argument was Hela’s private martial arts arena.
Asat Pramad arrived a little later; by the time he arrived, there were already several deep sword marks on the ground of the arena, crisscrossed on the stone ground, and the deepest one had almost split the entire slate in half.
Hela stood there, her chest rising and falling violently.
Her sword was already unsheathed, and the dark green blade flowed with an angry glow.
Her dark green long hair was somewhat disheveled, and a corner of her cloak had been sliced off by sword qi, but her eyes were brighter than at any other moment.
So bright it looked like quenched steel.
Odin stood at the other end of the arena, the Eternal Spear held in his hand, its tip likewise flowing with a golden light.
His white hair fluttered slightly in the turbulent energy, and that single eye contained emotions so complex they were hard to put into words.
“You are my daughter.” Odin said, his voice low and heavy, every word sounding as if it were squeezed out from the deepest depths.
“I used to be.” Hela’s reply was crisp and neat.
Odin’s pupils contracted slightly.
There was no one else around the martial arts arena; attendants and guards had been sent away long before the two broke out into a dispute.
In the empty arena, only the father and daughter stood facing each other, separated by the messy ground and hostility so thick it almost condensed into substance.
“Hela, what on earth do you want?” A trace of exhaustion that Hela had never heard before appeared in Odin’s voice.
“I have already given you everything I can give you—the position of crown prince, command of the army, the glory of conquering the Nine Realms; what else do you lack?”
“Glory?” Hela let out a short sneer, “Father, do you call those glory?
Those are just the beginning!
We have just taken our first step, and you are already preparing to call it quits?”
Odin’s brow furrowed tightly: “We conquered the Nine Realms!
The Nine Realms!
Do you know how vast the territories of these nine great Worlds combined are?
Do you know how much price Asgard paid to conquer them?”