With no known racial characteristics, no recognizable civilizational imprint, no divine power fluctuations, and no traces of magic—he was like a symbol that appeared out of thin air in this Universe, a variable that should not have existed yet undeniably did.
“Nothing could be found.” Hela opened her eyes, looking towards the distant Golden Palace, her dark green eyes reflecting fragments of starlight.
“This at least shows that he truly comes from outside the Nine Realms.” Hela said in a low voice, a hint of strange excitement in her tone, like a hunter who finally followed tracks to discover some prey never recorded in any guidebook.
What did an existence from outside the Nine Realms mean?
It meant that his power system was not restricted by the rules of the Nine Realms, that he possessed knowledge and technology completely unknown to the Æsir, and that if he wanted to do something, the Nine Realms had no precedents to follow and no contingency plans available.
Of course, this also equally meant that he might be a double-edged sword; used well, he could pierce Odin’s self-satisfied fortress, and used poorly, he would cut off her own hand as well.
But Hela was never a person who feared risk.
Being able to stand in today’s position and become the renowned Goddess of Death of the Nine Realms relied entirely on daring to gamble, daring to fight, and daring to take that step ahead of others while they hesitated.
“So what he said has a basis.” Hela’s fingers tapped gently on the window frame, making a rhythmic sound.
“He indeed possesses intelligence and power that I do not have; his ability to bypass Asgard’s border defense line is the best proof.”
“Interesting.” A barely perceptible arc appeared at the corner of Hela’s mouth, “An existence from outside the Nine Realms took the initiative to extend an olive branch to me, and this happened precisely at the juncture of my complete rupture with Odin.”
She even suspected whether Asat Pramad had been waiting for the right moment somewhere, only appearing when the conflict between her and Odin intensified to an irreconcilable degree.
If that were really the case, Asat Pramad’s patience and calculation ability were even more terrifying than she had imagined.
But Hela did not dislike this kind of calculation; she herself excelled at it.
A careless ally was more dangerous than an enemy, and the caution and plotting Asat Pramad demonstrated instead made her feel that this person was worth taking seriously.
She walked over to the bed and sat down, dark green silk bed curtains hanging down beside her.
Her fingers gently stroked the soft fabric, her gaze looking towards the starry sky outside the window, but her thoughts did not linger on those twinkling points of light.
“He is right.” Hela’s voice softly echoed in the empty bedchamber, “I am indeed one of the most powerful existences in the Nine Realms, but Odin stands in my way.”
She clenched her fingers tightly, her knuckles turning slightly white.
“He is old, he doesn’t want to fight anymore, he feels that the territory of the Nine Realms is already big enough, but he doesn’t understand—he has never understood!”
Hela suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the bedchamber, her dark green cloak fluttering behind her as the Fire of anger in her heart was ignited once again.
“What does Asgard need?
It needs continued conquest!
Unending expansion!
Trampling the entire sea of stars beneath our feet!
Not shrinking into this tiny plot of land in the Nine Realms and pretending we are already great enough!”
She stopped her steps, her chest rising and falling violently.
But immediately afterwards, she slowly calmed down again, took two deep breaths, and sat back down on the edge of the bed.
“But he is my father.” Hela said, her voice suddenly becoming complicated—a complex emotion mixed with anger, disappointment, unwillingness, and a trace of imperceptible sadness.
“He is my royal father after all.”
The lights in the bedchamber flickered, casting Hela’s Shadow onto the wall.
The Shadow was drawn very long, like an indecisive giant struggling in the dark.
Hela sat like this in the bedchamber for a very long time.
The starlight outside the window gradually shifted, the night turned from thick to pale, and Asgard welcomed the light of a new day.
She finally stood up, straightened her attire, pushed open the door of the bedchamber, and walked out.
Attendants were already moving about in the corridor.
Seeing Hela, they bowed and saluted one after another.
Hela nodded expressionlessly in response, walking with firm steps toward the direction of the Golden Palace.
She was going to talk to Odin once more.
Not to persuade him, nor to be persuaded by him, but to confirm one last thing—to confirm whether Odin’s stance was truly unshakable, and whether there was still even a shred of possibility for father and daughter to reach a consensus.
If that was confirmed, she would be able to make her final resolution.
Asat Pramad overlooked Asgard’s night view from that cliff for the whole night, and then when the morning light first appeared, he withdrew his form, walked down the cliff from the void, and leisurely stepped into the market streets of Asgard.
The beauty of this divine domain suspended in the deep space of the Universe had already been appreciated by Asat Pramad from high altitude—waterfalls plummeted from the horizon, Golden Palaces stood in the center, and the Bifrost Bridge crossed the void to connect distant stars.
But viewed from the ground, it was yet another kind of feeling.
Asgard’s streets were broad and flat, paved with a certain light gray flagstone.
Fine moss grew in the crevices between the flagstones, giving a soft yet solid touch when stepped upon.
The buildings along the roadside were mainly made of stone, but metal decorations were extensively used at the corners and window sills.
Those metals presented a dark gold or bronze luster, carved with intricate patterns.
The houses in the residential area were well-arranged, and every household had a flower basket or wind chime hanging at the doorway.
The wind chimes made crisp and pleasant sounds in the breeze, intertwining with the roaring sound of the distant waterfall to form a unique sense of rhythm.
Asat Pramad concealed his form and walked among the crowd; no one could see him, and no one could perceive him.
He thus treated the divine domain’s guards and defenses as nothing in an almost blasphemous manner, strolling peacefully on this land regarded as sacred by the Nine Realms.
He saw a blacksmith’s shop at the street corner, with several forged longswords and axes hanging at the entrance, their blade bodies flashing with a chilling light in the sunlight.
The blacksmith was a middle-aged man with red beard, shirtless with knotted muscles, swinging a hammer to beat a glowing red piece of metal, a cluster of bright sparks splashing with every blow of the hammer.
He saw several children in the square chasing a golden butterfly, its wings bearing traces of shimmering light left by magic, dragging a slender strip of light in the air when it flew.
The children’s laughter was crisp and pure, forming a sharp contrast with the heavy political atmosphere in the Golden Palace.
He saw a White-haired old man sitting by a fountain, holding a harp and playing a melodious tune.
Notes flowed out from the harp strings, condensing into visible spots of light in the air, flying up and down with the fluctuations of the melody, and finally dissipating in the sunlight.
Asat Pramad stopped under a large tree, sat down leaning against the trunk, and calmly swept his gaze across the scene before him