Vanaheimr, near a birch forest on the outskirts.
Týr, the former Ásgarðr god of justice and oaths, now dressed in simple traveling clothes, carried a hint of loneliness and sorrow between his brows.
Behind him stood the equally silent Valkyries.
Once symbols of Ásgarðr's glory, soaring over battlefields and guiding heroic spirits, they had now been 'exchanged' here with him, like rootless duckweed.
He knew the God-King did not like him for being too straightforward, sometimes even questioning Odin's decisions.
But he never thought he would be sent to a foreign land along with these loyal Valkyries as bargaining chips.
The land was full of life and magical energy, a stark contrast to the majesty of Ásgarðr.
The Vanir did not treat them harshly, offering them considerable courtesy and freedom, but this status of 'guest', along with the numbness of being far from home and stripped of duty, still enveloped him like a cold mist.
Just as he was immersed in his thoughts, a loud laugh, full of extreme wildness and force, shattered the silence of the forest.
"Hahahahaha——! So this is Vanaheimr? Not bad, not bad! The air is filled with the smell of fighting!"
He saw a figure striding not far away.
He was sturdy, dressed wildly, with short, fiery red hair like burning flames, and an undisguised belligerence and delight on his face. It was Ares, the god of war.
He had been brought by Athena initially to prevent blind resistance from the Vanir during the bridge construction, so they could use absolute force for 'persuasion'.
However, Athena's prestige and wisdom were obviously sufficient, and he hadn't needed to use his methods at all. So Ares, with nothing to do, began roaming Vanaheimr, searching for potential 'strong' auras.
This loud laughter made Týr, who was already in a bad mood, frown.
He instinctively gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist, and a warrior's intuition made him wary of the aggressive guy before him.
In 'Vanaheimr', he represented the remaining face of Ásgarðr and bore the responsibility of protecting the Valkyries behind him; he couldn't easily cause trouble.
Out of caution, he suppressed the immediate urge to act and called out in a low, majestic voice: "Stop! Who goes there? State your name!"
Hearing this, Ares grinned, showing a warlike smile, and was about to loudly proclaim himself "Ares, God of War," when a servant of the Vanir (and observer) arranged by Athena hastily stepped forward and whispered to Týr:
"Lord Týr, this is His Highness Ares, he is... the son of the God-King Narcissus and the brother of Princess Athena."
The servant's words carried a clear hint of a reminder, pointing out Ares's noble status here.
"The son of Narcissus?" Týr's heart was shaken.
Of course, he knew that Narcissus, the mysterious and powerful Vanir King, had bested Odin in their game, and now he was in his territory.
The crude and wild guy before him turned out to be the heir of that God-King?
For the sake of the Valkyries who had followed him here, and to avoid creating more problems for the already awkward Ásgarðr mission...
Týr, in a foreign land, suppressed the anger and desire to challenge that were churning in his chest.
The hand gripping the sword hilt slowly loosened, but with those blue eyes full of justice and fortitude, he coldly stared at Ares, saying no more, but the silent warning and refusal were clearly visible.
Ares saw that Týr had restrained his fighting spirit and pouted a little discontentedly.
"Tch, no fun," he muttered, looking at Týr and the clearly well-trained and heroic Valkyries behind him. A flicker of interest appeared in his eyes, but he didn't provoke again.
Although he was aggressive, he wasn't completely brainless. He understood that on 'his own' turf, acting against this special 'guest' might cause problems for his sister and father-god (in his perception, Narcissus).
"Hmph, looks like a guy who can fight, didn't expect him to be such a coward," Ares snorted contemptuously, ignored Týr, turned around, and confidently continued his 'troublemaking' search, looking for other targets who might agree to 'fight' him.
Watching Ares's receding back, Týr slowly exhaled a turbid breath, his tense shoulders slightly relaxing.
He looked back at the Valkyries behind him, and in their eyes was the same endurance and barely perceptible humiliation.
In this strange land, they had to be careful in their words and actions.
The glory and justice of the past seemed to need re-evaluation here.
And the God-King Narcissus... with his heirs, seemed difficult to get along with.
Týr felt that his days in Vanaheimr might not be peaceful.
A few days later—Vanaheimr, an open field.
Týr was leading several Valkyries in their daily combat exercises, not only to maintain combat effectiveness but also to uphold their accustomed order in this foreign land.
Golden sunlight filtered through the lush branches and leaves, but could not dispel the insoluble gloom between Týr's brows.
However, this brief silence was once again roughly broken.
"Hey! You from Ásgarðr!" The familiar loud voice sounded with undisguised mockery.
Ares's fiery figure appeared again, arms crossed, head tilted, looking at Týr and the Valkyries behind him like rare animals, a sarcastic smile on his face.
"What's this? Still playing these childish games of playing house? The Ásgarðr god of war, only here to teach women how to handle wooden sticks?"
This provocation was more direct and insulting than the last time.
He not only despised Týr but also disparaged the martial arts and glory that the Valkyries held dear.
Týr's fists instantly clenched, his knuckles white from the pressure.
He felt the aura of the Valkyries behind him suddenly sharpen, the air filled with cold killing intent.
He could even hear the faint sound of metal scraping against leather—it was the Valkyries' hands gripping their hilts, their proud eyes blazing with angry flames, almost unable to keep from drawing their swords.
For them!
This thought suppressed Týr's nearly exploding anger.
He took a deep breath, forced himself to unclench his fists, and even slightly turned away, sternly stopping the Valkyries who were about to move behind him.
His cheeks burned from extreme tolerance and shame, as if scorched by fire.
He couldn't do it; if he did, win or lose, it would bring unpredictable problems for Odin and Ásgarðr and endanger these loyal subordinates.
Ares saw all this in his eyes.
He saw Týr's suffocatingly red face, his slightly trembling but forcibly restrained body, and how he stopped his people with his eyes... In Ares's simple and direct thinking, this was undoubtedly a sign of cowardice.
"Hmph," Ares let out an extremely contemptuous snort, shook his head, the disdain in his eyes almost overflowing.
"Don't even have the courage to preserve the glory of yourself and your subordinates? Seems like Odin sending you here was quite reasonable... What a complete coward."
He spat out this stinging word, and again, as last time, with a face full of contempt and disdain, he turned and confidently walked away, as if staying another second would stain his eyes.
Only when Ares's back had completely disappeared from sight did Týr seem to lose his strength, his shoulders slumping slightly.
He was still turned away from the Valkyries, not daring to meet their eyes—this understanding? This disappointment? Or was it the same humiliation as his?
He felt the heat on his face, a mix of anger and shame.
As the god of justice and oaths, as the once-respected warrior of Ásgarðr, how could he endure such humiliation?
And in front of the subordinates he was supposed to protect, he was so contemptuously called a 'coward' by an exotic god!
His breath was blocked in his chest, so choked he nearly suffocated.
He punched the thick birch tree beside him; the trunk trembled violently, leaving a clear fist mark and sawdust.
"Bastard..." He squeezed out a low roar through his teeth, his azure eyes filled with a reddened haze, simultaneously angry at Ares and pained by his inability to change his situation.
The Valkyries behind him were silent, and they removed their hands from their sword hilts, exchanging complex glances.
They understood that Týr's endurance was for them, but having their pride as warriors suppressed like this also hurt them.
A feeling of shared suffering spread throughout this small Ásgarðr mission.
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