The giant's body was quickly disposed of, but the gap in the wall remained.
The gods had to rely on their own strength to complete this final part.
It took them weeks to barely quarry the remaining boulders, expending much manpower and effort.
Only then did they drag the heavy stones back to Ásgarðr from the quarries in the high mountains, and then laboriously place them on top of the city gates, filling the last void.
However, compared to the stones previously laid by the mountain giant craftsman, the stones in the final part were neatly cut, but the wall was far from that precise.
The gaps had to be filled with plaster, and the overall lines were rough and clumsy, contrasting sharply and ironically with the previous magical walls.
Looking at the finally 'completed' city wall, some of the more pragmatic gods couldn't help but feel a slight regret and doubt in their hearts.
"Maybe... we should have let the builder fix the wall a little more, get it closer to completion before..." a god murmured in a low voice, but before he could finish, he was stopped by a companion's glance.
Thor didn't care; he patted the newly built, slightly rough stones, and his voice was loud:
"Forget about him! Just fix the wall! Ásgarðr is safe! That's what matters!"
But in the middle of quiet nights, when wind and snow battered this magnificent but slightly 'flawed' city wall, it seemed as if a heavy sigh from the giant could be heard.
And the crudeness of the filled gap always reminded them of how they had obtained this seemingly impregnable barrier.
Strangely, Loki, who should have triumphantly jumped out to receive the praise of the gods, even if silently or with slight contempt, did not appear at the celebration.
This was too unlike him—the trickster god who never missed an opportunity to highlight his 'merits'.
He just disappeared like that, just when the Golden Palace needed someone to take the credit for 'solving the problem'.
No one knew exactly where he had gone.
Only vague rumors circulated in the corners of Ásgarðr.
Some said that beneath Ásgarðr, in the vast steppe connecting the human kingdom, an unusually beautiful bay mare had flashed by.
Her eyes were almost eerie, as if hiding some profound wisdom, but completely immersed in a primitive maternal calm.
The best season passed through spring and summer, and still no word of Loki was heard.
Only when autumn grew thicker and the courtyard of the Golden Palace was covered with fallen leaves did he finally return.
And he didn't return alone.
Following behind him was a small foal with a coat as gray as the sky before dawn.
It was incredibly beautiful, with a light and agile gait, but the most striking thing was that it had eight legs instead of the usual four.
The foal showed unusual affection for Loki, following him inseparable, affectionately rubbing its wet nose against his hands and cheeks.
This gesture clearly showed the maternal admiration and trust of a young one.
In fact, that's exactly what had happened.
It grew quickly and eventually turned into a tall gray horse with strength and speed that astonished all living beings.
After Loki's return, he did something that surprised all the gods, yet was reasonable.
He presented Sleipnir—a horse unparalleled in both the mortal and divine realms—as a gift to the God-King Odin.
This gift was too precious, and too... significant.
Odin, the God-King thirsty for knowledge and power, accepted it in silence.
Sleipnir became his steed, carrying him across the Nine Realms.
Many envied Odin for having such a divine foal and admired its extraordinariness.
But only very few and the brave dared to mention the horse's parentage in front of Logan's people.
Moreover, no one dared to mention it twice.
Because if Loki heard you telling how he transformed into a mare, distracting Svaðilfari from its master;
telling how he saved the gods from a crisis caused by his own bad idea, almost selflessly—if you dared to mention the past that put him in an extremely awkward position, he would surely come to 'take care' of you.
Loki held a grudge.
As the dust settled in Ásgarðr and the walls stood tall,
a small 'video screening' was held in Vanaheimr.
The instigator, Hermes, with a smile that balanced innocence and cunning, activated the rhomboid crystal in his hand.
A stream of light and shadow clearly conveyed the absurd scene that had taken place in the snowy foothills and forests outside Ásgarðr in Northern Europe, a scene difficult to describe in words, before the eyes of several siblings.
In the picture, every detail of the 'interaction' between Loki's 'charming' bay mare and the instinct-driven gray divine steed Svaðilfari was fully revealed.
Silence.
Deathly silence fell over the room.
After a moment—
"Ugh——!"
Athena, the virgin goddess known for her reason, purity, and solemnity, was the first to let out a sound that nearly made her faint.
She abruptly raised her hand to cover her eyes, as if the image was indescribably horrifying.
"My eyes! Hermes! How dare you... how dare you spoil my vision with such things!"
Her voice was filled with unbelievable anger and disgust, as if she had been seriously offended.
This was simply blasphemy against reason and form! "Turn it off! Immediately! Right now!!"
She turned away, not even wanting to look again, her whole body radiating an awe-inspiring and inviolable aura, clearly suffering a severe psychological shock.
In contrast, Ares was much more straightforward.
He crossed his arms, and his rough face was full of undisguised contempt and disdain.
"Is that all?" He sneered, his voice like a bell.
"I thought this was some great 'heroic deed'! It's just some tricks that can't be brought to the table! True power is in frontal combat, in the blood of a spear in the chest and the resolve to cut through bone with a sharp blade! This... this thieving method, does it even deserve to be called a 'scheme'? Boring! The act of a coward!"
He expressed extreme contempt for this lack of 'masculinity' in problem-solving.
However, the most dramatic episode came from an uninvited 'audience member'.
At this time, a messenger from Ásgarðr, Týr, the god of justice, was being led through the cloister on diplomatic business.
Perhaps Hermes hadn't completely isolated the inside from the outside as a joke, or the 'impact' of the image was too strong, and a trace of light, shadow, and sound leaked out.
Driven by curiosity, Týr happened to glance into the room.
Just that one glance.
This brave god, who never changed color on the battlefield, was as if struck by Thor at that moment, and the whole person stood frozen.
His one eye was full of intense shock and a sense of helplessness that almost undermined his worldview.
This... Loki?
Loki in Ásgarðr, known for his cunning, troublemaking, and sometimes useful intrigues?
He... she?... this?
Týr's lips moved slightly, as if trying to confirm something, but at that moment any language was pale and powerless.
He silently retreated step by step, as if afraid of alerting someone in the room, as if escaping from the walking embarrassment.
In the end, he said nothing, simply turned and left, which was infinitely heavier than when he had finished, his back full of 'I need some silence' and 'What is the face of Ásgarðr?'
Watching Týr's back, as if he had gone mad, and then Athena, who was still angrily washing her eyes, and Ares with his contemptuous face, Hermes finally couldn't help but burst into pleasant laughter.
He carefully stored the crystal, as if collecting an unparalleled treasure.
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