Provoking Týr in various ways had become almost a daily routine for Ares in Vanaheimr.
Although the existence of the ominous magical sword Dáinsleif made Ares's words and actions somewhat restrained.
The cold emanating from the sword made even Ares slightly wary—but Týr still felt an endless sense of grievance and irritation.
He, Týr, the god of justice and oaths of Ásgarðr, was known for his bravery and loyalty.
Now he had to endure the provocations of a madman every day, like a coward, only because he was a 'hostage' and because he was on a mission to maintain the fragile peace between the two races.
Every day, Ares appeared to him for different reasons.
Sometimes it was verbal insults, mocking Ásgarðr's martial arts as if they were child's play;
sometimes during practice, he would deliberately make loud noises to disrupt the rhythm;
sometimes it was that eerie look with some twisted 'interest', staring at him as if looking at a perfect weapon about to be destroyed.
Finally, after Ares once again deliberately knocked over the scroll he was reading, Týr's accumulated anger burst through the dam of reason.
He suddenly stood up, his eyes burning with long-suppressed flames, his voice hoarse from extreme restraint:
"Ares! How dare you let me go?!"
This question ignited the fuse.
Ares was stunned for a moment, and then burst into earth-shattering laughter, full of the ecstasy and cruelty that were about to be unleashed.
"Hahahahaha——! Finally! Your stone head is finally ready to talk!"
He didn't answer Týr's question, but expressed his 'answer' with actions.
With a screech of metal, he suddenly tore off the magnificent breastplate on his chest, which crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
And also the shoulder armor, arm guards, greaves... He was like a beast eager to break free, stripping off all the armor from his body with astonishing speed.
A sturdy body was revealed, bronzed and covered with various scars, but full of explosive power.
"Of course, this is it! Come on! Týr! Like a true warrior!" He roared, his eyes reddened with excitement, his fighting spirit flaring like real fire.
Before he finished speaking, he was like a mad horse breaking free from its reins, lunging at Týr with his bare hands!
No weapons, no skills, only the most primitive, wild strength and the desire to tear everything before him to pieces!
A strong wind blew in his face, carrying the bloody and fierce aura of Ares.
Týr's pupils suddenly constricted, an almost instinctive reaction of the body, and his right hand, which he had been suppressing, suddenly grabbed Dáinsleif at his waist!
The magical sword hummed, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue in its scabbard, and a cold, bloodthirsty force instantly flooded into his body along his arms, almost controlling his will!
Draw it! Cut him!
A voice screamed in his head. It was the whisper of the magical sword, and also the echo of the anger that had long been suppressed in his heart.
However, just as the blade was about to leave the scabbard, Týr's eyes flashed through the scene of Odin's one eye—the exchange of envoys between the two races, and... the war that might reignite because of his impulsiveness.
The veins on his forehead bulged, his clenched teeth were nearly shattered, and finally he used all his strength to force the magical sword, which had been drawn three inches, back into the scabbard!
"Clang——!"
The dull sound of metal friction seemed like the wail of his inner struggle and pain.
He decided not to resist.
With his body tensed, he was ready to withstand Ares's fierce charge.
The expected violent collision did not happen.
Ares abruptly stopped his attack at the last moment.
He stopped in front of Týr, close enough to feel each other's burning breath.
The ecstatic smile on his face instantly froze, and then crumbled inch by inch like ice, giving way to an even more fiery rage!
This was the rage of being utterly despised!
"You——!" Ares's voice trembled with extreme anger, and he pointed at Týr's hand, which gripped the hilt but refused to draw, and pointed at his own bare chest.
The flames in his eyes nearly burst forth.
"I'm stripped! The armor is thrown away! The most candid gesture and invitation to fight! You... you actually endured it?!!"
His roar shook the surrounding air.
In Ares's simple and twisted values, removing armor to invite a fight was the highest standard of 'etiquette' among warriors.
And Týr's endurance, in his eyes, was already the cruelest insult!
More than any verbal abuse, any weapon wound—this was unacceptable to him!
"Are you still a man?! Do you still have a trace of a warrior's glory?!" Ares roared angrily.
He felt his dignity as the god of war trampled underfoot by Týr's silent endurance, crushed again and again.
This insult far surpassed any harm he had experienced in the past.
He felt his blood run cold, no, burn to a boil, leaving only endless humiliation and the rage of betrayal.
What he craved was a fierce struggle, a collision of strength and might, a symphony of blood and roars!
Not this damned tombstone silence!
"Fight back! Fight me! Coward! Coward of Ásgarðr!" Ares circled around the tense Týr like a caged beast, his fists clenching and unclenching, but he didn't know where to strike.
He roared again and again, his voice gradually tinged with an almost desperate hoarseness from rage.
"Draw your sword! Or use your fists! Come on! Let me feel your presence! Prove you're not an empty shell! Prove you still have blood! And anger!"
"Look at me! Týr! Look at me! Your enemy is here! Defenseless! What are you waiting for?! Waiting for someone's permission?! A warrior's glory is in this moment! The main thing is to follow your own instinct to fight!"
"What kind of god of justice are you?! You don't even have the courage to defend your own dignity! You're just a poor worm bound by rules! A waste that doesn't even dare to fight!"
Ares's roar was like endless thunder, echoing in this corner of Vanaheimr.
He tried to provoke Týr with the cruelest words, trying to ignite the opponent with the wildest fighting spirit.
However, Týr just stood there, like a reef battered by a storm.
In the depths of his eyes were pain, humiliation, and struggle, but the hand gripping the hilt never loosened.
His silence became the hardest armor at this moment, and it was what drove Ares most crazy.
This twisted 'confrontation' continued, as if there was no end to Ares's unwilling roar, like a wounded beast, and Týr's deathly silence.
What Ares felt was the disappointment and insult emanating from the depths of his soul—ten thousand times more painful than being pierced by any blade.
╔══════════════════════╗
📘 Want more?
Join me on Patreon for bonus chapters
and early access!
🔗 https://www.patreon.com/cw/OverlordD
╚══════════════════════╝