Ares, completely infuriated by Týr's icy silence, raged through the palaces of Vanaheimr like a caged beast.
The scraping of his armor screeched, but could not hide the suffocation and humiliation in his heart, which were about to explode.
He needed a battle, a bloody battle that would break his bones, to prove himself! To go and tear apart that damned Týr, as if to pity his own composure!
But all his provocations were like heavy punches on cotton.
Who to turn to? Who could understand this pain? Who could offer a way to defuse the situation?
Athena? As soon as this thought appeared, it was extinguished by Ares himself.
He could almost picture the scene—as soon as he spoke, the goddess would immediately look at him with eyes as cold as a polished silver helmet, on which was clearly written:
"Incompetent and enraged fool" and "Is this because Atlas isn't here, so you're so hungry you want to gnaw on a hard stone like Týr?"
She would never offer help; she would only use her reason and contempt to make him feel even more unbearable.
No, absolutely not!
There was only one option left—Hermes, who was full of bad ideas but always seemed to find a way out.
Although Ares always hated this style of acting, which relied not on strength but on cunning.
But at this moment, he had to admit that sometimes such a trick could crack that damned hard shell of Týr.
When he found Hermes, the trickster god was leisurely tossing his serpent staff, as if plotting a new prank.
"Hermes!" Ares's voice was like muffled thunder, carrying unrestrained anger and reluctance.
"I need your help!"
Hermes deftly caught the staff, and on his face appeared the usual smile, balanced between enthusiasm and calculation:
"Oh? Our great war god, Ares, has encountered problems that even war can't solve?"
His tone was sharp, with a slight mockery.
Ares suppressed the urge to punch the opponent in the face and said in a rough voice about his 'confrontation' with Týr and the outrageous humiliation, finally roaring:
"...I don't care what you can do, I want him to draw his sword! I want him to fight me like a true warrior! Instead of standing there like a rock!"
Hermes listened, his eyes shining with interest.
Of course, he knew this and had perhaps even 'appreciated' Ares's 'heroic posture' alongside Týr through some channels.
The little abacus in his heart began to move rapidly.
"What a persistent and reckless man. However, this discontent can be used. Ever since the inexplicable power of Eros made that stupid big guy from Atlas react to Ares, Prometheus has been so worried his hair is about to fall out, spending his days thinking about how to pull his brother out of this twisted 'infatuation'. This is an opportunity..."
Hermes's thoughts drifted to the seer.
Prometheus not only loved his brother Epimetheus but also bore part of the responsibility as Atlas's 'guardian'.
Atlas being entangled by Ares, in Prometheus's view, simply defiled his brother.
A brilliant idea formed in Hermes's mind, deepening the smile on the corner of his lips with a hint of fox-like cunning.
"My dear brother Ares," Hermes pretended to stroke his chin thoughtfully.
"The problem is that you are attacking Týr himself. As an envoy of Ásgarðr and the god of justice, he can endure insults directed at him personally for the sake of the so-called 'big picture' and 'duty'. His sense of dignity is not entirely tied to himself."
Ares frowned, not quite understanding: "If you don't attack him, who do you attack?"
"Attack what he cares about," Hermes's eyes flashed with a sharp light.
"Týr may not care about his own dignity, but can he endure the humiliation of his subordinates? Especially those... loyal followers who symbolize the glory of him and Odin?"
"Subordinates?" Ares was stunned for a moment.
"You mean... those Valkyries?"
"Exactly!" Hermes clapped his hands, like a tutor guiding a student to find answers.
"Those heroic Valkyries! They are the jewels of Ásgarðr, the messengers of glory on the battlefield, and Týr's direct subordinates. Think about it, if you stopped pestering Týr himself and instead turned your 'enthusiasm' towards the Valkyries... 'appreciating' their beauty, which would be different from Ásgarðr's stern style..."
Hermes didn't say it too directly, but his meaning was clear.
Harass and insult these Valkyries.
Týr might endure personal humiliation for the sake of peace, but he could never sit idly by while the subordinates he brought with him, the warrior maidens representing the honor of Ásgarðr, were humiliated.
This was equivalent to directly attacking his duty as a guardian and the face of Odin.
Ares's eyes instantly lit up!
Yes! Why hadn't he thought of that!
Attack the weakness that mattered to Týr!
Make him fight to protect his subordinates!
This was no longer a personal grievance; it had reached the level of duty and honor, and Týr's damned 'big picture' would become a reason to force him to draw his sword!
"Haha! Great! Excellent idea!" Ares roared with delight, as if he saw the scene of Týr furiously charging towards him.
"I'll go now! I want these girls to know who the real god of war is! Let's see if Týr can still stay his shrinking turtle!"
He turned and was about to rush out, his fighting spirit burning again, stronger than before, with the cruel pleasure of breaking through.
"Wait, my dear brother."
Hermes stopped him, an extremely 'sincere' smile on his face.
"Wouldn't such a wonderful 'battle' be worth recording for future... recollection, or some kind of 'embellishment'? You know, I always like to collect such fun moments."
He shook the rhomboid crystal in his hand, on which Loki's 'exploits' were recorded.
Ares was full of thoughts about how to provoke Týr at that moment, and he cared about such trivialities.
He waved his hand: "Up to you! As long as you can make Týr fight me, you can record whatever you want!"
With that, he shot out like a red whirlwind, unable to wait to find the Valkyries.
Looking at Ares's departing back, the smile on Hermes's face gradually deepened, becoming playful.
He gently rubbed the crystal and whispered to himself:
"Watch? No, dear Ares, this is a priceless 'commodity'... Just think, if the vivid image of 'Ares, the god of war, openly harassing and harboring malicious intent towards the Valkyries of Ásgarðr' were to 'accidentally' be seen by Prometheus, or even more 'wonderfully', by Atlas, who is strangely attached to Ares..."
Hermes's eyes gleamed with calculation.
Prometheus is trying to make Atlas recognize Ares's 'nature', and this image would be an excellent weapon to shatter Atlas's illusions!
How would the giant god feel seeing the object of his 'infatuation' so unbearably harassing other women?
Anger? Disappointment? Or finally waking up?
And the credit for this 'discord' would naturally fall on his head, Hermes.
A favor that Prometheus owes is very valuable.
He could even use this to ask Prometheus for some kind of 'payment'.
"Kill two birds with one stone—what a wonderful plan."
Hermes laughed happily, and his figure gradually blurred, as if merging with the air.
He was going to find the best 'shooting' angle, record Ares's next 'performance', and turn this farce, full of war and hormones, into a bargaining chip that could stir up the situation.
The good show was about to begin.
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