Yet before their battle could officially begin,
a red gleam descended from the southern sky.
It was a scarlet streak, like congealed blood reflecting beneath the sunlight. It pierced through a gap in the clouds, tore open the gray-white sky, and, like an arrow shot from the nine heavens toward the mortal world, crossed countless mountains and rivers, crossed the raging winds and thunderstorms Odin had raised, and fell straight toward this blood-red sea. A rainbow piercing the sun was nothing compared to this.
When it struck the ice, however, it did not cause a tremendous commotion.
At the final instant, all its power seemed to have been erased. Kinetic energy, potential energy, shockwaves, shattered ice fragments, splashing seawater—all the things that should have accompanied a high-speed impact vanished in that instant.
The red light gradually faded.
Revealing the figure beneath it.
He was a gaunt old Daoist, with a gentle smile that felt as pleasant as a spring breeze. There was an indescribable antiquity and composure about him.
He stood atop an ancient Bronze Sword, hovering half a foot above the ice like a Sword Immortal from legend.
The old Daoist leaped down from the sword. His cloth shoes landed on the shattered ice with a soft crack. He extended one hand and spread his fingers slightly, and the Bronze Sword flipped through the air like an obedient bird, its hilt landing steadily in his palm.
He first glanced at the giant fish floating belly-up on the sea, a flash of fanaticism passing through his eyes.
Then he turned his gaze toward Odin.
He said softly, "You caused such a huge commotion over there and trapped all of us there just to come here and commit regicide?"
Supported in midair by Hydra's central head, Odin looked down at the