Chapter 610: Acting Personally

"Alright, calm down."

Yu Lin's voice doused most of Thor's fury.

Then he casually pulled Thor's Hammer from Thor's hand.

Thor lowered his head, looking at his empty palm; his five fingers still held a clenched pose, the web of his hand still tingling from the hammer's handle, but the hammer was gone.

He looked up and saw Yu Lin standing before him, casually holding Thor's Hammer in a hand that didn't look particularly strong, the head pointing down and the handle up, as if he were carrying an umbrella.

"???"

Thor was momentarily stunned.

He wanted to say something, like "Give the hammer back," or "When did you take it," or "How did you do that."

But the words stuck, turning into a muffled, slightly bewildered sound:

"Huh?"

Yu Lin spun the hammer in his hand, weighed it, then handed it back to Thor.

"There, it's yours."

"It's average; nothing beats my own weapon."

"..........." Thor took the hammer, unsure what to say.

Yu Lin is stronger than him; that's not a hard thing to accept.

This guy's speed of getting stronger has always been that fast, that unreasonable!

The hammer itself seemed unwilling, trying to spar with Yu Lin's weapon, but was pressed back.

Then,

the Gods gathered around, their gazes fixed on Yu Lin.

Fu Li Jia stood at the front, the tear tracks on her face still wet, her eyes swollen and red, but her stare was bright, sharp as two knives.

"Yu Lin,"

"Do you know who it is?"

Yu Lin gave no reply.

He raised his hand, spread his five fingers, and a soft glow blossomed in his palm.

The light flowed like water, spreading through the air and forming a Light Screen.

Within the Light Screen, the Great Hall was clearly visible: vines on the columns, wine cups on the long table, flames dancing on the candlesticks, every detail rendered precisely.

The Gods saw Loki.

He sat in a corner, holding a sprig of Mistletoe, green leaves and white berries, delicate and frail.

They watched him place the Mistletoe in his palm, clasp his hands together, and give it a gentle twist.

The green leaves shrank, the white berries withered, the stalk hardened, straightened, becoming like a nail, a spear, an arrow.

The frail plant transformed in his hand into a dark‑green weapon.

He stood, walked to the back row, and sat beside Huo De Er.

"Huo De Er, why didn't you join us?"

"I have no weapon to throw."

"I do."

He handed the weapon to Huo De Er, steadied his hand, helped him aim, and adjusted the angle.

"There is Bader. Throw boldly and confidently; nothing can harm him. All things have sworn, even this weapon in your hand has sworn—it will never hurt Bader, never ever."

Loki's voice echoed from within the Light Screen:

"Now is the time; while they are cheering happily, come, deliver your share."

Huo De Er launched the Mistering.

The dark‑green weapon flew silently through the air, swooping past Thor's ear and over TiEr's head.

It surged to Bader's front, without turning, without slowing, without dropping, striking his chest dead‑on!!

Bader's laughter stopped.

His smile still lingered at the corner of his mouth, unwithdrawn.

He lowered his head, staring at the dark‑green weapon lodged in his chest and the blood seeping from the wound.

Then he collapsed.

The Light Screen dimmed, breaking into tiny Light Dots that dispersed into the air.

The Great Hall fell into dead silence.

The Gods stared toward where the Light Screen vanished, and no one spoke for a long while.

A god began to sob softly again.

Fu Li Jia stood there, motionless.

Her face was as white as paper, lips trembling, the light in her eyes shifting from bright to piercing, from piercing to burning.

She stared at where the Light Screen disappeared, at the corner where Loki had last stood, at the direction the dark‑green weapon flew.

"I will kill that treacherous, cunning bastard!" she growled, the sound forced from deep in her throat, carrying a chilling ferocity.

Her long dress moved without wind, the silver‑gray hem rolling like waves.

Her hair broke free from the ribbon, cascading over her shoulders, fluttering in the air, each strand shimmering with cold silver light.

The stone slabs beneath her began to crack, fissures spreading outward from her feet like a web unfurling.

The entire Golden Palace trembled, dust cascading from the dome, the vines entwined on the columns withering, turning black, crumbling to powder!!!

Then she abruptly raised her hand and slapped herself hard.

The crisp sound shocked the Gods.

Fu Li Jia's face instantly bore five red marks, and blood welled from the corner of her mouth.

"It's my fault."

Her voice was hoarse, thick with nasal resonance, as if something were blocked: "I overlooked that Mistletoe, I didn't make it swear, I—"

At this point her voice broke, as if someone had seized her throat.

She closed her eyes, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes, streaming down her cheeks.

Fu Li Jia regretted it.

That regret was like a dull knife, sawing back and forth over her heart.

She shouldn't have missed that Mistletoe, shouldn't have thought it too small and fragile to make it swear, shouldn't have revealed that secret!

She recalled that day, when the old woman stood at the gate of Fensaril.

Did Fu Li Jia see the flaw? Fu Li Jia didn't know.

Fu Li Jia only knew that she had spoken, had spoken out, and told that fatal weakness to the guy who should never have been told!!

Then.

Fu Li Jia suddenly lifted her head, looked into the depths, looked toward the direction where Aoding dwells.

"Aoding!"

Fu Li Jia roared, her voice bursting from her chest, carrying long‑suppressed anger and sorrow:

"How much longer do you want to see?! Our son is dead! The brother you speak of killed him!"

The voice echoed in the Great Hall, circle after circle, making the corridor columns hum and the flames on the candlesticks sway wildly.

The Gods all turned their heads, looking into the depths.

They were silent for a moment.

Footsteps sounded, heavy and slow, as if someone far away was treading stone slabs.

Aoding rose from the Throne, walked to the Great Hall entrance, and stopped.

His silhouette appeared among the corridor columns, tall and gaunt, draped in a dark‑blue cloak, the hood covering half his face.

"I know."

He stood at the doorway, that one‑eyed gaze sweeping over the Gods in the hall, over the crying faces, angry faces, bewildered faces, finally landing on where Bader had fallen.

The stone slab there was already stained red with blood.

"But now," Aoding said:

"We must first bury Bader and Nanna; after that, I will capture Loki and bring him back for judgment."

"This time, I will not spare him."