For the first time in his life, Zeus felt ashamed of his own lack of knowledge.
His instincts told him to chase immediately.
Reason told him he probably couldn't.
It was simple: all the small worlds had flown too far, completely beyond the limits of Zeus's vision and perception.
While the gods were still stunned, Hades spoke. "Zeus, chase or not, you have to make the call."
If they chased, there was indeed a good chance of catching up. After all, there was only one cosmic current, and it only flowed one way—no side channels. That raised another problem: too far from the Greek world, the only divine power Zeus could use would be what his divine body had in reserve. If the distance was too great, transmission efficiency would plummet, and he'd have a hard time drawing replenishment from his native offices.
That would be a do-or-die gamble!
If they didn't chase, chances were they'd fail to accomplish anything. It meant dragging his people to slug it out with those thick-skinned Titans—likely without even taking them down.
What to do?
Zeus swept his gaze over his two brothers. "I want to chase!"
Poseidon: "There's a new problem now—say we do catch up and, fighting for our lives, take those small worlds. If we're too far from the Greek world, the cosmic current could sweep us into the theater of the final battle before we can rejoin."
Hades added, "What if Odin would rather ram those small worlds into the Mutant Star Region than hand them over?"
Zeus's body gave a slight tremor.
Another string of new problems.
Odin was ruthless. He'd burned through a massive amount of elemental stock in those small worlds to drag them far from the Greek world, putting Zeus in a position where even taking them would be pointless.
The pursuit plan suddenly turned into a tasteless chicken rib.
Before, Zeus could have driven the whole Greek world to accelerate, overtake the escaping small worlds, and deal with them one by one.
Not anymore. Kronos had carved away his divine authority. And pushing the Greek world forward didn't depend on Uranus alone—it needed Gaia's cooperation too. And Gaia hadn't reconciled with Zeus at all.
This family of gods madly hamstringing one another left Zeus feeling like he'd explode.
"We're going back!" Zeus finally ordered.
"Back?" Hera was aggrieved. It had cost her no small resolve to join the sortie; now it would be a wasted trip, and things might be even worse when they returned.
To her surprise, Zeus, who had always indulged her, coldly ignored her—didn't so much as solicit her opinion.
Thus, trailing streamers of light, they led the gods back through the world barrier to the vicinity of Alexandria in the Greek world.
"Zeus, do we go for broke against Kronos? As things stand, our chances aren't great." Poseidon cautioned.
"I know. At a moment like this, we have to take a risk."
"A risk?"
"Yes—a risk. We use every force we can still use."
Poseidon drew a sharp breath. Since the mythic age, it was the first time he'd seen Zeus this serious.
No—serious wasn't quite it. It was closer to a gambler, eyes gone red, pushing the last chips in a crazed all-in.
Worst of all, they had to gamble with him!
Precisely because they had been so cruel and harsh to slave-gods, they knew all the more what would happen if, one day, they fell into the hands of those deities who had once been their slaves.
They… had no way out.
On the other side, Thalos was surprised at Odin's decision.
"My fool—no, my clever little brother! I have to admit, that was beautifully done."
Facing the coming world war, Ginnungagap would certainly not recklessly burn its elements to accelerate. That didn't mean Thalos, who prized intelligence gathering, was doing nothing.
With the Soul of the Kraken working in tandem with the forward-deployed Fusang World, he had pushed his recon range out to five hundred thousand kilometers—Thalos's current limit.
And it was under precisely those conditions that the Soul of the Kraken picked up the small worlds under Odin's control.
They "looked" pitiful—each had shrunk a whole size compared to the last time he'd seen them.
Any god-king who saw that would curse Odin for a wastrel!
These were small worlds capable of existing independently in the chaotic cosmos and sustaining their own cycles. Put a single Major God over one, with a handful of lesser gods, and you could barely make a little pantheon of it.
And Odin had wrecked them.
True to the saying: a grandson feels no pain selling his grandfather's land.
This level of ruthlessly "spending down" turned out, in the current situation, to be a trump card.
You can't conjure world elements out of thin air.
However Odin squandered them, as long as Zeus or Kronos didn't get them, Thalos's odds went up.
Strength and weakness are always relative.
It was very simple arithmetic.
That little brother Thalos was always calling foolish had, after a mindset shift, produced such results—enough to make Thalos think twice about burning the bridge after crossing it.
Standing by the vast glass windows of the Silver Palace's corridor, looking out at the rare rainstorm, Thalos murmured to himself:
"I always thought I was a hypocrite."
Hypocrite?
Even if the 'good' is an act—live it your whole life, and it becomes true good.
From the moment he'd transmigrated, his feelings toward Odin had been complicated.
He looked down on the Odin of myth whose personality overlapped so closely with this reality, and he was tangled up in their karmic bond.
Across the chaotic cosmos, blood ties outweighed loyalty.
Even as God-Emperor, Thalos couldn't change that belief among gods and mortals.
No matter how Thalos tried to distance himself, Odin's surname was Borson—he and Thalos were indubitably family.
Hitting Odin with a heavy hand would only chill the subordinates' hearts and breed rebellion.
When Odin did poorly, Thalos could afford to be harsh.
When Odin did well, Thalos had to consider rewards.
The trouble was, Odin's independence was absurdly strong. Even with only a remnant soul, he could still pull together a small pantheon again and again and lord it as a carefree god-king.
Thalos truly had no idea what he could give him.
"What a headache." Thalos rubbed his brow.
"Your Majesty, are you troubled over how to reward Odin?" Athena's voice came out of nowhere.
Thalos glanced at her. She hadn't left the palace these days, and when she faced him she truly could put aside her pride—slipping into gauzy, cicada-thin silks, presenting the shape, sheen, and size of a perfectly proportioned cuirass.
It had to be admitted: when the great goddess of war and wisdom set herself to the arts of service, she was in no way inferior to those goddesses of love and beauty.
Faced with Thalos's once-over, Athena didn't flinch. "If I deliberately played dumb, wouldn't that only make Your Majesty more wary of me?"
"True. Go on, then."
"When Odin was captured, he swore he'd take revenge on Zeus. However Zeus treated him, he'd pay back a hundredfold. Back then, Zeus seized his goddess-consort…"
Thalos pulled a face.
So that's where your grand revenge plan is headed, Athena.