Ares charged at Týr with monstrous fighting spirit and ecstasy, his crimson aura almost condensing into a substance, as if he foresaw the satisfying impact of flesh upon flesh.
In his simple perception, war was a clash of forces, a carnival of destruction, and as the god of war, he should crush everything with pure power and combat!
However, reality dealt him a heavy and eerie blow.
Týr's reaction was completely incomprehensible to Ares.
He did not choose to clash head-on, did not let out an earth-shattering roar, and did not even draw the formidable magical sword.
Faced with Ares's heavy blow, which could shatter mountains and rocks, Týr's figure shifted slightly, like a phantom; his wrists extended and pulled, his movements fluid, as if rehearsed thousands of times.
Ares only felt an indescribable softness wrap around his arm, and this force was like a mud cow entering the sea, its strength led away.
Instead of hitting his target, he was made to stumble, nearly losing his balance.
"What the hell?!" Ares was shocked and angry, stabilized his figure, and launched an even more ferocious attack.
His fists howled, his leg shadows were like whips, vividly displaying the brutal force of the war god. The ground of the martial arts arena cracked beneath his feet, and the air was torn apart by him.
Týr was like a light yet resilient leaf in a storm.
His steps barely moved, yet he could always dodge the most deadly attacks by a hair's breadth.
His arms, shoulders, and waist seemed boneless, and every contact with Ares was not a hard resistance, but a yielding, a connection, a guiding, and a transformation.
Ares felt as if he were attacking a flowing stream of mercury or a thick, elusive mist.
No matter how strong his force, it was in vain, always missing!
What infuriated Ares even more was Týr's counterattack.
It was not the heavy blows Ares had expected, but precise, swift, viper-like strikes.
Elbows, joints, soft underbelly... Týr always found the tiny flaws when Ares exerted force, using his fingers, palms, and wrists to strike precisely.
These attacks did little damage at once, but were extremely effective in disrupting Ares's rhythm, making him angry and irritable.
"Dodge! What kind of warrior is this! Fight me face to face! Coward!"
Ares roared, his offense growing more frantic, and the flaws grew more numerous.
Týr remained silent, with coldly blazing fury in his eyes and combat wisdom tempered a thousand times.
He was like the most patient hunter, constantly draining his prey's physical strength and reason.
The gap in martial arts was undoubtedly revealed at this moment.
Ares's power was born from the rage of war, while Týr's skill came from the inheritance of Ásgarðr's combat techniques, combining the simplicity of battlefield killing with the wisdom of countless life-and-death struggles—efficient, deadly, and full of the wisdom to overcome the strong with the weak.
The more Ares fought, the more fearful he became, and the more he fought, the angrier he got.
He discovered that his proud strength was so clumsy before Týr.
He possessed the power to shatter mountains and rocks, but could hardly even touch the hem of his opponent's garment, while he was repeatedly struck by the other using incredible skills, like playing with a child.
This feeling of powerlessness was unbearable for him!
Anger and frustration burned his reason like poisonous fire.
He remembered every previous 'failure':
In terms of strength, he was killed by the silent giant god Atlas with a single blow, with no power to fight back;
in long-range combat, his proud spear was overshadowed by the light of Apollo's golden arrows;
as for commanding a legion, Athena's precise mechanical scheming made his berserkers look like headless flies...
And now, in close combat, which he considered his best, he was completely suppressed by this Týr, whom he considered a 'rock', possessing the 'skills' he had always despised!
"The Invincible God of War"—a name he hadn't fully realized himself, but at this moment, it was extremely apt, echoing in his head like a nightmare.
He, Ares, the god of war, had actually... never truly won a worthy victory?!
"Ah——!!" Extreme shame turned into a desperate roar, and Ares abandoned all defense and rules.
He was like an uncontrollable war colossus, his whole body exposed, all his power compressed, and he charged at Týr! This was a way to play for mutual destruction!
At this moment, Týr moved.
He no longer dodged, but looked towards the direction Ares was charging, sidestepping forward, dropping his shoulder, and reaching out!
The action happened in one go, faster than visual capture!
He precisely inserted himself into Ares's arms, avoiding the destructive impact core, with one hand lying on his pendulum and the other gripping his belt or a point of force, like lightning.
Immediately after, Týr's waist and abdomen core instantly tensed, and the strength of his entire body was like a spring compressed to its limit, suddenly released at an imperceptible angle!
Ares only felt a completely irresistible force emanating from where Týr had touched him. Instead of being unable to push Týr back, his own terrifying force became an accomplice in overthrowing himself.
His enormous body instantly lost balance, heaven and earth swapped places, and the only thing left in his field of vision was the colorful sky of Vanaheimr.
Boom——!!!
With a dull, loud noise, the earth trembled violently.
Ares was thrown by Týr with a clean throw and smashed into the hard ground of the training ground!
The violent impact made his eyes flash, his internal organs turn upside down, and even his breath stopped for a while.
He lay on the ground, looking at the sky, his mind blank.
Defeated.
Again....
The expected pain did not fully consume his consciousness, but was replaced by an icy sobriety and confusion, like water.
All his anger, all his unwillingness, all his fighting spirit were shattered by this fall.
Týr stood nearby, breathing slightly heavily, the anger in his eyes not completely gone, but it was more of a cold calm.
He didn't continue to pursue or mock him, but just looked down at him.
Ares struggled to get up, but felt his bones falling apart; Týr hadn't just thrown him hard, but had also dispersed his compressed strength.
He lay on the ground, looking at Týr's hand, which still held the hilt but ultimately hadn't drawn the sword, and looked at the opponent's calm posture after the fierce battle.
A complex emotion replaced his former rage.
Yes... this was the gap.
It wasn't just a gap in power; it was a gap in realm.
Týr had strength, but he knew how to control it; he had anger, but he knew how to channel it.
And he, Ares, only had an uncontrollable desire for destruction.
He had thought Týr's patience was cowardice, but now he understood that it might be a deeper perseverance and responsibility.
"I..." Ares opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, with a feeling unfamiliar even to himself.
He didn't utter the word to admit defeat, and it was still difficult for him.
But he no longer roared, no longer provoked again.
He lay on the ground, looking at Týr, the madness and contempt in his eyes gone, replaced by a faint hint of... indescribable conviction.
He, Ares, the invincible god of war, was truly convinced this time.
This fall had shattered his arrogance and made him, for the first time, truly contemplate the nature of his 'war'.