The ocean nymph's delicate divine body had already been ground completely to dust; if she had not been the embodiment of the laws of perfume and healing, there truly would have been nothing left of her—not even a scrap.
Kronos had no choice but to recreate a divine body for her, then sent her back to the Ocean to gather information. He had no mind to attend to her now.
Although at the time he did not yet know the Ocean had thrown its banner openly against him, with his wisdom he naturally understood the Ocean would not be his friend.
And it would, in all likelihood, become his enemy.
And the Ocean was powerful enough that he had to guard against it.
While repairing Mount Othrys, the more he restored, the more stifled he felt, and the more fiercely his inner rage burned.
His authority, his power, his face, even his family—everything had suffered unprecedented, grievous losses in this sudden rebellion.
He had even lost his Queen of the Gods!
Just thinking of the losses made him feel dizzy.
It kept him perpetually on the edge of fury, that world-ruining anger ready to erupt at any moment, and it took who knew how much effort to barely hold it down.
The comrades who had once been intimate with him now had grown ambiguous in their attitude.
Crius and Hyperion, the two Titan giants—their deeds filled the now greatly weakened Kronos with extreme wariness.
Worse still, despite such a monumental event, although he had not summoned the gods, the gods, far from coming to inquire after their supreme God-King, had not even sent a single child, a token representative, to learn what had happened.
This collective indifference from the gods sent a chill through Kronos.
He felt unprecedented isolation—and that terrible, icy betrayal!
Traitors! All of them traitors!!!
A pack of traitors!
Damnable traitors!
And yet the gods could hardly be blamed—they had their own difficulties and calculations.
Those who had already harbored resentment toward Kronos feared that, should they see the God-King in such a sorry state, they would not be able to keep from laughing.
Those gods who had long since been utterly disappointed in Kronos naturally would not take the initiative to come at such a moment.
And the wavering neutral deities needed all the more to watch and wait now, maintaining neutrality.
Showing loyalty so proactively right now was unwise as well. If they chose the wrong side, there would be no time for regrets; thus they were in no hurry to declare themselves.
Not all among the gods were rebels or watchers; there were great gods loyal to Kronos.
But even they had to consider one thing: preserving the God-King's face.
All knew what had happened; the God-King Kronos had suffered a crushing loss—his face disgraced, his majesty diminished.
But after all, this was a family matter for the royal house of the God-King. In the absence of a royal summons, would it be proper to show too much initiative?
If they stirred the suspicion of a God-King so cunning and cruel, and he came to resent them for it, what then?
If the God-King did not want others to see him humiliated and in disarray—if they rashly went to him and further wounded his pride—what then?
It was precisely these concerns that led the vast majority to watch in silence.
When there's a chance of doing the wrong thing, better to do nothing—stillness over motion.
Iapetus, the Weaver of Death, for instance—he was one of Kronos's diehards. When he discovered the upheaval on the divine mountain, his first thought was to rush to Kronos's aid.
His eldest son, the foremost powerhouse among the second-generation Titans—the furious Atlas—and his second son, the rash and arrogant Menoetius, were likewise ready to charge forward with their father.
But they were forcibly stopped by Iapetus's wife, Clymene, a daughter of the Ocean.
Her reason was the preservation of the God-King's face: in the absence of true danger to the God-King, they could only await his summons, avoiding unnecessary offense.
Though Iapetus burned with anxiety, after much thought he heeded his wife's counsel and held his forces in check for the time being.
The Ocean's daughters wield a gentle grace that can easily bind even cold Death.
In a way that moistens all things without a sound, she brought his resolute stride to a temporary halt.
Faced with a Kronos who no longer held the hearts of the gods, each deity had his own thoughts, each seeking the best path for his future.
This was why, now, in truth, no great god came to ask after the God-King's welfare. As for lesser gods, they lacked the standing—and the courage.
In fact, with Kronos's keen mind, he could have fully understood these tangled considerations and concerns had he only thought a bit more deeply.
But the God-King, whose heart was seared by endless rage, clearly did not wish to delve into such "irrelevancies." His heart held only hatred and vengeance.
Thus Kronos was left to pour all misunderstanding and resentment into hatred for the comrades who had once been so close to him.
A king rarely reflects upon himself.
Least of all a supreme God-King.
They excel at blaming others, shifting all responsibility onto someone else.
The gods need only consider the God-King; the God-King has much more to consider.
Why reflect upon oneself when one can simply blame others?
That's what a God-King is.
A tolerant king who can consider the difficulties of those beneath him—that is a rarity indeed; "one in a million" hardly suffices to describe it.
The gods under Kronos truly had it hard: inaction was wrong, action might be wrong.
The world abounds in such "damned if you do, damned if you don't" affairs.
As for the God-King himself, the string of misfortunes he encountered only made him think and seethe all the more; his rage grew by the moment, his heart ever hotter and more frenzied. Every instant he wanted to succumb to madness—yet still he forced himself to endure.
He kept thinking over the current situation, which filled him with extreme caution. This was no longer a time for him to run wild and control everything at will.
Now he had to find a way to win over the gods, stabilize the situation, and deal with the rebels.
After that, he would settle accounts with every traitor, one by one!
But for now, he could not push potential allies into the enemy's arms.
Calm—he had to stay calm!
Those four words echoed again and again in the depths of Kronos's divine soul, striving to suppress the fury that could erupt at any moment.
Yet all efforts at composure were swept away the instant His Majesty the God-King beheld Mount Olympus burgeoning rapidly skyward—even towering to stand equal with the Mount Othrys of old! In that moment, all his remaining reason was utterly shattered!
To hell with plotting! To hell with keeping calm! To hell with enduring!
The rebels have shown themselves—crush them!!!
Crush them!!!
In a frenzy of rage tinged with savage delight, His Majesty the God-King's valiant, handsome features were twisted by fire into a mask of ferocity. Alone, breaking the void beneath his steps, he came without hesitation to the towering Mount Olympus!
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