Chapter 166: "Drowning Sorrows with 'Borrowed' Wine"  

The Marvel and DC universes are worlds where there’s always a bigger fish. 

 Even though he took over body when he crossed over, Atreus knew there were plenty of other monsters more powerful than him. 

 Sure, Atreus could act tough in front of opponents of his level, but he’d never be arrogant enough to think that knowing “history” means controlling the future. 

 After all, he had a system, which only meant he had potential. 

 But turning potential into power takes time, effort, and opportunity. 

 Yes, he had told Thor not to hand this thing over to the **Collector**, but never in his wildest dreams did he think Asgard's higher-ups would just hand it over to him.

 He was stunned, "Weren't you going to give it to the Collector?"

 "Why does it have to be him?" Sif’s eyes twinkled as she looked at the human hero who had protected Thor and successfully killed Malekith. She found it amusing, "Since the **Tesseract** and the **Aether** can’t be kept together, Asgard has to put it somewhere safer. The Collector’s just one of the candidates because of his reputation." 

 Volstagg chimed in, his booming voice like a drum, "You fought the Chitauri with Thor, a great hero of Earth. You killed Malekith and handed the Aether over to Thor. Even though Thor isn’t here right now, before he left, he and the four of us agreed unanimously—you’re the best one to keep the Aether safe from misuse."

 This… this was an **Infinity Stone**!

 Atreus always thought Asgardians were arrogant and prideful, but now they seemed kinda cute.

 Little did they know, Atreus’s shocked reaction came off as sincerity in the eyes of Sif and Volstagg—clearly, Kratos hadn’t even considered the idea of hoarding the Aether for himself.

 Sif took Atreus's hands in hers, closing them gently around the stone. "We all trust that only a hero like you can ensure it won’t be misused."

"Alright, I swear!" Atreus's vow was genuine. 

 After all, the **Reality Stone** might be powerful, but it’s not like just anyone could use it.

 Without the **Power Stone** or **Space Stone** to supply energy, just using it a tiny bit beyond its intended application could drain Atreus completely dry.

 A mere demigod as its power source wouldn’t last three seconds with the Reality Stone.

 Atreus would never misuse it because he couldn’t even use it if he wanted to. 

His respectful yet sincere look only boosted the confidence of the two Asgardians. 

"Alright, business is settled. Won’t you offer us a drink?" Sif’s expression was a little strange—was it mischievous? A hint of invitation? Or maybe some temptation? Atreus wasn’t sure.

 Especially after Volstagg egged him on, "Heh heh! Kratos, don’t you dare try to give us any ordinary booze. You wouldn’t want to disgrace the gods of Olympus, would you?" The rugged guy's words raised the stakes of this drinking party to a ridiculous level.

 Atreus grinned, "Follow me!"  

He led them through a portal, and the group arrived in a massive, brightly lit basement.

 "Where are we?" If Volstagg didn’t know Kratos had fought side by side with Thor, he might have reached for his axe. 

Atreus gave a mysterious smile. "Just wait a moment." 

He walked over to a communicator, said a few words into it, and before long, a dashing butler dressed in a black tailcoat appeared at the door of the basement.

 With impeccable manners, butler bowed deeply to the two visitors. "My young master’s identity is a highly confidential matter. I beg for your understanding. As per his suggestion, I believe it would be more suitable to take you directly to the wine cellar."

 "Wine cellar?!" Volstagg's eyes lit up.

 Following the butler through twists and turns, the group soon arrived at an incredibly extravagant wine cellar.

 The place was enormous, large enough to fit a Boeing 767 inside.

 Everywhere you looked, you could see rows of enormous oak barrels big enough to fit Volstagg. Closer to them were individual rooms showcasing various wines—hundreds of glass-bottled wines in one room, another full of crystal-clear brandies, and even a storage room for vodka. 
The three of them were seated on a high platform surrounded by countless wine cellars.

 It felt like being the ruler of a kingdom of wine, with each realm offering its finest as tribute.

 "Heavens! This place is amazing!" Volstagg exclaimed, like a mouse falling into a grain silo. 

Even Sif couldn’t help but tear up in joy at the sight.

 After the two Asgardians grabbed over a dozen bottles of top-shelf alcohol, the first round of snacks was wheeled in by the butler.

 A well-prepared kitchen can always meet a host’s needs on short notice.

 Sif half-closed her eyes, curious as she watched Atreus.

 She prided herself on knowing more about banquets than anyone in Asgard, and could tell these wines were far from something an ordinary family could afford.

 Though the style was different from Asgard’s, the two of them could instantly tell the food was excellent, and the wine was even better.

 After a few rounds of drinks, Sif’s gaze grew a little hazy. She playfully hooked her arm around Atreus’s neck. "You sly dog! Did you invite us here to drink away our worries because you knew we were upset?" 

"I didn’t know for sure, but I could guess from your faces." Atreus smiled softly, clinking glasses with Sif before downing a large bottle of brandy. 

Drowning sorrows in alcohol is different from ‘borrowing’ wine to do so. 

As Sif drank more, she began to vent, "Odin's been acting crazy lately! Punishing Heimdall, firing a bunch of people…"

 Meanwhile, at the front door of the mansion above them, Bruce Wayne returned, a beautiful woman on each arm. While their looks and figures weren’t quite at the level of Natasha Romanoff, they were still stunning.

 Bruce was in a good mood, but when he realized his butler was missing, he paused. "Where’s Alfred?"

 A maid answered, "Mr. Pennyworth is in the wine cellar, entertaining Master Wayne’s guests."

 Bruce’s face twitched, and his good mood vanished.

 After settling the women, Bruce saw Alfred coming out. "Wait! How much of my collection did that punk drink?"

 "Three bottles of **Henri IV Grande Champagne Cognac**…" 

 When Alfred reported the number with a smile, Bruce felt a slight heart attack coming on. Although the eight-figure check Alfred handed him provided some comfort, there was still a deep sense of sorrow. 

Was it about the money?
No, it was about his **life**!

(End of chapter)