"You and I are alike. We are both warriors who are skilled in using violence.
And yet you, with a presence like a great dragon, have not fully unleashed all the power within your body.
That will not do. I refuse to accept this."
Penthesilea was stunned. "What?"
....
"I refuse to accept this result of a battle where neither side gave their all.
From the blood memories inherited from my grandfather Kratos, I once saw the heroic figure of his battle against the evil dragon Fafnir.
It was a terrifying battle that, even recalling it now, cannot be described in words at all.
It was also a true warrior's fight that fills one with longing and admiration.
A battle requiring absolute focus, with heart and soul thrown in completely. Where any trace of distraction could cost you your life, and in the midst of it all you forget everything else and fight with everything you have.
In the end he transformed into a figure like an evil dragon, even more fearsome than the evil dragon itself.
To defeat an evil dragon, one must possess a battle instinct as powerful as the evil dragon's.
To respond to that with full respect.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, repaying transgression with blood.
Facing you, who fights on the battlefield without holding anything back. Queen of the Amazons.
I give this battle between kindred spirits, this sacred duel, this noble offering, every last bit of my strength without reservation.
In the past, always held back by a body too frail, lacking the mighty form of my grandfather who bathed in dragon blood and became as powerful as a great dragon, only inheriting the barest trace of his power,
I suppressed the nature of a warrior who yearned to fight. As the descendant of a hero, the battle I have always waited for is right here.
The moment to achieve glory through this offering is right here.
You called me a monster.
Then please do not lose to a pitiable and weak monster like myself.
As a powerful demigod, use every last bit of your strength to shatter the dream of a mortal like me."
.....
So that was it.
When they heard this far, everyone finally understood.
Why the fighting Griffith after putting on the armor was so vastly different from his usual calm and gentle, beautiful youth appearance.
As a warrior, because of a frail body, he had always been forced to suppress the nature of a heart that yearned to fight?
Even the war god Ares was moved listening to this.
So that was it!
Though the reason was unclear, the hero Griffith could perfectly unleash the power of Achilles's armor and, in terms of feeling, even surpassed Achilles, as though burning at two hundred percent capacity.
But was all of this entirely the strength of the divine equipment?
Why was the world so unjust toward a warrior with such an outstanding will?
A spirit that yearned to be truly powerful should not be shackled by a weak body.
At this moment even Ares, whose head was normally full of nothing but starting wars and stirring up chaos everywhere, could not help wanting to help this pitiful mortal hero and let him fully bloom.
But on the other side, after hearing Night's words,
Athena's expression became somewhat strange.
She only believed half of it.
As for the other half...
A weak body.
Referring to the terrifying arm strength that could grab Diomedes's spear single-handed and successfully snatch it away?
What kind of humble brag was this?
At the same time, on the other side, the gods who had no knowledge of Night's actual physical strength all believed it.
And down on the earth...
The Amazon queen Penthesilea naturally also believed it.
In order to fight against her with everything he had, he even put on the arms of the weak and still aimed to defeat her...
Firmly convinced that she, as a demigod, must be incomparably powerful, yet she had failed to meet that expectation.
Completely and utterly fooled, the delicate and beautiful face of Penthesilea was full of deep feeling at this moment, and in an instant all the anger and humiliation faded away like smoke.
In their place was an oppressive shame she could not shake off.
Why am I... so... weak?!
So what if it was Achilles's armor?
Even without her weapon, she still had fists, still had feet.
And if she lost her fists and feet, she still had teeth.
The powerful body of a demigod was the best weapon of all.
She understood now!!
At this moment Penthesilea finally understood where the root of her greatest strength lay.
"I understand now. This body of mine, carrying the blood of my father god Ares, is my most powerful weapon.
You are right. As a demigod born far stronger than any mortal, as someone born a natural powerhouse,
I have no right to deny the weak their convenience of using weapons to strengthen themselves in battle.
Because the demigod that I am and the mortals that you are were never standing on the same starting line from the beginning.
With such a powerful advantage as mine,
I still flinched the moment you put on a set of armor. I even had the thought that without a weapon I could no longer deal you any damage.
Ah...
Ah, how disgraceful. To covet the ability to crush an enemy from an unequal position.
Why am I... so weak?"
Tears dripped down her delicate cheeks as Penthesilea puffed her cheeks with deep indignation and regret.
Why did she show such a weak display?
Why was she so useless, unable even to respond to such a respectable fighting spirit?
A challenge from a mortal who gave everything!
Facing that overwhelming strength held back by nothing, she should have felt joy.
And then answered with even greater strength!
And enjoyed the thrill of the battle to the fullest!
Finally, after endless satisfaction in combat, to look down with the composure of the strong at the one who fought with everything and still fell, and calmly say: you already tried hard enough.
And there is no shame in the weak losing to the strong.
But...
Right now the one who was supposed to be the strong lost and was still making excuses.
A disadvantage in martial skill?
A powerful body that could not fully unleash all its power? Excuses.
All of it, excuses.
A loss was a loss.
However, Night still had a lot more to say. "It is not yet time for regret.
This will not do at all.
Prepare yourself. I am not going to let you off easily.
For my sake, fight with everything you have and satisfy me!
Starting now, allow me to properly teach you.
What it means to fight to the death with everything you have!"
Boom!!
The moment Night finished speaking, a terrifying aura suddenly erupted from his entire body.
The deep blue flames burned even more intensely from the corners of his eyes.
And then behind him, the faint phantom of a terrifying black dragon began to appear.
Those golden vertical pupils stared at Penthesilea with the gaze of death.
Instantly...
The gods and heroes were all struck with shock.
Upon seeing that black dragon figure, so solid and vivid it seemed almost tangible, its breath and scales growing incomparably clear and distinct.
"The evil dragon Fafnir!!"
Almost immediately, everyone who imagined the figure representing Night's awakened Roman dragon as the form of the evil dragon from the legend of the dragon-slayer.
Instantly their conviction in the legend of the dragon-slayer Kratos became absolute and unshakeable.
Because he bathed in dragon blood, something unusual arose within the bloodline, producing a faint trace of dragon blood.
That also seemed quite natural, did it not?!
The dragon-slayer ultimately becomes the evil dragon!
And at this moment, facing that powerful figure and spirit.
Odysseus, who was originally all scheming and hoping Night would hurry up and finish off the Amazon queen to conserve his strength, felt even the warrior side of his own heart get swept up and infected at this moment.
In the end he went silent and chose to respect the other party's choice.
After believing Night's improvised excuse and further believing in the background he wove together, everyone felt that this sacred duel could no longer endure even the slightest desecration.
Right now they could only choose to believe in Night.
.
.
.
(End of the Chapter)