The marketplace of the capital city of Colchis was bustling with activity. Little Medea, hooded in a trench coat and wrapped like an Arab woman, carefully followed behind Samael and Atalanta.
However, every time she spotted patrolling soldiers or figures resembling priests, this runaway witch would involuntarily pause, shrinking closer to Samael's side. Gradually, Little Medea moved even closer, her delicate hand unknowingly tightening its grip on Samael's hem as she followed him step by step, like a waddling duckling learning to walk.
When they approached a secluded corner near the Temple of Hecate, the Ancient Serpent stopped and turned back with an irritated snort.
"Enough. Let go. Are you scared now?" he asked.
"I'm not scared at all when I'm with Lord Theseus!" Little Medea replied, obediently releasing her grip. She lifted her pretty face, her smile radiant and carefree.
Atalanta sighed helplessly. She pulled the young girl aside with a hint of seriousness, then gently patted her shoulder and spoke earnestly.
"The outside world is dangerous, and people's hearts are complex. You're still young—don't trust others so easily. You could get hurt."
To clear up the misunderstanding, Samael openly revealed Medea's identity, hinted at the possibility of her being manipulated by Eros's power, and made it clear that he had no intention of exploiting the little girl.
With preconceived notions already in place, and considering Atalanta's fondness for children and shared experiences of being toyed with by divine beings, she felt a deep sympathy for this innocent, naive little girl. She didn't want Medea caught up in the adult world's schemes and conflicts.
"Lord Theseus and Sister Atalanta are good people—they wouldn't deceive me!" Medea's affirmation came with a firm conviction, making Atalanta's words seem pointless.
However, this well-meaning effort was in vain, as Medea's confident declaration made it clear she was undeterred.
"If I say the sun rises in the west every day, and that it appears in the east is just your eyes playing tricks, would you believe me?" Samael smirked and spun a ridiculous lie, seeing Atalanta's frustration.
"I believe you! So that's how it is! I never knew it could be so fascinating," Medea replied, nodding earnestly. She blinked rapidly, her eyes wide with the joy of discovering the "truth."
Samael's smile froze, his lips twitching. Trouble... this woman...
She wasn't truly foolish; how could she not detect such an obvious lie?
Therefore, her "belief" came from her "desire to believe."
From what he had seen yesterday, this girl approached others with great goodwill. Once she decided someone was trustworthy, she would embrace them completely, without hesitation. Thus, even if given a distorted view of the world, even if that trust came at a cruel cost, she would likely choose to believe and act on it without second thoughts.
On the other hand, she had a deep distrust of the world and everyone in it. Once someone or something became the center she deemed dependable, she could betray the world and disappoint everyone for it.
This mindset and behavior logic was likely the origin of her title, the "Betrayer Witch!"
Good grief—paranoid, hypersensitive personality, and a latent darkening yandere!
He wasn't good at handling this, especially with an adolescent at that delicate stage. The Ancient Serpent, who had nearly read Medea like an open book with his sharp insight into human nature, sighed wearily, pressing his forehead. He regretted his impulsive decision to engage with her yesterday.
With a headache, Samael rubbed his chin, pacing thoughtfully for a moment before quietly reassuring himself.
Wait, maybe not. It could be lingering effects from Eros's divine power. Perhaps in a few days, once the Golden Fleece was secured and the Argo had set sail, the young girl would mature a little more. Without that restless sense of novelty, she'd probably forget this whole ordeal soon enough. Adolescence, after all. Understandable.
With that thought, Samael gently patted young Medea's shoulder, his tone earnest.
"Listen to me, Colchis hasn't been peaceful these past few days. Stay put at the Temple of Hecate and don't wander off again."
"That's right. All along the way, there are far more soldiers patrolling the streets and priests on duty," Atalanta chimed in, offering additional validation.
"Okay, I will!" Little Medea agreed readily, but after taking a few steps toward the Temple of Hecate, she tugged at her skirt hem, hesitating as she turned back.
"So... when will I see you again?"
"Well, we'll meet again when the chance comes."
Samael waved his hand with a smile, offering a half-hearted, ambiguous dismissal.
Receiving this reply, Little Medea slipped back into the temple, her heart brimming with joy.
This unexpected little interlude finally drew to a close, and Samael let out a quiet sigh of relief. After all, besides severing the power of Eros from Medea, he had also left behind a curse of divine fate. That thing was specifically designed to corrode divinity—quite a nasty trick. Should the gods of Olympus rashly intervene again, they'd certainly get a taste of their own medicine...
"Hum!"
"Ah..."
Suddenly, a transparent serpentine phantom shot skyward as if pulled by an unseen force. A woman's stifled cry of pain echoed from mid-air.
"Hmph!"
Simultaneously, a cold, nasal snort echoed from within Hecate's temple. The golden glow of the Underworld Moon cast a ghostly, icy radiance. Invisible divine power collided with a thunderous roar. Flowers surrounding the temple instantly withered and scattered, while wisps of pink mist evaporated in an instant.
Chaos reigned around the Temple. Compounded by Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft, suddenly manifesting her divine power, the priests and worshippers were thrown into panic, rushing in and out to quell the disturbance.
Oh? So impatient?
Samael, lurking in the shadows, felt a surge of schadenfreude. Perfect. Not only had he played a dirty trick on Aphrodite, giving that troublesome woman a taste of her own medicine and tying her hands for a while, preventing her from stirring up trouble, but his behind-the-scenes maneuvering had, by some twist of fate, drawn Hecate into the fray. He'd successfully pinned the blame for the ambush on Aphrodite onto the Witchcraft Goddess, setting the two goddesses against each other.
Hecate, long dwelling in the Underworld and aligned with Hades, might not rank among the Twelve Olympians, but the famed goddess of witchcraft was no one to trifle with. And what did he enjoy watching more than women fighting? Goddesses? Even better.
The Ancient Serpent chuckled darkly, but before he could linger in observation, his arm tightened.
"Big Sis?"
"What are you staring at? Got nothing to do?"
"Ahem..."
"Come on, what are you standing there for? We still have the eastern sector to check today."
Atalanta snorted impatiently, dragging Samael forward by the arm.
Yet, after only a few steps, the Ancient Serpent steadied himself and quickened his pace to catch up. His hand snapped back to grasp her soft, jade-like wrist.
Atalanta's body stiffened. She shot a glance at that presumptuous hand, then turned her head with a soft snort. Though her cheek was turned away from Samael, the corner of her lips lifted in an almost imperceptible smile.
Even the proudest feline needed a little coaxing.
Samael, growing ever more experienced, boldly closed the distance. Soon, the two figures nestled together amidst the crowd, displaying unusual intimacy.
As night fell, the crew returned to the Argo to report. Jason, tasked with compiling intelligence, looked grim as he turned to his friend in the corner for help. This guy had somehow managed to whip up two servings of fruit slushies, one for himself and one for Atalanta to satisfy their cravings.
"Why are you looking at me? I already taught you how to make it. If you want some, make it yourselves!" Samael, sensing all eyes on him, guarded the slushie box warily, rolling his eyes as he grumbled.
"Bro, who'd dare snatch food from your jaws? If you want this stuff, I'll treat you to all you can stomach back home. Can you focus? We've got a life-or-death situation needing your input!" Jason pleaded with a pained expression, practically pulling out all the stops to play the sympathy card.
Samael scooped a spoonful of shaved ice into his mouth, eating as he asked.
"Is it about the Golden Fleece?"
Jason nodded eagerly, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Getting King Aeetes of Colchis to hand it over will be tough. Rumors we've gathered suggest the Golden Fleece isn't just a symbol of Colchis' prosperity and wealth—it's also inextricably linked to the life of King Aeetes. The fleece lives, he lives; the fleece dies, he dies."
Who knew such a thing existed? This was getting complicated.
Samael stroked his chin, his brow furrowing slightly.
...
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