I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC231 Killing Ajax!
231 Killing Ajax!
Every muscle on Ajax's massive frame seemed to ripple with unnatural strength, his veins glowing faintly as if liquid fire coursed through them. His very presence was suffocating, the raw power radiating from him pressing down on Nathan like a mountain.
He was going to go all out.
Nathan's gaze never wavered. Despite the crushing weight of Ajax's unleashed might, he stood firm. Blood dripped from his cracked knuckles onto the dirt, pooling at his feet, but his eyes burned brighter than ever. Ajax burned bright, his aura blazing as he stepped forward with terrifying speed, vanishing in a blink and reappearing behind Nathan. The air itself seemed to tremble under his raw power. Yet, Nathan stood unmoving, his head lowered, as if resigned or calculating.
BADAM!
The air where Nathan's head had been exploded outward with a deafening shockwave, Ajax's strike carving through space with the force of a hurricane. Dust and debris scattered violently. But Nathan, calm and unshaken, had already shifted his weight. With fluid precision, he twisted his body and delivered a powerful kick to Ajax's side.
Ajax staggered slightly, his massive frame absorbing the brunt of the blow. His ribs visibly caved inward under the force, but he hardly budged. Nathan grimaced, pain shooting up his leg from the impact, and instinctively leapt back, distancing himself.
In a blur, Ajax retaliated. His colossal hand lunged forward like a predator's claw, snatching Nathan's head in an unrelenting grip before he could react.
"I will crush your skull!" Ajax roared, his voice echoing like thunder.
A searing pain shot through Nathan's head, the pressure threatening to turn his skull into nothing but shattered fragments. His vision blurred, and time seemed to slow. Desperation kicked in, and Nathan knew he had only moments to act.
With a sharp inhale, Nathan twisted his body mid-air, wrapping his legs tightly around Ajax's thick, muscular arm. His thighs locked with a crushing force as he channeled all his strength into a desperate maneuver.
CRACK!
Ajax's bellow of pain filled the battlefield as his arm audibly fractured under Nathan's vice-like grip. His grip on Nathan's head faltered, and in a moment of hesitation, he released him. But that was his gravest mistake.
Nathan seized the opportunity with deadly precision. Rising to his feet with a burst of energy, he launched a devastating uppercut.
THUD!
In a blur of movement, Nathan appeared before Ajax once more, his icy eyes devoid of mercy. Without hesitation, he drove his knee into Ajax's stomach with earth-shaking force.
Ajax's body bent in half from the blow, his ribs collapsing inward like fragile glass under a sledgehammer.
"BARGHH!" Ajax gagged, blood and bile spilling from his lips. He was sent hurtling backward, his massive frame skidding across the ground like a broken doll. He tumbled, finally coming to a halt in a crater of dust and debris.
When his eyes fluttered open, Nathan was already there, looming over him like a specter of death. The cold, unyielding gaze in Nathan's eyes struck a deep chord of fear in Ajax—a feeling he had never known before. For the first time in his life, Ajax felt the suffocating grip of dread.
BADAM!
Nathan's fist came down like a meteor, slamming into Ajax's cheek with a brutal crack. Ajax's head snapped sideways, the side of his head fracturing under the unrelenting power. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he coughed weakly, struggling to even part his lips.
Still, his warrior's instinct fought against despair. Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, Ajax tried to raise his arm in defiance.
But Nathan was faster.
Before the arm could fully rise, Nathan's leg lashed out with terrifying speed and power.
SNAP!
Ajax's arm bent grotesquely in the wrong direction, the bone shattered by the sheer force of Nathan's kick. A strangled cry of pain tore from Ajax's throat, his body writhing in agony.
Nathan loomed closer, his cold aura suffocating. There was no mercy, no hesitation in his actions.
"You shouldn't have touched her," Nathan said, his voice as cold and sharp as the edge of a blade. His piercing gaze bore down on Ajax, who lay crumpled beneath him, bloodied and beaten.
Ajax squinted up at Nathan, struggling to comprehend his words. What was this man talking about?
But Ajax had lived long enough to make an educated guess. A woman—this was about a woman. It always was.
In his years of conquest and debauchery, Ajax had seen countless men glare at him with murder in their eyes. Husbands, brothers, and fathers—they all shared the same desperate, impotent rage when he took what he wanted from them. None of them, however, had ever dared lay a hand on him. Until now.
Nathan's gaze, though, was unlike anything Ajax had seen before. It wasn't just anger or hatred; it was something far more chilling. Cold, calculated, and utterly devoid of mercy, it sent a shiver through even Ajax's mighty frame.
As he lay there, battered and humiliated, Ajax tried to reason. Perhaps this man was a Trojan, and he was avenging a Trojan woman Ajax had taken by force. Yes, that had to be it. But the truth wasn't far off.
Nathan's foot slammed down on Ajax's chest with brutal force. The white glow of Ajax's divine aura flickered and began to fade, as though even the power of the gods could not withstand Nathan's wrath.
"I will kill you!" Ajax roared, summoning the last of his strength. His remaining arm shot up, fist clenched, ready to strike.
But he never got the chance.
A searing pain exploded through his shoulder, and the next moment, his vision blurred. His arm had been severed cleanly, blood spraying like a crimson fountain. Ajax's howl of agony tore through the battlefield, a guttural cry that made even the Greek warriors pause, their faces pale with fear.
Nathan stood over him, unflinching, holding a blade as black as midnight. The sword radiated a malevolent energy, its demonic aura suffocating. This was no ordinary weapon—it was the sword of the previous Demon King, a relic of darkness and despair.
Ajax's body convulsed as the blade's cursed power invaded him, burning through his veins like molten fire. Pain, unlike anything he had ever known, wracked his body. He felt as though his very soul was being torn apart.
How could this be happening? He was Ajax, born of Zeus's blood, a demigod of unrivaled strength. This kind of torment, this kind of defeat, was unthinkable.
Nathan's smirk was cruel and cold as he watched Ajax writhe beneath him. He raised the dark blade high, its edge glinting ominously in the fading light of the battlefield.
"Die and rot in the deepest hell," Nathan said, his voice a death knell.
The blade plunged downward, sinking into Ajax's chest with an unforgiving finality.
Ajax's body jolted violently, his eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Blood bubbled from his lips as he gasped for air that would no longer come. Nathan pressed his foot firmly against Ajax's chest, holding him down as the life drained from his body.
For a brief moment, Ajax writhed, his strength fading with every spasm. Blood spilled onto the ground in dark pools, and his cries turned to choked gurgles. Then, at last, his body went still.
His eyes remained open, frozen in a final expression of fear and anguish. The reflection in them was haunting—Nathan, standing over him like a harbinger of death, his cold gaze unwavering.
Ajax the Great, a warrior feared across nations, was no more. His fall sent shockwaves through the battlefield.
"I... Impossible..."
Horror etched across the faces of the Greek soldiers.
A collective silence spread across the battlefield. The Greeks stood frozen, their faces pale as death, their breaths shallow and uncertain. This was Ajax the Great, a demigod, a pillar of strength and invincibility, brought low by a single man.
On the Trojan side, the reaction was the opposite. Though equally wide-eyed, their expressions brimmed with astonishment and relief. The impossible had happened, but in their favor. Nathan's name was destined to echo in tales of triumph.
Nathan, standing tall amidst the chaos, gazed coldly down at Ajax's lifeless form. Without a flicker of hesitation, he raised his hand, and an icy frost began to spread. It crawled over Ajax's body, encasing the fallen warrior in a frozen prison.
The frost glittered in the waning sunlight, a cruel mockery of the once-mighty hero. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, Nathan drove his foot down.
The sound echoed sharply across the battlefield. Ajax's frozen body shattered into countless shards of ice, scattering across the bloodstained earth.
It was merciless.
Tradition dictated that even the bodies of enemies, especially warriors of Ajax's caliber, were given proper rites. Great warriors were honored with tombs and rituals, ensuring their passage to the Elysian Fields—a resting place for the most valiant souls.
But Nathan denied Ajax even that.
To him, Ajax was not a warrior. He was trash. The lowest form of filth. Unworthy of rest.
Nathan's cold gaze lingered on the icy remains for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the battlefield.
A sharp sound broke through the tension—a sudden movement behind him.
Nathan's ears caught the faint displacement of air, his body reacting before thought.
Someone was trying to strike him from behind, thinking him vulnerable after his fight with Ajax.
The would-be assassin lunged, sword in hand, aiming for Nathan's back. But Nathan was always vigilant.
Before the blade could make contact, Nathan vanished.
"What?!"
Jason, the celebrated Greek hero, stumbled forward as his sword slashed through empty air. His shock was palpable. His wide, startled eyes darted around, searching for Nathan.
But Jason's search ended abruptly.
A sharp, thin line of red appeared across his throat.
He froze, his hands instinctively rising to touch the blood now pouring from the wound. His sword clattered to the ground, forgotten. Jason's lips quivered as he struggled to process what had happened.
Moments later, his head slipped from his shoulders.
It landed heavily on the dirt, the once-proud hero's lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void.
His body, now headless, remained upright for a moment before collapsing to its knees. Blood streamed down, soaking the earth beneath him.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC232 Heiron's shocking victory!
232 Heiron's shocking victory!
His body, now headless, remained upright for a moment before collapsing to its knees. Blood streamed down, soaking the earth beneath him.
Nathan stood a short distance away, his black blade gleaming with fresh blood. His expression was unchanging, as if Jason's death carried no more weight than a passing breeze.
The man who had dared to challenge him for Medea and the Golden Fleece was nothing more than another obstacle—easily and ruthlessly removed.
Nathan turned his back on Jason's headless corpse without a second glance.The Greeks, who had watched their champions fall, were too terrified to act to try anything.
"He… He killed Ajax…"
A Greek soldier whispered in disbelief, his trembling voice barely audible amidst the chaos. It was as if muttering the words aloud would somehow confirm that this wasn't some twisted dream—though for them, it was nothing short of a nightmare.
But his quiet exclamation carried, rippling through the ranks like a stone dropped in still water.
"Jason too…" another soldier muttered, his voice tinged with horror.
The battlefield fell into a stunned silence, broken only by the distant clash of weapons and the crackling of flames. The mighty Ajax the Great—King of Salamis, the fabled colossus of Greek legend, a man said to be as indomitable as Achilles or Agamemnon—was dead. His presence had been a pillar of Greek morale, his strength a banner under which the army rallied with unwavering confidence. Yet now, his lifeless body had been shattered, his legend reduced to icy shards scattered across the blood-soaked earth.
Jason, the leader of the famed Argonauts, had fared no better. A single, effortless slice to his neck had ended his storied life. The precision of the strike was almost surgical, devoid of struggle, as though Heiron had found it beneath his notice to extend the fight. One of the bodies lay shattered into crystalline fragments, glittering faintly in the dim light, while the other lay prone on the ground, headless and unmoving.
"Heiron won!"
The shout came suddenly, bursting forth from the Trojan ranks.
"YEEEAAAAHHHH!"
"HEIRON! HEIRON!"
The Trojans erupted in unison, their voices rising into a deafening roar. Weapons were thrust into the air, glinting fiercely beneath the sun, and their jubilant cries echoed across the battlefield like a triumphant symphony. The sound was so powerful, so all-encompassing, that it seemed to make the very air tremble.
The Greeks, paralyzed by the weight of their shock, began to falter. The sight of their two champions defeated so decisively drained the fight from their spirits. Unwilling to face Heiron's wrath or the resurgent Trojans, they turned and retreated, their once-proud army now a broken shadow of its former self.
Meanwhile, the Trojans surged forward, surrounding Heiron with reverent awe. Their cheers grew louder still, their voices carrying all the way to the towering walls of Troy. The defenders upon the ramparts could see him standing amidst the carnage, his armor gleaming, his presence larger than life.
Heiron had fought Ajax with such ferocity that the ground bore the scars of their clash—craters, shattered stones, and scorch marks from the sheer violence of their duel. Few among the Trojans had dared to hope he could triumph against the Greek titan, and yet, not only had he done so, but he had also vanquished Jason, a cunning and dangerous foe in his own right.
Inside the great city of Troy, Queen Hecuba stood upon a balcony overlooking the scene, her hands clasped tightly against her chest. Her expression was a mixture of shock and joy, her lips curving into a delighted smile as her wide eyes turned toward her husband.
"Dear…" she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion.
King Priam sat beside her, his aged face glowing with an uncharacteristic vitality. His smile was wide and unrestrained, and his eyes, once dulled by time, now gleamed with the fiery spirit of his youth. For a fleeting moment, he felt like the warrior he had once been, the king who had led his people through countless trials.
Heiron's name thundered across the battlefield, carried on the lips of every Trojan soldier. This was more than a victory; it was a rallying cry, a spark of hope in a war that had brought so much despair.
For King Priam, this was already a monumental victory.
Heiron was strong.
Extremely strong.
Strong enough to defeat Ajax, one of the mightiest of the Greek kings. This realization alone sent a thrill through Priam's old bones, rekindling a warrior's fire within him. If Heiron could rival and even surpass Ajax in raw power, it meant he was at least on par with Hector, Troy's beloved prince and greatest defender. Together, these two warriors formed an unparalleled force, a shield and sword for Troy that could turn the tides of the war. With both Heiron and Hector standing tall, Priam could not help but entertain a dangerous, intoxicating thought: victory.
High hopes surged through the King and Queen, but their astonishment paled compared to that of two others among the gathered Trojans.
The first was Helen of Troy.
Once Helen of Sparta, she knew Ajax all too well. His strength was the stuff of legend, and she had witnessed it firsthand. To her, he was nearly invincible, an unshakable pillar of Greek dominance. The only man she ever thought might rival him among Trojans was Hector, and even then, she had doubted Hector could truly match Ajax in raw power. Ajax the Great was not just strong; he was feared by friend and foe alike.
Yet now, today, she had seen the unthinkable.
Ajax had not just been defeated—he had been utterly overwhelmed. The great hero of Salamis, a warrior renowned for his invincibility, had been bested in a contest of sheer physical might. Fist against fist, strength against strength, Heiron had overpowered him. The sight of Ajax succumbing to another man's strength, his mighty form shattered like glass, was an image that would haunt Helen for a long time. Her disbelief left her frozen.
A short distance away, another figure stood equally stunned: Kassandra of Troy.
Her wide eyes and slack jaw betrayed her utter shock, though her reasons were unique. Known for her prophetic visions, Kassandra often saw beyond what others could, but even she had not foreseen this outcome. Her mind struggled to process what had unfolded, leaving her uncharacteristically speechless.
Beside her, a young woman bubbled with excitement.
"Sister! Look! He won! This is amazing!"
It was Polyxena, Kassandra's younger sister and a princess of Troy. She hopped in place, her gleaming eyes filled with admiration as she gazed at Heiron. Her joy was infectious, her enthusiasm spilling over as she clutched at Kassandra's arm.
But Kassandra was too stunned to respond, her mind consumed by the implications of what she had just witnessed.
Above the walls of Troy, three divine beings watched the scene unfold with keen interest, unseen by mortal eyes.
Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, had an ecstatic smile on her radiant face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling as she observed Heiron's triumphant figure standing amidst the cheering Trojans. She placed a hand on her chest as if to steady her racing heart.
"He really did it…" she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of relief and unrestrained joy.
Next to her, Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and protector of women, wore a soft smile. Her usually reserved demeanor had given way to visible delight.
"I still can't believe it," she murmured, her voice trembling ever so slightly. But beyond her disbelief was a deep satisfaction. Heiron had done what few could have imagined, and in doing so, he had vanquished a man Artemis despised. Ajax, who had always treated women as objects, had finally met his end at the hands of someone who fought for more than glory or conquest.
"He's not bad at all," she added, her tone laced with approval.
Ares, the god of war, stood nearby, his expression a stark contrast to the two goddesses. His lips curled into a wide, wolfish grin, his blood running hot with excitement. His muscles tensed, his fists clenched, and his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam as he watched Heiron bask in the adoration of the Trojans.
"I like him," Ares growled, his voice rumbling like thunder. "He's strong… really strong. I want to fight him."
On the other side of the divine divide, two goddesses were far from pleased.
"How?!" Hera's voice thundered with unrestrained fury, echoing like a storm ready to break. Her regal composure cracked as she clenched her fists tightly, trembling with the effort it took to restrain herself from acting on her rage. Every fiber of her being screamed to kill Heiron where he stood, to erase the dangerous man who had just shifted the balance of the war.
Yet, she couldn't.
Artemis and Aphrodite stood nearby, their gazes locked onto her with quiet intensity. Both goddesses were clearly prepared to intervene if she made a move against Heiron. The audacity of their defiance only deepened Hera's anger, but she knew better than to provoke them openly. Worse still, her stupid son, Ares, would likely join the fray—not to support her, but because the prospect of battle thrilled him.
And then there was Zeus.
Her husband wouldn't take kindly to such impulsiveness, especially not over something that might threaten the fragile balance of divine alliances. Hera grit her teeth so hard it felt as if they might crack. She had never been a stranger to anger, but rarely did it burn as hotly as it did now.
"I should have blessed him!" she spat, the frustration in her voice sharp enough to cut. In her mind, the outcome was clear: if only she had granted Ajax her divine favor, this catastrophe could have been avoided.
"No," Athena interjected, her tone calm but firm. "Even with your blessing, I believe he still would have lost."
Athena's composed exterior masked her inner turmoil, but the way her hand tightened on the shaft of her lance betrayed the anger simmering beneath her calm demeanor. Ajax had been one of their greatest champions, a critical piece on the chessboard of this war. His loss was a heavy blow, but Athena's nature wouldn't allow her to lose control as Hera had.
Hera whipped around to glare at her fellow goddess. "Who the hell is that bastard?!" she demanded, her voice dripping with venom.
It made no sense. This Heiron had appeared out of nowhere. A mortal with such overwhelming strength should have been famous, spoken of in songs and stories across the lands. How had someone so powerful remained in the shadows until now?
"I don't know either," Athena admitted, her eyes narrowing in thought. For all her wisdom and far-reaching knowledge, even she was at a loss. It was infuriating, and yet she couldn't deny the mystery intrigued her.
Athena's gaze shifted to Aphrodite, whose expression had remained unreadable through the exchange. The goddess of love and beauty had been suspiciously quiet, and Athena couldn't shake the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on.
"I don't care!" Hera snarled, the air around her crackling with her fury. "I will find out who he is!"
Before anyone could respond, Hera's form shimmered and vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the lingering echo of her anger.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC233 Atalanta's doubts
233 Atalanta's doubts
Athena's gaze shifted to Aphrodite, whose expression had remained unreadable through the exchange. The goddess of love and beauty had been suspiciously quiet, and Athena couldn't shake the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on.
"I don't care!" Hera snarled, the air around her crackling with her fury. "I will find out who he is!"
Before anyone could respond, Hera's form shimmered and vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the lingering echo of her anger.
Athena lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on Heiron. Her sharp blue eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity, a faint sense of recognition tugging at the corners of her mind. There was something familiar about him—not his face, but an intangible aura, a fleeting memory she couldn't quite grasp. It was like trying to catch a shadow in the fading light, slipping through her thoughts before she could pin it down. Had she truly seen him before, or was this sense of familiarity merely a trick of the mind? She searched her memories, combing through the countless faces and moments etched in her long life, but nothing came. With a soft sigh, she let it go. Perhaps it was nothing more than coincidence.
There was no point dwelling on it now. Her attention shifted downward, to the battlefield below. From her vantage point, she could see the Greeks scattered in disarray, their expressions frozen in shock and despair. They were staring blankly at the cheering Trojans, their gaze sweeping desperately over the jubilant crowd in search of the one responsible for the calamity that had unfolded in their midst. But Nathan was hidden from most of their eyes, obscured by the sea of victorious Trojans who roared his name like a battle cry.
Not that it mattered.
The Greeks were retreating. Their morale was shattered, crushed beneath the weight of Ajax's death and the unrelenting enthusiasm of the Trojan forces. The Trojans, bolstered by their unexpected victory and the deaths of two of Greece's mightiest warriors, were riding high on a surge of adrenaline and pride. The Greeks, by contrast, were drained and disheartened. Fighting under these conditions would only lead to further disaster.
All the Greek commanders, acting as though by some unspoken agreement, ordered a slow and steady retreat. It was not a decision born of strategy but of necessity. The death of Ajax, the mighty King of Salamis, left a gaping void in their ranks. His army was leaderless, their cohesion at risk of crumbling without a steady hand to guide them. Though Ajax's brother, Teucer, might have stepped into his role, his fate was no better. He too had fallen—struck down by the same man who had felled Ajax.
The loss was catastrophic. Without a commander, the Salamis army teetered on the edge of collapse, and their faltering resolve threatened to spread like a disease through the rest of the Greek forces. To stave off disaster, the retreat was inevitable. What remained of their pride demanded they call it a "strategic withdrawal," but in truth, it was little more than a desperate flight from the battlefield.
A crushing defeat. They had lost not just a king, but also their footing in this war.
Athena turned and departed swiftly, her expression unreadable. Whatever plans she harbored, she kept to herself, leaving the Greeks to lick their wounds and the Trojans to revel in their triumph.
Amid the chaos of jubilant Trojans and broken Greeks, Nathan stood at the center of the storm, struggling to catch his breath. The cheers of the Trojans rang in his ears, a deafening cacophony of victory. His skin was pale, his face slick with sweat, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Ajax had been a powerful opponent, far stronger than Nathan had anticipated. Every blow from the Greek king had been heavy with the might of Zeus's blood coursing through his veins.
And yet, Nathan had prevailed.
Though he masked his emotions behind a calm exterior, a glimmer of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. This was no ordinary victory—it was a personal one. He had killed and humiliated the man who had dared to lay hands on Aisha.
"You've won, Heiron."
Hector's voice carried a warmth rarely seen from the stoic Trojan prince as he approached Nathan, his face lit with a rare smile. He placed a firm, appreciative hand on Nathan's shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and respect. Today, Hector was more than proud—he was relieved. Relieved to have a friend and ally of Nathan's caliber standing by his side in this grueling war.
Nathan inclined his head in acknowledgment, his pale features betraying none of the turmoil he had endured during the fight. His silent demeanor spoke volumes, and Hector, perceptive as ever, quickly picked up on the unspoken cue.
Raising his hand high above his head, Hector turned to address the jubilant Trojans. "We have won today!" he roared, his deep voice booming across the battlefield. "Let us retreat, rest, and feast! Ajax the Great is dead—slain by Heiron!"
The Trojans erupted in deafening cheers, their voices reverberating through the plains and carrying toward the walls of Troy. The announcement of Ajax's death, a man revered as an unshakable titan of Greece, ignited a fire of triumph among the Trojan ranks. Soldiers embraced one another, clashing their shields in celebration. It was a victory that would be sung for generations.
Forming disciplined ranks, the Trojans began their march back to the safety of Troy, their morale soaring higher than it had in weeks.
"That was an amazing fight, Heiron! I always knew you were strong, but to defeat even Ajax? Incredible!" Aeneas strode up to Nathan with a grin that radiated genuine joy, his excitement bubbling over as if he had been the one to strike the killing blow.
Nathan gave a slight nod, his expression as unreadable as ever, but Aeneas seemed undeterred, basking in the glow of the day's victory.
"I must say…" Penthesilea's voice interrupted, her tone low yet carrying an undercurrent of intrigue. The Amazon queen approached Nathan, her striking eyes glimmering with something between admiration and mischief. "You were… enthralling out there." Her lips curved into a meaningful grin, but she offered no further elaboration, choosing instead to walk ahead.
Atalanta stood nearby, her gaze lingering on Nathan. Unlike the others, she did not rush forward with congratulations or words of praise. Her green eyes bore an uncharacteristic uncertainty. When Nathan's sharp gaze met hers, she quickly looked away, her discomfort clear.
Nathan's expression hardened, though not in anger. He understood why she was troubled.
The moment he had unleashed his Demonic Eye during the battle, the veil of his alias as Heiron had been irreparably torn. Those who had encountered him at Colchis—Jason, Heracles, Orpheus, and Atalanta—had surely pieced it together. The man standing before them was none other than Nathan, the enigmatic and feared Lord Commander of Tenebria.
Atalanta's thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She hadn't cared much about losing the Golden Fleece; her purpose in joining the Argonauts had never been solely tied to that quest. Artemis had sent her to explore the world, to grow and gain wisdom, and in that sense, Atalanta had fulfilled her mission.
But Nathan—no, Heiron—was another matter.
She recalled how he had once mocked her Goddess, his sharp words delivered with deliberate precision, as if to provoke her. At the time, she had bristled with indignation, upset by his apparent disrespect. But months had passed since then, and during their time together at Troy, her relationship with Nathan as Heiron had changed.
Here, he had treated her not as an enemy or a rival but as a comrade, even a friend. There was a warmth to his interactions with her now, a stark contrast to the cold detachment she had felt from him at Colchis.
And now, as the truth unraveled before her, Atalanta realized something surprising: Nathan must have known who she was all along. Yet he had done nothing to exploit that knowledge. Instead, he had treated her with fairness, even kindness, far more so than she had ever expected.
Perhaps, she mused, his aloofness at Colchis had less to do with her and more to do with Jason, whose brash arrogance had a knack for setting people on edge. Here at Troy, Nathan was different—a man who revealed layers of himself she had not thought to find.
The realization left Atalanta conflicted, unsure of what to feel or how to act. She had come to see Heiron as an ally, someone she could trust. But now, knowing who he truly was, she wondered if that trust was misplaced—or if perhaps it was more genuine than ever.
Atalanta couldn't shake the gnawing doubt creeping into her thoughts. Had Nathan been acting this whole time?
The idea unsettled her. If his warmth and camaraderie toward her had been a façade, it would wound her deeply—because for her, none of it had been false.
Nathan was the first man she had ever felt comfortable speaking to. As a devotee of Artemis, she had spent little time around men, and those she did encounter were invariably consumed by their desires. She had seen it in their eyes: the way they ogled her, reducing her to a prize to be claimed.
But Nathan had been different.
His gaze never lingered inappropriately, never carried the weight of expectation or lust. With him, she could speak plainly, without fear of being misunderstood or objectified. It was liberating, and she had come to treasure their conversations more than she realized.
Now, however, uncertainty clouded those memories.
Her steps quickened, as if she could outrun her troubling thoughts, and she soon found herself walking ahead of the group.
Charybdis approached Nathan quietly, her expression calm yet tinged with concern.
She had never doubted Nathan's ability to defeat Ajax. He was a warrior like no other, and she had every confidence in his strength. Yet even so, she couldn't ignore the strain she had seen in him during the fight.
Nathan's body was weakening. She knew it, and he knew it. Apollo's intervention had granted him more time, but it had done nothing to address the root of the issue: his dwindling life force.
Charybdis reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his with gentle insistence. Nathan responded instinctively, grasping her hand in return. As they continued walking, he felt a subtle flow of her mana seep into him, its warmth spreading through his body like a soothing balm.
The tension in his shoulders eased, and his steps regained their steadiness. Charybdis didn't speak—she didn't need to. Her silent support was enough, and Nathan was quietly grateful for it.
"You have to be there for tonight's feast, Heiron," Hector said, his tone apologetic. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to bear with it."
Nathan turned his gaze to the Trojan prince, his expression unreadable. He knew Hector understood his distaste for the pomp and noise of celebrations. But today, there was no avoiding it.
"You're the hero of the day," Hector continued, his voice tinged with both pride and regret. "The man who killed Ajax. And after a victory like this, my father will undoubtedly have a reward prepared for you."
"You're the hero of the day," Hector continued, his voice tinged with both pride and regret. "The man who killed Ajax. And after a victory like this, my father will undoubtedly have a reward prepared for you."
Nathan inclined his head slightly, his way of signaling he understood. He didn't protest or grumble. He had accepted this inevitability the moment he chose to kill Ajax on the battlefield—under the watchful eyes of Greeks, Trojans, and, most importantly, the Gods themselves.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC234 Heiron's rewarded again!
234 Heiron's rewarded again!
"You're the hero of the day," Hector continued, his voice tinged with both pride and regret. "The man who killed Ajax. And after a victory like this, my father will undoubtedly have a reward prepared for you."
Nathan inclined his head slightly, his way of signaling he understood. He didn't protest or grumble. He had accepted this inevitability the moment he chose to kill Ajax on the battlefield—under the watchful eyes of Greeks, Trojans, and, most importantly, the Gods themselves.
Stepping into the spotlight had been a calculated decision. If the Gods wanted a spectacle, he would give them one.
Nathan returned to his quarters within the towering walls of Troy's royal castle. The room, though grand by most standards, was modest compared to the opulence surrounding it, a reflection of his role as an outsider—a mercenary allowed inside the heart of Trojan society. The evening sun filtered through the intricately woven curtains, casting warm amber hues across the stone walls.
He shrugged off his worn battle tunic, the scent of sweat and blood lingering faintly on the fabric, and stepped into the adjoining bathing chamber. Warm water cascaded over him as he let the tension of the day slip away. The recent battle replayed in his mind—not with a sense of glory, but with the calculated detachment of one accustomed to war.
After a quick shower, Nathan selected a set of fine Trojan garments. The rich fabric, dyed in deep crimson and gold accents, was far removed from the utilitarian attire he usually donned. Every detail, from the embroidery of laurel leaves on his cloak to the polished leather of his belt, spoke of a warrior whose deeds had earned him a place among kings and nobles.
Not long ago, the people of Troy had eyed him with suspicion, their whispers echoing through the grand halls. A mere mercenary, living in the royal castle? they had scoffed. But today, those murmurs had been silenced. No one dared question his presence now—not after his victory.
Leaving Charybdis to rest outside the palace walls, Nathan made his way alone toward the banquet hall. The sea creature, who served as both companion and ally, had grown restless on land. She needed the open seas to find solace, to feel truly at home. Nathan understood this unspoken need and gave her the space she deserved. Tomorrow promised respite; the Greeks, licking their wounds from their catastrophic loss, would likely require days to regroup. The death of Ajax had shaken them to their core, and the absence of their formidable hero would cripple their morale.
The Trojans, however, were jubilant. Victory hung in the air, thick and heady like the scent of roasted meats wafting from the banquet.
As Nathan approached the grand hall, the sound of celebration grew louder. The Trojans' laughter and cheers echoed through the marble corridors, a symphony of triumph and relief. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and the room fell into a brief hush before erupting into applause.
Nobles and warriors alike turned to him, their faces alight with admiration and gratitude. "To Heiron, the slayer of Ajax and Jason!" someone shouted, raising a goblet high.
Nathan inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression impassive. The crowd interpreted his stoic demeanor as humility, a trait that only endeared him further. To them, he was not just a warrior but a paragon of restraint—a man who did not let his monumental achievements inflate his ego.
Priam, seated on his gilded throne at the far end of the hall, raised a hand. "Silence, please," the king commanded, his voice steady but authoritative.
The room quieted immediately, the sea of celebrants parting to allow Nathan a clear path to the throne. He strode forward, his boots echoing against the polished marble floor, until he stood before the aging king. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
Priam leaned forward slightly, his weathered face softening. "Rise, Heiron," he said gently. "You need not kneel after what you have done for my city and my people."
Nathan stood, his piercing gaze meeting Priam's. The king's expression was a mixture of gratitude and curiosity.
"I am more than satisfied with your accomplishments," Priam continued, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity. "Troy has been fortunate to have a warrior of your caliber fighting beneath its banner. But tell me, was there a reason you chose us over the Greeks? Both sides seek mercenaries, and I cannot imagine the Greeks would have offered you less. What brought you to Troy willingly?"
The room stilled, all ears tuned to Nathan's response. It was a question that had lingered in the minds of many. Why had a man of such extraordinary skill and renown cast his lot with Troy, whose resources paled in comparison to those of their enemies?
Nathan hesitated for a fleeting moment, the weight of the king's question pressing on him. He couldn't reveal the truth—that he fought for Troy because Aphrodite herself had requested it, nor that his very survival hinged on Apollo's debt to him. Those truths would sound absurd, perhaps even blasphemous, to those gathered here.
Instead, he chose the other reason, one that had grown steadily in his heart after spending time within Troy's walls and among its people.
"I find the Trojans far more honorable, deserving of respect, and worth fighting for than the Greeks," Nathan said, his voice calm but steady, each word carrying conviction. "The Greeks fight not for justice, nor for love, but for greed and immoral ambition. Helen of Troy is merely an excuse—an illusion Agamemnon uses to justify his true goal. He seeks to sack Troy and plunder its wealth, nothing more. I could never fight for someone like him or the other Greeks."
As his words settled over the room, the hall fell silent.
The stunned expressions of the Trojans said more than words ever could. They had expected Nathan to speak of strategy, or perhaps personal gain, but instead, he had shared his truth. A truth that resonated deeply, not just because of its boldness, but because it came from a man who had no obligation to flatter them.
Helen of Troy, who stood among the crowd in a delicate gown of shimmering white and gold, drew a sharp breath. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze fixed on Nathan, her normally composed demeanor wavering. She looked visibly moved, though Nathan had not spoken these words with her in mind. They were not for her, but the sentiment struck a chord nonetheless.
The other Trojans were equally affected.
Aeneas, a warrior known for his unyielding composure, blinked rapidly, his eyes suspiciously wet. Hector, standing tall and proud, exchanged a knowing smile with Sarpedon. Even Atalanta, who often wrestled with her own conflicted emotions, seemed moved. Though her expression betrayed a lingering inner turmoil, a small smile touched her lips. She understood Nathan's reasoning well—it mirrored her own after having spent time among the Trojans and witnessing their kindness.
Finally, Priam broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "I see now," he said, his voice warm and tinged with relief. "We are truly fortunate to have you among us, Heiron."
"We are," Queen Hecuba agreed, her voice serene yet firm. Her gaze lingered on Nathan, a mixture of admiration and affection in her eyes. She had come to regard him not only as a formidable warrior but as a steadfast ally and even, perhaps, as an elder son in spirit. She had seen him countless times fighting alongside Hector, shielding her beloved child from harm on the battlefield.
Priam straightened in his throne, his expression turning solemn once more. "Now, Heiron, tell me your reward. Speak your desire, and I will grant it—whatever it may be."
Nathan faltered. What could he possibly ask for? Priam had nothing to offer that he truly wanted. Gold, lands, titles—these held no appeal to him. His goals lay elsewhere, in matters the king could not touch.
"For now, nothing, Your Majesty," he said honestly, his tone calm yet firm.
The room held its breath, then erupted in murmurs of awe. Anyone else in Nathan's place would have seized the opportunity to ask for riches or something of immeasurable value. Yet here he stood, declining such generosity with quiet dignity.
Priam threw his head back and laughed, the deep sound echoing through the hall. "You are truly a rare man, Heiron. A man of unparalleled worth. And yet, that is precisely why I wish to strengthen the bond between you and Troy."
The king's gaze softened as he leaned forward. "Very well, if you will not ask for a reward now, then you may claim one later, should anything come to mind. However, I insist on honoring you in another way."
He paused, his next words ringing with significance. "I will personally grant you one of our finest guest rooms on the third floor of the castle."
Gasps rippled through the hall like a wave. The third floor was a space reserved exclusively for high-ranking nobles and visiting royalty. For a mercenary to be offered such an honor was unheard of. Yet no one voiced any objections. Instead, the Trojans looked at Nathan with pride, as if this gesture somehow reflected their collective gratitude for his deeds.
Nathan hesitated. He wasn't fond of grand gestures or undue attention, but he knew declining the offer would only invite further insistence so he inclined his head.
"I accept gratefully," he said, his tone formal yet sincere.
"Then enjoy, brave Trojans!" Priam proclaimed, standing tall with a smile that radiated genuine warmth and pride. His voice echoed through the great hall, carrying the weight of his joy and relief.
The Trojans erupted into cheers, their voices rising in unison to celebrate the moment. It was as though the heavy tension of war had been momentarily lifted, replaced by the simple joys of camaraderie and hope. Servants hurried in with platters of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and overflowing goblets of wine. The rich aroma of spices and honey filled the air, a testament to Troy's fertile lands and the careful preparation they had undertaken for this long-looming conflict.
Despite the shadow of war hanging over them, Troy's prosperity remained evident. The kingdom had been blessed with fertile soil and resourceful people, ensuring their stores were well-stocked. For at least the next five years, they would not know the pangs of famine. Months of preparation had made sure of that.
Nathan allowed himself a moment to breathe amidst the jubilant atmosphere. The tension in his shoulders loosened as he took a seat beside Hector and Aeneas. Both warriors had smiles on their faces, though Nathan could see the underlying weariness in their eyes—a weariness he shared.
He accepted a goblet of wine, raising it slightly in a quiet toast before taking a measured sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, its subtle sweetness mixed with a faint spice. It wasn't enough to cloud his mind, but perhaps it would help numb the ever-present ache of his wounds.
"Not bad, eh?" Hector grinned, clapping Nathan on the shoulder. "You've earned this, my friend. Drink, eat, and let the gods grant you peace tonight."
Nathan offered a faint smile in return, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The hall buzzed with laughter and song, but he couldn't shake the sensation of being watched.
A particular gaze burned into him.
He resisted the urge to turn his head, knowing all too well whose eyes followed him.
Kassandra of Troy.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC235 Talking it out with Atalanta
235 Talking it out with Atalanta
Nathan offered a faint smile in return, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The hall buzzed with laughter and song, but he couldn't shake the sensation of being watched.
A particular gaze burned into him.
He resisted the urge to turn his head, knowing all too well whose eyes followed him.
Kassandra of Troy.
The princess sat at the far end of the room, her posture regal yet detached from the revelry around her.
From the moment he returned, her eyes were on him. The intensity of her gaze was unsettling, but Nathan couldn't decipher her intent. He had never spoken to her before, not once since his arrival at Troy. Her sudden interest puzzled him, especially because it seemed tied to his recent victory.
It was Ajax—Ajax the Great, a titan among warriors, now slain by Nathan's hand. Yet her expression wasn't one of admiration or disdain; it was something far more complex. Shock, perhaps? As if she couldn't reconcile the image of him with the act of killing such a legendary figure.
Ultimately, Nathan decided to push the matter aside. There were more pressing concerns than the silent scrutiny of a stranger.
The grand hall of Troy was alive with the warmth of camaraderie. Golden torchlight flickered against the polished stone walls, casting shadows that danced with the movements of the assembled warriors. Nathan sat at a long wooden table among esteemed company: Hector, Aeneas, and Sarpedon, whose hearty laughter filled the air like a melody of goodwill.
"I'll say it again," Sarpedon declared, his grin wide as he raised his bronze cup. "I'm glad you're on our side, Heiron."
Nathan smiled faintly lifting his own cup in acknowledgment.
"To Heiron!" Aeneas called, his voice brimming with mirth. He raised his cup higher, and the others joined in the toast. Even Hector, reserved as ever, allowed a small smile to grace his face as he clinked his cup with the rest.
The atmosphere was infectious. Nathan couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction. From the moment he had stepped into Troy, they had treated him with respect, despite his status as a mercenary. Now, with his victories in battle, they regarded him as one of their own. For once, he felt valued. He contrasted this with his bitter memories of the Empire of Light, where he had been branded a threat without trial, hunted and nearly killed. Here in Troy, there was no such scorn. Instead, there was gratitude, admiration, and camaraderie.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Nathan allowed himself to think: Perhaps this journey to Troy was not a waste. Putting aside the matter of life and death for why he had come to Troy, he would have regretted not having come here for certain.
For now, he would protect the city. He would fight for its people, and he would wait for Apollo's promised return. Until then, his path seemed clearer than it had been in years.
"I offer my congratulations," a soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Nathan turned to see her: Astynome, the priestess of Apollo. She stood with a grace that seemed otherworldly, her flowing robes of white and gold catching the flickering light. Her hair framed a face marked by quiet beauty. But it was her eyes that caught his attention most—warm and full of genuine pride.
"Your victory against Ajax the Great and Jason of the Argonauts is nothing short of extraordinary," she said, her voice carrying both reverence and joy.
Nathan offered a modest smile. "Thank you, Priestess."
Astynome's expression softened, her smile lingering as if she wanted to say more. Though their exchanges had been brief in the past, something in her demeanor tonight felt different. And indeed, over the coming weeks, their relationship deepened in ways neither had anticipated.
Under the cover of night, their connection grew into something more intimate. Astynome began to visit Nathan's quarters in secret, slipping past watchful eyes to steal moments of passion. By moonlight, their barriers fell away, revealing truths neither had dared voice in the daylight.
They chose to keep secret for now their relation. However, their attempts at discretion weren't entirely successful. The walls of Troy were old, and whispers carried easily through the stone corridors. On certain nights, muffled sounds f which were clearly moans of pleasure from Nathan's chambers reached curious ears. Fortunately, the Trojans had already come to associate such noises with Charybdis, Heiron's companion.
They had no doubts about Charybdis being Heiron's woman anyway.
"Where is Charys?" Astynome asked, her gaze sweeping across the room as if expecting Charybdis to materialize from the shadows.
Astynome had grown surprisingly close to Charybdis. Sharing Nathan's affections had forged an unusual bond between the two women—one built on intimacy and mutual understanding. In truth, Charybdis might have been Astynome's first true friend, a rarity for someone with the priestess's station. Their connection had deepened over shared moments, some of which were private escapades that Nathan knew all too well.
"She's resting," Nathan replied, his voice even but carrying a tinge of exhaustion.
Astynome's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then you should rest as well," she said, her tone laced with gentle insistence.
Tonight had been intended for another passionate rendezvous, one that would leave the walls of Nathan's chamber trembling with their fervor. But Astynome, ever perceptive, didn't wish to burden him. Nathan had fought a grueling battle, and she wanted him to have the rest he deserved.
Nathan nodded, a small sigh escaping him. As much as he loved Astynome's presence in his bed and the solace her warmth provided, he also needed solitude—moments to clear his mind and process the weight of his actions.
Astynome returned the nod, her understanding evident. She left his side gracefully, weaving through the warriors gathered in the hall. As the priestess of Apollo, the god who shielded Troy, her presence carried an aura of divine reassurance. She moved among the soldiers with purpose, offering words of encouragement that lifted their spirits like a flame dispelling the shadows of despair. The Trojans revered her, not just for her beauty but for her unwavering dedication. Her rounds throughout the city, speaking with citizens and soldiers alike, bolstered morale and instilled hope, even in the darkest of times.
Nathan watched her go, his gaze lingering momentarily before turning away.
"How are you, Heiron?" Hector's familiar voice broke through his thoughts, accompanied by a firm pat on his shoulder.
Nathan glanced at Troy's greatest warrior, his expression betraying his fatigue. "Tired," he admitted, his honesty unvarnished.
Hector gave a slow, understanding nod. The battle against Ajax had left its mark on Nathan, draining him both physically and mentally. Hector, ever perceptive, could see it clearly.
"For the next week, you should take it easy," Hector said firmly. "I'll handle things. Stay behind me rather than fighting on the front lines. You've done enough for now."
Nathan nodded. "I'll appreciate that."
He knew Hector was right. Though he hated to take a step back, Nathan was all too aware of his limits. The fight with Ajax had pushed his body to its edge, and he couldn't afford to strain himself further—not when he had to endure until Apollo's return.
Hector clapped him on the back once more, his gesture full of camaraderie. Though their paths had crossed under unusual circumstances, the two men had come to respect each other. Hector saw in Nathan a dependable ally, and Nathan appreciated the Trojan prince's integrity and pragmatism.
As the lively conversation among the warriors continued, Nathan's attention drifted. His gaze settled on Atalanta, standing alone in a quiet corner of the hall. Her posture was stiff, her expression distant, and her arms were crossed in a manner that suggested she was lost in thought.
Nathan understood what likely troubled her. She had pieced together the truth about his identity—of that, he was certain. The realization didn't surprise him.
Before, he might have brushed off such matters without a second thought. But things had changed. Nathan had come to appreciate Atalanta's character. She was nothing like those who had betrayed or scorned him in the past or just rotten women like Nancy. Atalanta was genuine, brave, and steadfast, qualities that had earned his respect. He didn't want this newfound camaraderie to sour due to misunderstanding or mistrust.
Resolving to address the matter, Nathan rose from his seat and crossed the room. His movements drew a few curious glances, but he paid them no mind.
"Atalanta," he called as he approached.
Her head turned, and her emerald eyes met his. "Oh... Heiron," she replied, her voice tinged with awkwardness. Her lips formed a faint smile, but it was clear she was uneasy.
Nathan wasted no time. "I think you know who I am by now," he said evenly, his tone neither accusatory nor defensive.
Atalanta hesitated, her silence confirming his suspicion. She looked away briefly, as if weighing her next words, but chose to say nothing.
"I have my reasons for taking part in this war," Nathan continued, his voice steady yet firm. "And for siding with Troy. But I ask that my identity remain a secret. I'd rather Tenebria not be involved in this conflict."
His words were more than a simple request. Revealing his position as Lord Commander of Tenebria could complicate matters dangerously. It would draw the ire of even more Greek gods and possibly unify the Greeks against Tenebria who was already in a dangerous spot because of the Demon King.
Atalanta regarded him with a thoughtful expression. She could see the burden Nathan carried, balancing his responsibilities as a leader with the personal connections he had formed here. Yet, she had no intention of betraying his trust.
"I won't say anything," she assured him, her voice steady and sincere.
Nathan nodded, relieved. "Thanks." He turned as if to leave but paused. Something weighed on his chest, something that needed to be said.
"I've never manipulated you," he said. "What I shared with you was mostly the truth—everything except my role as a mercenary. There were no lies in our exchanges, and I wasn't pretending. You don't need to feel awkward around me."
Atalanta's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she seemed surprised. But then her expression softened, and a genuine smile graced her lips. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the tension in her stance melting away.
"I believe you," she said warmly. "And it's the same for me. I've always been honest with you...Heiron. I'm happy to be one of your companions."
"Likewise," Nathan replied with a rare, heartfelt smile.
With that simple exchange, the misunderstandings and unspoken doubts were swept away, leaving only the mutual respect and trust they had cultivated.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC236 : Talking to Kassandra of Troy
With the tension between them peacefully resolved, Atalanta had reclaimed her usual serene demeanor. Her small, confident smile returned as she joined Hector and the others at the grand feast. The hall buzzed with the hum of celebration—the clinking of goblets, bursts of laughter, and the warm glow of torchlight reflecting off polished armor and fine fabrics.
Atalanta also extended an invitation to Nathan.
However, Nathan purposefully stayed apart from the revelry, standing near a shadowed alcove at the edge of the hall as he leaned against a pillar, nursing a goblet of watered wine.
He had felt her gaze on him for a while now, an intense yet tentative observation. Kassandra.
Remaining isolated was a deliberate choice, his way of silently signaling to her: If you want to talk, now is the time. And, eventually, the bait worked.
Kassandra approached him with measured grace, her crimson gown trailing behind her like a flowing river of fire. The gown clung to her figure, regal yet understated, accentuating her striking presence. Despite her beauty, she was not the center of attention. Most avoided her, perhaps out of respect for her royal blood or, more likely, due to her ominous reputation. Her sharp remarks about Troy's fate, though well-meaning, cast a shadow wherever she went.
She never openly shared her visions of disaster but cloaked her warnings in grim remarks that others dismissed as unwelcome negativity. Her intentions were clear—to protect those she cared for—but her gift, or curse, made her a misunderstood outcast.
"Lord Heiron," Kassandra said, her voice soft yet formal as she stopped before him. She lowered her head in a polite bow, an unusual display for someone of her status.
"Princess Kassandra," Nathan replied, his tone neutral but acknowledging. He straightened slightly, meeting her gaze with his piercing eyes. Despite her rank, her demeanor toward him was one of respect, as though she recognized the vital role the mercenary Heiron had come to play in Troy's survival.
"Thank you for making time for me," she said. It was clear she had noticed Nathan's purposeful isolation.
"It's fine," Nathan replied evenly, his sharp gaze never leaving hers. Truthfully, he had been curious about her behavior, her lingering glances, and her silent observations. There was a reason she had sought him out, and he intended to uncover it.
"I saw your fight," Kassandra began, her tone sincere. "It was... impressive."
Nathan inclined his head slightly. "It was."
She hesitated for a moment, as though weighing her next words carefully. "I… never thought you were going to defeat him. Let alone kill him."
"Like everyone else," Nathan replied, his tone calm but tinged with faint amusement. The skepticism of others before the fight was nothing new.
"No, you misunderstand me," Kassandra said, her brow furrowing. "I didn't think anyone could kill Ajax."
Nathan's expression shifted, his brows knitting together as her words struck a chord. There was something in her tone—an absolute certainty that made his instincts flare.
It didn't take him long to arrive at a conclusion. His gaze sharpened. "You saw him alive… at the end," he stated.
Kassandra's eyes widened, her shock unmasked for a fleeting moment. She hadn't expected him to deduce the truth so quickly. He shouldn't have known about her visions, yet here he stood, staring at her as if he had unraveled her secret.
Her surprise quickly gave way to understanding. "My brother told you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, laced with an edge of vulnerability.
Nathan nodded, but in truth, he only had fragments of the story. He didn't yet know the full extent of her visions or how they tied to Ajax, but Kassandra's reaction was enough to confirm there was more at play than mere happenstance.
Seeing Nathan confirm her suspicion, Kassandra gave a slow, measured nod. Her crimson gown swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and her golden-brown eyes gleamed with a solemn intensity.
"I see," she said softly, her voice laced with both awe and dread. "Yes. I saw Ajax alive... standing among the other Greek Kings in a burning and crumbling Troy."
Nathan's expression hardened.
"You saw Troy falling?" he asked, seeking confirmation.
Kassandra inclined her head, her gaze steady but heavy with the burden of her visions. "Yes. Troy is destined to fall. None of my predictions have ever been wrong. I warned of Paris, the Goddesses asking him to choose the most beautiful among them, and the consequences of that choice. I foresaw Paris bringing Helen to Troy and the war that would follow. I warned them all, but no one ever listens."
Nathan's thoughts churned. "So, like the myths, she predicted everything truthfully."
It was unnerving, the eerie precision of her foresight. But what disturbed him most was the inevitability of Troy's fall.
He narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. "When did you first see this vision of Troy's fall?" he asked.
"A year ago," Kassandra replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. But then her expression darkened, a faint crease forming on her brow. "But since then, my visions have grown... blurry. Unclear."
Nathan frowned, her words striking an unsettling chord within him. The exact phrase echoed in his mind, a mirror of what Astynome had told him when he questioned her about the war's outcome. She, too, had confessed to seeing only darkness—no clarity, no future.
Two seers, both unable to see.
Kassandra's timeline gnawed at his thoughts. A year ago… The same time he had been summoned into this world. The coincidence felt too significant to ignore.
Nathan's jaw tightened as doubt crept into his mind.
"Could my presence have disrupted their visions?" The thought unnerved him. He quickly shook his head, as though dispelling the notion physically.
No, he couldn't be this arrogant. He dismissed the idea. But still, the connection lingered, gnawing at the edges of his logic. If it truly was his arrival that clouded their foresight, what would that even mean?
Pushing aside his unease, Nathan focused on Kassandra again. Her tense posture and furrowed brows betrayed her own struggle with the inexplicable.
"You saw Ajax alive," Nathan said slowly, choosing his words with care. "But I killed him. Do you think he might be revived by one of the Gods?"
Kassandra's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. "Revived…?" she murmured, almost to herself. Then she gave a slow nod. "It's possible. I hadn't considered that."
But even as she spoke, doubt flickered across her features. "Though… I don't believe the Gods would interfere in such a direct way. Reviving someone for the war feels… excessive, even for them. And what of the Goddesses of Destiny? They would be enraged by such tampering. They guard fate after all."
Nathan understood her hesitation. Her uncertainty mirrored his own. He wasn't convinced either. No, rather, he was almost certain Ajax's fate was sealed. His death had been final.
But if that were true, what did it mean for Kassandra's vision?
Nathan's eyes narrowed.
"Did I really… change the future she saw?"
Nathan was still unsure about it. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but his interest in Kassandra's visions was undeniable. While her range was shorter than Astynome's, her foresight seemed uncannily accurate, which intrigued him.
"What else did you see?" Nathan asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Kassandra hesitated, her gaze distant as if reliving the visions she had endured. "Other things, other outcomes... but I'm not sure what to believe anymore," she admitted bitterly. "I can't blame everyone for doubting me when even I'm not certain of what I see."
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"I believe you," Nathan replied.
Kassandra blinked, her red eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. "Hmm?" she murmured, unsure if she had heard him correctly.
Nathan met her gaze, his own eyes steady and sincere. "I believe you, Princess Kassandra. Entirely. I have no doubt about you. I know you wouldn't lie about something like this."
Her lips parted in silent astonishment, and her eyes quivered as his words sank in. How long had she waited for someone to truly believe her? Not with hollow assurances or pitying smiles, but with genuine faith? Her mother had often whispered words of support, and the temple priestesses had offered prayers for her, but she knew their assurances were laced with doubt.
But Nathan—he wasn't lying. She could feel the authenticity in his voice, in his steady gaze.
"You... believe me?" she asked again, needing to hear it once more.
"I do," Nathan said without hesitation. "So please, inform me of all your visions from now on. Don't waste your energy explaining yourself to those who won't believe you. Instead, tell me. I might be able to change the future."
There was a conviction in his words that startled her. He wasn't merely humoring her or seeking favor. He was serious—truly serious—about trusting her.
Kassandra stared at him, her mind reeling. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek before she even realized it. For years, she had carried the weight of Apollo's curse, the burden of being disbelieved, mocked, and dismissed. And now, in this moment, Nathan's simple yet powerful statement had broken through her despair.
Nathan's brow furrowed as he noticed the tear. Glancing around quickly, he ensured no one else had seen it. The last thing he wanted was for someone to question why Kassandra, of all people, was crying—and why he might be responsible for it.
"You have something in your eye," he said casually, stepping closer. With a gentle touch, he wiped the tear from her cheek with his finger.
Kassandra shivered at the unexpected contact, her breath catching. The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, grounding her in the present moment.
Nathan pulled back, his hand dropping to his side. He didn't pry further, respecting her unspoken boundaries. "I believe you," he repeated softly. "Don't worry."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, frozen in place.
Kassandra watched his retreating figure, her heart swelling with emotions she couldn't name. For the first time in years—years filled with scorn and isolation because of her curse—she felt comforted. Truly comforted. And for the first time, she dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she had always believed.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC237 Nathan's Divine rewards!
"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Heiron!"
Shortly after parting ways with Kassandra, another young woman appeared before me, radiating an air of youth and vivacity. Her name, if I recalled correctly, was Polyxena. She was Kassandra's younger sister, and though she shared Kassandra's striking beauty, there was a notable difference in their demeanor. Polyxena exuded a bright, cheerful energy that contrasted sharply with her older sister's somber and burdened disposition.
I tried to search my memory for any mention of her in the myths I knew, but nothing definitive surfaced. I chose to nod politely, keeping my thoughts to myself.
"Likewise, Princess," I said courteously, maintaining the reserved poise befitting the situation.
Her eyes sparkled with uncontained enthusiasm as she spoke. "You were truly amazing. Beating Ajax like that… such strength!"
"I merely did the job I was paid for," I replied humbly, lowering my gaze slightly to downplay the compliment.
"You're being far too modest!" Polyxena giggled, the sound light and carefree. Before I could respond, she leaned forward, her soft breath grazing my cheek, and placed a gentle kiss just beside my lips.
The action startled me, and I couldn't help but look at her, wide-eyed. Her expression was one of innocent mischief, yet beneath it lay a genuine warmth.
"Please," she said, her tone suddenly serious, "continue to protect my city and its people."
With that, she turned and left, her graceful figure disappearing into the crowd before I could say a word.
I glanced around, noticing a few onlookers who had witnessed the brief exchange. For a moment, I braced myself for murmurs or judgment—after all, a princess showing such affection to a foreigner could easily cause a stir. But to my surprise, no one seemed to object. Instead, I caught Hector's gaze across the room, and he simply smiled knowingly, as if he had anticipated something like this.
The evening continued, but I found myself restless. After an hour of mingling with the Trojans at the feast, I decided it was time to leave. I had spoken to most of the city's nobles and warriors by then, all of whom offered their blessings or kind words. All, that is, except Paris.
Throughout the feast, Paris had been shooting me annoyed glances from across the room. His disdain was almost palpable, though he lacked the courage to voice it outright. I couldn't understand his animosity entirely, but if I had to guess, I'd attribute it to jealousy.
It was a foolish emotion, really. If he desired the admiration of the Trojans, he had ample opportunity to earn it. But instead of fighting alongside his people at the front lines, Paris seemed content to remain in the shadow of Helen of Troy, the woman whose beauty had sparked this catastrophic war.
To be fair, Helen's beauty was unparalleled—her title as the most beautiful mortal woman on Earth was no exaggeration. Even I couldn't deny her allure. But beauty alone didn't excuse Paris from his responsibilities. As a prince of Troy, his duty was to his city and its people. Yet he shirked these responsibilities, leaving them to others—Hector, Kassandra, and the soldiers on the battlefield.
It was difficult to believe that Paris and Hector were brothers. The two were as different as night and day. While Hector bore the weight of Troy on his shoulders with unwavering resolve, Paris seemed to care only for himself. Even Kassandra, cursed as she was, showed more concern for Troy's fate than he did. That alone spoke volumes.
Shaking my head, I waved at Hector and the others before excusing myself. A servant escorted me to my new quarters, which had been arranged on one of the palace's higher floors.
When I entered, I was struck by the grandeur of the room. It was a far cry from the modest accommodations I had been given before. This was a chamber befitting a noble of the highest rank or a royal guest. The space was expansive, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and walls draped in rich, crimson tapestries embroidered with golden patterns.
The bed, centered against the far wall, was massive and inviting, its frame carved from dark wood and its mattress layered with plush, silken sheets. A large balcony opened to the city below, offering a breathtaking view of the night-lit streets of Troy and the faint glow of the enemy's distant campfires.
After a few more minutes of catching fresh air on the balcony, the cool night breeze soothing my restless mind, I finally slumped onto the luxurious bed. The silken sheets were softer than I had ever known, but the weight of my thoughts made comfort a fleeting thing. Closing my eyes, I let my body sink into the mattress, surrendering to exhaustion.
Before I knew it, my consciousness was whisked away, replaced by an endless white void. It was the same ethereal world I had been brought to when I first met Apollo. Yet, this time, Apollo was notably absent. Instead, three new figures stood before me—gods of undeniable power and presence: Aphrodite, Artemis, and Ares.
I wasn't entirely surprised. Given the events in Troy and the growing attention I seemed to attract, their arrival was almost inevitable.
"That was a great victory, Heiron!" Aphrodite's voice rang out, melodic yet lacking the seductive undertone she typically used when we were alone. The reason for her change in demeanor was obvious—Ares was standing right beside her.
"It wasn't difficult," I replied with a casual shrug, masking any pride I might have felt. To gods like these, displays of arrogance or humility could be equally dangerous.
"Gahahah!" Ares's booming laughter filled the void, his deep voice echoing like thunder. "I like that spirit!"
So this was Ares. I observed him closely. He was every bit the war god one would expect: tall and broad-shouldered, his form exuding raw power. His armor gleamed a fiery red, and his eyes burned with an intensity that could cow even the bravest warriors. There was no denying his strength—a strength that, at my current level, I couldn't hope to match.
"You fought very well, Heiron," Artemis spoke next, her voice calm and measured. Her arms were crossed, but a faint smile played on her lips. It was the kind of smile that spoke more of satisfaction at a larger victory than just Ajax's death. No doubt she relished the symbolic blow dealt to Hera's pride more than anything else.
"Priam might have rewarded you," Artemis continued, her tone curious, "but you refused. Do you desire something more? Perhaps we can provide it."
Her offer took me by surprise. A gift from the gods themselves was not something to dismiss lightly. I considered my options carefully, weighing the potential value of their favor.
"A skill from each of you, if I have to ask," I said, my voice steady. It was a bold request, but I saw no reason to hold back. Skills, more than material wealth or titles, were what I needed most. At my current level, raw stats meant little. What I lacked were tools—abilities that could tilt the scales in battles yet to come.
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Artemis's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded in agreement. "All right. If that's what you wish."
"Gahaha! I will give you one as well! Rejoice!" Ares bellowed, his laughter echoing once more before he vanished without further ceremony.
"I'll see what I can offer," Aphrodite added, her words laced with a vague, almost teasing undertone. She lingered for a moment longer, her eyes meeting mine meaningfully, before she too disappeared.
Just as I turned to leave, believing the encounter was over, Artemis's voice stopped me. "Oh, yes, Heiron."
I pivoted, meeting her gaze. Her merciless emerald eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. There was no trace of the faint smile from earlier. Her expression was pure steel.
"If you touch Atalanta," she said softly, her voice a whisper that carried like a blade slicing through the stillness, "I will kill you."
The killing intent radiating from her was suffocating, sending a chill down my spine. Her words left no room for misinterpretation. This wasn't a threat; it was a promise. And then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished.
I stood alone in the void for a moment, my thoughts racing. Artemis was not the goddess she appeared to be at first glance—not by any stretch. Her words lingered in my mind, a stark reminder of the fine line I walked.
While I liked quite a lot Atalanta, I had no intention of provoking Artemis. The last thing I needed was to add another goddess to the growing list of divine beings I'd rather avoid crossing in the middle of a war.
Shaking my head, I willed myself back to the mortal realm.
I found myself back on my bed, but something felt off. A weight pressed down on me, unfamiliar yet unmistakably deliberate. My senses slowly returned, and as I blinked the lingering haze of the divine realm from my eyes, a fiery voice broke the silence.
"You finally woke up?"
My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and the sight that greeted me was both breathtaking and alarming.
Penthesilea, the Amazonian queen herself, was sitting atop me—completely bare, her bronzed skin glistening faintly under the moonlight that seeped through the cracks in the shutters. Her untamed hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her piercing eyes glowed with predatory intent, locked onto mine.
I froze, my mind racing to process the situation. Her lips curved into a sultry, knowing smile as she leaned forward, her warmth radiating against me. The air between us seemed to crackle with her sheer presence.
"Now," she purred, her voice low and demanding, "give me your strong seed."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC241 Hera's angry!
While the Trojans reveled in their hard-won victory, toasting to the downfall of Ajax and the prowess of their mysterious champion, the Greek kings were locked in grim discussions, mourning the loss of one of their mightiest warriors. Yet, amidst the mortal realm's turbulence, the realm of the gods was a cauldron of seething tempers and barely-contained chaos.
Zeus, the King of the Olympus Gods, sat upon his golden throne with a furrowed brow, his gaze fixed upon the quarrels erupting before him. His usual aura of omnipotence was shadowed by a rare display of contemplation, for he knew the storm brewing in Olympus could have far-reaching consequences. The throne room, vast and opulent with its gleaming marble floors and gilded columns, trembled with the force of divine voices.
"Where did you find this little bastard?!" Hera's voice rang like thunder, her words slicing through the tension-laden air. Her fiery glare was fixed upon Aphrodite, who maintained her composure with a maddeningly serene smile. The goddess of love and beauty, draped in flowing robes that shimmered like the dawn, seemed unperturbed by Hera's wrath. Yet, the tightness of her lips betrayed a hint of strain.
"Whatever could you mean, dear Hera?" Aphrodite replied with feigned innocence, her laugh tinkling like a gentle chime. She daintily covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, a performance of ignorance that only served to further enrage Hera.
"Do not play coy with me, Aphrodite!" Hera's tone escalated, her voice shaking the very heavens. "I am speaking of the man who killed Ajax! You cannot expect me to believe he is merely some random mercenary plucked from obscurity by Priam. No! I am certain you are the one who brought him here!"
Hera's accusation echoed throughout the chamber, drawing the attention of every god present. Dionysus, lounging lazily on a chaise and sipping from a goblet of divine wine, smirked with unbridled amusement. He lived for moments like this—quarrels among the gods always provided him with endless entertainment. He took another leisurely sip, his eyes glinting mischievously as he observed the spectacle.
Hermes, standing at Zeus's side, wore a knowing smile. The messenger of the gods had an air of detachment, as though he were privy to secrets beyond the grasp of most deities. And indeed, he was. Hermes alone, besides Aphrodite, truly understood the enigma that was Heiron. For the likes of Artemis and Ares, Heiron was perhaps a gifted mercenary, a weapon honed by Aphrodite to further her schemes. But Hermes knew better. Heiron was no ordinary warrior. He was the bearer of a dark magic—a power hauntingly reminiscent of the Demon King who once terrorized the Light Continent and the current Lord Commander of Tenebria.
This revelation filled Hermes with an electrifying thrill. He had watched the battle between Heiron and Ajax with rapt attention, marveling at the display of raw strength, tactical brilliance, and unfathomable power. To Hermes, Heiron was an unparalleled spectacle, a harbinger of excitement in a world that had grown predictable.
Aphrodite, meanwhile, maintained her charade, her composure unbroken despite the growing hostility. "Hera, darling, your accusations are as baseless as they are dramatic," she said smoothly. "Why must you always look for conspiracies where there are none?"
Hera's eyes flared with divine fury, her fists clenching. "Do not mock me, Aphrodite! That man's power—his aura—it reeks of your meddling. Admit it! You blessed him! And he knows Celestial Magic!"
Zeus finally stirred, raising a hand to silence the escalating argument. His voice, deep and commanding, filled the hall. "Enough, both of you." The gods fell silent, their eyes turning toward their king. "This discord serves no purpose. If Heiron is as dangerous as Hera claims, then his presence among the Trojans warrants our attention."
Dionysus chuckled softly, earning a sharp glance from Zeus. "Forgive me, father," he said, raising his goblet in mock deference. "But watching these arguments is far more entertaining than any mortal drama."
"This is no laughing matter," Zeus admonished, his tone sharp. Turning to Aphrodite, he added, "If you have brought this warrior into the fold, you will answer for it. But for now, we must focus on the consequences of his actions."
Hermes, ever the opportunist, decided to remain silent. He had no intention of revealing the truth about Heiron. The chaos and intrigue surrounding the warrior were far too delicious to spoil. For now, he would keep his secrets, watching eagerly as the drama unfolded.
The air in the grand hall of Olympus grew heavy as the tension thickened. Zeus's commanding presence on his throne was matched by his sharp gaze, which moved from one deity to another. He sat with a posture of neutrality, though his furrowed brow betrayed the brewing storm within him.
Artemis broke the silence, her voice crisp and laced with suspicion. "What consequences, Father?" She narrowed her silver eyes, a challenge glinting in them. "I thought you vowed neutrality in this conflict?"
Zeus leaned back, his expression unreadable. "I am neutral, daughter," he replied, his voice measured but firm. "I take neither the Greeks' nor the Trojans' side. However, Heiron wielded magic reserved only for the gods or their chosen disciples. This is no trivial matter."
Ares, leaning casually against a marble pillar, crossed his arms and smirked. "I fail to see the issue here, Father," he said, his tone almost mocking. "Even if Aphrodite trained him, so what? Let's not pretend the rest of us are saints."
He straightened and pointed at Athena, who stood stoically nearby, her expression a mask of indifference. "Athena, standing there as if she's uninvolved, is the one who sparked this war to begin with. She manipulated Agamemnon's mind with her lofty schemes, filling his head with dreams of glory. And she, along with Hera, blesses their champions openly. Odysseus and that woman from the Light Empire, Sienna, are constantly under Athena's favor, while Mother ensures Agamemnon and Achilles remain unstoppable. Shall we pretend that's fair while condemning Aphrodite?"
Hera's sharp intake of breath preceded her furious response. "Ares!" she snapped, her eyes blazing.
"Apologies, Mother," Ares said with a shrug, though his tone was anything but apologetic. "I'm merely stating the obvious."
Athena's icy gaze locked onto Ares, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You're only defending Aphrodite because it serves your interests," she sneered. The usually composed goddess couldn't hide her disdain for the god of war, her half-brother and eternal rival.
Ares turned his fiery glare on her. "And what if I am? You've no ground to stand on, Athena."
"Enough!" Zeus's voice thundered, silencing the room. His cold glare landed on Ares, commanding obedience. The tension lingered, but Ares held his tongue, though his smirk remained.
Zeus turned his piercing gaze to Aphrodite. "Did you teach him Celestial Magic?" he asked, his tone grave.
Aphrodite's sweet smile never wavered, though her answer came swiftly. "No, I did not."
It was the truth, of course. She knew the truth—Khione had been the one to impart such knowledge to Nathan but there was no way she would reveal that.
"She's lying!" Hera accused, her voice shrill with frustration.
"She's not lying, and you know it, Hera," Dionysus interjected with a lazy grin, his cup of wine in hand. His tone was mocking, as if the entire argument amused him.
Hera spun to glare at him, her face flushed with anger. "You shut up, Dionysus!"
But Dionysus only laughed harder, savoring the chaos around him.
Zeus exhaled heavily, the weight of the squabble testing even his patience. "This bickering is beneath us," he declared, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze swept over the room, silencing further protests. "We will get to the bottom of this, but there will be no baseless accusations."
"Looks like you're all having quite the party here," a smooth, commanding voice interrupted the heated exchange.
All heads turned toward the grand white doors of the hall, which creaked open as water rippled across the threshold. A tall, strikingly handsome man stepped forward, his presence as vast and unyielding as the sea. His flowing blue hair shimmered like ocean waves, and his piercing fire-blue eyes radiated both mirth and menace. An amused smile played on his lips, but the immense power emanating from him was undeniable, rivaling even Zeus's own.
"Poseidon…" Zeus's deep voice rumbled as he addressed the newcomer. "You've returned."
"And I see you didn't find Khione," Hera remarked, her tone sharp and mocking.
Poseidon chuckled as he ran a hand through his still-damp hair. "Is that how you greet me, dear sister, after summoning me so urgently?" His voice was laced with amusement, though the sharp undertone couldn't be missed.
"You summoned him?" Artemis's voice was cold as her eyes bore into Hera.
Hera's lips curled into a smirk, her satisfaction evident.
Aphrodite's unease grew, her instincts warning her that something was amiss.
Poseidon strode further into the hall, his steps deliberate and unhurried. "Yes, I've returned because my dear sister insisted I come. It seems…" He paused, letting the silence draw out for effect, "…some little piece of filth killed my son, Jason. As a father, it's only natural that I take action."
Despite his words, Poseidon's tone carried no grief, only a chilling indifference, as though the loss of his son was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"Gods are forbidden from directly interfering in the mortal world," Zeus reminded him, his voice firm and authoritative.
"Of course, brother," Poseidon replied smoothly, his smile widening. "I wouldn't dream of breaking the sacred laws of Olympus. But rest assured, I can still ensure that… dog… meets his end."
Zeus's expression darkened, and the room seemed to hold its collective breath.
"You mean…" Hermes's eyes widened as realization struck him.
Poseidon turned to him, nodding with a mischievous smile. Experience tales at empire
"I'm taking the Greeks' side."
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