I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC242 New Enemies!
The cries of fury and vengeance rang out across the battlefield, their fervor echoing amidst the cacophony of war.
"It's him, Heiron!"
"Kill that bastard!"
"Revenge for Ajax!"
The plains before the city of Troy were once again embroiled in chaos, a relentless storm of steel, blood, and cries of valor. Weeks had passed since Nathan—now feared and loathed by the Greeks—had slain Ajax and Jason. Their deaths had sent shockwaves through the Greek camp. Heiron, as Nathan was known among them, was no longer just a formidable adversary; he had become a living nightmare, a name uttered with the same caution and reverence reserved for Hector himself.
The Greeks, however, were not a people easily cowed. Spartans, Athenians, and warriors from countless other city-states had gathered, driven by a shared lust for battle and glory. They were heirs to the tales of their gods and heroes, and each man sought to carve his name into the annals of legend. To them, defeating Heiron was no longer just a military objective; it was a test of their mettle, a path to immortality. Thus, Nathan found himself not only fighting Hector's war but also enduring the relentless assaults of men desperate to etch their names in history.
A group of Greeks, their armor gleaming despite the grime of battle, encircled Nathan with triumphant smirks.
"We've got him now!" one of them crowed, his voice brimming with overconfidence.
Nathan stood calmly at the center of the encroaching circle, his icy blue eyes scanning their faces without a trace of fear. He adjusted his grip on his sword, its blade gleaming unnaturally under the sunlight, as if imbued with a cold light of its own. With a single, almost lazy swing, frost exploded outward. The warriors' confident expressions froze in place—literally. In mere moments, they were transformed into statues of ice, their final expressions preserved in chilling detail.
Another swing shattered the frozen soldiers, sending shards of ice scattering like glass. The sound of their destruction was a grim symphony, and the warriors behind them hesitated, their advance faltering. Yet, emboldened by desperation or madness, more surged forward. One soldier leapt at Nathan from behind, his spear poised to strike.
Nathan sensed the movement but did not turn. Before he could act, an arrow whistled through the air, piercing the attacker's skull with unerring precision. The soldier's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, his ambition extinguished in an instant.
Nathan glanced back briefly, his gaze meeting Atalanta's. She stood a few paces away, her bow drawn, her stance poised and elegant even amidst the chaos. Her sharp eyes flicked to Nathan, and she offered him a small, almost imperceptible nod. He returned the gesture, then turned back to the fray without a word. The understanding between them required no elaboration.
"Are you already tired, Heiron?" Aeneas's voice rang out, cutting through the din. The young Trojan prince wore a teasing grin as he parried an opponent's strike with ease.
"Aren't you the one who's tired, Aeneas?" Sarpedon's laugh echoed as he drove his spear through a Greek soldier. "Focus, or you might end up joining Ajax!"
"No way I'm heading to Tartaros like him!" Aeneas shot back, his tone half-joking but tinged with a hint of unease.
The mention of Ajax's fate sent a ripple through those within earshot. The Greeks knew well that Ajax, despite his might, had committed countless atrocities. His soul was destined for the deepest pits of the underworld, a grim warning to all who fought without honor.
Nathan shook his head at their banter, even as he continued dispatching enemies with calculated efficiency. It was almost absurd how they could bicker in the midst of battle, but their camaraderie brought a rare, fleeting lightness to the otherwise grim proceedings. It was, perhaps, a reminder of why they fought, a flicker of humanity amidst the carnage.
Not that Nathan worried about their survival. Both Aeneas and Sarpedon had grown considerably stronger over the past months. Their skill and resilience were the result of grueling training, much of it under Nathan's own guidance. At Aphrodite's insistence, he had taken Aeneas under his wing, and Sarpedon had eagerly joined. Their sessions had been intense, and though Nathan had initially agreed out of obligation, he had come to view Sarpedon as a friend. Hector, too, had often participated when his princely duties allowed, along with Atalanta, whose sharp wit and sharper arrows made her an invaluable ally.
"Don't overexert yourself, Heiron!"
Hector's voice rang out amidst the cacophony of clashing swords and agonized cries. Nathan turned his gaze toward Hector, who fought with his usual commanding presence. Despite Hector's efforts to sound casual, Nathan could sense the underlying concern in his words.
Weeks had passed since Ajax's death, and though Nathan should have been fully recovered by now, his body betrayed signs of something deeper. His movements lacked their usual sharpness, and an ache he couldn't quite place lingered in his limbs. Hector had noticed too.
Nathan clenched his jaw, unwilling to show weakness, but the truth gnawed at him. The deal he had struck with Apollo to extend his life had come with a price. The divine intervention, which had once felt like salvation, now showed its consequences. It was no simple feat for a god to tamper with mortality, and the toll on Nathan's body grew clearer with each passing day. Still, he pushed forward. For now, at least, he had time—though how much, he did not know.
Hector, perceptive as always, had been quietly helping him. Without explicitly stating it, Hector shouldered much of the battlefield's burden, taking the brunt of the Greek assaults and ensuring that Nathan faced fewer formidable opponents. Nathan, though prideful, accepted the silent aid. He understood that in his current state, he might need it.
The battlefield remained a chaotic blur of clanging metal and shouted war cries. Though Ajax had fallen, the Greeks seemed to have rekindled their fighting spirit. Their resolve, once shaky, now burned with renewed intensity. Nathan's sharp eyes scanned the battlefield and landed on the reason for this resurgence—a tall figure standing on a distant hill, towering over the chaos like a god surveying his domain.
The man wielded a trident that gleamed with an otherworldly light, sending waves of energy that rippled through the Greek ranks. Each wave invigorated their soldiers, filling them with unnatural strength and courage. Nathan's grip on his sword tightened, and his expression darkened.
It was Poseidon.
The God of the Sea had joined Hera and Athena in their campaign against Troy. For a week now, his presence had tilted the balance of power. Each blessing he granted to the Greeks bolstered their forces and sapped the Trojans' morale. The once-unstoppable momentum of Troy now faltered under the combined might of three Olympian gods.
Since Apollo's departure, the Trojans had struggled. Without his radiant blessings to fortify their spirits and protect their warriors, their defense weakened. Ares and Artemis had done what they could to fill the void, but neither possessed Apollo's capacity to inspire and heal. Nathan could only hope Apollo would return soon, bringing not just light to the Trojans but perhaps a way to halt the creeping shadow of Nathan's own demise.
"What?"
A sudden, bone-deep chill surged through Nathan's body, freezing him mid-swing. His instincts screamed danger, far beyond what even Poseidon could conjure. His head snapped toward the source, scanning the battlefield for the disturbance.
Hector paused as well, his normally confident demeanor giving way to a rare moment of unease. His piercing gaze searched the chaos, and his grip tightened on his spear. He felt it too—an immense power descending upon the battlefield.
This presence was different. It was not Poseidon's smug arrogance or Hera's calculating malice. It was something else. Nathan's heart raced as he gritted his teeth, his body instinctively bracing for what—or who—was about to appear.
Suddenly, Nathan's entire body tensed. A powerful surge of energy rippled through the battlefield, sending an unshakable wave of dread into the air. It wasn't ordinary magic.
"This isn't right…" Nathan muttered under his breath, his senses sharpening. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the disturbance. His mind raced as he felt mana gathering rapidly in a single location, coalescing with unnatural speed and potency. Then it hit him—the unmistakable signature.
"Celestial magic," he whispered, his eyes widening.
He scanned the battlefield frantically, searching for the source of this extraordinary power. His gaze darted across the chaos until it landed on Aeneas, standing defiantly amidst the melee. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
He's the target.
Nathan's pulse quickened. Aeneas was strong, undeniably so, but even his strength wouldn't suffice against an attack of this magnitude. If he took the brunt of it, he wouldn't survive.
"I'm leaving this to you, Hector!" Nathan called out without waiting for a reply.
With a thunderous crack, he launched himself off the ground, moving at a speed that left the earth trembling beneath his feet. His form blurred as he raced toward Aeneas, determined to intervene before it was too late.
But even Nathan wasn't fast enough.
BADAM!
The air erupted with a deafening sound as the attack was released. It was an arrow—gleaming with an ethereal light, surging forward with devastating force. Its speed was unnatural, impossible to track with human eyes. In the blink of an eye, the arrow closed the distance, bearing down on Aeneas with unrelenting precision.
At the last moment, Charybdis appeared shoving Aeneas aside. Her protective instincts had kicked in, and she prepared to shield him with her own body to fulfil Nathan's request.
"Charybdis, don't!" Nathan roared.
He could sense the destructive power imbued in the arrow. While Charybdis was formidable, even she wasn't impervious to such an attack. The risk was too great of revealing her true self. Find more chapters on empire
Before she could fully position herself, another figure appeared—a blur of motion cutting across the battlefield.
It was Sarpedon.
With a guttural yell, Sarpedon swung his sword in a mighty arc, unleashing a powerful shockwave aimed at deflecting the arrow. The force of his attack rippled through the air, but it was like a candle before a storm. The arrow tore through the shockwave effortlessly, its path unbroken.
Sarpedon's sword shattered in his hands as the arrow struck him square in the chest. The impact sent him hurtling backward, his body flying hundreds of meters before crashing into the ground with a sickening thud.
BAADAAM!
"Sarpedon!!" Aeneas's cry tore through the battlefield.
He scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with panic, and sprinted toward his fallen comrade. Nathan reached the scene moments later, dropping to his knees beside Sarpedon's crumpled form. He checked for a pulse, his fingers brushing against Sarpedon's neck.
"No…" Nathan whispered.
The arrow had pierced Sarpedon's chest with terrifying precision, striking his heart. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, a silent testament to the strength and courage he had displayed in his final moments.
"Dead."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC243 Chiron enters!
"What are you doing, Zeus?!" Hera's voice rang out, sharply, echoing through the halls of Olympus. Her gold eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward, her regal form tense and unyielding.
Zeus stood at the edge of the divine balcony, his imposing figure illuminated by the flickering light of the storm he had conjured. His lightning bolt was raised high, its brilliance illuminating his contorted face, which was twisted with fury.
Below, chaos reigned on the battlefield of Troy. Yet all Zeus could see was the lifeless body of his son, Sarpedon, sprawled on the blood-soaked earth. His vision blurred with a mixture of rage and grief.
"Zeus!" Hera shouted again, her voice cutting through the storm. "Have you lost your mind?!"
Zeus flinched but did not turn. His hand trembled as he gripped his lightning bolt tighter, the air crackling with its deadly energy. His anger boiled over, a rare and fearsome sight even for the gods.
The cause of his fury was undeniable. Sarpedon—his son, his noble, good-natured son—had been struck down in a cowardly ambush. Zeus's heart ached in a way it hadn't in centuries.
Among all his mortal offspring, Sarpedon had been special. Unlike many of his other children, who had inherited his pride and ambition, Sarpedon had embodied virtues Zeus admired yet rarely possessed himself: kindness, honor, and humility.
When Ajax, his grandson, had died, Zeus had barely spared a thought. But this—this was different.
"You are the one who decreed that we, the gods, are forbidden to interfere in mortal affairs," Hera hissed, her tone laced with venom. She crossed her arms, her elaborate robes shimmering like the evening sky. "And yet now, you think yourself above your own laws? Are you so hypocritical that you would make exceptions for yourself?"
Her words struck a nerve, and Zeus's grip on the lightning bolt tightened further. The blade of pure energy hummed ominously, the storm around him growing fiercer.
Hera watched him closely, her face a mask of righteous indignation. Yet deep inside, she felt a wicked satisfaction bubbling up. Sarpedon's death was a strategic victory for the Greeks, and Hera had long favored their side in this endless war. With one of Troy's most critical commanders gone, the scales of war tipped further in her favor.
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She couldn't deny the joy she felt at the sight of Zeus's anguish. It was rare for him to show such emotion for his mortal progeny, and this moment of weakness was one she would savor.
Zeus finally exhaled, a deep and shuddering sound that seemed to carry the weight of his grief. Slowly, he lowered his lightning bolt. The storm began to subside, though the tension in the air lingered.
"Rest well, my son…" Zeus muttered, his deep voice laced with sorrow. His usually imperious expression softened into one of pain as he cast a final glance toward Sarpedon's lifeless body.
Hera tilted her head, studying him. For a fleeting moment, she almost felt pity. Almost.
Her gaze returned to the battlefield below. The clash of swords and cries of war had halted. Both the Trojans and the Greeks stood frozen, their eyes fixed on Sarpedon's corpse. The once-proud prince lay in a pool of his own blood, his face pale and lifeless.
The silence was deafening. Even the gods themselves seemed to hold their breath.
"Perfect," Hera whispered to herself, a sly smirk curling her lips. Her heart swelled with satisfaction. The Trojans were stunned into inaction, their morale shattered.
And now, her chosen piece would move.
"Chiron," she thought, her gaze narrowing as it settled on the centaur below. The legendary teacher and warrior stood at the ready, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the battlefield.
"He'll finish the job. He'll rid the world of the rest of these fools."
°°°°°
Nathan reached the scene moments later, dropping to his knees beside Sarpedon's crumpled form. He checked for a pulse, his fingers brushing against Sarpedon's neck.
"No…" Nathan whispered.
The arrow had pierced Sarpedon's chest with terrifying precision, striking his heart. His lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, a silent testament to the strength and courage he had displayed in his final moments.
"Dead."
"What?" Aeneas stammered, his voice faltering as he stared at Nathan in utter disbelief. His eyes widened, a mixture of denial and dread flashing across his features. His entire body trembled as though his legs could barely support him.
"I… It can't be… Heiron, check again," Aeneas muttered, his voice barely audible, laced with a hollow, almost hysterical laugh. His words hung in the air, heavy with desperation.
He was breaking—crumbling under the weight of a truth too cruel to accept. His mind refused to process what lay before him. No normal man could survive with a gaping hole in his chest. Yet, the evidence was undeniable.
"He is dead, Aeneas," Nathan said softly, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. He placed a firm hand on Aeneas' trembling shoulder, his grip grounding him.
"R… Right…" Aeneas whispered, his fists clenching tightly. His knuckles turned white from the force, and his eyes grew red and wet, tears threatening to spill. He bit his lip as if trying to hold himself together, but his anguish was palpable, a raw and unrestrained thing.
Nathan's gaze shifted downward to the lifeless body of Sarpedon. His once vibrant friend now lay still, his lifeblood pooling beneath him.
Sarpedon.
The name echoed in Nathan's mind, each repetition twisting the knife of grief deeper. Sarpedon had been a good man—one of the few who had treated Nathan with genuine kindness. The kind of man who saw him as more than just a tool or a threat.
Sarpedon had become a friend, one of the few male friends Nathan had ever had. It struck him then, like a blow to the chest, just how much he seemed to have cared for him.
He thought back to the camaraderie they had shared: feasts that felt like celebrations of life, battles fought shoulder to shoulder, and conversations filled with laughter and sincerity. Those moments had been really nice ones.
And now, Sarpedon was gone.
Nathan knelt beside him. His hand hovered over Sarpedon's chest for a moment before settling gently on it. "Rest well," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "May you reach the Elysium."
Then he rose slowly, his movements deliberate and heavy. His soft expression, hardened into something colder.
"Aeneas," Nathan said quietly, his tone firm now.
Aeneas, still shaking, turned toward Heiron as if clinging to the last shred of hope.
"Heiron…" Aeneas began, but his voice faltered again.
"I'll handle this," Nathan interrupted, his voice brooking no argument. "Take him away."
Aeneas clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding audibly as he fought back a fresh wave of emotion. With a reluctant nod, he moved to Sarpedon's side. Gently, almost reverently, he lifted the body. Tears streamed freely down his face now, but he said nothing, only giving Nathan a brief, pained glance before walking away.
Charybdis, standing a few paces away, watched Nathan closely. Concern flickered in her gaze, but she didn't voice it. Instead, she hesitated, as if unsure whether to approach him.
"I'll be fine," Nathan said, his tone icy, dismissing her unspoken worry. "Do not intervene. That's an order."
Charybdis opened her mouth as if to protest but closed it just as quickly. She nodded reluctantly, her usual patience winning out. She understood the gravity of the situation—and the risks of revealing her identity. If it had been Medea or Scylla, they would have pushed back, but Charybdis, ever the dutiful one, held her tongue.
Satisfied, Nathan turned away from her and toward the culprit.
His icy gaze locked onto Odysseus, standing smugly amid the chaos. But Nathan's focus shifted beyond the Greek hero, settling instead on the true architect of the attack.
A centaur.
The creature stood tall and imposing, its upper body that of a man—muscular and scarred from countless battles—while its lower half was that of a powerful horse, its hooves stained with blood.
The powerful presence Nathan had felt earlier was unmistakable. It was him.
Chiron.
The legendary centaur loomed over the battlefield, his massive frame radiating a calm yet overwhelming aura of authority. His upper body, scarred and muscular, was poised with absolute precision, while his equine lower half moved with an almost unnatural grace.
Nathan's instincts screamed at him. This wasn't someone he could take lightly.
"Ajax was strong, but this guy…" Nathan's eyes narrowed. "He's on a whole other level."
Chiron's expression remained neutral, almost detached, as though he were merely fulfilling a duty. In his hands, the enormous bow was drawn taut, its string humming with an unnatural energy. The arrow glowed faintly with celestial light, crackling like contained lightning.
Nathan followed the direction of Chiron's aim, and his chest tightened.
It was Aeneas. Again.
The Trojan prince, still carrying the lifeless body of Sarpedon, was Chiron's target.
Nathan's sharp hearing picked up a furious voice echoing from above.
"I will kill him!"
It was Aphrodite, her rage palpable as she hovered invisibly over the battlefield. Her pink hair streamed like sunlight, and her radiant beauty was overshadowed by the sheer fury in her expression. She radiated divine power, her fists clenched, ready to rip Chiron apart herself.
Nathan glanced up, seeing her fiery form invisible to all but him.
"Calm yourself, Aphrodite," came Artemis's cool, soothing voice. Her expression as calm as ever. "This is not the time to lose your composure."
"That bastard…" Aphrodite hissed, her tone dripping with venom.
Nathan, meanwhile, was no less furious.
His jaw clenched as he glared at Chiron. "Coward," he muttered under his breath. The memory of Chiron's first attack burned in his mind. Aeneas had been caught off guard, and in the process, Sarpedon had fallen and now, this centaur was trying to finish the job.
The bowstring snapped with a deafening BADAM!
The arrow shot forth, a streak of light so fast that even Nathan's enhanced perception struggled to track it. Its trajectory was precise, deadly, and aimed squarely at Aeneas.
Nathan didn't hesitate.
He activated his full speed, the world blurring around him as he appeared in front of Aeneas in an instant. With a sharp breath, he unsheathed his black blade, its dark surface gleaming ominously.
Nathan swung downward, meeting the arrow head-on. The collision created a shockwave that rippled through the battlefield, scattering dust and debris in all directions.
The sheer force of the impact was overwhelming. Nathan's feet skidded backward across the ground, carving deep grooves as he struggled to remain upright. His arms trembled violently, and a sharp, searing pain shot through his bones.
"Damn it…" he hissed, his grip faltering for a moment. His hands felt numb, and he could hear the faint sound of cracking—his bones straining under the immense power of Chiron's celestial arrow.
Through the haze of pain, Nathan's sharp eyes caught movement.
"You have to kill him," came the low, venomous whisper of Odysseus.
Nathan's head snapped toward the Greek hero. Odysseus stood off to the side, his cunning gaze locked on Chiron. The words weren't for Nathan—they were meant for the centaur.
Odysseus's plan became clear in an instant.
"He's doing this on purpose," Nathan realized, his teeth grinding. "He's targeting the others to force me to intercept. He wants me dead."
Another BADAM! rang out, signaling the release of another arrow.
This one was even more terrifying. Its tip glowed with the unmistakable brilliance of celestial magic, its aura suffused with divine energy. It burned through the air like a falling star, roaring toward Nathan with unrelenting speed.
Nathan gritted his teeth and raised his sword once more, bracing himself for the impact.
But this time, the blow never came.
A towering figure appeared before Nathan, his bronze armor glinting in the light of the magic arrow. In one swift, decisive motion, the newcomer struck the arrow aside with a massive spear, the celestial energy dissipating harmlessly into the air.
Nathan's eyes widened as he recognized the man who had saved him.
It was Hector.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC244 Chiron the Greatest Teacher
A towering figure appeared before Nathan, his bronze armor glinting in the light of the magic arrow. In one swift, decisive motion, the newcomer struck the arrow aside with a massive spear, the celestial energy dissipating harmlessly into the air.
Nathan's eyes widened as he recognized the man who had saved him.
It was Hector.
"Are you alright, Heiron?" Hector's voice broke the tense silence, though his eyes remained fixed ahead.
His usual grin, the one that never seemed to waver even in the direst of circumstances, was gone. Instead, his face carried a serious, almost chilling coldness that Nathan had rarely seen. It was the expression of a man who had just witnessed a friend fall.
Sarpedon's death weighed heavily on Hector. He had known him far longer than Nathan had, shared battles and victories, and perhaps even dreams. But Hector understood now wasn't the time to grieve. The battlefield offered no space for mourning; survival demanded every shred of focus.
"Yeah," Nathan replied. But his arm trembled faintly, a physical betrayal of the strain he was enduring.
Hector's sharp gaze flickered toward him briefly before returning forward. "I'll handle them, Heiron. You should rest," he said, his tone firm yet tinged with concern.
He could see it—Nathan was pushing himself too far. There was an unspoken tension within him, something deeper than mere exhaustion. Hector had always been perceptive, but he chose not to pry. If Nathan needed help, he could have asked Priam for a reward, but he hadn't. That alone told Hector this was a burden not even them royalty could ease.
Still, Hector felt a sense of responsibility, both as a prince and a friend. He didn't want to lose Nathan too, not after losing Sarpedon. The thought of another companion falling on his watch was unbearable. As a warrior, he valued Nathan's strength; as a man, he valued his presence.
Nathan shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he insisted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his fatigue. His eyes shifted toward the figure standing in the distance. "That guy is strong."
Hector followed his gaze to Chiron, who stood silently like an unshakable pillar of authority, his eyes locked onto Hector with an unreadable expression.
"He is," Hector said, a faint trace of warmth returning to his voice. "He was my teacher."
Nathan's brow furrowed in surprise. "Your teacher?"
"Yes," Hector confirmed with a nod. "He taught me, Diomedes, and even Achilles. He's not just strong—he's a legend in his own right."
The revelation settled over Nathan like a weight. "I see now," he murmured. It all made sense. This man wasn't just formidable; he had shaped some of the greatest warriors of their time. No wonder his strength felt insurmountable.
"In your state, Heiron," Hector continued, his voice growing serious again, "it's too dangerous. Please, retreat."
Nathan scoffed at the suggestion, his lips curling into a wry smile. "And you think you can take him on? Don't be ridiculous."
Hector's laughter broke the tension, light and genuine despite the grim situation. "You could at least encourage me," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk.
"It's too dangerous for you to fight alone," Nathan said, his voice steady but firm. "Those guys could pull a cowardly move when your guard is down. You can fight your teacher, but I'll cover your back."
He didn't particularly relish the idea of stepping into a battle like this, especially against someone as formidable as Chiron. But he also couldn't stomach the thought of Hector going in alone. Compromise was the only solution that made sense—both for survival and strategy.
Hector's lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained sharp. "Fair enough."
"I'll help too," a voice suddenly called from behind them, clear and resolute.
Hector's head whipped around in surprise. "Atalanta?"
The huntress stepped forward, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. Though her expression was composed, a flicker of pain lingered in her gaze. The loss of Sarpedon had struck her deeply, but Atalanta was not one to falter. She was a warrior, and warriors knew how to channel their grief.
"If Heiron is watching your back, then I'll watch his—and yours as well," she said, her voice steady.
Nathan couldn't help but smile.
Before he could respond, another figure approached. Charybdis strode forward with an almost ghostly grace, her gaze locked on Nathan. Her expression was as cold as frost, her blue eyes shimmering with an intensity that made the air around her feel heavy.
Without a word, she reached out, her slender fingers brushing against Nathan's cheek. Charybdis was barely containing her fury—Nathan could see it in the subtle tremor of her hand, the slight flare of her nostrils. It was a struggle for her to remain composed, a struggle she fought only because Nathan had begged her to learn restraint.
Nathan knew well that if it had been Medea or Scylla in her place, they would have already given in to their rage. The battlefield would have become a massacre, friend and foe alike falling in their path. Charybdis was teetering on the edge of such a rampage herself, but Nathan couldn't allow that—not now.
"Just stay back. Help us when we need it, but no more than that." Nathan said.
Charybdis didn't reply. She simply stared at him, her gaze piercing. It was unlike her not to nod in agreement. The silence between them was thick, charged with unspoken tension.
Nathan raised a hand and gently stroked her cheek. Her icy demeanor wavered for a moment as his fingers brushed against her skin. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
Charybdis stiffened at first, her body trembling faintly. But the kiss had the effect Nathan intended—it melted the coldness in her stance, the rigidity in her shoulders easing. Her anger didn't vanish entirely, but it was subdued, contained.
"Do as I say," Nathan murmured softly as he pulled back.
Charybdis hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Hmmm," she hummed, her voice quiet yet resolute. With a final glance at him, she turned and stepped away, retreating to a safer distance.
Nathan exhaled in relief. He hadn't wanted to use Charybdis's full power here, not yet. Her true form was a trump card he intended to keep hidden from the gods until the right moment. Even Chiron, as formidable as he was, might not survive her unleashed fury.
Atalanta, who had witnessed the exchange up close, couldn't hide the blush rising to her cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and confusion.
"Get ready! He's firing again!" Hector's sudden shout snapped everyone to attention.
Nathan's head jerked toward Chiron. The centaur stood tall and unyielding, his bow raised high. The arrow nocked in its string glowed with an intense, celestial light, the air around it humming with Celestial magic.
"Before we start, I've got something on my mind," Nathan said, with a cold tone.
Hector and Atalanta exchanged surprised glances but nodded after a moment, curious yet trusting. Whatever Nathan was planning, they sensed it was important—not just for the battle, but perhaps for his own resolve.
Before they could dwell on it further, the air was split by a thunderous BADAAAM!
Chiron's arrow had been released. It tore through the sky with a speed that defied comprehension, faster than any mortal eye could track. The sheer force of its movement created a whistling howl that seemed to reverberate through the battlefield.
Hector acted immediately. He raised his longsword high, gripping it with both hands as his voice rang out with authority. "Lend me your strength! Rank 9 Light Magic: Apollo's Wall!"
In an instant, a colossal barrier of light materialized before them, radiant and majestic. The wall shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, its surface etched with golden runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was a testament to Hector's divine heritage and skill.
The arrow collided with the wall with a deafening crashing sound! The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, causing the ground to tremble beneath their feet. For a moment, it seemed as if the entire battlefield held its breath.
Hector gritted his teeth, his arms straining against the immense force pressing down on him. Though the wall held firm, the sheer power of Chiron's attack was enough to make his sword vibrate in his grip. His arm trembled slightly, but he refused to falter.
Nathan, standing just behind him, couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. Hector of Troy was truly a remarkable warrior.
As Nathan watched him, a thought crossed his mind: If we fought seriously, I'm not sure who would win. He's the one capable of taking Achilles down.
On the other side of the battlefield, Chiron's sharp eyes observed the scene with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He stopped the arrow. As expected of my pupil," he murmured, his tone laced with pride.
Nearby, Odysseus let out an exasperated sigh. "Don't hold back just because he's your pupil, Chiron," he said, rubbing his temple.
Chiron's smile faded slightly as his gaze grew solemn. "I won't. I fight for the Greeks now, and I won't dishonor my pupil by holding back."
"Good." Odysseus's tone turned cold, his expression steely. "But remember—I asked you to kill Heiron. He's the greater threat."
Chiron turned his attention toward where Nathan had been standing, his keen gaze sweeping the battlefield. But something was wrong. Nathan was no longer there.
Only Atalanta remained, standing near the now-dissipating Apollo's Wall.
Before Chiron could react, a cold whisper snaked through the air, sending a shiver down Odysseus's spine.
"It's time to die."
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC245 Hunting Odysseus!
Before Chiron could react, a cold whisper snaked through the air, sending a shiver down Odysseus's spine.
"It's time to die. "
Nathan's gaze locked onto Odysseus, cold and unyielding. Since the war's inception, Odysseus had been a thorn in his side, an incessant nuisance. He lacked the raw strength of the other Greek warriors, but his cunning more than made up for it. Odysseus was the glue holding the fractious Greek kings together, the one ensuring their united front. Nathan knew that if Odysseus were to fall, the tenuous alliance would crumble. The kings, driven by ambition and ego, would inevitably turn on each other, and chaos would reign.
Moreover, it was Odysseus who had orchestrated Chiron's arrival, tipping the scales of battle further against Nathan's side. That alone made him a priority target.
Odysseus's sharp instincts betrayed him this time. He didn't anticipate Nathan's sudden approach, his cold presence practically materializing in front of him. The Greek hero barely had a moment to react as Nathan drew his black blade, its surface absorbing the faint light around it, and swung with lethal intent.
The attack was merciless, aimed directly at Odysseus's neck to sever his head in one fluid motion.
BADAM!
The air itself seemed to crack under the force of Nathan's strike. A shockwave rippled outward from the impact, blasting through the ranks of Odysseus's men. The unfortunate soldiers closest to the epicenter were thrown backward like ragdolls, some rendered unconscious while others fell lifeless to the ground.
Yet, to Nathan's irritation, Odysseus remained unharmed. A faint shimmer surrounded the Greek tactician—a barrier that had absorbed the brunt of Nathan's attack without so much as a scratch. The protective aura flickered momentarily before fading into invisibility, but its purpose was clear.
Nathan's expression darkened, his mind quickly deducing the truth.
"It's not his power," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Athena."
The goddess had bestowed her blessing upon her favored protégé. Odysseus was too vital to her plans for her to leave him unprotected. She understood his importance in the war, and this divine intervention ensured his continued survival.
Nathan's grip on his sword tightened as his fury grew. "Let's see how long your blessing lasts," he hissed, his tone seething with menace.
The murderous intent radiating from Nathan was palpable, a suffocating aura that sent chills down Odysseus's spine. For all his famed composure, even he couldn't suppress the unease gnawing at him. Nathan's killing intent was unlike anything he had encountered before—it was as if death itself had fixed its gaze on him.
"You are quite the enigma," a calm yet commanding voice interrupted.
Chiron, ever vigilant, had already drawn his massive bow. In one swift motion, he nocked an arrow, the tip glowing faintly with divine energy. At such close range, even Nathan couldn't escape unscathed.
But Nathan wasn't alone.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shattered the tension as Hector launched himself into the fray. His powerful frame moved with blinding speed, closing the distance between himself and Chiron in an instant. His fist, encased in a golden glow, lashed out with tremendous force aimed directly at the centaur.
Chiron, sensing the imminent danger, raised his arms in defense. Your next read is at empire
BADAM!
The impact was catastrophic. Chiron managed to absorb the blow, but the sheer force sent him skidding back several meters. His hooves scraped against the ground, carving deep grooves as he struggled to regain his balance.
Nathan wasted no time, seizing the opportunity created by Hector's intervention. His black sword, radiating a cold malevolence, was raised high, and he pointed it directly at Odysseus.
"Celestial-rank Ice Magic."
The incantation echoed ominously, and an icy vortex swirled from the blade. Frost bloomed in the air, coalescing into a massive, gleaming lance of ice—its form jagged and deadly, its edges razor-sharp. The air around Nathan grew colder as the lance hovered for a moment, a harbinger of death.
With a sharp motion, Nathan released the spell. The icy weapon streaked through the air at an impossible speed, aimed squarely at Odysseus's head.
The lance struck true, but once again, Athena's divine barrier activated. The shimmering protection enveloping Odysseus flared brightly, absorbing the Celestial Magic. The ice lance disintegrated into a fine mist, its destructive energy dissipating harmlessly.
Odysseus staggered slightly, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the impact's brilliance. While he remained unharmed, his composure faltered. The sheer force of the attack left his body trembling; the magnitude of Celestial Magic was beyond anything he had ever felt before.
But Nathan wasn't finished.
Before Odysseus could recover, Nathan closed the distance, his sword descending with brutal precision. The blade collided with the barrier, and the resulting shockwave rippled outward, sending a tremor through the battlefield.
This time, a faint fracture appeared on the divine barrier—a hairline crack, but one that sent shockwaves of disbelief through Odysseus.
"Impossible…" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
The blessing of Athena was supposed to be impenetrable, a divine safeguard against any mortal attack. Yet here it was, compromised. Doubts gripped Odysseus's heart as he stared at Nathan, realizing this was no ordinary foe.
Nathan's weapon wasn't just a blade—it was the sword of a past Demon King, a weapon forged with malice so profound it had once angered the gods themselves. Each swing carried the echoes of defiance and destruction, and now, it was bearing down on Athena's chosen champion.
High above, Athena herself observed the scene with widening eyes. Her serene confidence gave way to alarm. Initially, she had dismissed Nathan as just another mortal, though a bit strong, but now, his strength and the power of his weapon were undeniable.
"This is dangerous," Athena murmured, her divine voice trembling with rare concern.
Her response was swift. With a mere whisper, her divine will descended upon the Greek soldiers scattered across the battlefield. A shimmering light enveloped them as Athena's blessing infused their bodies, bolstering their strength and resolve.
The soldiers roared in unison, their fear erased by divine intervention. They charged toward Nathan with reckless determination, their singular goal to protect Odysseus.
Nathan's gaze darkened as he braced himself. He leaped backward to gain some distance, then swung his sword in a wide arc. The blade cleaved through the air with a shrill whistle, cutting down several Greeks in a single stroke. Their blood stained the ground, but their numbers were overwhelming.
Even as he cut them down, more surged forward, their ranks replenished by Athena's divine influence. Odysseus, sensing an opening amidst the chaos, began retreating, putting as much distance between himself and Nathan as possible.
Nathan clenched his teeth in frustration as the horde of soldiers swarmed around him. His annoyance was palpable—each second wasted on these grunts gave Odysseus more time to escape.
Suddenly, a chorus of whistles sliced through the air.
A rain of arrows fell upon the Greek soldiers, piercing through their helmets and skulls with deadly precision. The soldiers dropped like marionettes with their strings cut, their lifeless bodies crumpling to the ground.
Nathan turned toward the source, and there she stood—Atalanta. Her bow was drawn, and her sharp eyes locked onto the battlefield.
"Go!" she called out, loosing another volley of arrows. A dozen more Greeks fell, their charge toward Nathan halted by her deadly aim.
Nathan nodded, a rare flicker of gratitude in his expression. Atalanta's intervention had carved a path through the chaos, a direct route to Odysseus.
Without hesitation, Nathan surged forward, his focus fixed on the fleeing tactician.
Nathan snarled as Chiron appeared out of nowhere, his movements swift and deadly, wielding a gleaming longsword. The centaur's blade whistled through the air, aiming to cleave Nathan in half with unrelenting speed.
"You are annoying!" Nathan snapped, his voice filled with irritation as he swung his black sword upward with all his strength to counter.
BADAAAAM!
The clash of their weapons sent a deafening shockwave through the battlefield. The sheer force of Chiron's strike was monstrous, but this time, Nathan held his ground. His knees buckled slightly, his muscles straining against the titanic power behind Chiron's blow. For a moment, Nathan resisted the centaur's might, his dark blade shimmering with magic.
But even Nathan knew he couldn't hold for long.
Fortunately, Hector arrived like a storm, his golden sword slashing downward at Chiron. The centaur was forced to disengage, turning his attention to Hector. Their swords met with a resounding crash, and the impact propelled both combatants away, their hooves and feet digging into the ground as they skidded to a halt.
Nathan exhaled sharply, using the opening to refocus his attention on Odysseus. The tactician was just within reach, retreating through the chaos. Nathan's grip tightened on his sword, his determination flaring.
"Just a few more seconds..." Nathan muttered to himself.
Dark magic began to gather around him, swirling like an ominous storm. He channeled its energy into his blade, preparing to shatter Athena's barrier once and for all. This time, Odysseus would have no escape.
But just as Nathan surged forward, a figure materialized in his path.
Diomedes.
The warrior's stance was unyielding, his blade poised to block Nathan's advance. "I can't let you go through," Diomedes said, his voice steady and resolute.
Nathan growled, raising his sword to strike. But before he could move, a hand descended on Diomedes' shoulder.
It was Poseidon.
The sea god's presence radiated divine power, his gaze cold and condescending as he looked past Diomedes toward Nathan. With a casual gesture, Poseidon imbued Diomedes with his blessing.
Nathan's heart sank. "Fuck..."
Diomedes, now bolstered by the god's power, became a blur of motion. In the blink of an eye, he was upon Nathan, moving with unnatural speed. Nathan barely had time to react before Diomedes' sword pierced his shoulder, the blade sinking deep.
Pain flared through Nathan's body, but he gritted his teeth, shifting his stance. With a desperate burst of strength, he drove his foot into Diomedes' side. The kick connected with brutal force, sending the warrior staggering slightly.
But Diomedes barely wavered, the divine blessing rendering him nearly impervious.
"Celestial rank magic," Diomedes intoned, his voice ringing with power as he began to channel an attack.
Nathan's eyes widened in alarm. With Poseidon's blessing, Diomedes wasn't just powerful—he was now capable of unleashing a flawless Celestial-rank spell. At this range, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Nathan tried to dodge, but before he could move, tendrils of water shot out from the ground, wrapping around his legs and arms. The liquid coiled tightly, freezing him in place.
Nathan didn't need to look to know who was responsible.
Poseidon stood nearby, his smirk filled with mockery and satisfaction.
"Goodbye."
Nathan struggled, but the water was unyielding, its grip reinforced by Poseidon's divine will.
"Kingly Sword!" Diomedes shouted as he brought his weapon down in a deadly arc.
Nathan could do nothing but brace himself. The blade tore through his armor with ease, and blood erupted from the deep gash across his chest.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC246 Rescuing Heiron!
Nathan stood, barely holding himself together, the weight of his injuries dragging his body into an agonizing slump. Diomedes' previous attack, bolstered by Poseidon's divine blessing, had left a gruesome gash stretching across his chest. Blood poured out in unrelenting streams, pooling at his feet, staining the earth beneath him. His trembling hand pressed futilely against the wound, but no amount of pressure could stem the crimson tide.
"F...fuck…" Nathan muttered, his voice barely a whisper, laced with pain and frustration. His breathing came in short, labored gasps, every inhale a sharp reminder of his mortality.
Nearby, Hector's panicked shout shattered the tense silence. "Heiron!!" His concern was genuine, the desperation in his tone undeniable, but before he could act, Chiron gripped his arm firmly, restraining him. The wise centaur shook his head, his expression grim, as if acknowledging the inevitability of what was unfolding.
Diomedes stood tall, the blade in his hand still shimmering faintly with the divine glow of Poseidon's blessing. His voice, steady and resolute, cut through the chaos like steel. "I will end you now. You're too dangerous, just as Odysseus warned." His eyes burned with the same intensity as his blade, an unyielding determination to finish what he had started.
Nathan's mind raced. He knew another blow like the last would end him—there was no escaping that truth. Yet, his gaze was not fixed on Diomedes, not on the blade poised to deliver his demise. Instead, his eyes lifted skyward, locking onto an unseen figure beyond mortal comprehension.
"Poseidon…" Nathan rasped, his voice low but brimming with venom. His lips curled slightly, his expression darkening as pure, unfiltered hatred surged within him. Few had ever stirred such animosity in his heart, the Divine Knights being the rare exceptions. But Poseidon—Poseidon had harassed Khione, toyed with her existence, and now this god dared to meddle directly in his life, to stand as an obstacle in his path.
If only he were stronger. The thought burned in Nathan's mind, a bitter wish, a cruel reminder of the gap that separated him from the deities who toyed with mortals like pawns. If he had the power, he would have struck Poseidon down without hesitation, made him pay for every transgression. But for now, the gulf between them remained too vast to bridge.
Up above, Poseidon frowned, the weight of Nathan's gaze unmistakable. "Oh? You can see me? Strange…" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and annoyance, his brows furrowing as he studied the mortal below. At first, he considered the possibility of coincidence, but that look—those piercing eyes filled with unyielding hatred toward him—made it clear. This was no accident.
Mortals weren't supposed to perceive gods unless granted the privilege. Yet here Nathan was, glaring directly at him, challenging his authority with nothing more than his gaze. The realization unsettled the sea god, though he masked it with feigned amusement.
Hera, who had not been present for the earlier events, was taken aback. "Is this a joke?" she blurted, her voice sharp with disbelief. Her sharp eyes darted between Poseidon and Nathan, searching for an explanation.
Athena, however, remained calm, her analytical mind already piecing together the puzzle. Her eyes lingered on Nathan with quiet intensity, as though assessing a specimen of particular interest. "I think he could see us from the very beginning," she said finally, her tone even, though a flicker of intrigue danced in her gaze.
Hera scowled, her disbelief morphing into suspicion. "Who the hell is he?"
"It doesn't matter," Athena replied dismissively, though her calm exterior did little to hide the subtle tension in her voice. "He's going to die today."
Her words were not a mere observation but a command. A faint whisper escaped her lips, carried by an invisible thread to Diomedes' ears. Kill him.
Diomedes' eyes glinted with a golden light, his resolve hardening as the divine order took root in his mind. With renewed fervor, he lunged toward Nathan, his sword aimed to deliver the killing blow. The force of his charge caused the ground to tremble beneath his feet, a storm of dust and divine energy marking his path.
Nathan's arm trembled as he weakly raised it, knowing full well that it wouldn't be enough to block the incoming strike. Diomedes surged forward, his blade radiating with Poseidon's divine power, ready to deal the killing blow. Nathan braced himself, teeth gritted, his blood-soaked fingers clenched into a defiant fist.
But just as the sword came down, a jet of water, sharp as a blade and faster than an arrow, tore through the battlefield. The torrent struck Diomedes square in the chest, the sheer force of it driving him backward and breaking his advance.
Nathan's eyes widened, a flicker of relief washing over him as Charybdis emerged, her presence commanding and unyielding. Her skin shimmered with a blue hue, a clear sign that her control over herself was slipping. The primal, raging force within her was beginning to surface, and Nathan could see the strain in her eyes as she fought to keep it in check.
"Charybdis…" Nathan muttered, clutching his bleeding chest with one hand as he reached out to her with the other. "I… I need to get out of here."
Charybdis flinched, her bloodlust momentarily giving way to clarity as Nathan's weak, desperate plea grounded her. She nodded sharply, her expression hardening with resolve. Without another word, she moved to support him, her strength and determination the only things keeping him upright as they began their retreat.
But the danger wasn't over.
"I won't let you escape!" Diomedes roared, his voice cutting through the air like a war drum. The Greek King, undeterred by the earlier setback, charged at them again, his movements swift and deadly.
Nathan's heart sank. He couldn't outrun him, not in his current state. Just as the killing edge of Diomedes' blade came dangerously close, a blur of motion intercepted him.
Hector.
The Prince of Troy appeared in the nick of time, delivering a thunderous punch to Diomedes' abdomen. The impact sent the Greek warrior hurtling backward, crashing into the dirt with such force that even Poseidon's blessing couldn't dull the pain.
Diomedes clutched his stomach, his face contorted with rage and disbelief. "What is Chiron doing?!" he spat, turning his gaze toward the centaur.
Chiron, however, was preoccupied, locked in combat with Atalanta and Aeneas. His calculated movements and deadly precision were keeping the two occupied, but it was clear that the distraction wouldn't hold forever.
Nathan, watching the chaos unfold around him, clenched his jaw. Every second they lingered was a second closer to death. He doubted Hector or the others could hold off the Greeks for long, not when their fury was directed squarely at him.
"Hector!" Nathan croaked, his voice filled with both urgency and guilt.
Hector barely glanced back, his golden aura blazing like the sun itself. "Charybdis! Take him and go!" he commanded, his voice a mix of authority and desperation. Without waiting for a response, Hector drew his sword and turned his full attention to Diomedes, his expression darkening.
Charybdis wasted no time. Summoning her strength, she lifted Nathan effortlessly and bolted from the battlefield, her movements swift and calculated.
"Don't let him escape!" came the cries of the Greeks, their bloodlust reignited as they realized Nathan's weakened state.
"It's Heiron!" one of them shouted, the rallying cry spreading through their ranks.
"I'll be the one to take his head!"
As the Greeks surged forward, Charybdis unleashed a torrent of water in every direction. The streams of liquid tore through the air, impaling her pursuers with ruthless precision. The battlefield turned into a chaotic mess of blood and water, her deadly control over her element leaving no room for mercy.
"He cannot escape us like this!" Hera's voice thundered from above, her fury palpable.
But Athena, kept her gaze fixed on the duel unfolding below. Hector, now fully immersed in his battle with Diomedes, was a sight to behold. The Prince of Troy's body radiated a golden brilliance, his strikes swift and devastating. Each swing of his blade caused shockwaves that rippled through the battlefield, reducing the ground beneath their feet to rubble.
"Kill him!" Hera demanded again, but even her divine authority couldn't mask the growing concern in her voice as she watched Hector carve through her chosen warriors with ease.
"This… this monster…" Diomedes muttered, his voice quaking with disbelief. Even with Poseidon's blessing coursing through his veins, he found himself completely overwhelmed. Hector's strength was otherworldly, his rage unrelenting.
For Diomedes, the realization struck hard: Hector was no ordinary warrior. He had lost Sarpedon, his closest ally, and now that pain and fury had become a blazing inferno, fueling him beyond human limits. Hector fought not just for Troy, but to ensure that no one else dear to him would fall that day.
"I can't let him win!" Diomedes roared, his voice filled with desperation and fury. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his sword tighter, every muscle in his body trembling with unyielding resolve. Channeling the full force of Poseidon's blessing, he gathered the divine energy into a single, all-encompassing strike. His blade shimmered, glowing with an ethereal blue hue that radiated power, its brilliance rivaling the heavens themselves.
Across the battlefield, Hector stood still, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed the immense threat before him. He could feel the pressure emanating from Diomedes, the weight of Poseidon's divine favor pressing down on him like a tidal wave. Yet, Hector showed no fear.
Closing his eyes for a fleeting moment, he murmured a prayer under his breath. "Apollo, lend me your strength. Let me protect my people… and my city."
Golden light erupted from Hector's sword, a dazzling, radiant aura enveloping the weapon. It blazed with the fiery intensity of the sun, the warmth of Apollo's blessing filling him with unwavering resolve.
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The battlefield grew silent, the air charged with an almost suffocating tension. Time itself seemed to pause as both warriors readied themselves for the final clash, their weapons shining with divine power.
Then, in an instant, they moved.
Both Hector and Diomedes surged forward, their feet pounding against the ground with the force of an earthquake. The gap between them closed in a blur, their weapons raised high, each one ready to deliver a decisive blow.
BADAM!
The clash of their swords erupted in an ear-shattering explosion. The shockwave tore through the battlefield, scattering dirt, rocks, and debris in all directions. Soldiers nearby were thrown off their feet, their cries of alarm drowned out by the roar of the collision. Even the air itself seemed to tremble, rippling outward in visible waves from the sheer force of the impact.
Hector staggered backward, blood erupting from his mouth as a deep gash tore across his side. Diomedes' blade had cut him, the divine energy of Poseidon's blessing leaving a wound that burned like fire. Blood poured freely from the injury, staining Hector's golden armor and the earth beneath him.
Diomedes, however, didn't look triumphant.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he glared at Hector. He had struck, but he had failed—his blade had not claimed Hector's life. The realization settled heavily on his face.
"You missed," Hector growled through gritted teeth, his voice a mix of pain and defiance. Blood dripped from his lips, but his grip on his sword remained steady.
Diomedes said nothing, his silence laced with bitterness. He had put everything into that strike—all of Poseidon's divine favor, all of his strength—and it hadn't been enough.
Hector's eyes burned with fury as he leveled his gaze at Diomedes. The man before him wasn't just an enemy; he was an old companion, a fellow student once under Chiron's tutelage. The shared history made this battle all the more painful, but Hector knew what had to be done.
Tightening his grip on his sword, Hector swung it in a powerful, fluid arc. The blade whistled through the air, cutting with such precision and speed that the air itself seemed to part before it.
Diomedes' eyes widened as he saw the blade coming. In that split second, he understood that this was the end.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, bittersweet and resigned. "At least… I die as a warrior," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos.
BADAM!
Hector's sword connected with terrifying finality. The force of the blow was absolute, severing Diomedes' head cleanly from his body. The headless corpse crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as blood pooled beneath it.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC247 Nathan's past
Nathan was dreaming.
All the pain he was feeling following Diomedes's attack powered by Poseidon had been amplified by Nathan's own breaking body so maybe that's why he was having some kind of dreams of the past.
He was staring in the living room of his house
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"What happened, Nathan?"
The voice was sharp, precise, and carried a cold authority that made even the air around them seem heavier. The speaker, a tall and impeccably groomed man, stood in the doorway. His dark hair, slicked back with precision, glistened faintly under the harsh light of the room. His tailored suit was flawless, from the neatly pressed cuffs to the polished shoes that reflected the dim surroundings. Even his posture was a statement—rigid, commanding, and unyielding.
His dark eyes bore into the figure of a young boy, who looked more like a shadow of himself.
Nathan knew who it was.
It was none other than himself, just a year older—at eleven.
The boy standing before the man had a battered appearance. His uniform was torn in places, his knuckles bruised and crusted with dried blood, and his face held a blank, almost lifeless expression. His gaze was fixed on the ground, as if the floor was the only thing that offered him any solace.
The man's eyes swept over Nathan, his lips curling slightly in a look of thinly veiled disgust.
"I fought," Nathan said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
Nathan's head snapped up immediately, his gaze meeting his father's. The older man's cold, piercing stare seemed to cut through him like a blade.
"Who did you fight?" the man asked, his tone icy and unrelenting.
"Three people. They were seniors at my middle school," Nathan replied. His voice remained even, as though recounting something as mundane as the weather. "They tried to take the money you gave me."
The words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken. It wasn't the first time. Nathan was no stranger to these encounters. Everyone at school knew who he was—the son of wealth and power. He was a solitary figure, someone most kept their distance from, but that didn't stop those more brazen from testing their luck.
His upperclassmen had learned the hard way.
"Did you win?" his father asked, his expression still cold, though his dark eyes narrowed slightly, searching Nathan's face for an answer.
Nathan didn't hesitate. "Two of them are in the hospital. The other… I don't know. The school summoned you, Father."
There was no remorse in his voice, no pride either—just facts.
The school's director had called, of course. How could they not? But the man before Nathan didn't react with outrage or concern. Instead, a faint, nearly imperceptible nod of approval flickered across his face. He wasn't a man who praised openly, but Nathan had been raised to recognize the signs.
"Good," his father finally said, his voice clipped. "I'll deal with the director."
Nathan's bruised knuckles twitched slightly, but his face remained expressionless.
"Now," his father continued, his tone shifting slightly, though the chill in it remained. "Get ready for this weekend. I have news."
Nathan's eyebrows lifted slightly—not in curiosity, but in acknowledgment.
"I'm going to marry a woman," his father said, each word delivered with clinical precision. "She's an American-Spanish actress. You might have heard of her. She has two children—one boy, one girl. They'll be part of this family soon."
The statement carried no warmth, no excitement. It was merely a declaration, a new fact for Nathan to absorb and adapt to.
"I don't want a single unsightly behavior from you during this weekend. Do you understand?"
Nathan fell silent, his mind spinning with a whirlwind of emotions he dared not show.
Another woman.
It hadn't even been a year since his father's previous wife, Akane's and Ayaka's mother, had passed away. Her warmth and kindness still lingered in Nathan's memory, though they felt more like a dream now. Yet here his father stood, cold and detached, announcing another marriage as if it were merely a business transaction.
The memories of Akane and Ayaka—their frightened eyes staring at him as if he were a monster—rushed to the surface. He could still feel the weight of their gazes, the way they had recoiled from him, and now, the prospect of yet more siblings was being thrust upon him. His fists clenched at his sides, but he remained composed.
"Your answer," his father demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Nathan's lips parted, though the words felt heavy, like stones tumbling from his mouth. "Yes, Father."
"Good."
His father turned to leave, the echo of his polished shoes punctuating the stillness. But Nathan, unable to suppress the storm brewing inside him, called out.
"Father."
The man stopped, turning back with an impatient glare. "Don't waste my time."
Nathan hesitated, but his heart screamed for answers. The words escaped him before he could reconsider.
"Was Mother just another woman?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring his father to deny it, to show even a flicker of humanity. Nathan had always believed his mother was different—that she was his father's first love, the one woman who had ever mattered to him. He had clung to the idea that his father's brokenness stemmed from losing her. But now…
Now, doubt was seeping into every corner of his mind.
His father's reply was curt, devoid of emotion. "Obviously."
Nathan's fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. He couldn't understand. His mother had loved him, he was sure of it. He could still see her gentle smile in the fleeting, half-forgotten memories of his childhood. So why? Why was his father marrying again, collecting women as if they were objects?
"You see, Nathan," his father began, his tone chillingly casual, as if he were discussing an investment strategy. "In this world, to survive, you must take everything you can. If you have power, you use it. You take. And you don't stop taking."
He stepped closer, his presence looming over Nathan like a dark shadow. "Women are one of those things. Nature blessed them with the divine ability to give birth to life. That's why I find them the most interesting subjects in this world."
Nathan said nothing. He didn't understand. He didn't want to understand.
His father grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to look up. The grip was firm, almost painful, and Nathan's eyes widened slightly at the sudden, forceful contact.
"Look at me, Nathan," his father commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.
Nathan's gaze locked with his father's, and he felt the weight of those dark, unrelenting eyes pressing down on him.
"Women are powerful weapons," his father continued, his tone chillingly deliberate. "They can be used however you want, whenever you want, until you are satisfied. Always put yourself above everyone else. If one of them even dares to think of harming you…"
The man's eyes darkened further, his expression twisting into something frighteningly cruel. "…you make them pay a thousandfold. Hurt them until they regret even considering it. Women don't deserve your mercy. Break them until they submit. And if they're no longer useful, discard them. That is how the world works, Nathan. If you have my blood running through your veins, you'll understand that. Do you?"
Nathan's chest felt heavy, his breath shallow. His father's words sliced through him, leaving behind an emptiness he couldn't quite name.
His eyes, already dulled by the weight of his life, seemed to darken further. The faint flicker of happiness he had found living with Akane and Ayaka—a fragile, fleeting thing—had been extinguished entirely. He nodded slowly, the motion mechanical, lifeless.
"Yes, Father."
The man released him, stepping back as if the conversation had been no more significant than a lecture on manners. Nathan stood frozen, his body rigid and his mind reeling.
His father left without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. Nathan remained where he was, staring at nothing, the crushing emptiness within him expanding until it threatened to consume him entirely.
Nathan stared at his younger self with an expression that defied interpretation—a mixture of detachment, bitterness, and something almost resembling pity.
The scene before him, vivid and unrelenting, was burned into his memory. He remembered it all too well. Then again, he remembered every moment with his father perfectly.
His father's words, his teachings, his twisted philosophy—each one carved into the very fabric of Nathan's mind, impossible to erase no matter how much he wished otherwise. Those lessons, brutal and unyielding, were the foundation upon which much of his early life had been built.
Yet the memories he truly wanted to hold on to, the ones of his mother and the fleeting moments of happiness he had shared with her, seemed to slip away like grains of sand through his fingers. Those recollections were soft and fragile, their edges blurred, as if his mind itself conspired to rob him of the comfort they might bring.
His gaze shifted as his thoughts spiraled inward. What happened after this? Nathan wondered, though he already knew the answer.
"I remember," he muttered to himself. "I met those siblings."
They had been the last step-siblings to enter his life before Sienna and Siara. That chapter, brief and tumultuous, marked a turning point.
A certain incident with that stepfamily had changed him irrevocably. Afterward, he became the man who had walked the halls of high school—a cold, detached figure who viewed women as less than trophies. They weren't people; they were objects, acquisitions to be possessed, displayed, and discarded. Exactly the way his father had wanted him to see them.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered how far he had fallen into the image his father had crafted for him. But now…
Now, without his father's constant shadow looming over him, Nathan knew he had changed.
And it wasn't just the absence of his father that had shifted his perspective. The disappearance of Khione had forced him to confront feelings he had long denied. Losing her had been like losing a part of himself, and it was only then that he realized what she had truly meant to him. She hadn't been a trophy; she had been Khione.
Amelia's absence, along with others who had once stood beside him, had also left its mark. Each departure had chipped away at the walls his father had built around his heart.
"What would Father think of the current me?"
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC248 Heiron is awake!
Nathan slowly opened his eyes, his gaze drifting toward the ornate ceiling above—a ceiling he had grown familiar with in the short time spent in the royal guest quarters. This room, a gift from Priam, was a sanctuary of luxury, yet it felt hollow, like a gilded cage meant to trap rather than protect. He raised his aching body with a low grunt, the weight of fatigue pressing on him. Every movement felt labored, as though the battle still clung to his muscles and bones.
His eyes darted around the room, taking in the fine details of his surroundings—the elegant tapestries draped along the walls, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Yet none of it mattered.
What happened?
Nathan's thoughts churned as fragments of the recent past surfaced. He remembered Diomedes's devastating attack and the sharp, searing pain that followed. Charybdis had intervened, dragging him away from the battlefield, her urgency palpable. But beyond that, his memory was a blur.
Then it hit him. Poseidon.
A surge of cold fury coursed through him, and his expression hardened into a mask of icy determination. His fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms as anger bubbled to the surface. It wasn't just hatred for Poseidon—it was anger at himself.
Weakness.
He replayed the moment in his mind, envisioning how differently it could have gone if only he had been stronger. If he had the power, he would have torn Poseidon apart, consequences be damned. The thought burned in his chest, but alongside it came the bitter sting of reality.
Before he could sink further into his thoughts, a sudden presence materialized beside him. His senses sharpened as he turned, only to see Charybdis. Her form shimmered for a brief moment, as if the room itself couldn't contain her raw energy.
The instant her eyes met his, something broke within her. Without hesitation, she rushed toward him, throwing her arms around him in a fierce embrace.
The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through Nathan's body, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug. "It's fine," he murmured softly, his voice steady despite the throbbing in his chest. "I won't die." He rested a hand on her head, gently patting her hair in an effort to calm her storm.
Charybdis trembled against him, her power barely contained, like a tide threatening to surge and drown everything in its path. He could feel her fear—no, her rage. It simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode into a relentless slaughter if he had not stopped her.
As he stroked her hair, Nathan's thoughts wandered to the dream that had haunted him earlier—the memories of his past. His father loomed large in his mind, a figure both domineering and cruel, treating the women in his life as possessions. Nathan could still hear his father's voice echoing in his ears, advising him to act the same way.
For a time, Nathan had been tempted to follow that path. He nearly became the man he despised, especially after the incident with the Spanish siblings. Seeing Sienna, Siara, and even his classmates as trophies—it was a dangerous mindset, one that had crept in before he realized the depths of his folly.
And Khione…
She had suffered the worst of it. He had enslaved her, forced her hand, and used her for his own ends. Did he regret it? No, not entirely. Without such drastic measures, she would never have become his. Yet, as he held Charybdis close, Nathan resolved that he could no longer justify such actions.
From now on, he would choose a different path, one that didn't mirror his father's cruelty. The last thing he wanted was to become the very thing he loathed. To lose himself entirely to that darkness was a fate worse than death.
Charybdis's breathing slowed as his calm voice and steady presence reassured her. Though the fire of her rage had dimmed, it hadn't been extinguished entirely.
"How long was I out?" Nathan asked, his voice steady but carrying a hint of unease.
"Two weeks," Charybdis replied softly.
Nathan's eyes widened in shock. Two weeks? He had thought it was only a matter of days.
"So this is the price for defying death itself," he murmured, his voice tinged with both awe and bitterness.
He had known there would be consequences for pushing himself beyond mortal limits, but living longer than what fate had allowed exacted a unique toll. Pain coursed through his body like a persistent storm, accompanied by waves of weakness that left him drained. Even now, after two weeks, the aftermath lingered in his muscles and bones.
His gaze hardened as he pushed the discomfort aside. "How is the war? No one died, right?"
A shadow of concern crossed his face as he spoke. Despite his growing detachment from the affairs of mortals, the thought of losing Hector, Aeneas, or Atalanta stirred an uncomfortable guilt.
"No," Charybdis assured him. "Only Diomedes. Hector killed him after you lost consciousness."
Nathan's lips curled into a faint smile. "So, he killed him?"
As expected Hector was really the monster Nathan had seen him as.
Charybdis gave a small nod, her expression calm but watchful.
"But the war is turning in the Greeks' favor," she continued, her tone more somber. "Chiron has taken a more active role, and someone new has appeared—Asclepius, the son of Apollo. He has the power to heal even the most grievous wounds."
Nathan leaned back against the bedframe, his expression darkening. "I see," he muttered.
The Greeks were not wasting time mourning their losses. First Ajax, then Diomedes, and yet their ranks had been replenished swiftly, as though the gods themselves had a never-ending supply of champions to throw into the fray. It was unsettling.
If things continued like this, the war would never end—or worse, it would end with the Greeks claiming victory. Even with Achilles out of the fight, they were struggling to hold their ground. That alone was a grim sign of how precarious their situation had become.
"I've rested enough," Nathan said, rising from the bed. His movements were slow but deliberate, his resolve pushing him past the lingering ache.
He reached for fresh clothes, pulling them on with a practiced efficiency. As he fastened his tunic, he glanced at Charybdis. "You didn't tell Medea or Scylla anything, I hope?"
Charybdis shook her head firmly. "No."
"Good."
Nathan let out a soft breath of relief. He was certain that if either Medea or Scylla had learned the truth about his condition, they wouldn't have hesitated to unleash their wrath on the Greeks. The battlefield would have turned into a massacre, one that would only escalate the already endless bloodshed.
Still, he suspected they had grown suspicious. After all, it wasn't like him to go silent for days, let alone weeks. Twice a day, he typically reached out to them, ensuring they were in the loop. Yet, somehow, Charybdis had managed to provide a convincing excuse for his absence.
His thoughts shifted briefly to Aisha. She must have noticed his absence from the battlefield. Since she hadn't been nearby during his fight with Diomedes, she likely learned of the events later. Knowing her, she was probably worried—perhaps even angry—about his recklessness.
"I'll need to see her soon," Nathan murmured, half to himself.
As he stepped out of the room, the day's atmosphere greeted him. The castle seemed quieter than usual, almost as if the very walls were holding their breath.
"Today is a rest day," Charybdis reminded him, her voice soft yet insistent, as though sensing his inclination to dive headfirst back into the fray.
Nathan paused, letting her words settle. Rest, perhaps, was something he desperately needed—but not for his body
"Heiron!"
The sudden sound of a feminine voice broke through Nathan's thoughts, pulling his attention away from his surroundings. He turned toward the source and saw Astynome rushing toward him, her golden hair trailing behind her like sunlight.
Before he could react, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.
"I've been so worried!" Astynome murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. Her grip on him tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes. "You can't die. I know you won't die, but I was so worried!"
Nathan felt a pang of guilt but gently returned her embrace, his arms wrapping around her in a reassuring gesture.
"Yeah, don't worry," he muttered softly. "I can't die that easily."
The words were simple, but they carried a quiet determination, a promise unspoken yet understood.
"Heiron?!"
Another voice, deep and familiar, called out to him. Startled, Astynome quickly pulled away, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Nathan turned to see Aeneas striding toward them, his expression a mix of relief and restrained emotion.
Aeneas didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and engulfed Nathan in a bear hug, slapping him on the shoulder with enough force to make Nathan wince.
"Finally!" Aeneas exclaimed, his voice thick with unspoken relief. "You had us all so worried, man. Don't ever try to die on us again!"
Nathan chuckled softly, patting Aeneas on the back. "I won't."
As he pulled back from the embrace, Nathan's sharp eyes scanned his friend. Aeneas looked different—hardened. His face bore new lines of resolve, and his body was marked with fresh scars, evidence of battles fought and survived.
"You've changed," Nathan remarked, his tone both impressed and concerned. "You've gotten stronger in my absence."
Aeneas nodded, his smile tinged with bitterness. "I had to. After Sarpedon died... and you almost..." His voice faltered, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. "Something just clicked inside me. There was no choice but to step up."
Nathan's expression softened, understanding the unspoken burden Aeneas carried. War had a way of forcing people to grow, often in ways they never anticipated or wanted.
"Come," Aeneas said, his voice breaking the momentary silence. "Hector and the others will be overjoyed to see you back." He grinned widely and went ahead.
Nathan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. Without hesitation, he followed Aeneas through the corridors of the camp.
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I ENSLAVED THE GODDESS WHO SUMMONED MEC249 New allies!
"Heiron, you're finally awake!" Hector's booming voice carried a mixture of relief and joy as he strode toward Nathan, wrapping him in a firm hug before lifting him off his feet. Despite his towering frame, Hector's embrace felt warm and sincere. "We've been so worried about you. You weren't waking up for weeks, and none of the doctors had any idea what was wrong!" His voice cracked slightly, revealing how deeply the ordeal had shaken him.
Nathan managed a faint smile, though his expression remained calm. "I'm fine now," he replied, his voice steady but subdued.
Hector took a step back, his sharp eyes scanning Nathan's face as if to confirm his words. "Good. But you still need rest," he insisted firmly, folding his arms as if to emphasize his point.
"I think I've rested enough," Nathan countered, seriously.
Hector sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "How are you feeling, my friend?" he asked, patting Nathan's shoulder in a gesture both comforting and serious.
Nathan paused, glancing at the scars that marked his body—physical reminders of his relentless struggles. His silver-white hair glimmered faintly in the dim torchlight, making him seem otherworldly. Finally, he spoke. "Good. It's the final act. Let's end this."
Hector's smile widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Yes," he said with a resolute nod.
As Nathan surveyed the scene, he couldn't help but notice how much the war had taken its toll on Hector. His once proud and imposing friend now looked haggard, weighed down by new scars and the invisible burden of endless battles. Even his posture betrayed his weariness, though his eyes burned with determination.
"It's good to see you back," a gentle voice interrupted Nathan's thoughts. Atalanta approached, her steps light but deliberate, a genuine smile softening her features. She looked as weary as Hector, her armor dulled by countless clashes. The loss of Sarpedon and Nathan's absence had clearly taken their toll. Yet, there was a spark in her eyes—a flicker of hope.
"Come, Heiron. Let's eat. I also have some people to introduce you to," Hector said, beckoning Nathan to follow.
The group moved together, the air buzzing with subdued excitement. As they entered the great hall, the gathered Trojans erupted into cheers at the sight of Nathan. Their voices echoed off the high stone walls, filling the space with a mix of relief and celebration. Nathan offered them a polite nod, acknowledging their support, but his attention soon shifted.
In the far corner of the room, two men were devouring plates of meat with an almost primal ferocity, entirely unbothered by the noise around them. Nathan's gaze lingered on them, curiosity piqued.
"Heiron," Hector said, motioning toward the pair, "meet Castor and Pollux. They're among the finest warriors who've joined our side. More importantly, they're Helen's brothers."
At the mention of Helen, Nathan's brow arched slightly, intrigued.
"They chose to fight for us," Hector continued, "for their sister's sake."
One of the men—Castor, judging by the faint scars across his forearms—looked up briefly from his meal, sizing Nathan up with a casual glance. "Oh, this is Heiron, I guess?"
"We've heard a lot about you, Heiron!" Pollux added, his voice deep and slightly gruff. Neither man slowed their pace, their hands tearing into the roasted meat with unabashed enthusiasm.
Nathan studied them intently. Even without witnessing them in battle, he could sense their strength. Their movements, even while eating, exuded a natural power, and Pollux in particular radiated an aura of formidable might.
"They're interesting," Nathan remarked quietly to Hector, who chuckled in response.
It was surely right.
Castor and Pollux, along with Helen and Clytemnestra, were born of an unusual and divine origin. Leda, their mother, had caught the eye of Zeus, who approached her in the guise of a swan. From this union came an extraordinary birth—two eggs, from which four children emerged. Castor and Pollux were twins, though of a unique nature: Pollux was immortal, a son of Zeus, while Castor was mortal, a son of Leda's husband, King Tyndareus. Despite this difference, the brothers were inseparable, their bond unbreakable.
Castor and Pollux had accepted their father's decision to marry Helen to Menelaus. It was a political arrangement, after all, one that strengthened alliances and secured power. But that acceptance didn't mean they felt any loyalty toward Menelaus, especially when their sister's life was at stake. For them, blood ties and familial duty outweighed any allegiance to a distant king.
When Helen fled with Paris, the world branded her a traitor, and war followed in her wake. Yet Castor and Pollux didn't waver in their priorities. They deliberated, perhaps even hesitated, but in the end, they made their choice. They would fight for Helen, no matter the cost, no matter the side.
"It took some time, but they've finally come to take part in the war," Hector explained, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and pride. "They arrived just a few days ago, and since then, we've been able to recover slowly from the Greeks' relentless onslaught."
Nathan nodded thoughtfully. "That's reassuring," he said, his tone neutral as he approached the brothers. Yet his sharp eyes betrayed his skepticism.
"But," Nathan continued, his gaze narrowing as he studied Castor and Pollux, "I wonder if they're truly our allies." His voice was low, almost accusatory, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"Heiron?" Aeneas called softly, a note of caution in his voice. But Nathan didn't acknowledge him. His mind was already racing with possibilities, scenarios, and worst-case betrayals.
Nathan's suspicions weren't without reason. Castor and Pollux might have been Helen's brothers, but they were also Greeks, deeply rooted in the traditions and loyalties of their homeland. Furthermore, their other sister, Clytemnestra, was married to Agamemnon, the very man leading the Greek forces against Troy. Why would they risk everything to side with the Trojans while Clytemnestra remained in the heart of Agamemnon's kingdom? The potential for deception was too great to ignore.
Castor broke into a loud, hearty laugh, his grin wide and genuine. The sound echoed through the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade. "You doubt us, huh? Understandable!" he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I'd say Hector is lucky to have such a friend who worries this much about Troy!" He shot a glance at Hector, who chuckled and gave a nod of agreement.
"But let me make one thing clear," Castor continued, his tone growing more serious, though his grin remained. "We'll defend Helen, no matter what it takes—even if it means siding with the Trojans. Family comes above everything else, right, Pollux?"
Pollux, quieter and less animated than his twin, nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said simply, his deep voice steady but subdued.
Castor shrugged as if to downplay the gravity of their decision. "Menelaus can go to hell for all I care. If Helen left him, she must have had her reasons. I never saw her happy with that man."
Nathan tilted his head slightly, intrigued by Castor's candor, but before he could respond, Pollux spoke again, his words cutting through the moment like a cold wind. "She doesn't seem happy with Paris either."
The room fell into an awkward silence. Nathan noticed the faint twitch of Hector's lips, as if he were suppressing a laugh or a awkwardness—perhaps both. Even Aeneas, standing nearby, shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
Hector finally broke the silence with a resigned sigh. "Well," he said slowly, "it's true. Helen hasn't exactly been… enthusiastic about Paris lately."
The truth was undeniable. Helen had been distant with Paris for weeks now, her interactions with him sparse and strained. She spent much of her time avoiding him altogether, as if the weight of the war had driven a wedge between them.
She was literally avoiding him.
She had been feeling guilty about all of this. About the war, the deaths, everything. At first, Hector blamed her too. She was queen. She must have known what her actions would lead to, what consequences would follow yet it was strange for Hector that Helen just left like that.
But as the months passed, he realized there had to be more to her decision. Something else must have been at play and he stopped blaming her but he still blamed Paris who was definitely the culprit in this. The more time passed and the more it looked like Helen had been somewhat tricked by Paris and she was dragged out forcefully.
Hearing Castor's words, Nathan's doubts eased slightly, though not entirely. The brothers seemed sincere, but sincerity could be feigned, especially in times of war. For now, Nathan resolved to remain cautious, his guard firmly in place.
"So, you no longer hold any loyalty toward Agamemnon, I assume?" Nathan asked, his voice measured but probing, as his sharp gaze lingered on the twins.
"Loyalty? Who could hold loyalty toward such a despicable man?"
A woman's voice suddenly rang.
Nathan turned to the source, his eyes narrowing as he took in the figure who had entered. She was striking—undeniably beautiful, though not with the ethereal grace of Helen. Her beauty was fierce, regal, and commanding, with long golden hair cascading over her shoulders like sunlight and piercing green eyes that burned with intensity. Every movement she made exuded a dignity that spoke of her noble lineage.
"She is Clytemnestra," Hector said quietly.
"Clytemnestra?" Nathan repeated, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Helen's sister? What is she doing here?"
"She asked us to save her," Castor replied. "From the hell she endured at Agamemnon's castle."
Nathan's eyes darted back to the woman. Her hands were clenched tightly into fists at her sides, her knuckles white, and the rage in her eyes was almost palpable.
"I will never forgive him," Clytemnestra said, her voice trembling with emotion. "That man—" She broke off, her shoulders shaking with suppressed anger. "He took everything from me. My freedom, my dignity, my happiness...my daughter."
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