"It can't be…" Albert's breath caught as he stared at the soldiers clad in crimson cloaks and bronze armor, their spears gleaming like fangs in the sunlight. He had seen such images in textbooks, but to stand before them was something else entirely.
"Hey, you cosplay idiots," Bruno scoffed, folding his arms. "Where the hell are we? What's with the cheap Halloween costumes?"
Albert's heart sank. Of all times, Bruno had to run his mouth now. The soldiers muttered among themselves, their voices sharp and low, before a tall warrior stepped forward. Barely in his twenties but built like a statue of Ares, he fixed the strangers with a commanding stare.
"Identify yourselves, strangers. If you refuse, you will be taken as hostages."
Albert swallowed hard, trying to form words, but Bruno just smirked.
"Hostages? By a bunch of LARPers? You think your toy sticks scare me?"
Albert's stomach turned. "Don't—Bruno, they're not—"
"Shut it, nerd," Bruno snapped. "They're just roleplayers. I'm not scared of clowns."
The warrior's eyes narrowed. "Last chance."
Before Albert could plead, Bruno lunged forward and grabbed an older soldier, locking an arm around his throat. "Don't move! I'll break his neck if you take a step!"
For a heartbeat, silence. Then, laughter. Deep, harsh laughter that echoed across the plain.
Bruno's face twisted in confusion. "What's so damn funny?"
The "old man" suddenly moved like lightning, seizing Bruno's wrist and slamming him to the ground. The dust rose around them. His voice, calm yet razor-sharp, rang out:
"Your spirit is bold, boy. But I have survived more wars than you've lived years. To be taken by the likes of you would stain the honor of a Spartan general."
Albert's jaw dropped. Bruno writhed helplessly under the man's grip. A soldier shoved Albert down as well, forcing his face into the dirt.
"W-wait! This is a mistake—" Albert stammered.
"Who… who are you people?" Bruno gasped, a flicker of fear breaking through his arrogance.
The tall warrior stepped closer, his shadow falling over them. "We are Spartans. You stand in Laconia."
Albert froze. His suspicions were right all along. They weren't in Oxford anymore. They were in Ancient Greece.
"Bind them," the warrior commanded. "We will present them before the king."
Somewhere else, Richard found himself in an ancient city. A moment ago he'd been in his AI class at Oxford; then whispers crawled through his ears, and now—this. He didn't know how. People passing by stared openly, their clothes strange to him. Thankfully his phone was still in his pocket; less thankfully, there was no signal, no internet. He sighed. For an introvert like him, being alone in a new place was a nightmare—he barely talked to his own relatives, and this was on a different level.
"Great, now I can't even watch anime…" Richard muttered. He decided to walk and figure out where he was. People whispered as he passed. He couldn't catch the words, but he could tell it was about him. Even back in Oxford, whispers trailed him; he never complained, but it always made him uncomfortable.
He bumped into someone and looked up—Leo. They stared at each other, dumbfounded.
"Richard… so you've been teleported here as well, I see," Leo said, trying to keep his composure despite everything.
"Teleported? You can say that—more like we're isekai'd," Richard sighed.
"Isekai? What do you mean?" Leo asked, confused.
"Are you living in a bronze era? Isekai means you get thrown into the past by some event. Like in the anime Re:Zero, Mushoku Tensei, etc.," Richard explained. To him, after so much anime, the concept wasn't new—even if feeling it for the first time was.
"So we've been teleported back in time, huh… I didn't know such a thing existed, but I can't ignore it now. This definitely isn't a drama show, judging by the looks people are giving us," Leo said, trying to piece things together.
"Yeah, looks like it. I don't want powers like Subaru's Return by Death though—that's way too painful. But I wouldn't mind being loved by a beautiful witch like Satella," Richard added, rambling. Leo didn't understand a word; he just stared, baffled.
Suddenly, a girl with blonde hair and clothes far richer than the others approached—early twenties, confident eyes. "So you're the ones attracting all the attention… You two seem interesting," she said, studying them. Her gaze lingered on Richard; she'd never seen silver hair before—though his was just dye.
"Who are you, miss? Is there any way I can help you?" Leo asked, polite and respectful as always.
"Don't bother yourself. You're strangers here," the girl said, rolling her eyes. Before she could say more, several soldiers hurried over.
"There you are, Princess damaris. You shouldn't run away like that—we've been looking for you for two days," one said, then turned to Richard and Leo, frowning. "Who are you? You don't seem to be from around here."
To everyone's surprise, the girl seized Richard's wrist and declared, "He is my husband. I've loved him for a long time. We married in secret—and beside him is his advisor."
The square went silent. Richard rolled his eyes; he had no idea what to say or where this was going.
"I'm afraid, Princess, this time you've crossed the line," the soldier said stiffly. "You'll have to explain this to your father. Escort them to the castle."
Soldiers surrounded them on both sides—no ropes, but no gaps either. The girl only grinned. "Lead the way… for my husband."
High above, on the heights of Olympus, a lone figure stood gazing down at the mortal realm.
"So… the game has begun," Apollo murmured, his voice carrying the lilt of amusement as though he were speaking to himself.
A second voice cut through the silence, calm yet commanding. "Indeed, it has begun, Apollo. I did not expect one such as you to take interest in such matters."
The speaker emerged from the shadows—Athena, her form tall and resolute, every line of her bearing forged by centuries of discipline. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, regarded him like a hawk weighing its prey.
Apollo let out a light laugh, turning toward her with mock exasperation. "By Helios, Athena—you nearly startled me. Do you always arrive like a stormcloud at dawn?"
She did not so much as blink. "Flattery and jest will not change the truth. Father has summoned all the gods to council. Come—your presence is required."
Before Apollo could reply, she dissolved into radiant motes of light, vanishing into the aether.
Left alone, Apollo smirked faintly, his golden eyes lingering on the world below. "Summoned, am I? Very well… let us see what part I shall play."
Apollo followed Athena into the grand council chamber of Olympus. The marble pillars seemed to glow with divine light, and at the center sat Zeus himself upon his thunder-wreathed throne. Around him gathered the full host of gods and goddesses — even Hades, whose rare presence sent a ripple of unease through the room. Apollo narrowed his eyes; if the Lord of the Underworld had come, then this meeting was not mere ceremony. Something immense was about to unfold.
Zeus raised his voice, his words echoing like thunder:
"My children, gods and goddesses of Olympus — today we gather for the Game. As promised, I have granted a rematch to those who claim the Trojan War was unjust. Here, upon Olympus, we shall decide who among mortals will fight once more to display our power and settle the grievance of ages."
He drew breath to continue, but Hades' low voice cut through the chamber, sharp as a blade.
"Enough with your speeches, brother. We have no time for your thunderous monologues. Some of us have duties beyond parading on thrones and chasing mortal flesh."
A ripple of gasps crossed the room. Poseidon's eyes narrowed, his voice calm but edged.
"Mind your tongue, Hades. It seems the stench of the Underworld has rotted what little manners you once had."
"Manners?" Hades smirked, rising slowly from his obsidian seat. "You mean the polished lies we dress our sins with? Manners did not stop you, brother, from bedding mortal women and siring half-breeds. Manners did not stop Zeus from scattering bastards across every shore. Do not lecture me."
Poseidon's hand tightened on his trident, his form shimmering with restrained fury. "One more word—"
"Then what? Truth offends, does it not?" Hades sneered, stepping closer.
The chamber trembled as thunder cracked above, and Zeus' voice shook the marble itself.
"Enough!" His eyes blazed, silencing them both. "We are gods — act as gods!"
Hades chuckled under his breath but sat once more, while Poseidon exhaled sharply, returning to his seat with a huff.
Zeus straightened, his gaze sweeping over the assembly.
"As I was saying—"
"Father," Athena interjected, her voice crisp, "with respect, spare us further ceremony. If this is truly to decide Olympus' honor, then speak plainly."
"For once, I agree with her," Artemis muttered, arms folded, her silver eyes rolling skyward. Athena stiffened but held her tongue.
Aphrodite smirked, enjoying the growing tension. "My, my… things are heating quickly."
Ares leaned back lazily, twirling his spear. "Hmph. Words, words, and more words. If this is war reborn, then let us begin it. I've no patience for chatter."
Hera sighed deeply, her voice tinged with weariness. "Some things never change…"
Zeus finally raised a hand for silence. "Very well. Since patience is thin, I will speak directly. Only five gods may choose their champions today. The rest of you shall wait your turn. Consider this the first round. Each of you who claims a mortal must grant them a divine Authority — a fragment of Olympus' power — to aid them in survival. Beyond that, they must rely on their own will, strength, and destiny."
With a wave of his hand, five glowing cards materialized upon the altar at the center of the council. Each card shimmered, displaying a mortal's image — their face, their essence, their strengths, weaknesses, ambitions, and fates written in golden script. Albert. Bruno. Leo. Richard. And the blonde-haired princess, Damaris.
"Who will claim them?" Zeus asked, his thunderous gaze sweeping the hall. "Step forward, and bind your fate."
For a moment, silence reigned. None of the gods moved, each calculating in silence, weighing which mortal reflected their will best.
Then, with an almost careless stride, Apollo broke the stillness. His golden form shone like dawn itself as he plucked up Richard's card.
"Well then, since no one dares to move, I shall. This game may prove either Olympus' folly or its brilliance — but I'll play. I choose this mortal as my champion." He raised Richard's card high, smiling playfully, before returning to sit beside Artemis.
Athena stepped forward next, her expression cool and decisive. She took Albert's card without hesitation.
"I choose this mortal. Strength is fleeting, but wisdom endures."
Ares barked a laugh, his voice dripping with scorn.
"How pitiful! The goddess of wisdom, choosing a weakling! Surely the victory of Greeks boasted your pride more than I thought."
Athena did not flinch, her gaze steady. "There is no honor in guiding a brute. But then, I do not expect you to understand."
The god of war's eyes narrowed, fists tightening. "Then I will prove what a so-called brute can achieve." With a growl, Ares seized Bruno's card and sat heavily, his glare fixed on Athena.
Hermes stepped forward next, a sly grin dancing across his lips as he picked up Leo's card.
"This one shall be mine. Quick of wit, restless of heart — a fitting match."
That left only one card — Princess Damaris. The blonde-haired runaway, the girl who had defied tradition and even dared to call Richard her husband in boldness. Yet no god reached for her card. Some whispered among themselves, dismissing her as useless. Others glanced at Athena, but she had already chosen Albert. Even the goddess of wisdom deemed Damaris unworthy.
Zeus stirred. "So be it. If no one shall claim the girl, then this round is concluded—"
"I will take her."
The words cut sharp, and all eyes turned to Artemis, who stepped forward with silver resolve. She took Damaris' card with unwavering hands.
"You?" Hera arched a brow. "The huntress of maidens, lowering herself to guide a mortal princess?"
"You have lost your mind in the wilderness, sister," Ares scoffed with open disdain.
Zeus' gaze hardened. "Artemis… are you certain? The odds are against her — against you."
Artemis' eyes flashed like moonlight on steel. "The odds have been against me since the day I was born. And yet, I endure. I will not turn away from her." She held Damaris' card close and turned, leaving the center with quiet defiance.
The hall was silent for a moment, all gods watching her retreat. Apollo only smiled faintly, pride shimmering in his golden eyes at his sister's stubborn will.
Zeus rose, his thunder echoing. "So be it. The champions are chosen. The first round of the Game begins. May Olympus itself bear witness."
The chamber trembled. The Game had begun.