The temple was not finished with him.
Adrestus had barely taken three steps toward the exit when the floor shifted beneath his feet. Stone grated against stone, and a new passage opened—wide, torchlit, leading downward. He had explored the side corridors, but this was different. This was a summons. The gods, it seemed, wanted to test him after all.
He tightened his grip on Aetos Pheme and walked into the gauntlet.
The first chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. Statues of gods lined the walls—Zeus with his thunderbolt, Poseidon with his trident, Hades with his bident, and others, lesser ones, their faces worn by time. In the center of the chamber, a pedestal. On the pedestal, a single word: STRENGTH.
The statue of Zeus came to life.
It was not the god himself—only a construct, animated by old magic. But it moved with purpose, its stone fists swinging toward Adrestus's head. He ducked, rolled, and drove Aetos Pheme into its knee. The red lightning cracked the stone, but the construct did not fall. It kicked out, sending him flying across the chamber.
He landed hard, his aura coating absorbing the impact. The statue advanced, its footsteps shaking the floor.
Strength, Adrestus thought. Not brute force. I cannot match a stone giant in strength. But I can be smarter.
He circled, letting the construct swing and miss. Each blow was powerful but slow. He waited for an opening—the moment after a punch, when the statue's arm was extended and its torso exposed. He threw Aetos Pheme. The spear struck the statue's chest, spinning, and returned to his hand. The impact cracked the stone. He threw again. Again. Each throw chipped away at the construct's core.
On the tenth throw, the statue crumbled to dust.
The word on the pedestal changed: AGILITY.
The second chamber was a maze of spinning blades and shifting platforms. Adrestus had faced similar traps before, but these were faster, more precise. He moved without thinking, his absolute body control guiding him through gaps that seemed to close before he reached them. He leaped, twisted, slid—his cloak trailing behind him like a banner. The blades whispered past his ears, his cheeks, his fingers.
He reached the other side without a scratch.
The word changed: WILL.
The third chamber was empty. No traps, no monsters. Only a mirror at the far end, reflecting his own image. Adrestus stepped forward, and the reflection stepped out of the mirror.
It was him—exactly him, down to the scar on his ribs and the red lightning flickering in his eyes. The copy raised its own spear and attacked.
Fighting himself was the strangest battle he had ever faced. The copy had his speed, his precision, his techniques. It parried Dragon's Tusk, countered Swallow's Tail, threw and caught its own spear. Adrestus could not overpower it. He could only outthink it.
He remembered the words on the pedestal: WILL. Not the will to fight. The will to be more.
He stopped defending.
The copy's spear thrust toward his heart. He did not dodge. He stepped into the thrust, letting the blade scrape past his ribs, and grabbed the copy's wrist. His red lightning surged—not as a blast, but as a flood. He poured his aura into the copy, overwhelming it, overwriting it.
The copy shattered like glass.
The final chamber was a long corridor, empty except for a single figure at the far end. He was small, lean, dressed in a traveler's chiton with winged sandals on his feet. His hair was dark, his smile quick, his eyes bright with mischief.
Hermes.
"Took you long enough," the god said. "I've been watching. The others set up their tests—strength, agility, will. Boring. Predictable. I told them you'd breeze through. And you did." He clapped slowly, the sound echoing. "Faster than any mortal in a century, I might add."
Adrestus stopped ten paces from the god. "Is this a test, or a compliment?"
"Both." Hermes stepped closer, his winged sandals fluttering. "I am the god of travelers, of messengers, of thieves. I appreciate speed. And you, Adrestus, are fast. Not just your body—your mind. You adapt. You flow. You are never where the blow is aimed."
"I learned that from dying less than my enemies."
Hermes laughed—a bright, genuine sound. "I like you. Most heroes are dull. They grunt and sweat and talk about honor. You just... move." He reached into his chiton and pulled out a small feather, golden and glowing. "A gift. A minor blessing. Not much—I am not Zeus, to throw lightning around. But this will make you faster. A step quicker, a heartbeat sooner. Enough to turn a killing blow into a scratch."
He tossed the feather. It floated toward Adrestus, then dissolved into golden light that sank into his chest.
```
[SYSTEM UPDATE – Age 21]
Blessing received: Hermes's Favor (Minor)
Effect: +10% movement speed, +5% reaction speed. Passive increase to agility.
Fame Coins Earned: +2 (for completing the Gauntlet of the Gods)
Total Fame Coins: 19 (previous 17 + 2)
Note: The gods have now tested you directly. Zeus is watching more closely. Your legend grows.
```
Adrestus felt the blessing settle into his muscles, his tendons, his bones. The world seemed to slow, just slightly. A gift of a hair's breadth, as Hermes had said. But in battle, a hair's breadth was the difference between life and death.
"Thank you," he said.
Hermes waved a hand. "Don't thank me. Thank your feet. They earned it." He turned and began to walk toward the far end of the corridor. "Oh, and Adrestus? Watch your back. Zeus is... curious about you. And when the King of the Gods gets curious, people tend to die."
He vanished in a flutter of wings.
Adrestus stood alone in the corridor, the echoes of the gauntlet fading around him. He had been tested by gods, and he had passed. But Hermes's warning lingered.
Curious. And when the King of the Gods gets curious, people tend to die.
He walked toward the exit, his new sword heavy on his back, his spear humming in his hand. The temple of Pandora was behind him. The war was ending. But a new one was already beginning.
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End of Chapter 39