The Villain of Ancient Greece

On the battlefield, the earth and stone golems that had blocked the front lines collapsed into heaps of debris.

The Thessalian royal city, a large section of its wall now gone, had only the golden magic barrier Lorne had raised left as its final bulwark.

It was done.

Looking at the exposed city on the horizon and the trembling lambs hiding behind the ruins, the giants breathed in the scent floating through the air with open greed, cheering in excitement.

Crawling up from the ground, the previously repelled Antaeus fixed his gaze on that thin layer of light and let out a sinister, cruel laugh.

Even a ritual incantation cast by a God could not withstand a combined assault from the beast tide and the Gigantes at once.

”Charge through! Trample these foul bugs to death!”

The towering giant led the charge toward the Thessalian royal city, driving herds of monster beasts ahead of him toward the gap that opened straight into the city’s interior.

The Gigantes, coming back to their senses one by one, pressed forward with heavy steps behind him.

Just as that grand, black wave was about to submerge the fortress, over a hundred bronze chariots ground over the collapsed ruins and launched a charge straight into the densely packed beasts and Gigantes.

The wheels roared as over a hundred galloping divine bulls dug their heads into the enemy formation, sending swathes of monster beasts flying and trampling others into meat paste along the way.

Several Gigantes driving the beasts forward saw this and flew into a rage.

Bulging their rock-like black muscles, they strode forward, crimson eyes flickering like fire, swinging crude, massive weapons, stone knives, giant clubs, bone axes, in crisscrossing strikes.

”O great God Zeus, let Your wisdom and majesty descend upon this place!”

Standing atop his bronze chariot,

King Admetus drew an engraved bronze shortsword and chanted a blessing, sweeping it forward.

Light patterns rippled across the bodies of the divine bulls at once, purple thunderbolts gathering beneath their trampling hooves.

In the same instant the bulls evaded the falling weapons with unbelievable speed, shooting through the air on sharp, piercing sounds and tragic thunderous light, leaving the ground behind them strewn with severed limbs.

A breach opened in the ranks of monster beasts and Gigantes outside the city, and the anxious soldiers and residents inside could not help but take heart, letting out cheers for their king and warriors.

Responsible for holding the magic barrier, Lorne watched the sharp vanguard cut against the current of beasts and giants, his eyes flickering as his gaze settled on Admetus’s slight frame.

Among the Greek kings Lorne had met, this ruler of Thessaly was mediocre in both strategy and combat prowess, thorough in neither good nor bad.

Yet by his side gathered companions each far more outstanding and powerful than he was.

Telamon drove his chariot.

Caenis raised her shield for him. Apollo, the God of Light, was willing to bow his head for him.

His wife Alcestis was willing to die for him.

The great hero Heracles was willing to fight the God of Death for him.

Like that King of Arcadia, Admetus too feared death, and yet he had never once abandoned his duties.

It was precisely that steadfast devotion that carried him to a height ordinary heroes could not reach, one that stirred a touch of unexpected goodwill toward this ordinary king in Lorne.

”Listen, everyone! Behind us are our city and our loved ones. We have nowhere left to retreat!”

Admetus brandished his shortsword and shouted, resounding and passionate, to the god-blooded royal guard charging into the enemy formation beside him.

”If the fortress collapses, we shall become the wall! If our spearheads snap, we shall become the weapons! Charge through and crush them!”

As the king’s sword swung down, Telamon whipped the reins to drive the chariot forward while Caenis braced her shield and set her spear to guard the flank.

The two god-blooded heroes of Thessaly shielded their king, plunging into the heart of the enemy like a living banner.

Seeing the monarch they served step forward, and the heroes they praised carve out a path, the god-blooded royal guard felt their blood rise.

They gripped their weapons and followed king and heroes alike, driving to break through the wall of monster beasts and Gigantes and ease the pressure on the main front.

”Seeking death!”

Watching the creatures he considered no better than ants dare to resist him, Antaeus, the leader of the assault was thoroughly enraged.

He leaped into the air, his massive body wrapped in a water-blue halo, and crashed down onto the galloping fleet of bronze chariots like a falling meteor.

Bang! Bang!

His arms swung with such force that two chariots, unable to dodge in time, were hurled into the air and fell heavily into the herd of beasts below.

Before the dazed god-blooded warriors inside could react, the surrounding monster beasts and Gigantes dragged them out and tore them apart.

Antaeus took a deep breath of the blood-scented air as he surveyed his handiwork.

With a cruel grin he swung his fist once more, this time at the foremost chariot carrying King Admetus and the two heroes of Thessaly, ready to snuff out the sheep’s last resistance.

”Boom!”

A thunderous blast tore through the battle line, sand and stone flying up in a visible ether storm.

A mountain-like figure was sent hurtling backward through it, kicking up dust across the ground, and dozens of monster beasts along his path were crushed into pools of crimson before they could even dodge.

Before the bronze chariot now stood a muscular giant, 2.5 meters tall, muscles bulging, planted in a fighter’s stance.

”Heracles!”

”Heracles!”

”Heracles!”

Mountain-shaking cheers rose from within the city as soldiers, civilians, and heroes alike cheered this son of Zeus who had carved out countless legendary feats.

”Charge forward with peace of mind. Leave this to me!”

Heracles laughed and cracked his knuckles, stepping forward to draw the dark axe-sword strapped to his back and block Antaeus’s path.

Reassured, Admetus reorganized his formation and pressed the god-blooded royal guard onward behind him.

If they could break through the giants’ line, the beasts driven here would scatter into chaos, and Thessaly would win a moment to catch its breath.

”Don’t even think about running, bug!”

Antaeus climbed back to his feet, grinding his teeth as he eyed the bronze fleet vanishing into the dust ahead. ”Your opponent is me!”

Heracles bellowed and swung his axe-sword as he charged, slamming into Antaeus.

The moment the two collided, the divine power erupting between them formed a visible shockwave, and dozens of nearby monster beasts burst into clouds of blood mist before they could even scream.

Antaeus, knocked back once more, felt fury rise at the bone-deep gash now cut across his chest.

He was a Titan, born of the intertwined natures of Poseidon and Gaia, and his bloodline had given him strength and divine nature beyond any ordinary giant’s.

He had believed that with the Gods fading, his power would go unmatched under the dual blessing of ocean and earth.

Yet here, attacking a minor human city, he had found an opponent who could match him arm for arm.

What right does a mere half-blood demigod have to be spoken of alongside me?

Humiliated, Antaeus drove the divine nature within him to its absolute limit and surged forward, ochre-yellow and water-blue halos wrapping around him.

The wound across his chest closed even as he charged, the weight of the ocean and the depth of the earth twisting together around him into visible ripples of gravity.

”Just in time!”

Heracles laughed, excitement flaring across his rugged face.

Born powerful as a son of Zeus, and trained by his teacher Perseus until his technique reached near perfection, he had rarely met a beast, monster, or descendant of the Old Gods who could stand against him.

An opponent worth the name was a rare thing on the battlefields of Thessaly, and the prospect delighted him, as he tossed aside his axe-sword and swung his fists to meet Antaeus head-on.

Stripped of technique, the two god-blooded fighters famed for raw physical power traded punch for punch.

Divine power crashed outward like waves in every direction, and deafening explosions rang out one after another.

Monster beasts, humans, and Gigantes alike were struck dead by the fallout wherever the two passed.

Onlookers on both sides fell back out of fear of becoming collateral, giving the two plague gods and their map-wide attacks a wide berth.

At last the pair broke free of the core battle and carried their fight into the distant wilderness.

The bloody, oppressive weight over the field lifted at once, and both sides found the other suddenly, strangely bearable.

But the lull did not last.

A fiercer battle followed.

”Without that monster around, let’s see what you can do!”

The Gigantes laughed and brandished their crude, massive weapons, driving the beasts toward the god-blooded royal guard under Admetus’s banner, ready to finish off this stubborn resistance for good.

More monster beasts and Gigantes gathered, and the resistance thickened around them.

The chariot line ground to a standstill.

Admetus, Caenis, and Telamon stood back-to-back, cutting down the beasts closing in and trying to land killing blows on the Gigantes driving them.

But the monsters crawling up from the depths of the earth seemed to hold endless vitality.

The three watched a giant whose skull they had pierced through remain lively even with brain matter exposed, its wound closing visibly before their eyes.

Gradually, Admetus and his royal guard began to tire, falling into a bitter, grinding struggle.

”Charge!”

”Kill them!”

”Devour them!”

The Gigantes closed in with hungry excitement at the sight of exhausted prey.

God-blooded flesh and souls, rich with divine nature and magic power, made for a delicacy that could strengthen their kind.

Just as the giants, driven by appetite and malice, gathered around Admetus’s group to feast, the herds of monster beasts near the royal city suddenly began to scatter and flee in another direction, like a river bursting its dam.

What was happening?

Turning their thick heads, the giants looked into the distance and realized, too late, that a flanking unit had carved through their formation from the side and was channeling the trapped beasts outward.

It had worked.

Lorne looked toward the distant unit’s colorful banners and the Spartan twin brothers leading it, and slowly lowered the arm he had raised.

The Gigantes’ arrival and assault had come far too suddenly, driving massive herds of beasts along with them.

Having taken two direct impacts, large sections of the royal city’s wall had fallen, leaving almost no natural defense standing.

If those beasts were allowed into the city, the limited garrison inside would have no way to hold a line, and the civilian dead would climb high.

That was why Admetus’s group had set out from the start to drive the beasts away, so the Gigantes could be dealt with one at a time.

The trouble was that the Gigantes and the beasts were mixed together, making it nearly impossible to break their formation head-on.

So Lorne had proposed a strategy to the King of Thessaly: feint east, strike west.

One unit would build momentum and charge the enemy formation from the front to draw the Gigantes’ attention.

Another would strike from the flank at the critical moment, cutting through the Gigantes’ line to drive the gathered beasts back into the mountain forests.

After brief consideration, everyone had agreed.

But when it came to assigning the two units, the room had hesitated.

The unit drawing the enemy from the front carried the real risk of annihilation at the slightest misstep, and the heroes present had no shortage of reservations.

What surprised Lorne was that Admetus, said in legend to fear death, had volunteered for that lure the force himself, alongside his royal guard.

”The land of Thessaly is meant to be protected by Thessalians.

If we ourselves are unwilling to bleed for our homeland, what right do we have to ask guests from afar to lay down their lives?”

Lorne, hearing this, had asked him plainly. ”Are you not afraid of death?”

And the mediocre king had smiled and answered just as plainly. ”I am afraid of death. I am more afraid of dying for nothing.”

With this king leading by example, both the lure and the flank attack had gone off cleanly.

Even Antaeus, who should have commanded the Gigantes, had been drawn off by Heracles, deepening the chaos in their ranks.

With the monsters’ attention fixed on the King of Thessaly’s team, the Spartan twins had led god-blooded heroes from across the city-states through the Gigantes’ flank, driving the scattered beast herds back through the gap into the mountain forests and splitting the Gigantes’ formation further still.

Now everything was in place.

The time for a counterattack had come.

Lorne raised his arm and swept it forward.

Gathered along the defensive line, temple priests and magicians raised their voices in divine chant, sending brilliant flames and bolts of spellfire down onto the disoriented Gigantes and the beasts among them.

(End of Chapter)

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