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.”