Nathan laughed, a sound filled with contempt and pity. “What I understand?” he echoed, his tone dripping with derision. “I’ve known King Priam for only a few months, but in that short time, he has proven himself a better king than any of your so-called rulers. He is willing to risk his entire city to protect an innocent woman. That speaks volumes about his character. He may not be remembered for grand conquests or endless wars, but he will be remembered fondly by the people of this era.”
“Heiron…” Priam’s voice quivered with emotion as he listened to Nathan’s impassioned words, deeply moved by the young man’s fierce determination.
For Priam, the truth was undeniable—he had no intention of surrendering Helen to the Greeks, even if it meant incurring the wrath of every king in their alliance. He had come to know Helen well enough to see her as an innocent soul, unfairly caught in the web of this relentless war. His resolve was mirrored in the soft yet determined smiles of Hecuba and Andromache, who stood by his side.
Nathan’s voice thundered across the battlefield, cutting through the clamor of war like a blade through flesh. “You Spartans claim to pride yourselves on honor, but what honor is there in taking revenge on an innocent woman? A woman who doesn’t even love you! If you were truly a man, you would let her go—to live her life on her own terms, freely! Did she ever harm you? Did she ever deserve to be treated like a trophy to flaunt before your enemies?”
Menelaus, who had been ready to retort, found his words strangled in his throat as Nathan continued, his words relentless and piercing. “Her father entrusted her to you—not as a prize, but as a charge to protect her from the lecherous monsters who masquerade as kings and gods alike. And what did you do? You turned his trust into betrayal! You ignored her suffering and used her as an excuse to stoke your pathetic pride! You called upon your trash brother to wage war, not for justice or love, but for your own fragile ego!”
Helen, watching from the high walls of Troy, trembled as she heard these words. Her hands instinctively covered her lips, stifling a sob as her eyes filled with tears. Only her family knew the truth of her father’s decision—the desperate measures he took to shield her from the lust of gods like Poseidon, who would have violated her had it not been for her father’s swift intervention. For years, she bore the weight of being misunderstood, as just a whore seducing all kings.
Tears spilled over as Kassandra stepped forward to support Helen. The seeress gently placed a hand on her shoulder while her gaze lingered on Nathan who took everyone’s attention including the Gods.
Nathan’s voice rose again. “And I dare to say this: all Trojans here—men who fight not for glory but to protect their families, their wives, their children, even a stranger woman they’ve taken under their care—each of them deserves to reach the so-called Islands of Heroes in the afterlife! If the gods above have even a sliver of intelligence or decency, they will see the righteousness of these people and honor their sacrifices.”
“Heiron…” The words struck Hector and Aeneas.
The Trojans around them stood in silence, every word etched into their souls. Even in the face of death, they felt emboldened, their cause vindicated by Nathan’s eloquence. At this point, Heiron entered until the end inside their hearts, he won all of them.
Meanwhile, Astynome’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her heart pounding in admiration and love for the man who had captivated her. She couldn’t help but marvel at his strength, both in body and conviction.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, was locked in fierce combat with a group of Greek soldiers. Yet, even in the midst of her relentless strikes, a wide grin spread across her face. Her sharp eyes had caught glimpses of Nathan’s commanding presence and his bold words echoing across the battlefield. “I have chosen well,” she thought with satisfaction. This man, a warrior who fought with both his heart and his sword, was exactly the ally—and perhaps more—she had hoped for.
Nathan’s classmates, in the battlefield also understood him. From the beginning, they had harbored a deep disdain for the Greeks, repulsed by their arrogance and cruelty. The women in the group had felt it even more acutely, their skin crawling under the Greeks’ lascivious stares and disrespectful murmurs.
Courtney and Gwen had different faces, their expressions a mix of bitterness and reluctant understanding. They couldn’t deny it any longer—Heiron, the man who had once defeated them, was undeniably a good man. His words resonated deeply, not only condemning the Greeks but also uplifting the Trojans in their noble cause.
Siara, too, was lost in thought. Her mind lingered on the day she had fought against Heiron. His strength, his precision—it had been overwhelming. He could have killed both Gwen and her that day, easily, yet he chose not to. Why? She was certain now that the answer lay in the very core of his character.
But among them, Sienna stood in silence, her usually composed demeanor betraying a flicker of emotion. Her blue eyes rippled with recognition, a memory surfacing in her mind like a fleeting shadow.
His voice… his way of speaking… she thought, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t just the conviction or the fire in his tone. It was something far more personal, something that struck a chord deep within her. It reminded her of a moment long ago—a conversation she had shared with her dead step brother, Nathan.
Not aware of the reactions, Nathan’s gaze darkened, his tone shifting from fervent hope to icy menace. Turning his lance toward the Greeks, he spoke with a voice colder than the grave. “And you Greeks… You are nothing but scum.” His words lashed across them like a whip. “I swear, on this battlefield and before all the gods, I will send every last one of you to Hades. You will not find rest, nor will there be honor in your deaths. Like Ajax, I will ensure that none of you are given the dignity of a proper burial.”
The Greeks froze, their faces pale with fear as the sheer weight of Nathan’s words bore down upon them. His Skill DEEP VOICE reached another level of mastery inducing fear even to his enemy no matter how numerous they were.
“I see,” Odysseus said softly, closing his eyes.
Nathan’s words hung heavy in the air, cutting deeper than any blade. Each accusation, every scathing truth, had struck Odysseus like an unrelenting storm, battering his heart with a mix of guilt and helplessness. He could deny none of it.
He had always felt the pang of sorrow over Iphigenia’s death. He had never approved of Agamemnon’s methods, nor had he wanted to be part of this senseless war. For years, he had tried to resist, seeking ways to avoid the bloodshed. But in the end, he was dragged into the conflict, bound by the oaths he had sworn to Agamemnon—oaths that, as a Greek king, he could not break without dishonoring himself and his people.
Most Greeks had grown up idolizing gods like Zeus and Poseidon, emulating their treatment of women as mere objects of possession. But Odysseus had never been like them. He had always cherished Penelope, treating her as his equal, his partner in life. Yet, in this sea of greed and arrogance, his ideals felt like a foreign tongue.
As Nathan’s words echoed in his mind, Odysseus realized how closely they mirrored his own unspoken thoughts. A bittersweet smile crossed his face.
“I am… a bit jealous of the Trojans,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze met Nathan’s.
If only Nathan had been born a Greek king. Could he have been the one to change their path, to pull them away from this pit of selfishness and cruelty? Odysseus could only wonder.
“I understand, Heiron,” he said, his voice firmer now. “But as a Greek king, it is my duty to ensure our victory.”
Nathan’s eyes narrowed, his voice turning icy. “Odysseus, I want Agamemnon’s head. Are you going to stand in my way?” His lance pointed directly at the older man, its tip gleaming with deadly intent.
Odysseus held Nathan’s gaze, his expression a mix of regret and resolve. He had seen a kindred spirit in Nathan, someone who shared his disdain for the darkness that plagued their world. But he was bound by duty, no matter how much it pained him.
“I will,” he said, his voice steady.
Nathan’s eyes flashed with fury, his grip on the lance tightening. “Then you will never see Penelope or your son again.” His words were sharp.
Odysseus met his gaze. “We will see about that.” With that, he turned, his steps heavy yet resolute.
Nathan surged forward, his lance poised to strike, but a towering figure stepped between them, blocking his path. The sheer presence of the man was overwhelming, his form a mountain of muscle and power. Nathan immediately sensed danger and leaped back, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the new challenger.
It was none other than Heracles.
The demigod, a son of Zeus and one of Greece’s strongest warriors, stood before Nathan like a fortress. His gaze was steady, his demeanor calm yet commanding.
“I will have to stop you with all my strength this time, Black Commander,” Heracles said, his voice deep and resolute.
Nathan’s grip tightened around his lance, his icy gaze meeting the demigod’s stare.