[Nathan Parker]
Lvl 505
<Strength> 4567
<Agility> 4208
<Stamina> 5400
<Mana> 18 886
<Vision> 10 054
<Luck> 20 477
<Charm> 668
Skills: [Divine-Rank: Forbidden Seal],[Divine-Rank: Death Curse], [Divine-Rank: Aphrodite’s Charm], [SSS-Rank: Eye of Odin], [SS-Rank: Roar of War], [SS-Rank: Vision of Artemis], [C-Rank:Deep Voice], [C-Rank: Stealth Cap].
°°°°°°
Nathan sat on a worn wooden bench in the open courtyard, bathed in the golden glow of the morning sun. The air was crisp, carrying with it the distant sounds of soldiers preparing for battle—yet today, no war cries echoed, no steel clashed. The aftermath of Hector’s near-death encounter had left both sides in an uneasy truce, as if even the gods themselves held their breath, waiting for what would happen next.
The Greeks had been especially shaken, bewildered by his sudden appearance on the battlefield. Whispers of his power had spread like wildfire among their ranks, their once-unshakable confidence now laced with uncertainty.
As he leaned back against the bench, a cool breeze ruffled his white hair. He exhaled softly and brought up his stats, his sharp eyes scanning the glowing interface that floated before him. It had been a while since he last checked them, and in that time, everything had changed.
The numbers before him were almost absurd. Each of his stats had skyrocketed, reaching levels that would have been unimaginable just days ago. Thousands upon thousands—no temporary boosts, no artificial enhancements—these were his new, permanent abilities. A frightening realization, even for him.
His gaze shifted to his Skills. Some had vanished, lost to the hidden costs of his meteoric rise in power. A drawback, no doubt, but nothing he couldn’t accept. What he had gained far outweighed what he had lost.
Two SS-rank Skills.
And then, the true prize—Aphrodite, ever so indulgent, had graced him with a Divine-Rank Skill, a gift befitting the goddess of love and beauty. He had expected no less from her.
Yet, that was not all.
Another Divine-Rank Skill now rested in his arsenal, one that sent a shiver down his spine even as he read its name.
[Divine-Rank: Death Curse].
Thanatos herself had bestowed this upon him, a reward for the soul he had willingly placed in her hands. A weapon forged in the depths of death itself. A trump card against beings far beyond the realm of mortals—against gods.
But such power came with a price. Just like the Forbidden Seal, this skill, too, was restricted by a charge bar, a limit imposed on what could only be described as an overwhelming cheat. Not that he minded. If it were freely usable, it would hardly be fair.
Nathan’s attention then drifted to his LUCK stat.
20,000.
A number so ridiculously high that it seemed almost comical. Then again, considering how many times he had cheated death, perhaps it was only natural. He had Thanatos’ favor, the blessing of the very goddess who governed the cycle of life and demise. And then there was Aphrodite—her influence had played no small role either, especially when it came to his CHARM stat. Receiving a Divine-Rank Skill from the goddess of love was bound to have its effects.
Not that he wanted to be overwhelmed by it.
With a thought, he instinctively suppressed Aphrodite’s gift to its minimum output. Even he knew better than to let such an ability run wild. Power was one thing. Influence, especially of this nature, was another entirely.
Nathan closed his stats window with a flick of his fingers and looked ahead.
Tomorrow, everything would end.
Nathan could feel it in the air—the weight of inevitability pressing down on him like a silent storm on the horizon. Tomorrow, he would face Khillea, and tomorrow would mark the final day of this war. No matter what, he would ensure that outcome.
As he sat there, lost in thought, a faint presence brushed against the edge of his senses. Someone was watching him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Helen.
She flinched when he spoke her name, as if caught in the act of something she wasn’t sure she should be doing.
“Can you come here? Let’s talk,” Nathan said, his voice even, yet carrying an unspoken weight.
There was hesitation—long enough that he could hear the way her breath hitched slightly—but then the soft sound of footsteps on stone filled the quiet courtyard. A moment later, she lowered herself onto the bench beside him, her movements careful, uncertain.
Nathan turned his head slightly, studying her. The once-proud queen looked tired. The soft glow of the morning sun illuminated her delicate features, but the shadows beneath her eyes betrayed the turmoil she carried.
“Are you angry?” he asked.
Helen blinked, as if caught off guard. “Angry about what?”
Nathan didn’t hesitate. “Khillea killed your brother, didn’t she?”
A flicker of emotion passed through Helen’s gaze—grief, sorrow, something deeper. But instead of answering, she latched onto a different part of his words.
“Her name isn’t Achilles but Khillea?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” Nathan confirmed. “Tell me, are you angry that I want to save her?”
Silence.
Helen’s hands slowly curled into fists on her lap. Her fingers trembled, nails pressing into her skin.
“My brothers… they always wanted to protect me and my sister,” she whispered, her voice raw, as if every word scraped against something fragile inside her. “Even now, they abandoned the Greeks and joined the Trojans… just to keep us safe. They knew the risks. They knew death could happen… yet they still fought.”
A shaky breath.
“Castor died… and I…I know it’s war, but I can’t accept it. It’s too hard,” she admitted, blinking rapidly as she fought against the tears threatening to spill.
Nathan exhaled, his expression unreadable. “He was a good man. He fought well.”
Helen’s lips trembled. “And she killed him.”
“Yes,” Nathan said without denial. “But, Helen… Castor went to her first. He sought the fight, and he lost. I don’t think he regrets it. He fought and died as a warrior—for his sisters, just as you said. This… is war.”
Helen let out a broken breath. Her shoulders shook.
“A war I created…” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears finally slipped down her cheeks.
Nathan turned his gaze forward, watching the distant horizon.
“You didn’t,” he said firmly. “Paris and Agamemnon did.”
Paris.
That foolish prince—blessed with a divine charm, yet lacking the wisdom to wield it properly. He had been given the ability to seduce any woman, and in his blind arrogance, he chose a married queen of Sparta. He had no foresight, no understanding of the consequences that would follow. Not even Aphrodite had predicted that outcome.
Helen let out a bitter, trembling laugh.
“Yes… and yet…” she hesitated, eyes glistening with unshed tears, before finally admitting, “Even if I had a choice… I wouldn’t have changed anything. I still would have come to Troy.”
Her voice was quiet, but filled with conviction.
Nathan said nothing for a long moment. He simply sat beside her, letting her words settle in the space between them.
“I… felt suffocated in Troy,” Helen admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back then, I thought it was normal—that nothing was wrong. But after coming here, after seeing how people treated me with kindness… I realized it wasn’t normal at all.”
She exhaled shakily, her hands clenching in her lap.
“And I felt relieved to have left Troy.” She let out a self-mocking laugh. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”
Nathan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“No. You just tasted happiness for the first time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Helen turned to him, her gaze searching his face. There was hesitation, something unspoken lingering in her throat before she finally voiced it.
“I… am angry at Khillea because she killed Castor, but… I think I’m also jealous.”
“Jealous?”
Helen swallowed hard. “Y…yes.” She hesitated before asking, “When did you meet her?”
“During the war. When I infiltrated the Greek camps,” Nathan answered honestly.
Helen’s fingers curled tightly against the fabric of her gown. “You fell for her during the war?”
“I did.”
“I… see.” Helen’s voice wavered, her expression shadowed with something he couldn’t quite place. “She is… yes, beautiful and charming. More than me.”
You have nothing to envy her for, Helen.”
Her lower lip trembled. “T…then why?” She bit down on her hesitation before forcing the words out. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Come to you?”
“Y-yes…” Helen’s voice was small, uncertain. “Even though we lived in the same place, you fell for someone so far away. But I… I was the closest to you. And still, I wasn’t enough… is that it?”
Bitterness laced her words, and for the first time, she looked utterly fragile.
Nathan exhaled and met her gaze with quiet intensity. “You were more than enough,” he said, his voice firm. “You have been since the day I saw you.”
Helen’s breath caught. “Then…” she hesitated, as though gathering every ounce of courage in her body. Her trembling fingers reached for his hand, grasping it hesitantly.
“I… I want you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I want to be with you.”
As soon as she spoke those words, Nathan moved.
He closed the distance between them and captured her lips in a kiss.
Helen’s eyes widened in shock, but she didn’t retreat. A soft, muffled gasp escaped her as warmth spread through her entire body, setting her nerves ablaze. Her lips trembled under his touch before she surrendered completely, pressing into him.
Nathan deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against her soft lips before slipping inside. His hands roamed downward, tracing the curves of her body through her gown. Helen shivered, arching slightly as heat pooled in her stomach.
“Mmhgnn~~” A muffled moan escaped her as his hand slid up, cupping her breast through the delicate fabric. They were full, soft, big enough to be unable to fit in his grasp as he kneaded them.
A haze of desire clouded his mind, urging him to rip away the barrier of clothing between them—to claim her entirely. But just as his fingers tightened around the silk of her dress, a piercing gaze snapped him back to reality.
Nathan didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Paris.
The cowardly prince stood behind a pillar, his expression twisted with murderous hatred as he watched the scene unfold before him. Yet, despite the sheer rage in his eyes, he didn’t dare to attack.
Nathan smirked against Helen’s lips before finally pulling away.
Helen sat breathless, her lips swollen, her chest heaving. A dazed, heated expression lingered in her half-lidded eyes as she gazed at him.
Nathan ran a hand through her golden locks, his smirk deepening.
“After the war,” he murmured, “you will be mine.”
Helen shivered at his words.
“Haa… y-yes~” she whispered breathlessly, surrendering completely.
And in the shadows, Paris seethed.