The most breathtaking and ferocious battle since the onset of the Trojan War was unfolding upon the bloodstained fields of Troy. Warriors, nobles, and even the gods themselves bore witness to a spectacle that defied mortal comprehension. The clash of titans had begun.
On one side stood the mightiest warrior of Greece, the unparalleled Queen of the Myrmidons and ruler of Phthia—Achilles, though known by her true name, Khillea. Draped in a resplendent golden armor that shimmered like the sun itself, she was a vision of divine fury. A golden sword, wreathed in searing flames, danced in her grip with deadly precision, while a shield, embossed with the glory of Hephaestus’ craftsmanship, was clasped tightly in her left hand. Every movement of hers was a blur of celestial light, her divine speed turning her into a golden streak across the battlefield, an embodiment of war itself.
Her opponent was none other than Nathan, and though no tales had sung of his exploits before, none could now deny his place in legend. The air around him crackled with a chilling frost, the ground beneath his feet hardened by an unnatural cold that seemed to devour warmth itself. Each swing of his weapon sent out frigid gusts that clashed against Khillea’s golden inferno, creating a mesmerizing cyclone of ice and flame. Sparks erupted, frost bloomed, and golden fire roared, their battle an intricate dance of opposing forces locked in an eternal embrace.
How long had they fought? Hours? Perhaps only moments? Time had lost all meaning in the presence of such a duel. Those who bore witness did not care—they longed for this battle to last an eternity.
The very earth quaked beneath them, the heavens seemed to tremble. Even the gods, so often indifferent to mortal affairs, stood silent. Their eyes, accustomed to divine conflicts, widened in disbelief as they watched the battlefield unfold below.
Ares, the god of war himself, could not suppress his astonishment. His voice, uncharacteristically uncertain, broke the heavy silence.
“A-Apollo… what in the name of Olympus did you do to him?” Ares asked, his usual bravado absent, replaced with sheer incredulity.
He had expected Nathan to be formidable, yes, but this? This defied all reason. Nathan was not merely holding his own against Achilles, he was matching her strength for strength, strike for strike, without so much as a faltering breath. It was unthinkable.
Ares had, in the depths of his mind, fantasized about Achilles’ defeat before—but only at the hands of Hector, and even that had required an impossible miracle. Yet Hector had failed. The strongest warrior of Troy had fallen, crushed beneath the unstoppable force that was Achilles. And now… now Nathan stood where Hector could not, matching Achilles as an equal. No, as a superior.
Even Artemis, ever composed and enigmatic, narrowed her eyes in contemplation, turning toward her twin. There was something about Nathan’s movements, his overwhelming power, that left even her questioning the nature of his strength.
“Brother,” she said softly, her voice laced with suspicion. “Did you interfere? Did you bless him with something?”
The golden-haired god chuckled, his radiant eyes glinting with amusement.
“I did nothing,” Apollo replied, the faintest smirk playing at his lips. “This… this is all him.”
The battle raged on, and as the echoes of their clash reverberated across the battlefield, a new legend was being written in fire and ice.
“How is that even possible?” Artemis murmured, her green gaze locked onto Nathan as he fought.
Something about him had changed. His aura was different—his stance unwavering, his eyes calm yet carrying an unsettling chill. And yet, as he clashed with Khillea, there was no intent to kill in his gaze, no murderous hunger behind his strikes. It was almost as if he were testing himself, rediscovering his own strength.
Regardless, Artemis was certain of one thing—he had not been this powerful before.
Nathan had always been strong. His victories over warriors like Ajax and even the legendary Heracles were proof enough of that. But this—this was something beyond mere strength. He had ascended to a level few mortals, or even demigods, could reach. The only plausible explanation that came to her mind—and likely to the minds of others—was divine intervention. Perhaps Apollo had blessed him? Or maybe Thanatos, the goddess of death who had resurrected him, had granted him an unfathomable boon?
But no.
“No, Nate obtained a blessing from no one,” a voice interjected.
It was Aphrodite, her lips curled into an affectionate smile as she watched Nathan fight. There was a rare gleam in her eyes, a glint of exhilaration, admiration—perhaps something even deeper. How long had it been since she had felt such excitement watching a man? No, she mused, had she ever felt this way before?
Artemis turned to her sharply. “What do you mean?”
Aphrodite chuckled, a melodious sound that rang through the air. “Nate fought for an entire year, bearing an unbearable burden. His body weakened, fractured, saturated with experiences and strength it could not fully contain. He kept growing stronger, but his body refused to keep up, breaking down under the strain after what he had sacrificed.”
“It’s like wielding a sword with only one arm for a year because the other was useless—weak, broken. But imagine, all at once, that other arm is restored. Suddenly, the weight shifts, the balance returns, and everything you’ve accumulated—every ounce of skill and experience—finally flows freely into your entire being.”
Ares’ eyes widened in realization. “You mean… now that his body is whole, all the experience and strength he accumulated has finally integrated, unrestricted?”
“Exactly,” Apollo confirmed, his voice tinged with fascination as he too watched Nathan.
There was something undeniably enthralling about him.
“The Nathan you see now,” Apollo continued, his tone almost reverent, “is the true Nathan. No more burdens, no more chains restraining him. This is his full strength, unshackled at last.”
Artemis turned her gaze back to Nathan, her green eyes studying him intently.
She had to admit—he looked different now. There was an undeniable allure to him, a presence that commanded attention. Before, she had felt nothing, no particular pull toward him. But now… now, she felt something stir within her, an unfamiliar attraction. And she knew—this was not Aphrodite’s divine charm at work.
A frown crossed her lips. “Was it really a good choice to give him these Skills?” she murmured to herself.
It had seemed unnecessary at the time, and now she feared they had only made him even more monstrous. True, he had not yet reached the power of the gods—he was on par with demigods like Achilles which was already a scary feat. But at the terrifying rate he was progressing, Artemis felt a twinge of apprehension. She and Ares had granted him abilities that were, in their own right, incredibly potent. And then there was Apollo, who had gifted him Light Magic on top of it all…
“A promise is a promise, Artemis,” Ares remarked, unconcerned. He was a god, after all. For now, he was still stronger than Nathan. But watching Nathan fight, seeing the raw potential brimming within him—it excited Ares. He could already imagine it. One day, perhaps, he would cross swords with the mortal. The thought alone made his blood boil with anticipation.
While the Trojan gods were reveling in the sight of one of their own warriors standing toe-to-toe with Achilles—the warrior they had long considered unbeatable—the Greek gods were experiencing the opposite reaction.
“T-This can’t be possible…” Hera whispered, her voice laced with disbelief. Her wide eyes remained locked on Nathan as he moved effortlessly across the battlefield.
“What kind of man has Khione summoned?” Athena muttered beside her, a deep frown etched onto her face.
This… This was beyond anything she had ever seen before.
Yes, there had been extraordinary heroes in the past—those summoned by Khione’s previous efforts. Some had been remarkable, even verging on the level of legends. But none—none—had ever reached this level of strength in just a single year.
Of course, the third class of summoned heroes had its standouts. Sienna, for instance, was incredibly talented, her prowess undeniable. And Courtney—she had proven to be surprisingly strong, displaying a potential that even Athena had not expected.
But Nathan…
Nathan was something else entirely.
He was in another dimension altogether.
And it perplexed Athena to no end.
Summoned heroes were supposed to come from a peaceful world, untouched by war or divine interference. How, then, had a man from such a place grown into a warrior of this caliber? How had he become so powerful, so ruthless, so instinctively brilliant in battle?
What kind of past had forged him into this relentless force of nature?
Clearly, he had not grown up in a normal environment to reach this level of strength and mentality.
Athena had keen eyes for talent, and she recognized an unfathomable gift within Nathan right now. It felt as if he had no limits.
A tinge of regret flickered across Athena’s eyes.
“If only I had noticed him…” she mused, thinking back to the day when all of Khione’s heroes were summoned. That day, she had not even spared Nathan a glance, nor had she cared.
In the end, he had died—just another casualty, felled by some random demon, or so she had heard. But she knew better. The Divine Knights had played a role in his death.
And now, Athena was certain of one thing—the Divine Knights were going to regret, perhaps more than they could possibly fathom, having ever antagonized Nathan…because she was sure Nathan was someone remembering and holding grudge.