The princess, completely unaware she had already been suspected and had her true identity guessed, began shamelessly enjoying the view of Night's stunning face.
Whether it was her imagination or not, Laodice felt that face, already handsome to begin with, was somehow even more attractive than before.
If at first what drew her in was that particular aura he carried, now even the face itself had become almost dangerously appealing.
That insufferable man.
So annoyingly good-looking.
A flush of red passed across the goddess of beauty's fair cheeks.
On the other side, Helen, meek but sharp, chose not to interrupt the goddess at this moment.
If anything, she much preferred the goddess's attention to drift away from her entirely.
Her gaze drifted down instinctively, following the direction of the goddess's eyes, trying to see what had caught her attention.
Helen didn't have divine vision.
She should not have been able to see Night's face across that distance the way the goddess could.
But a powerful instinct led her gaze straight to the right place, locking on to the direction be was standing.
He was in the Greek heroes' formation, but off to one corner, in the most out-of-the-way position in the whole group.
Who was it that caught this goddess's attention?
If you want to know that badly, just look yourself.
The thought surfaced in her mind without warning, as though some voice deep in her subconscious was nudging her forward.
The next moment, one of Helen's eyes suddenly turned bright red as blood, and then she had vision that matched the goddess's own divine sight.
And with that, in one look, she saw the face of the person standing far below, head tilted slightly upward, looking in their direction.
Then the supernatural magnetism judgment landed.
Helen's gaze went blank.
A quiet, involuntary swallowing sound.
And then she jolted back to herself, and felt deeply ashamed of her own reaction.
She was the one who usually worried about her own appearance drawing in others and causing all kinds of unwanted trouble.
She never expected to be on the other side of that.
Helen's face went red and she hurriedly looked down, feeling as though she had done something genuinely terrible.
She was already entangled in the fates of two heroes.
The last thing she needed was to attract another one.
That would make her situation far more dangerous than it already was.
But a thought kept surfacing from somewhere underneath, unwilling to stop.
Look up again. Keep looking.
Don't be stupid, looking doesn't hurt anyone.
Someone that beautiful exists to be looked at. What is there to be embarrassed about?
The distance is this great, you won't be seen anyway.
Helen's head felt slightly hazy, her emotions wobbling as though something was tugging at them, the small devil inside her waking up, desire amplifying and stirring restlessly.
On instinct she looked back toward the Greek heroes' formation.
Night had already lowered his head and covered his face completely under the cloak.
Seeing this, both of the striking figures on the city wall couldn't keep a flicker of disappointment from crossing their eyes.
Not nearly enough.
Even the goddess of beauty, who had gotten an eyeful, still hadn't gotten enough.
What it meant to stand at the very apex of supernatural magnetism, what it meant for even a principal god holding the authority of beauty to be unable to resist the pull, was exactly this.
The more you looked the more you wanted to look.
The kind of magnetism that never once left you satisfied was the only thing that deserved to be called supernatural. It kept growing new layers of wanting.
The small scene on the battlefield went unnoticed by anyone else.
Heroes and gods alike were focused on the overall situation, discussing which fighters would be chosen to step out for the duels.
But in the end, all final authority rested with the God-king Zeus, who stood at the top of all present.
Very quickly, Hermes descended on Zeus's orders and brought the specific rules for the contest.
First, the fighters would be determined by a full vote from the heroes on both sides.
Second, in the three rounds of combat, Paris and Menelaus both had to be among those selected to fight.
Third, after both sides decided their lineup, it would be submitted to the gods for final confirmation.
The gods held veto power and could designate a hero of their own choosing to take the field at any time.
Was this a joke?
When the third rule was read out, the entire battlefield stirred.
If the gods could swap and assign fighters based on personal preference at any point, what if they assigned a weak fighter against a powerful hero?
That was a guaranteed loss.
For any hero on the weaker side of such a pairing, this was plainly and obviously unfair.
But Hermes, and the gods above, showed not the slightest concern for what these humans thought.
Even Hermes, hovering above the battlefield with a cheerful and easygoing smile as the gods' mouthpiece, had eyes that were completely flat and indifferent, without any real warmth in them at all.
That smile hid complete indifference.
A simple truth.
Why would gods concern themselves with human thoughts?
Just as humans never stopped to wonder what ants were thinking.
The same way that when Troy's walls finally fell, the endless prayers of the old, the weak, the women, and the children went unanswered.
Prayer was useless. Begging was useless. Rage was useless. The gods simply did not care anymore.
"All of the above falls under the final authority of the God-king, Lord Zeus.
As for the third rule, our divine father Zeus likewise holds a single vote of absolute veto and may designate any combatant to take the field at his pleasure.
Sons of man, do you have any objections?"
He didn't even seem interested in explaining anything.
Though Hermes delivered his words with a full smile, anyone could see the impatience underneath.
Facing this declaration from the gods' messenger, some of the more hot-tempered heroes wanted to push back, but they held themselves in when they thought about the terror of the gods.
The arrogant Paris was furious and frightened at the same time.
He had no desire to take the battlefield at all, yet the rules specifically named him as a required participant in the three bouts.
Damn it all.
If the opposite side had Achilles, Diomedes, and Menelaus as their worst-case scenario, the other two slots for Greece could be filled with their strongest available fighters.
Of those three, the one Paris feared most, the Spartan king who would want to tear him apart out of pure fury, was actually starting to look like the most manageable opponent.
Who knew how much he would survive if the draw went wrong and he ended up facing one of the other two?
"I," Paris started.
Just as fear moved him toward protest, Hector stepped in front of him.
"We should trust the judgment of the great twelve gods of Olympus.
Trust that they will choose the strongest warriors from both sides to fight. Witnessed by the glory of the gods, there is no room for retreat, Paris.
If you are still a man, and if you still see me as your good older brother,
Then stand up like one. Pay for what you did. If you win in the end and earn Helen's heart by your own hand under everyone's eyes,
All of Troy will be proud of you.
That shame you carry will become the glory we celebrate."
...
Hector blocked Paris's path, and under his pressure, the latter had no choice but to agree.
Once it was confirmed that both sides had no objections to the contest,
Hermes told the heroes to quickly discuss and finalize their list of fighters.
Up above, the gods had already arranged their seats and settled in to watch the mortals below from their elevated position.
They talked and laughed among themselves, not the slightest bit tense about the battle coming.
They discussed which heroes would be more entertaining to watch on the field.
.
.
.
(End of the Chapter)