As it turned out, Atalanta really wasn't wrong.
The reason Rovi remained in the Kingdom of Colchis even after rejecting Medea's "confession" wasn't just to help the locals—it was also to wait for that particular group of people to arrive.
"Not interested. Go see them yourself—I have no desire to meet scum like that!" Thinking about the rumors she'd recently heard from Rovi, disgust flashed across Atalanta's eyes. "I'll just wait here for you!"
"Suit yourself," Rovi chuckled. "Well, I suppose every cub grows up eventually; you can't keep following me forever."
Without hesitation, Atalanta lunged forward and bit him.
...
That very same day—after countless twists and turns, the Argo finally reached its destination.
The ship, large enough to hold fifty people, dropped anchor by the shore of the Kingdom of Colchis.
Golden sands glittered, washed by waves frothing with pale foam.
"Hahaha—we've finally made it!" At the ship's prow, a blond-haired young man raised his head and laughed joyfully at the distant city. "Hoist the sails! Set forth—!"
"We've already arrived; what's the point of hoisting sails now?" someone mocked from the shore.
"You know nothing!" The man turned around, shouting loudly. "The sails I'm raising are sails of the heart!"
"Golden Fleece, here I come!"
"Jason's losing it again," came the murmurs from below. "Forget it—just ignore him."
"I hear Colchis is a rich, powerful kingdom, isn't it?"
"Think of all the treasure, wine, and beauties waiting for us! Speaking of which, those island women we passed were incredible; we've got to enjoy them again on our return trip…"
"I can't wait!"
"And once we get the Golden Fleece, I'll have plenty to boast about back home!"
The heroes laughed arrogantly, excitement written all over their faces.
They treated the city-state before them not as a formidable country, but as an orchard ripe for picking.
Yet among them stood a single figure, silent and detached. Everyone else moved cautiously around him, wary of provoking his wrath.
A youth with a hard, handsome face stood tall and solitary, muscles like sculpted marble, eyes deep and inscrutable.
Heracles.
Son of Zeus and unquestionably the strongest man aboard the Argo, possessing the strength to slay divine-class beasts. He had protected them throughout their voyage.
Yet, due to his lofty and noble bearing, he remained isolated, intimidating the others.
But Jason was not among those intimidated.
The frivolous blond man standing at the ship's prow happened to glance back, catching sight of Heracles. Slightly startled, he quickly flashed a bright smile, preparing to jump down and greet him—
At that moment, the towering youth suddenly raised his head, his gaze sharply fixed on the approaching shore, as if sensing something.
"Hm?" Heracles murmured softly.
Jason also froze, following Heracles' gaze—
"Who are you?" one of the so-called "heroes" asked suspiciously.
They watched the figure slowly emerging from the trees near the beach, confused.
"Has our fame preceded us? Is he here to welcome us?"
"Hahaha, I knew it—we've made our mark on the seas! We heroes of the Argo—"
"You there, boy! Hurry and take us to your king. Hand over the Golden Fleece, and don't forget to include your treasure and beauties!"
The heroes continued their arrogant banter.
The man emerging from the trees merely smiled gently at them—and then slowly spoke:
"So it's you? The so-called 'heroes'?"
The sea breeze whipped at his long gray-white robes. Standing firm, a handsome youth with dark hair and eyes gazed steadily at the Argonauts.
Rovi had been waiting for these "heroes" for quite a while.
"Exactly—that's us!"
The Argonauts grew even more boastful.
But what awaited them was neither a grand welcome nor the treasures and beauties they desired.
Instead, it was a burst of scornful laughter:
"Hmph—hahaha! So these are the 'heroes'? A pack of hideous insects drawn to the scent of rotting flesh—yet you call yourselves heroes?"
At that moment, the "Gilgamesh-version" of Rovi reemerged.
The "heroes" froze in astonishment.
"You bastard—!"
"How dare you mock us after we crossed seas and braved countless dangers!"
"Dammit, let's show him our power!"
They shouted aggressively, yet no one stepped forward. Arrogant they might be, but these demigod heroes weren't stupid. Despite the man's insolence, there was something unsettling about him. They preferred someone else to test the waters first, ready to swoop in afterward.
But this cowardice only drew further contempt from Rovi.
"You won't step forward, insects drawn to rotten flesh?" Rovi's sharp gaze was as piercing as a falcon's. "Then what gives you the nerve to call yourselves heroes?"
"In the country where I stand, people are no longer oppressed. Famines have vanished, and they live safely, free from monsters or disasters."
"But how many islands have you wrecked on your voyage here? How much wealth have you stolen? How many innocents have you harmed?"
They couldn't possibly keep track—but Rovi knew clearly.
In the half-month he'd spent waiting in Colchis, he'd thoroughly investigated their actions along the journey.
And the more Rovi spoke, the darker their expressions grew.
Because in his description, they were no better than hideous monsters. The only difference was that their devastation was temporary, while monsters remained permanently. Everything he said was true, and they had no way to refute it.
Thus, Rovi cursed them freely.
Because towards those who acted without restraint, he would be even more unrestrained.
The "heroes" burned with rage, itching to fight, but only now did they realize they couldn't move.
Under the blessing of the God of War—"The unjust fight shall remain far from you"—it was impossible for them to act.
Because Rovi stood atop the moral high ground.
To fight would be unjust.
And that was exactly what Rovi wanted—to curse them, humiliate them, beat them, without giving them even a chance to retaliate.
"Um...excuse me!" Jason finally snapped. Leaping from the prow, he approached Rovi. "Isn't that enough, sir? Everything we've done was for the sake of the local people—"
"For the sake of your mother's ass!"
"?"
Jason stood dumbstruck. He had clearly stepped forward as a peacemaker—so why had he suddenly been insulted?
"I mean—"
"Mean what, exactly?" Rovi snapped back, fully himself again. "If it was for the people, why aren't they thanking you?! You saved them, sure—and then took everything they owned! Then you dare call it gratitude? Fucking disgusting!"
"I..."
"You still dare speak? You still have the face to speak? Who the hell do you think you are? You think calling yourself a hero in desperate times makes you a true hero? Fine! Here's your desperate situation—if you've got the guts, step up and try me!"
Jason was dumbfounded.
The heroes around him were also dumbfounded.
What the hell was this?!
At that moment, one figure stepped forward, past the stunned heroes, confronting Rovi directly.
A glimmer of hope rose in everyone's hearts.
Because the one who stepped up was Heracles—the strongest among them, the man whose strength rivaled that of gods!
Perhaps he could handle the situation—
But immediately afterward, they were stunned again.
Because the usually silent Heracles opened with a classic greeting:
"Fuck, I finally get to see you again—Master Rovi!"
"Damn right! You're looking pretty good yourself!" Rovi's expression melted into a smile. "Heracles, it's been a while. You've really grown up!"
"Indeed, Master Rovi, it's good to see you!" Heracles smiled politely, reverting to his respectful manner.
Just as Rovi had said—words were merely tools against enemies, not reflections of a person's true nature.
Unrestrained when he should be, respectful when it was deserved.
Meanwhile, Jason and the rest simply stood there, utterly stunned.
Wait, these two fuckers knew each other?!
Then why the fuck did he curse us?!
Wait—
Why the hell are we swearing too?!
---
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