Arnold ducked as a stray sword whistled over his scalp, slicing through the space his head had occupied a second ago.
Adventurers and soldiers clashed around him.
Blood erupted like a fountain from a soldier's neck as an adventurer cut him down with a single stroke.
Red droplets, still warm, splattered across Arnold's armour.
Two spears impaled another adventurer from behind, his guts spilling to the ground with a sickening squelch.
"You! Rakia bastards!" The adventurer roared in defiance, seizing both spear shafts with his bloodied hands.
Another sword punched through his chest before he could finish. The light drained from his eyes, his hands still locked around those spears.
Arnold felt something rise in his throat. He took an unconscious step back. That single step made him stumble and slip.
A metallic scent flooded his nostrils as his back slammed against the ground. He looked down at what had made him fall.
It was a crushed eyeball.
Arnold's heart lurched. He snapped his gaze to the right and came face to face with a pair of eyes that held no spark of life.
He jerked away, his pupils dilated to their limits.
"Cough!"
The sound made him flinch. His head whipped toward it. An adventurer in his late thirties knelt on the ground, two swords buried through his legs, pinning him in place.
"Uncle! Hold on! I—I'll help." Arnold bit down on his lip until blood welled up, forcing himself to his feet.
Each step was shaky as he struggled toward the adventurer.
"Cough... Boy, what are you... doing here?" Blood dripped from the corner of the adventurer's mouth, each word accompanied by a deep wheeze.
"Don't speak. Let me get these swords out." Arnold tore off his sleeve and wrapped it around his trembling, bloodied hand.
"Cough... Don't bother. I won't last... Cough." More blood frothed at his lips.
Arnold ignored him, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the sword embedded in his leg.
He pulled.
"...Boy... they used to call me... Black Lightning, Drake... back in Orario." The adventurer didn't react. His legs had already lost all sensation.
Arnold tightened his grip and pulled harder.
"I was the fastest among... Cough... Level 2 adventurers." He spat blood from his mouth.
"Why won't it come out!?" Arnold nearly screamed.
"But these... Rakia bastards... Cough... They took my son hostage... forced me to bury these swords in my own legs." His eyes were unfocused, gazing up at the blood-tainted sky.
"They... still killed my son... after swearing to let him go... in the name... Cough... of their God Ares..."
Arnold pulled with every ounce of strength in his body.
"Listen—" Drake's limp arms abruptly shot up, fingers clamping around Arnold's chest plate. His eyes were sharp. Burning.
"When you face death, don't... don't give them the satisfaction. Don't cry. Laugh. Laugh so hard their feet shake! Laugh until it rattles their bones, boy! Until—until it becomes the only thing they hear in their nightmares!"
Squelch.
"Now, go!" Drake shoved Arnold aside just as an arrow tore through from behind, piercing Drake's heart instead.
"I—" Arnold's vision blurred. His limbs refused to move.
A Rakia soldier closed in, his blade arcing toward Arnold's neck.
Clang.
Another sword intercepted it.
Derrick.
"How did you get all the way here, Arnold!?" Derrick shoved that soldier back and glanced at the frozen Arnold, then at Drake's corpse.
He didn't wait for a reply. He scooped Arnold up like a sack and ran.
"We're pulling back! How the hell did you end up at the front line!?" Derrick sprinted, blood smeared across his armour, Arnold draped over his shoulder.
Arnold didn't answer. He just watched Drake's body shrink into the distance.
Derrick fell silent too. His own body was imperceptibly shaking—he was simply better at hiding it than Arnold.
"Hey, Arnold. I've got some good news." Derrick spoke after a while, his voice considerably softer.
"I think we found a weak point in the Rakia army's formation. If we slip through it, we might be able to get straight to God Ares' camp and take him hostage. End this war." Arnold's grip tightened on Derrick's shoulder.
"End this war?" Arnold's voice was hoarse.
"Yeah... If it's not a trap and we actually make it through. It's possible. Though we'll all die if it is." Derrick's trembling worsened at the word 'die.'
Arnold was quiet for a moment, then spoke.
"We'll all die either way. The Rakian army is pushing Orario back. A single Cyclops can't hold them back forever."
"So... You want to walk into this death trap?" Derrick managed a shaky smile.
"Can't say I hate the idea, though. We'd be heroes of Orario if we pull it off."
They finally reached an encampment. Outside, a cluster of adventurers had gathered. Derrick set Arnold down just as Silas approached from within that group.
He squeezed Arnold's shoulder once and turned his face toward an adventurer in his late 20s at their groups forefront.
"That's Sir Roland. Level 3. He'll be leading us through a gap, straight behind Rakia's front line. Hopefully right near God Ares' camp." Silas gestured ahead.
Before a moment could pass, Roland addressed the assembled adventurers—a mix of Level 2s and Level 1s.
"Everyone, move out. We don't have time to waste." He turned and started walking toward a forested area to their right, a small stretch of woods sitting a considerable distance from Orario's northern gate.
They were using it to bypass the front lines entirely. This forest was undoubtedly patrolled by Rakia soldiers, but their presence there would be thin compared to more critical positions.
Their group surged forward behind Roland. Each person carried their own reasons for needing this war to end.
They followed as Roland dropped into a crouch and began threading through the underbrush. A ranger named Dylan checked his bow for a fourth time since they'd entered the forest. Arnold had noticed, nobody else fidgeted like that unless they'd already decided they weren't coming back.
Arnold then trailed behind Derrick and Silas—and crunched a leaf underfoot.
Roland's arm snapped up. Everyone froze.
"Hey, did you hear that?" A passing Rakia soldier paused.
"Probably your imagination. I didn't hear anything. Should we check anyway?" His companion replied.
"Let me see." The first soldier walked toward the bush where Arnold hid and pushed it aside.
Empty.
Arnold was in the adjacent bush, Derrick had dragged him here a moment after he'd made that sound.
"Nothing here... Must've been my imagination." That soldier glanced at the empty space and turned away, rejoining his companion.
Roland looked back at everyone else after those soldiers were gone and gestured to continue.
They ran into more obstacles along the way—soldiers around a campfire, a lone sentry, rotating units. Each time, they slipped by.
It was miraculous luck.
Or was it?
Roland was starting to feel that something was off. Yet they had infiltrated too deep—there was no turning back now.
It didn't take long for their group to reach the edge of the forest. Roland looked around and spotted a final stretch of soldiers, behind whom stood a large tent engraved with the motif of a figure dressed in heavy Spartan armour.
Symbol of the kingdom of Rakia.
"Dylan. You have to create a distraction so we can sneak through. Only you're experienced enough to hold their focus long enough for us to take God Ares hostage." Roland spoke to Dylan just behind him, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.
"B-but sir... I'll die if they get their hands on me." Dylan shook all over, glancing at the soldiers ahead.
Roland tightened his grip and steadied him.
"You just have to hold on. We'll come for you the moment we capture God Ares." Roland's words made Dylan's shoulders relax imperceptibly.
He took a deep breath. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"I'll head out then. Don't take too long, Sir Roland." Dylan nodded and crept toward those soldiers.
Roland did not speak, yet his free hand's knuckles turned bone white behind his back.
Only Arnold saw it because he was looking at Roland's hand—the one that had just patted Dylan forward. Everyone else was already watching God Ares' camp.
Clang.
The sound of steel clashing resounded from a distance.
"An intruder!" A soldier roared.
"Be careful. He's Leve—" Another soldier's voice cut off mid-sentence.
Roland didn't wait. He sprinted ahead and roared.
"Charge!"
Everyone sprang up. Derrick and Silas ran with all their might, Arnold trailing behind them.
"More intruders! A whole group has sneaked here!" Some soldiers glanced their way and shouted. A group split away from the chase to intercept them.
"Protect God Ares!" A soldier roared, sword held high.
Roland swung his sword to the left. A shockwave travelled from his blade, bisecting that soldier down the middle.
Three more soldiers replaced him, rushing toward their group. Roland swung again, butchering them similarly.
Yet three were replaced by six. Ten. Twenty.
Soon, their charge slowed as soldiers started to surround them from all sides.
"Protect God Ares!" Those soldiers bellowed.
"Your God Ares can go to hell!" An adventurer threw himself into enemy ranks with reckless abandon, impaling three soldiers on his spear.
"AHHHHH!" He roared, trying to push further, but two swords severed his neck before he could react.
Another adventurer with a giant axe hurled himself at another cluster, swinging his axe in a wide arc.
An arrow tore from afar, severing the back of his knee. Soldiers swarmed him, jumping on his back and thrusting swords into him.
More adventurers started to throw themselves against tens of soldiers, carving a path to Ares' camp with their very lives.
Roland's grip on his sword's hilt had become crushing. His steps faltered, yet did not pause.
Arnold looked around, his teeth clenched as he watched adventurer after adventurer carve open a path for them.
A chorus of roars, groans, and howls of agony trailed their small group of adventurers as they broke through the soldiers.
Roland led them without pause. Everyone behind him carried varying injuries—even Arnold's head bled where a stray arrow had grazed him.
Moments later, they reached Ares' tent. Roland didn't stop, flinging the entrance open and stepping inside, others followed behind him.
There was no Ares in sight—only a lone chest sitting ahead of them.
He looked around, sniffing the air. It smelled of ash and sulphur.
Roland walked up to it and pushed its lid open. Inside were tightly packed explosives. Simultaneously, a mechanism connected to the lid clicked—a trigger.
His body went rigid.
Trap.
"EVERYONE! RUN!" Roland screamed, hefting the chest and hurling it away.
The chest had barely left his hand when...
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
Everything went white.
Air ripped apart. Soil shot up from the ground like a geyser. Ares' tent was shredded to dust. A flaming shockwave swallowed every adventurer nearby.
Blood dripped from Arnold's ears as he flew through the air. His left hand was bent at an odd angle. Countless wounds ran across his body—ribs broken, legs shredded, eyes dripping blood.
His back crashed against a tree—cracks of splintering wood rang out.
Arnold's vision went black.
...
Step. Step.
The clank of armour resounded in his ears. Arnold lifted his head with difficulty.
He didn't know how much time had passed. His ears still rang. His shadow stretched behind him, a crimson eye already open within, invisible to everyone else.
"Haha! A person survived. Do you guys see this? This guy survived an explosion to his face." A figure wearing crimson armour with orange hair and red eyes laughed with a goofy smile.
Ares.
Arnold forced his eyes open. Everything he saw was blurry.
"Hahaha!" More soldiers had him surrounded from every side. Some laughed at his state, some snickered, some watched with practiced indifference.
He tried to pull himself up. A boot collided with his defenseless stomach.
"Gaaah!" Blood spilled from Arnold's mouth as he was launched away, rolling across the soil.
He finally came to a stop and vomited more blood.
Ares watched his struggle the way a human watches an ant thrash beneath a finger.
"Are you... Ares?" Arnold asked, his voice hoarse, forcing his legs to hold him up as he stumbled.
"What if I am?" Ares folded his arms across his chest, his posture relaxed.
An image flashed across Arnold's mind. Two people standing in the way just before an explosion made everything go white.
Derrick. Silas.
Silent tears streamed down his face. He was alive... because they had died to protect him.
Arnold forced himself to stand. His hand dropped to Typhon's reddish-golden hilt at his hip.
He unsheathed it and pointed it straight at Ares.
"I'll kill you!" Arnold spat while stumbling forward.
"Hahahaha!" Rakia soldiers laughed in tandem with Ares, looking at him as if he were a clown.
Arnold had halved the distance between him and Ares, stumbling more than once on his way.
Just before he could move further, a sword tore across his left leg. A man with battle scars on his face gripped that blade.
Pain bombarded his brain. For a moment, a thought surfaced in his mind.
Why fight? What was even the use of struggling? It only brought more pain...
That was the moment a voice resounded in his mind.
"Don't give them the satisfaction. Laugh. Laugh until it rattles their bones!"
Two more daggers tore into his back, held by an Amazon.
"Boy, give up. It'll be easier for you that way." Her voice was merciless.
Arnold turned a deaf ear. He took another step forward.
His body screamed. His mind cried. His whole being rejected any movement.
And he?
"Ha...ha."
He laughed.
Weak.
Frail.
It made every other laugh die.
Smiles froze. Jeers were swallowed back. Ares' smile stiffened.
"Haha... haha!" His laugh rose in volume.
A sword tore into his back. Then another. Then a spear. They fell on him from every side, blade after blade finding flesh, and still his legs moved forward, dragging steel and trailing blood.
He finally reached Ares, Typhon thrusting toward his crimson armour.
It stopped an inch short.
Because Ares' own sword was now buried in Arnold's heart.
Ares' face was expressionless as he looked down at Arnold.
"You see this one inch? It's an insurmountable gap between you mortals and us gods. You will never reach us, not even after an eternity." Ares pulled his sword back and watched as Arnold crumbled, light leaving his eyes.
A moment of silence.
"Hm? You're not letting this sword go even while dying? What's so special about it?" Ares snatched Typhon from Arnold's grip.
Arnold tried to reach for it with desperate intensity. He couldn't—Ares planted his heel on Arnold's chest, pinning him down.
"Oh? Ancient script from the primordial era? Luckily for you, I'm an expert in this kind of thing. Let me see..." Ares turned the blade and inspected its spine.
"Whenever the world needs me... From beyond death... I will come?" Ares read aloud and whistled.
"Which lunatic wrote this? From beyond death? What melodramatic nonsense." He inspected Typhon with a casual expression.
"G-give it back..." Words tumbled from Arnold's mouth. His hands had started to go cold, his vision failing.
"You want it back? Take it then." Ares gripped the sword and pulled.
Crack.
Typhon broke clean down the middle.
"Oops." Ares dropped the broken blade beside Arnold, beyond his reach, and kicked loose soil over it, burying it beneath the earth.
"Guess you won't be having it now." Ares watched with an interested expression as only faint embers of light remained in Arnold's eyes. Soon, even those embers dissolved away.
Arnold's hands finally went slack. He looked toward the crimson sky. His last thought was...
Where are you... Argonaut?
...
..
.
Orario.
Bell was leading Ryuu and Goddess Astraea toward the northern gates when he stopped abruptly.
"Bell?" Astraea asked while Ryuu looked around for any sneak attacks.
Bell said nothing. His eyes were calm. Too calm.
His steps resumed.
He walked. Then he walked faster.
His composure did not shake.
Everything else did.
...
..
.
***
[300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[8 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
[Authors Thoughts]
I won't say much. A single promise.
Arnold will contribute more to Ares' downfall than anyone else.
...
Take care. It is officially war from now on.