Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 71: Challenging God King Zeus and Not Dying

Chapter 71: Challenging God King Zeus and Not Dying
Zeus, having given up on simulating the thought patterns of his opponents, finally emerged from that strange, half human state.
Immense pressure and flashing lightning exploded from the colossal, head shaped machine at his core.
But by that point, Rowe’s goal was already achieved.
Tiamat had already teleported behind him.
Her draconic claws were driven deep into his steel like head, locking him in place.
Zeus could not move.
He did not need to.
As a machine that commanded conceptual authority, merely existing and unleashing that authority was enough for him to contend with Tiamat.
A dragon’s roar tore out of Tiamat’s throat.
Countless streams of chaotic lava surged from beneath her scales. They rose like pillars and smashed into the lightning pouring from Zeus.
A battle between gods was, at its core, a clash of authorities.
From the outside, it looked like they were simply locked in a stalemate.
In truth, the war between Mesopotamia’s Primordial Mother Goddess and Greece’s King of the Gods had already begun.
Zeus discarded Rowe from his awareness entirely.
In his judgment, Rowe was indeed special, but at best he was a wingless sparrow.
And sparrows were to be crushed, not considered.
Rowe, however, maintained his advance.
As he walked, the concept of primordial starlight revolving around him grew denser. The power circulating inside him thickened and rose.
Compared to planetary class beings like Zeus and Tiamat it was still small.
But for a human, it had already reached an impressive scale.
Crimson wind erupted from his body, burning outward like a storm that existed only to tear.
Amidst that storm, a thread of golden light appeared, condensed, and finally solidified into a sword of strange design in front of him.
A golden hilt, traced with complex, circuit like patterns.
A crimson blade, built from three nested cylinders that rotated in different directions like interlocking engines.
The Sword of Rupture.
No matter how high Rowe’s base specification rose, if he wanted to manifest his power at its absolute limit, he needed to condense it into a tool.
Even Primordial Ea had done the same.
Concepts became Noble Phantasms.
And with a Noble Phantasm, one unleashed power.
Rowe stepped forward again, walking toward the center of the storm between Zeus and Tiamat.
What he sought was death, but never a quiet, pointless death.
He wanted a death that would be recorded, a strike that would shake the gods, a deed worthy of being carved into the world itself.
If he could not perform an act great enough to echo in myth, then dying here would never be enough to ascend to the Throne, and would be completely meaningless.
The crimson storm around the Sword of Rupture expanded, roaring even more violently than before.
At that instant, even Zeus stirred and turned his attention toward Rowe.
The power was small in quantity, but its quality was too high.
It subtly crossed the boundary of planetary scale and brushed against something beyond.
Zeus could no longer ignore it.
He attempted to move.
But the force transmitted through Tiamat’s claws only tightened.
With her full strength focused through those talons, she pinned him more firmly in place.
A planetary scale machine possessed terrifying processing and control, but when it came to pure physical might, it was inferior to a naturally born primordial god like Tiamat.
Zeus found that he could not tear himself free.
He could only watch as Rowe advanced, step by step, Sword of Rupture in hand.
Even so, as the King of the Greek Gods, he had his own advantages.
That overwhelming computational ability allowed him to drive his authority in multiple directions at once.
While he resisted Tiamat’s claws, he diverted part of his output toward Rowe’s path.
The lightning broke apart, scattered like a torrential rain of raw divinity.
It fell with a deafening roar into the silent depth of Imaginary Number Space, stirring up waves in the dark like a giant stone flung into a black ocean.
Rowe moved one step at a time.
With each step, a new foothold was created beneath his feet.
Thunder shattered in front of him.
The pressure was consumed and broken apart by the crimson storm that coiled around him.
He raised the Sword of Rupture high.
The cylindrical blade screamed as it rotated, and a brilliant crimson storm surged forth, thrusting toward Zeus.
The power of creation shone at the edge of that strike, echoing with the light of countless stars.
It looked like a single thread, a single beam.
Yet it carried the weight of all things, like a torrent gathered from a thousand mountains and ten thousand seas, compressed into the spiral tip of that sword.
“Aaaaa.”
With a clear cry, Tiamat released her grip on Zeus at the same moment and beat her wings to rise.
The vast, destructive power that accompanied the Sword of Rupture pierced directly through Zeus’s body.
It dragged him down, toward the glowing aperture that had opened below him, and through it, into the world on the far side of that light.
But in that final moment, the main body of the Greek King of the Gods still launched one last counterblow.
A pressure like a titanic fist slammed into Rowe.
It struck him and dragged him down as well, hurling him into the world alongside Zeus.
Tiamat tried to stop it.
Of course she did. She could not allow Rowe to fall into the world and leave her behind.
Even if their time together had been brief, for Tiamat, Rowe had already become proof of her existence.
But it was already too late.
The crimson aftershocks gradually faded.
The passage of light leading into the world dimmed and vanished with Zeus’s departure.
In the dark Imaginary Number Space, only the draconic Mother Goddess remained, circling in silence, wings beating as she let out another clear cry.
“Aaaaa.”
Rowe.
I will find you.
The Primordial Mother Goddess held that resolve tightly.
She flapped her wings again.
The torrent she raised tore through the stillness of Imaginary Number Space, stirring it into a greater tempest.
…
With a heavy thud, Rowe hit the ground.
His attempt to die had failed yet again.
Zeus’s final strike, weakened by Tiamat’s presence, had failed to kill him.
But he had still seized his chance to reenter the world.
Yes. He had allowed himself to be dragged down on purpose.
He felt a twinge of guilt toward Tiamat, who had treated him so gently.
Exactly because of that, Rowe felt even more strongly that he had to reach the Throne of Heroes and reclaim the power that belonged to him.
With that almost omnipotent power, he could help her return to the world without turning the world to ash in the process.
The immediate question, however, was more basic.
“Where is this?”
Rowe steadied himself, brushed the dust from his familiar linen robe, and looked ahead.
By theory, anything directly beneath the God King Zeus should be Greek territory, centered around the Aegean Sea, another cradle of ancient civilization.
And the scene that greeted him matched that expectation.
Lush trees rose around him, bathed in the pale light of a rising sun.
Dust motes, glimmering like starlight, drifted between the trunks.
A gentle sea breeze carried a salty fragrance.
Blue skies. White clouds. Rolling waves.
No sandstorms, no yellow earth, nothing like the Mesopotamian plain.
“So this is Greece.”
Rowe took in a deep breath and laughed softly.
Unfamiliar land.
Unfamiliar environment.
If he died here, no one would save him.
And if he wanted to die, no one would be there to stop him.
Gilgamesh, who had returned to the underworld, would not suddenly invade Greece’s underworld just to drag him back, right?
No matter how arrogant that man was, even he would not go that far… probably.
“In that case, I should hurry up and look for a new opportunity.”
Rowe rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists.
“Once I die, ascend to the Throne of Heroes, and reclaim my power, I can hunt them down one by one.”
Enkidu.
Ereshkigal.
Ishtar Rin.
And that foul mouthed Gilgamesh.
“Just you wait. Once I am stronger, I am going to drag you down and humiliate you properly, AHAHHAHA.”
Rowe stepped forward, full of bright, dangerous optimism.
Speaking of which…
“Why are you here too, old man Ziusudra?”
As the leaves rustled, Rowe pushed aside the branches in front of him and turned his gaze toward the figure sitting in the shade.
“Ziusudra?”
A deep, weathered voice answered him.
The old man standing in the shadows looked at Rowe, his beard trembling slightly as he smiled.
“That is not my name.”
“My name is Xisuthrus, survivor of the Greek Great Flood.”
“What does Ziusudra have to do with me?”
Rowe fell silent.
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