Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 74: Heracles, Let’s Duel

Chapter 74: Heracles, Let’s Duel
In the end, Rowe had still underestimated how far Gilgamesh’s late life “expansion” had spread through the world.
Civilization never changes overnight.
What seems like a small ripple while one is alive can, after death, ferment into a wave that shapes entire eras.
That was true for Gilgamesh.
And now, it was clearly true for Rowe as well.
The city states around the Aegean Sea, the so called Greek civilization, were already deeply influenced by Uruk.
“No, no, you get up first. Stand up and talk.”
Rowe hurriedly hauled Chiron back to his feet.
This Teacher of Heroes clearly possessed a rare quality for this era: a deep reverence for teachers and wisdom. That alone made Rowe feel a little embarrassed.
Once Chiron stood, his expression remained solemn.
He did not speak.
He simply stared fixedly at Rowe.
Is this Teacher of Heroes sick or something?
Rowe’s scalp prickled under that unblinking gaze.
He coughed and forcibly straightened his posture.
“Ahem. You just mentioned a clay tablet?”
He thought for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding anything.
The name “Sage Rowe” clearly carried weight on this land.
The danger would not get any smaller just because he tried to play low key.
So why bother pretending?
Better to admit it openly.
“Yes.”
Chiron considered his words, then answered.
“That was something left behind by the Golden King of Uruk, Gilgamesh, when he once reached the borders of the Aegean Sea.”
It was because he possessed that tablet that Chiron had been able to confirm Rowe’s identity from his name and his speech in an instant.
However, Rowe had left quite a few tablets in Uruk.
Early drafts of his “death remonstrance.”
Blueprints for a codified legal system.
So which one had fallen into Chiron’s hands?
“Gilgamesh, you tyrant. You trample the people, you are a scoundrel. You are not fit to be King, you are only fit to be dragged out and hanged from the city wall…”
“Stop. Stop reading. Stop reading!”
Rowe clapped his hands over his ears, face twisting as if someone had just dug up his grave.
He knew which one it was now.
That clay tablet was from the early days after his transmigration, when his mindset had been completely different from now.
It was the draft he had thrown away.
Chiron looked puzzled.
“Sage, what is wrong?”
So Chiron had picked up the discarded draft of the death remonstrance Rowe had abandoned.
Question: what does it feel like when your black history gets treated as a sacred scripture and recited reverently every day?
Answer: Rowe felt his toes could dig a two bedroom, three living room house straight into the ground.
That damned Gilgamesh.
He had actually dug that thing up and scattered it around the world…
What was even more ridiculous was that Rowe could not help but laugh when he thought about it, only to choke halfway.
“AHAHAHA…. cough, cough.”
This was all Gilgamesh fault. When he caught that man again, he was going to scold him until he cried.
Rowe silently recorded this grudge in bold letters.
“Are you really alright?”
Chiron’s worry grew deeper.
“How about I examine you? I am not especially gifted, but I do possess some medical skill. I can at least check whether your mind has become chimerical…”
“You are the one who is unstable.”
Rowe rolled his eyes.
“Unstable…”
Chiron’s eyes lit up.
“That is an excellent term. I shall record it. As expected of a Sage. Even a casually spoken word holds such profound meaning. No wonder you could write such world shaking teachings…”
Rowe suddenly felt that the title “Sage of Zu’an” was probably unavoidable now.
Gilgamesh, may your ancestors all rest in peace.
“Sage, I still believe I should examine you. A diseased mind cannot be taken lightly…”
Enough.
Rowe stared blankly at the Centaur who had turned into a nagging mother hen at incredible speed.
He began to suspect he had come to the wrong place.
Is it too late to just walk away now?
He was still weighing his options when a shout rang out from the side.
“Let go of Teacher Chiron!”
“If you have a problem, come at me!”
Rowe paused and turned toward the voice.
A tall youth strode toward them, every step heavy with anger.
His upper body was bare, muscles swelling beneath bronzed skin. His dark hair swept back, revealing features chiseled like marble and an aura that hit like a wall.
“Heracles? Why are you here?”
Chiron was taken aback as well.
“Teacher, do not worry. Now, I can help you too.”
Heracles narrowed his eyes.
He looked at the scattered Centaurs on the ground, then at the devastated forest and the still twitching horse rears sticking up everywhere. A red haze burned in his gaze.
He knew exactly how much Teacher Chiron cherished his own kind.
How often he had cleaned up their messes.
How many times he had stayed the hands of gods who wanted to exterminate these troublesome Centaurs.
If not for Chiron, this pack of degenerates would likely have been wiped out long ago.
So seeing a scene like this, Heracles naturally came to his own conclusion.
Teacher Chiron must have been threatened by this stranger.
The son of the God King was impulsive by nature.
Once the divine blood in his veins surged, he no longer listened to anyone.
He would not listen to explanations.
He only believed what he himself wanted to believe.
Beat this man down.
Or kill him outright.
That was his thought in this moment.
Extreme self centeredness was yet another facet of “divinity.”
However, Chiron, as Heracles’ teacher, knew how to guide him back to calm, as long as he was careful not to provoke that temper any further.
He had just parted his lips to speak when Rowe beat him to it.
“AHAHAHA. A beast that lets the blood in its body control it. Which mountain sent this oversized African wild boar? Charging around, making a scene, are you trying to put on a show for me?”
Rowe spoke loudly, his tone an almost perfect imitation of Gilgamesh.
Chiron’s expression stiffened.
What exactly are you trying to do?
Who am I? Where is this?
“Who are you, you?”
Heracles’ simmering fury flared again.
“What do those words mean?”
He had no idea what “Africa” was, but he could hear the mockery clearly enough.
“Who I am is none of your concern.”
Rowe flicked his sleeve, linen robe billowing.
“Make your move, big guy.”
“Either you defeat me, or I defeat you.”
“Come. Choose.”
He raised his hand, and with the casual motion of his palm, gusts of wind spun up around him.
Heracles, son of Zeus. The most famous name among Greek heroes.
Rowe knew him all too well.
Right now, Heracles was still incomplete, still growing.
Rowe definitely did not intend to die to him here.
But if he could plant the seeds of hatred now and set himself up as an enemy in this youth’s heart…
If he could not play the hero,
Then leaving himself a future route to the Demon King’s role did not sound so bad either.
Even so, his insults never crossed a certain line.
He was always careful.
He kept one eye on Gilgamesh’s example, wary of accidentally “assimilating” too perfectly and getting himself killed by some karmic backlash.
From beginning to end, he only cursed the blood of Zeus inside Heracles.
As for Heracles himself,
Rowe actually respected him.
And on another level, this might also be a way of slapping him awake.
To make him realize that the power bestowed by gods was not something to lean on forever.
If he truly wished to become a Demon King in the future, he would still need a proper “hero” to strike him down, after all.
That was all.
Rowe would push things only this far.
Thunder boomed across the sky.
The storm clouds had not yet dispersed, and spears of lightning fell, lighting up the forest and reflecting the way Heracles’ expression was sinking.
The divine blood in his body boiled.
The wounded pride of a young man who could not endure humiliation, mixed with that uncontrollable divinity, surged straight into the heavens.
“Roar!”
A beast’s snarl tore from his throat.
His eyes burned red.
His knees bent, and then his body exploded forward, turning into a cannonball of raw flesh and divine power that tore through the air toward Rowe.
Rowe simply shifted his stance.
His body leaned aside, and the charge passed cleanly by.
He had never been a specialist in close combat.
But his physical parameters were more than sufficient, and his reaction speed surpassed even that.
As Heracles rushed past, Rowe’s leg snapped out.
His kick connected squarely with Heracles’ side.
The charging demigod was sent flying, crashing through a swath of trees and leaving a path of splintered trunks behind him.
Using that same momentum, Rowe twisted in midair, performed a light backflip, and landed easily on the wet earth.
Lightning flickered over the forest, briefly illuminating his calm profile.
His slightly lowered brows did not show a hint of triumph.
“I hate things that are controlled by gods.”
He said it as if he were merely stating a preference.
But there always had to be a reason for a duel.
And when Chiron heard that line, he finally understood Rowe’s intent.
To point to the sky and curse the gods directly.
That had always been Rowe’s style.
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