Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 75: The Shadow of a Greek Hero’s Life

Chapter 75: The Shadow of a Greek Hero’s Life
Chiron’s thoughts tangled themselves into knots.
Heracles’ thoughts, on the other hand, did not.
In the grip of rage, the young demigod had room for exactly one idea.
Beat that arrogant man until he lay flat on the ground.
Even killing him felt, in this state, like something the world would simply have to accept.
His body hit the earth with a heavy thud.
The instant his back touched the ground, every muscle in Heracles’ body coiled like a compressed spring. He rebounded without hesitation, legs driving hard, body shooting forward once more.
His clenched fists burned with thick, substantial mana. Blue light surged over his arms like liquid lightning and gathered in his knuckles.
In an instant, in a blur, he was in front of Rowe again.
Wind howled in his ears.
Rain cooled his face.
Rowe grinned.
“With those fists, in that state, you want to touch me? That is not valor. That is you letting the blood in your veins drive your body like a puppet.”
He moved.
A light sway of his shoulders, a subtle twist of his waist.
Heracles’ first punch cut through empty air, the knuckles grazing past Rowe’s robe.
But Heracles did not stop at that one blow.
Even with his mind clouded by fury and divinity, the young demigod still possessed superb battle instincts.
The first punch was a lure.
His body turned with the missed strike, and his other fist clenched, power surging once more. The follow up blow came even fiercer than the first.
If Rowe had relaxed even slightly after avoiding that initial attack, if he had allowed even a shred of carelessness, that second punch would have crushed into his ribs.
Unfortunately for Heracles, Rowe had never relaxed.
Or rather, he had never truly bothered to be serious in the first place.
“Too weak, Heracles.”
Rowe raised his hand.
His open palm met the incoming fist head on.
There was no shockwave, no blinding explosion of light.
The overflowing mana simply vanished.
Like a mud ox sinking into the sea, like a tide swallowed by a greater ocean, the roaring force that could easily shatter stone and crack mountains crumpled and dispersed in Rowe’s grasp.
His fingers tightened around Heracles’ fist, which was much larger than his own palm.
Then Rowe turned, used his arm like a lever, and swung.
A single motion.
Impact ran from knuckles to wrist, from forearm to shoulder, then through skull, chest, and abdomen.
In that tiny fragment of time, Heracles felt as though he had taken a series of heavy blows, one stacked on top of another.
Rowe released his grip.
Heracles’ body skidded and dropped.
“AHAHAHA. Fists that abandon reason are useless. Crash around like a wild boar and all you will ever learn is how to eat dirt.”
Rowe’s eyes were cold. His tone was colder still.
He had never been the type to show mercy once he gained the upper hand.
“Cough… cough…”
Heracles rolled over, bracing his hands against the ground.
He coughed heavily, coppery blood staining the corner of his mouth. The proud lines of his face had gone pale, and his eyes drifted out of focus.
But at least his rage had been driven out along with that breath.
He had sobered up.
Up above, the storm clouds slowly thinned.
Evening light leaked through in faint shades of red and gold.
“I lost…”
He forced the admission between his teeth.
“Lost?”
Rowe laughed softly. His expression twisted into pure disdain, his performance an almost perfect imitation of a certain King of Heroes.
“You think you deserve to use the word ‘lost’? Battle is where victory and defeat are decided. Not a mindless rampage. Only a clash where both sides stand on their own will can be called a battle.”
“Was this a battle?”
“Between you and me, just now, was that something worthy of being called a fight?”
He stepped closer, gaze pressing down like a weight.
“Are you worthy? Are you worthy of a key? How many keys do you think you are worth?”
“No. You are not worthy.”
“A wild boar that only knows how to be moved by its own instincts should stay in the mud and dig for roots, not charge around blindly.”
“You…”
Heracles’ eyes widened.
As Zeus’ illegitimate son, he had never liked the blood that linked him to the God King.
But he could not deny the power it gave him.
And he had always believed in that power.
Chiron had acknowledged it.
Even if he faced a god, he still believed there would be a path to victory.
But now he had been beaten. One sided.
And on top of that, he was being insulted to his face.
The anger that had just calmed began to stir again. The God King’s blood in his body boiled once more.
He was on the brink of another eruption.
“Roar!”
The growl that tore from his throat sounded more like a beast than a man.
“Who are you roaring at, your mother?”
“?”
Heracles froze.
It was the first time anyone had ever hurled such a blunt insult straight at him.
“Are you stunned? Ahahaha. You cannot even handle a few words like that? Cannot even understand them? Then what are you trying to become a hero for? Go back and chew on husks instead.”
“You…”
“You blockhead.”
“You…”
“You idiot.”
“You…”
“You simpleton.”
Heracles finally ran out of retorts.
Chiron, who had been quietly watching the entire exchange, felt his own lungs ache on Heracles’ behalf.
Then, slowly, a different emotion replaced his shock.
Just like that… he scolded Heracles back to his senses?
When Heracles had first been entrusted to him, the boy had often fallen into madness because of the blood he carried.
Even now, Chiron’s method of calming him had always been gentle persuasion, quiet patience, careful guidance.
“A grown man, and this fragile?”
Rowe snorted.
He finally realized that trying so hard to act like Gilgamesh had been unnecessary.
Speaking in his own voice, in his own language, felt much better.
Heracles, meanwhile, was completely dazed.
Those harsh words had struck deeper than any physical blow.
This moment, this humiliation and this shock, would surely become a shadow engraved over his entire life as a hero.
Rowe turned back toward Chiron.
The centaur swallowed nervously.
A faint chill ran down his spine.
Would the Sage hit him next?
Would he be the one getting scolded?
Fortunately, Rowe had no such intention.
“Alright, alright. Lord Chiron, let us return to the important matter.”
Rowe waved his hand and offered what he thought was a gentle smile.
To Chiron, that smile was identical to the look a strict parent gave after scolding their child and then turning with a “kind” face.
The sort that made you stand a little straighter on instinct.
The feeling passed quickly.
A Teacher of Heroes, after all, naturally possessed the heart of a hero.
“I want to become a hero.”
Rowe said it plainly.
“I hope you can teach me how. I will also call you Teacher Chiron.”
You, become a hero?
You would be more suitable as a god, to be honest.
Chiron absolutely did not dare to let those words leave his mouth.
Instead, he chose the only response that fit both etiquette and his own sincerity.
“Although this is our first meeting, you are already a guide on my path.”
He bowed his head slightly.
“I ought to address you as Grandmaster.”
“That does not matter.”
Rowe shrugged.
“From now on, you call me Grandmaster, and I will call you Teacher. We each call the other what we please, and neither side interferes with the other.”
Chiron: “?”
Is something wrong with me, or is something wrong with you?
What does that even mean?
Yet faced with Rowe’s serious expression, Chiron again found himself with no words to refute him.
Rowe was not joking.
He truly wished to become a hero.
“Then it is decided. Hahahah.”
Rowe let out a strange, satisfied laugh.
His purpose in coming here had, in his mind, been achieved.
He had said what he wanted to say.
He had fought as much as he wanted to fight.
Now, he could finally focus on the most important thing: properly managing his grand undertaking of seeking a worthy death.
“Gugugu…”
Heracles collapsed fully onto the ground, his body twitching once or twice before falling still.
He had fainted.
It was not because of his injuries, but because the divine blood in his veins had been forced to surge too violently. As long as he rested, he would recover.
But even while unconscious, his mind was still replaying the words Rowe had just thrown at him.
A monster controlled by the blood within him, unable to think for himself…
Those words dug deep.
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