Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 81: You Shall Henceforth Be Without Victory

Chapter 81: You Shall Henceforth Be Without Victory
So in the end, everything she had just said was meaningless.
Athena drew in a slow breath. Her chest rose and fell with that small motion, then she could not help the faint smile that tugged at her lips.
“As expected of the Sage…”
“As expected of me,” Rowe replied immediately, taking the line for her as if it naturally belonged to him.
In truth, his impression of the Goddess before him had shifted again.
The stakes she had offered him earlier were enormous.
A Goddess’s promise was no small thing in the Age of Gods.
However, when a god says, “I will fulfill everything you seek,” it often means something far less. The scope of that “everything” is defined entirely by the god who grants it.
And in this age, it was the gods who judged all things.
Even Rowe, who came from before the birth of divine concepts, had almost fallen for it. Almost.
Fortunately, he had caught himself in time.
“Give me the benefits first,” Rowe said, stretching out his hand, “then I will do the work.”
Athena fell silent for a moment.
She looked at the young foreign Sage before her, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to peer through his very soul.
“…Very well.”
She spoke, and a soft radiance spread across her flawless features. Divinity clung to her like a veil as she intoned,
“In the name of Athena, here and now…
I wish you ultimate triumph in war…”
The Goddess’s blessing descended once more.
“No wishing.”
“?”
“I said, no wishing.” Rowe’s expression was utterly serious.
What a joke. If he became invincible in war, how was he supposed to die?
“Give me a different one.”
Athena’s face froze.
Was this a marketplace where one casually swapped vegetables around? She was a god. A little basic reverence would be appreciated.
Yet she could clearly feel it.
The blessing she had just cast had been rejected.
That was something no ordinary mortal could accomplish. But Rowe was not ordinary.
For a god, the true measure of power was not just rank or domain, but how long their influence extended. The more ancient, the more overwhelming.
Rowe himself was not a god.
He was a “human” from the primordial beginning of the world.
Refusing a blessing like that was trivial for him.
Athena did not understand the mechanism behind it. She only sensed that the mystery she unleashed had slammed into a wall that could not be breached.
Rowe waved a hand lazily.
“How about giving me a blessing of guaranteed defeat in every battle?”
He spoke the words without a hint of shame, but even for a Goddess of Wisdom, such a request was something she had never heard in her existence.
…
“Is it just ahead?”
Half a day later, under the bright noonday sun, Rowe stepped onto a low hill outside Athens and looked down.
Countless figures moved below.
Lines crossing and colliding. Charges meeting head on. Arrows and thrown projectiles, imbued with divine mystery, screamed through the air and blasted craters into the earth.
The number of combatants was not vast, but it did not need to be.
This was the Age of Gods.
Because of the particular nature of the Greek pantheon, the cruelty and intensity of war were not much weaker than the battles at the height of the Mesopotamian divine era.
Wars between gods enacted through human hands.
That was the signature of the Greek Heroic Age.
The struggle between countless city-states was always a reflection of the power struggle between the gods behind them.
And the gods, naturally, were not stingy with the blessings they poured into their favored soldiers.
“Athens and Sparta?” Rowe watched the exchange for a while.
On Athens’ side were robed casters and classical Greek warriors wielding swords and shields. On Sparta’s side, ranks of tall fighters in full armor advanced with spears and round shields, their formation as rigid as iron.
Although he had already agreed to Athena’s request, Rowe did not move immediately.
Instead, he focused on the “blessing” that now lingered within him.
“From this point on, victory shall be denied to you.”
Athena presided over wisdom and war. She also held authority over victory and triumph.
She could not directly force Rowe to lose every battle.
But she could ensure that victory would slip through his fingers, again and again.
The result was almost the same.
This had been a sudden inspiration on Rowe’s part when he negotiated with her, and it had turned out to be a very pleasant surprise.
“Well then, let us test its effect.”
Rowe smiled, satisfied.
He rolled his shoulders, stretching his body lightly, then took a single step forward.
In the next instant, he leapt straight from the hill and hurtled toward the battlefield.
The ground quivered.
Only one man was running, yet it sounded like thousands of cavalrymen were charging in unison. Both armies froze and looked up at the figure sprinting across the field.
“Goddess Athena above… What is that?”
“Is that some secret weapon belonging to Athens?”
“Who cares what it is! Sparta, under the protection of Ares, is invincible!”
“He is heading this way, quickly!”
“Stop him!”
Rowe’s linen robe snapped in the wind, white fabric fluttering like a banner. Under the blazing sun, that lone figure seemed to transform into a white hurricane as he smashed into the Spartan ranks.
Some men were afraid.
Some were horrified.
But very quickly, they realized something strange.
No one was injured.
No one had fallen.
Under the blessing that “victory will be denied to you,” every one of Rowe’s strikes failed to land properly.
He could not knock anyone down, could not decisively break a line, could not claim any measurable “victory” at all.
His charge faltered for a brief heartbeat as he found himself completely surrounded, spears and shields closing in on every side.
“The effect is pretty good.”
Rowe patted his spotless clothes, examining the chaos with mild amusement.
If he could not win, then he no longer needed to be cautious.
In that case…
He straightened his back and let his gaze sweep over the Spartan warriors.
“So this is all Sparta amounts to?”
The words were simple.
Yet the arrogance in them was absolute.
Since they were enemies, Rowe felt no psychological burden at all.
He wanted every eye on that battlefield to turn toward him.
He wanted every spear and blade to be pointed in his direction.
He wanted even Ares, God of War, to be drawn out.
Only then could he weave for himself a situation that might qualify as “death.”
One man against thousands.
Come.
Only by overcoming the one who is forever denied victory can any of you hope to obtain it.
A roar erupted from the Spartan ranks.
“Is that… Mister Rowe?”
At the rear of Athens’ formation, someone halted and spoke without thinking.
She wore the plain white vestments of an Athena priestess, the fitted cloth outlining her slender frame. Long, soft hair fell down her back. Her voice was small and timid, as if she was more afraid of the person beside her than of the battlefield ahead.
“Medusa, you know him?”
The girl on her left spoke, her tone clear and youthful.
“Yes, yes, that person is not from Athens, is he?”
On Medusa’s right, another voice chimed in, nearly identical to the first.
“You did not sneak out without telling us, did you?”
“Yes, yes. If you snuck out, there will be punishment.”
“No, no!”
Medusa flailed a little at the accusation, flustered.
“Just now, I met him with Lady Athena outside the city,” she explained quickly. “He came here later.”
“Hmm? Really?”
Suspicion colored one of the sisters’ tones.
“Well, since Medusa says so, we can believe her for now. Anyway, that person looks like he is here to help us, right, Euryale?”
“Since Sister says so. But if you dare lie, you know what kind of punishment you will receive, Medusa…”
“Still, that person seems quite interesting, does he not, Euryale?”
“Yes, yes…”
Medusa lowered her head.
She glanced sideways at the two girls beside her who resembled her so closely, her elder sisters.
There was a faint tremor in her eyes that was not caused by the distant war.
It was fear.
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