Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 82: Ares, God of War, Descends Here

Chapter 82: Ares, God of War, Descends Here
Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa were, like her, embodiments of the earth’s authority.
They were children of the Mother Goddess, and at the same time subordinate deities under Athena’s jurisdiction, serving as priestesses in her temple.
In later ages, they would be known to the world as the Gorgon Sisters.
That title did not exist yet.
Their bond as sisters, however, had long since been established.
Yet as the youngest, Medusa was quietly afraid of her two elder sisters.
Afraid of their “punishments.”
Afraid of the constant teasing and barbed mockery.
“Ugh…”
Realizing that Stheno and Euryale had shifted their attention to Rowe instead of her, Medusa, who had been braced for yet another “punishment,” let out a tiny sigh of relief and followed their gaze.
As the three goddesses serving under Athena, they could not take the field themselves.
Instead, they bore the duty of observing the war and keeping watch over the Scales of Victory.
Under their gaze, the battle on the plains approached its peak.
With one sentence and one expression, Rowe had turned the Spartans’ emotions into a blazing powder keg.
Spears were thrust up. Shields swung down.
In the hands of tall, iron-bodied Spartans, they became a storm that smashed everything in its path.
The Spartans raged, but their coordination remained impeccable.
The Athenians, by contrast, held their lines and watched. They did not understand what was happening, so they did the only rational thing. They observed.
In the vast wilderness, only the Spartans’ roars echoed again and again.
Rowe did not dodge.
He did not evade.
He simply let their attacks come.
One spear struck his sleeve. The shaft trembled, then snapped with a clean crack.
“No, this is not right.”
Rowe sounded almost disappointed.
“Hit harder. Pour your magic directly into the spear. Make it vibrate.”
Thump.
A shield slammed into his back with all the force of a charging bull.
But the Spartan who delivered the blow had not expected that Rowe would not even sway. Instead, the impact rebounded through his arms, jolting him backward. His fingers went numb. He staggered and nearly dropped his shield.
“Shields are not just for bashing. You can throw them. Spears too. Throw them with magic, put your strength into it, hurl them.”
Roars burst from every direction.
The more Rowe “instructed” them, the more grating his voice became in Spartan ears.
“You damned bastard, I will make you pay!”
A particularly burly Spartan could endure no more.
“Who are you roaring at?” Rowe snapped back. “I told you to hit harder.”
His hand came down hard on the Spartan’s helmeted head in a firm smack.
“Damn you…”
The warrior roared again, almost by reflex.
“Still daring to talk back?”
Rowe sounded genuinely exasperated.
Aside from that first line of mockery, everything he had been saying since then was sincere.
He truly wanted them to go all out.
Because, ridiculous as it sounded, he still hoped they could kill him.
He raised his fist and swung once.
Maybe, just maybe, that would open an opportunity for them to unleash more power.
His punch exploded with a shockwave in the empty air.
It hit nothing.
In that instant, someone lunged low and grabbed his leg, trying to drag him to the ground.
Rowe went down.
In that brief clash, he had “lost.”
But the moment his back struck the earth, the ground shuddered. The compacted layers of soil crumbled and sank. Cracks raced outward like spiderwebs, tearing open the battlefield.
The Spartan who had seized his leg was flung away by the rebound. He tumbled, rolled, and finally lay twitching in a shallow fissure.
He lost as well.
“O… oh…”
The man’s eyes rolled back. His limbs convulsed once, twice, then went limp as unconsciousness claimed him.
Rowe climbed back to his feet as if nothing had happened.
“Sure enough, I still need a god. Or at least a proper demigod hero.”
He murmured it almost to himself.
He did not realize how far his body had already departed from ordinary standards.
Reshaped by the Mother Goddess Tiamat, his flesh had become something that blades and spears could barely scratch.
Against such a physique, no matter how bravely they fought, these men simply could not break through his defense.
Around him, the ground was carpeted with Spartans.
They lay sprawled where they had fallen, gasping for breath, eyes unfocused and strength drained. There were no wounds on their bodies.
They were simply exhausted.
They had not lost the battle in the sense of being slaughtered.
Yet they had lost the war.
And throughout it all, Rowe had technically not fought back at all.
He was knocked down again and again.
He kept losing exchanges.
He lost. Constantly.
The Athenians were dumbfounded.
Was this really a valid way to fight?
“Cough, cough…”
Rowe cleared his throat and glanced around.
He had indeed never once claimed “victory” for himself.
But Athens… seemed to have won.
“Glory to Goddess Athena!”
The Athenians came to their senses at last.
“Goddess Athena above!”
They cheered.
At this point, everyone had realized it.
This strange man who could not properly strike any foe was the helper Athena had brought them.
A bizarre hero who could not land a finishing blow.
Because he existed, Athens had taken victory.
And both sides had escaped slaughter.
“So that was your intention.”
Back in Athens, in the temple where she resided, the silver-haired goddess withdrew her sight from the battlefield and finally understood.
Rowe was not pursuing victory for himself.
He was using his endless “failures” to hand victory to Athens.
Victory obtained this way did not look glorious on the surface.
Yet he had prevented a bloody war.
In the days to come, the living citizens of Athens would remember him with gratitude.
The defeated Spartans would hate the outcome perhaps, but they would not harbor the same degree of resentment toward the man who had left them alive.
Even the fiercest warrior, in the deepest part of his heart, wished to avoid dying on the field.
“It seems that when it comes to wisdom, you are indeed not to be underestimated, Sage Rowe.”
Athena’s thoughts drifted as she closed her eyes for a brief moment.
It was in that moment that she suddenly opened them again.
Her body shot upright. Silver hair flowed behind her. The plain white gown rippled as spiritual tension ran through her form.
“Ares.”
Her expression hardened as her gaze snapped back to the battlefield.
The Athenians were cheering.
The Spartans were breathing their last fumes of morale.
Rowe lifted his head at the same time.
What he saw was a towering figure standing against the sky.
Clad in armor, spear and shield in hand, riding a bronze chariot pulled by four horses, he radiated a suffocating, frenzied aura.
Ares.
Ares, God of War. One of the Twelve Olympian Gods.
Everyone on the field felt it at once.
Spines stiffened. Breath caught in throats.
The three goddesses watching from afar grew tense as well.
Gods carried an innate pressure over mortals.
The Olympians in turn exerted spiritual dominance over the lesser deities beneath them.
“Damn you, Athena, to use such a trick to ambush my people!”
Ares looked down upon the world below, his voice booming like thunder.
“To resort to deception before the great Ares, God of War. Mortal, have you given any thought to the consequences?”
“Ares, God of War, will show no mercy to those who defy him.”
His presence was overwhelming.
His momentum was crushing.
Rowe, however, was delighted.
Just as he had hoped, Ares, God of War, had finally lost his patience and personally descended.
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