Fate: I Just Want to Die and Sit on the Throne of Heroes-Chapter 86: Shared Victory

Chapter 86: Shared Victory
Ares had achieved enlightenment.
He had finally understood that Victory itself would never belong to him. Yet he also grasped that a righteous war would always stand closer to it than meaningless slaughter ever could.
Rowe, however, simply stood there, expression blank.
So you just… attained enlightenment on the spot?
Breakthrough mid–boss fight? Are you the protagonist here or am I?
He really wanted to say that aloud.
But when he looked at Ares, or rather at Mars, the god now stripped of killing intent, his bloody divinity purified into clear, steady battle lust, Rowe found himself not only stunned, but faintly enlightened as well.
Mars, by nature, was the continuation of Ares.
Even though Rome did not yet exist, the Roman gods were fated to be the heirs of the Greek pantheon. Mars, as a chief god of Rome, was the elevated form of Ares.
Elevated, just like right now.
From a living embodiment of war, a creature who only knew how to swing his spear for slaughter, he had risen to become a God of War who understood war, guided it, bent it towards justice and toward Victory.
Ares had now completed that transformation.
And in this moment of transformation, he extended a blessing to Rowe.
It looked like a coincidence, a result born from a clash of wills and concepts. Yet…
“Why am I not surprised at all?”
Rowe lowered his gaze, sinking into thought.
He suddenly realized that after failing to achieve death so many times, his emotional response to those failures had become numb.
Fail once, try again.
Fail twice, try again.
He had simply kept walking forward.
“Still, witnessing the birth of a God of War is not a bad outcome.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
Once, he had driven away gods that tried to clamp their hands around humanity’s throat. That did not mean he rejected the existence of divinity itself. On the contrary, Rowe welcomed gods who held genuine goodwill toward mankind.
Like Ishtar Rin and Ereshkigal in Uruk.
Like Tiamat in the Imaginary Number Sea.
And like Mars now, standing before him.
Mars lifted his head and looked past Rowe, toward the Spartan warriors still standing in shock.
“From this moment, I am no longer the god of Sparta.”
His voice rang out clearly across the battlefield.
“The old me would only drive you into battles without meaning. But now, I will release you.”
“Sparta, my brave warriors. Your glory lies upon the battlefield, but not inside wars devoid of purpose. You should walk a bright and open road.”
“From today onward…”
“I shall ask my brother, the God of Light, Apollo, to become your patron deity.”
“Light shall shelter you, and justice will guide your path.”
The Spartans looked at one another, stunned.
At that moment, the sky that had just drunk in all the shockwaves flashed with new radiance, and a voice descended from the light.
“I accept.”
It was the voice of Zeus’s eldest son, the crown prince of the heavens, Apollo, God of Light.
“From now on, Sparta shall be under my protection.”
The Spartans still exchanged bewildered glances, but slowly, collectively, they knelt.
They bowed to the god who had abandoned them.
They welcomed the god who had taken them in.
From the heavens, Apollo’s voice carried a soft laugh.
“Sage Rowe of Uruk. I hope we will share a private meeting one day.”
“I hope that when that day comes, your wisdom still shines as brightly as it does today.”
“There will be such a day,” Rowe replied.
“Apollo, God of Light, I hope that when it arrives, your light will still be as brilliant as it is today.”
He already sensed that, sooner or later, he would stand opposite the gods again.
Even now, although he had awakened Ares’ conscience, his actions had, in truth, chipped away at Olympus.
Because Mars was a Roman god, belonging to a future yet to come, not to the present age.
“Then I should depart as well.”
Mars tightened his grip on the reins.
“Sage, farewell.”
The divine steeds pawed at the air. Hooves crushed dust, and in the blink of an eye, the god’s shadow vanished from the battlefield.
Mars had left.
He would travel forward in time, toward the land that would one day belong to him.
What remained in this age was only the Ares that had been.
A shadow left behind, like an empty vessel, simply fulfilling the remaining duties that name still held.
True war had ended.
“I did not expect it to end like this.”
Athena, who had witnessed it all, smoothed her expression.
For the first time as the Goddess of Wisdom, she felt something like genuine admiration for another’s wisdom.
It had clearly begun as a blessing that denied Victory.
Yet one step at a time, it had led straight to inevitable Victory.
“Sage Rowe… truly worthy of the wise man who once drove away gods and forged his own civilization with his own hands.”
Her crimson lips parted with a breath that brushed like fragrance over the wind. Then she turned and left.
The war of gods had ended.
It was a war with no losers.
Athena now held the full authority of war; for the next hundred years, none would challenge it.
Ares had become Mars and walked toward the future.
Sparta had gained a new patron deity and, under the protection of the Sun God, would no longer need to stand as Athens’ sworn enemy.
There were no losers here.
Or rather, there was only one.
Rowe.
He had failed to die.
And instead, he had grown stronger.
[Unjust wars will stay far from you.]
[Victory will henceforth be beyond your grasp.]
And before that,
[You will eventually find your final destination.]
Three blessings.
Each one deepened his entanglement with the gods and pushed his path as a hero one step further ahead.
Further along.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the road home lay somewhere beyond this point.
“Sister, sister, did that guy defeat Ares?”
“Euryale, he did not win.”
“Then why did Ares leave? What about you, Medusa? Do you think he won?”
“Mister Rowe did not obtain Victory. But he did win.”
“Speaking in riddles is grounds for punishment, you know.”
“Ah, I am sorry.”
The voices of the three goddesses, back in their human forms, drifted toward Rowe from behind.
His linen robe was still plain and unchanged as he turned his head slightly.
The little girl in the simple white dress walked closer, examining him from head to toe with wide, cautious eyes.
“Euryale, be polite.”
“But you are just the same.”
Rowe suddenly found himself flanked by two petite girls, one on each side.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Mr… Mister Rowe, hello.”
Medusa spoke at last from three steps away, voice soft and careful.
Rowe paused.
Then he bent slightly, lowering himself to meet her gaze.
“Hello, Miss Medusa.”
“What about me, what about me?”
“And me, and me.”
“Sister, I was first.”
“…”
…
The hero who did not kill first appeared upon the battlefield of Athens and Sparta.
He held no visible weapon.
He could not defeat anyone, and he could not seize Victory for himself.
Yet he subdued the rampaging Ares, God of War, and even Athena offered frank praise for his strength.
Because in this world, the greatest strength is often not the power to destroy, but the power to reshape.
That was the strength called “wisdom.”
It was the power wielded by the hero who did not kill, the sage Rowe, who journeyed from distant Uruk to the Aegean Sea.
Because it was his story, the story of igniting the flame of wisdom and self, that spread into Greece, Prometheus stole the heavenly fire that symbolized the self.
Then the brilliant Heroic Age began.
“Greek Mythology: The Beginning Chapters”
…
Boom.
Thunder fell, drawing bright veils of light across the sky.
On a faraway mountain range, high beyond the reach of ordinary men, where eagles circled and vultures cried, a tall figure bound to jagged stone by countless chains heard the sound of shifting gravel and approaching footsteps.
He slowly opened his eyes.
“You are Prometheus, aren’t you?”
Before him, a lone figure climbed, bare hands finding purchase on the sheer cliff face as he ascended thousands of meters straight up and pulled himself onto the ledge.
“My name is Heracles.”
The boy’s rough voice carried in the thin air.
“I heard that you once stole the fire of the gods for mankind, bringing warmth and light to the world, and for that, you were condemned by Zeus and chained here.”
“I want to rescue you.”
“No need, young man.”
Prometheus fell silent for a moment, then shook his head.
“Stealing the heavenly fire and bringing it into the human world was a sin to begin with. Even the Sage of Uruk fell into the Imaginary Number Sea because of it. How could I escape judgment?”
“What if I told you…”
“The Sage has returned.”
Heracles’ words made Prometheus’ eyes widen ever so slightly.
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