After speaking with Aisha, I stepped out of the tent, the cool evening air doing little to ease the tension building inside me. The main reason I’d come to her wasn’t purely for the sake of indulging in pleasure, though I won’t deny I enjoyed every moment of it. No, my real goal was something far deeper—something more dangerous. I needed her to reclaim her will to live.
Aisha was fragile, teetering on the edge of despair. I knew that much the moment I saw her, the emptiness in her eyes. By telling her she belonged to me—by making her feel needed, claimed—I had done more than just share a bed with her. I had sealed her obsession, yes, but it was a necessary evil. She needed something to cling to, some thread of purpose, even if it was wrapped up in a twisted loyalty toward me. My words, my presence—they would echo in her mind each time she faced death, a reminder that she wasn’t allowed to die. Not yet.
I had used my skill, [Deep Voice], amplifying its effects with the absurd luck I seemed to carry. The weight of my words would take root in her subconscious. It should be enough to keep her fighting, even against the strongest enemies.
As I put on the armor I’d recovered earlier, the sense of urgency gnawed at me. There wasn’t much time left, and my body was beginning to feel the strain of this place, this era. I was running out of time, and I could feel my strength faltering. I had to bring Astynome back quickly before anyone noticed that I didn’t belong here. Each minute that passed increased the likelihood of someone discovering me, and that was a risk I couldn’t afford.
Just as I was about to move, a voice behind me cut through the night air like a blade.
“You. Stop there.”
I froze.
This wasn’t just any voice—it was someone I recognized. If it had been an ordinary Greek soldier, I wouldn’t have cared. I could deal with them easily. But this wasn’t ordinary. The man standing behind me was Patroclus, the constant shadow of Achilles, the one who had been with him at Lyrnessus, alongside Agamemnon.
This is bad.
My mind raced as I weighed my options. If Patroclus suspected me, I would have no choice but to silence him before he could sound any alarms. I was stronger than him—that much was clear. But strength wasn’t the problem. The problem was his relationship with Achilles.
Killing Patroclus would inevitably lead to Achilles hunting me down. And that was a fight I didn’t want. Not now, not ever. Achilles was a freak of nature, and the gods themselves seemed to take a special interest in him. Hera and Athena both regarded him highly, and I’d heard rumors that even Zeus had blessed him. Fighting Achilles would be suicidal.
I had no illusions about it. Achilles was stronger than me. He had spent most of his life honing his skills, fighting relentlessly, blessed by gods who favored his every move. His reputation as an invulnerable warrior wasn’t just rumor—it was likely truth. I couldn’t take that chance.
Though thanks to being summoned twice and having my strength reached new heights after enslaving Amaterasu that wasn’t enough against Achilles.
Anyway, If I’m found out right now, I’m finished.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, keeping my voice cold and measured, masking the unease brewing beneath the surface.
Patroclus met my gaze evenly. “Achilles wants to see you now.”
I frowned, a sliver of confusion slipping through my otherwise controlled expression. Achilles? Why would he want to see me? I had never met him face to face before, only glimpsed him briefly from afar when I first arrived. And I had barely been here for a day—how could he have noticed me already? The idea that Achilles, of all people, would summon me seemed absurd. Unless, of course, he had somehow realized I was an intruder.
A chill ran down my spine at the thought. If that were the case, I’d likely already be dead. No, there had to be another reason.
“I don’t know,” Patroclus continued, his voice carrying a weight of caution, “but you should go now and not keep him waiting.”
I resisted the urge to sigh. Refusing Achilles wasn’t an option. It would only arouse more suspicion and likely lead to the very outcome I feared. Nodding, I turned toward the hill where Achilles’ tent loomed like a silent sentinel over the camp. I would go, find out what he wanted, and leave as quickly as possible. Hopefully, without drawing any further attention to myself.
But if a fight happened, I had to be prepared.
My mind raced with contingency plans as I made my way through the camp. I could fight Achilles if it came to that. Transferring my absurd luck into my strength stats would temporarily level the playing field. But I was reluctant to use that option in my current state. The strain it would put on my already fragile body might accelerate the countdown to my inevitable death.
Still, if the worst came to pass, it wasn’t as if Achilles was invincible. I remembered the myths well enough—his so-called invulnerability came with a fatal flaw: his heel. If that weakness still existed in this world, it could be my key to victory. But then again, Achilles was always seen clad in full armor, his legs fully protected. It wouldn’t surprise me if his gear was enchanted with the highest-level magical spells, resistant to even celestial magic and magical weapons.
I clenched my fists as I entered the Myrmidon’s camp. The moment they saw me, their gazes narrowed, hostility radiating from every corner.
“What are you doing here, damn Spartan?” one of them spat, his voice laced with contempt.
“Fuck off before we kill you,” another growled, stepping closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Wanna die? Did Menelaus send you?”
Their taunts continued, but it was the last one that drew raucous laughter from the group. “He’s probably still whining about being cuckolded by that Paris.”
The mention of Helen and Menelaus sparked a wave of jeers and crude jokes among them, their voices rising in a chorus of derision. It was clear that no one here had any love for the king of Sparta.
“Patroclus sends me. Achilles wants to see me,” I said calmly, my voice betraying none of the apprehension bubbling beneath the surface.
The Myrmidons exchanged glances, shrugged, and stepped aside without protest. They likely assumed that even if I had lied, there was no way I could pose a threat to Achilles.
I took a deep breath, my mind sharpening as I began the slow ascent up the hill. Each step brought me closer to the large, imposing tent that stood at its peak, its thick cloth flaps closed tight against the outside world. The closer I got, the more acute my senses became—I heightened them to the maximum, ready for any potential ambush or unseen danger. If Achilles intended to strike, I’d sense it before the blow came.
Reaching the entrance of the tent, I paused for a moment, listening for any sounds inside. I could hear the faint murmur of movement, but nothing that hinted at an immediate attack. Still, I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
With one swift motion, I parted the cloth flaps and stepped inside.
