Before this, Achilles had asked himself countless times what he was supposed to do.
Born exceptional—and then, through a string of accidents, granted an immortal body—he had believed what he sought was a dazzling life: a blaze of brilliance that surpassed all others in a single instant. So when Agamemnon, leader of the Greek coalition, called, Achilles took up his spear without hesitation and set foot on the road to war.
To display his splendor on the battlefield. To show the glory of a demigod hero.
That had been his original thought.
But as he swung his spear again and again—watching comrades fall, watching enemies fall—Achilles couldn’t help recalling his father’s teachings.
Once… and again…
What was a hero? What was justice? What were good and evil?
Back then, he hadn’t understood.
Now, he did.
“A hero is one who creates miracles. And a miracle is this—standing before Gods as a mortal, and still carrying your will through!”
“At least here and now, my will rests beneath my spear!”
Night spread like ink, the moon hanging high. Facing the Gods, Achilles’s spear trembled—and he became a brilliant streak loosed from the camp like an arrow.
The Gods before him were Hephaestus, Hera… and his own prophesied fate.
Forward. Thrust!
Forward with the other heroes—
“Hahaha! This—this feeling! That’s it!” Inside Troy, Prince Hector was laughing too.
A sharp crack tore through the long night. The Gods froze. The heroes bled.
In the Greek camp, Hera lowered her eyes to her sleeve.
A corner torn away.
Apollo fell silent as well, staring at the blood spattered across his boot.
Gods had been harmed. Gods had been stained.
The gap between them was still immense.
And yet the heroes’ radiance flared into something limitless.
Because they had broken fate.
They had broken prophecy.
“O Gods—the war is over, and I… I didn’t die like the prophecy said!” Achilles laughed, spitting blood, defiant to the last.
The heroes lay scattered and broken, but their breath remained.
They had lost the ability to fight.
Greek soldiers, Trojan soldiers—both sides collapsed as well, stripped of the strength to continue.
Neither side could wage war anymore.
And so the war ended.
Hera’s expression was heavy. Apollo’s, despite himself, held respect.
A seed Rovi had planted carelessly back on that ship had finally sprouted.
For heroes, raw power was secondary. What they needed was courage—the one thing mortals required to cross the shadow the Gods cast over the world.
The gap was still vast, but at least now they had the courage to stare into the abyss.
To look Gods in the eye.
To face themselves.
To cut the chains.
The heroes retreated together. The Gods had driven them back and stripped their strength—but they hadn’t died. They were only wounded.
Rovi had protected them.
Because the heroes had created a miracle.
And Rovi—who had gone from man to God, a fusion of the two—was himself a miracle of humankind.
He was the one who spread miracles.
And the one in whom miracles gathered.
The night was deep, moonlight washing the wide earth. The Aegean tides rolled, and the sea wind carried a sharp salt bite. Rovi’s machine-God body slowly shrank, returning to human form.
Apollo and the other Gods, now understanding everything, stopped venting their fury.
The tall God of Light looked at the demigod heroes who had dared point spears at Gods, his gaze deep and far. “Heroes… I will remember you.”
“Though you’re only mortals…” Aphrodite admitted, “…your courage truly is beautiful.”
No one could deny the heroes’ will.
They were the ones who had shattered the shackles of prophecy.
The ones who held ideals high enough to burn.
“ROAR!”
“Ares” bellowed, brimming with exalted battle intent—war’s instinctive acknowledgment of heroes.
Both sides had fallen.
Only Uruk’s soldiers stepped forward, sealing the area from every direction.
This was a shared “defeat” for both Greece and Troy—
And Rovi’s victory.
A victory won without sacrificing a single soldier.
A victory that killed no one.
“I accept the wager—and concede,” Apollo said with admirable ease. He looked up at Rovi and offered his pledge. “In the name of Apollo, God of Light, I acknowledge your victory, and I make this promise—”
“For the next thousand years, light will be open to you, unimpeded!”
“Hmph. Fine. Consider it your bargain this time,” Aphrodite said, flicking her crimson hair, swallowing her resentment as she spoke with irritation. “I, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty, acknowledge your victory, and I make this promise—”
“For the next thousand years, beauty and love will always favor you.”
“‘Ares,’ God of War, makes this vow—you shall be the sovereign of all wars.” “Ares” seemed to regain clarity for a heartbeat, then sank back into chaos the moment the words left him.
“Hera, Queen of Heaven, makes this vow—”
“…”
One voice after another rang out beyond Troy’s walls. One promise after another settled over Rovi.
To Rovi, making pacts with Gods was beside the point.
What they swore to him was mostly acknowledgment, with little concrete substance.
His true gain was simpler: he had brought Uruk’s soldiers to the surface smoothly, without provoking the Gods’ suspicion or alarm.
Of course, the Gods likely knew.
Perhaps they simply didn’t care. Or perhaps they didn’t have the face to pursue the matter openly, so no one brought it up.
And with the Gods’ promises as cover, Rovi could now establish Uruk on the surface without anyone stopping him.
It pushed the plan he’d made with Gilgamesh one step forward. And it brought his suicide-by-Zeus plan—provoking Zeus into a decisive battle—one step closer too.
…
“Bwahahaha! That bastard—he didn’t disappoint this King!” In the Netherworld, Gilgamesh threw back his head and laughed, while Siduri stood to one side, tablet in hand, recording.
“Withdraw!” Agamemnon, commander of the Greek coalition, couldn’t see the Gods’ forms clearly, but he could sense their decision in the flicker of divinity. He let out a sigh, swept his gaze over the Greek soldiers felled by the heroes, and gave the order.
Achilles and the other gravely wounded heroes smiled.
For the first time, heroes hadn’t rushed to slaughter—
They had moved to stop a war, to stop senseless killing.
So their smiles were real.
And at last, they understood the spirit the Argonaut heroes of old—their fathers’ generation—had gained in that trial.
A heroic ideal even mortals could uphold.
…
The seed of heroism planted by the Argo sprouted in the Trojan War. The heroes held fast to a radiant will, and from that day onward, they walked a road unlike the past—pursuing a justice of their own.
—New Chapter of the Greek Heroic Sagas
…
“I chase a brilliant life, sure,” Achilles said, looking toward the sky where two lights of divinity entwined, smiling. “But what’s a momentary blaze compared to lasting glory?”
“God of Ten Thousand Armies, born from the Sage—protect me as I charge forward!”
At the same time, beneath another corner of the sky—
In Arcadia’s paradise, someone slowly opened her eyes. Her red lips parted, and an unconscious murmur slipped free.
“Rovi…”
The girl with lush, cascading hair turned her gaze toward the distance.
—
T/N: wow that was a quick war
This is a fan translation of 求你让我上英灵座吧 by 洛州白马 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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