The Silver-Haired Thief
Even Agamemnon, who had been maintaining his composure so far, looked genuinely shocked this time.
"Peleus, can you take responsibility for those words? No matter how esteemed a guest you are, slandering the prince of our kingdom is something I cannot easily forgive."
In an instant, his eyes changed. The smiling young prince was gone, replaced by a piercing blue glare that nearly made me flinch. But I managed to keep my cool on the outside.
"What gain would I have in defaming a prince I've never even met? I'm simply telling you what I know will happen."
"Hmmm…"
Since I had no apparent ties or interests with Mycenae, it would be hard for him to suspect any ulterior motive.
"Agamemnon, the more ominous the prophecy, the better if it doesn't come true. For tonight, station trustworthy men in ambush in the room with the treasured sword. If nothing happens, all the better. If my words prove false, hold me accountable."
By boldly offering to take responsibility if nothing occurred, the prince fell silent.
"But if, by some misfortune…"
I deliberately trailed off, and Agamemnon swallowed dryly. He'd said he hoped nothing would happen, but deep down, his thoughts were different.
I voiced what he desired but couldn't say aloud.
"You would earn great merit for the royal house, Your Highness. And punish a blood relative harboring treacherous intentions."
He couldn't resist that temptation. The phrase "honeyed words, poisoned blade" fit this young prince perfectly—sweet on the lips, sharp in the gut.
"Ahem…"
Agamemnon hemmed and hawed before cautiously asking,
"Do you know which of my brothers it is?"
Of course I did. Ten years from now, the truth of this incident would rock every city-state.
"Yes. The prophecy states that the king's third son harbors greed."
"My third brother? How could he…!"
Agamemnon feigned sorrow, as if worried for his brother. The watching Secret Book reacted with amusement.
-Heh heh heh. Clever bastard. Outwardly shocked, but inside, he's already calculating how the succession will shift if the third prince falls. Or maybe plotting how to kill his own kin?
Its biting words left a bitter taste in my mouth.
-Being a prince is a shitty job, huh?
-But I know humans pretty well. You lot think that way, yet if given the choice, you'd always pick prince over beggar.
Spot on. Power isn't noble, but it's seductive.
-Peleus, aren't you the same?
-Yeah, no denying it. I'd rather be born a prince, sword in hand against brother and sibling, than scavenge scraps with them in a slum.
Agamemnon was no different. When he finally accepted my advice and set the ambush for tonight, I nodded slightly.
-A wise man. I like him.
* * *
-Ugh… why the hell am I here?
Convincing Agamemnon had gone well, but somehow I'd ended up joining the stakeout myself.
-Idiot. This is what you get for flapping your mouth.
-It was solid advice!
I worried Agamemnon might mishandle things if left alone. So I convinced him to do it right—someone formidable would come for the sword. He then asked for my direct help.
"For the honor of the royal house, I must lead by example, but I fear I might falter. Could you lend a hand?"
With Heracles' jewel giving me a warrior's aura, I must've looked like prime muscle to him.
"Understood. Your concern for the realm is truly noble, Your Highness. I'll assist as best I can."
No choice. I'd stirred this pot myself—couldn't just bail when asked for help. It'd make palace life hell afterward.
So here we were. I chatted idly with the Secret Book, staying relaxed, but the others were tense. Agamemnon had picked reliable warriors, all seasoned fighters. Twelve in total, including the prince and me. We'd added new furniture and statues to the room for cover and hidden behind them.
-This should do it.
-You know how many are coming?
-Rumor has it just one. The incident explodes ten years from now, and the sword thief infiltrated alone.
-But their identity stayed a mystery. So unknown, some even said Hermes himself pulled it off.
-Huh, interesting. Too bad. With enough offerings, I could check for you.
The Secret Book claimed knowledge of all secrets. Offer tribute, and it'd reveal tonight's intruder and their powers. But no suitable sacrifices handy.
-Just grab some palace servants for a blood offering. A few missing in this big place? No one'd notice.
It tempted me, but I refused firmly.
-Never say that again. I'm no hero of justice, but I won't sacrifice innocents.
-Fine. You're passing the easy path. But I'll wait for the day you beg for a blood rite.
Its tone was devilish, dragging me toward the abyss. Sure, it'd unlock secrets for easy wins, but at the cost of my humanity. No thanks.
-Wait.
The Secret Book alerted me to footsteps.
-What? I hear nothing.
But it was special—its senses were spot on. Agamemnon and the warriors hadn't noticed yet, so I warned them first.
"They're coming. Prepare."
My quiet voice carried to all. They looked baffled, sensing nothing—not even a rat. Confident ambushers, they trusted their ears.
But moments later, faint footsteps echoed, and they all stared at me in shock.
"Impressive…"
Agamemnon's eyes widened. A top warrior himself, he'd detected nothing—my early warning changed how he saw me. Probably thought me a greater fighter than expected.
He signaled the men to ready the assault.
Swoosh.
Observing tensely, I wiped my brow. The hidden warriors were like drawn arrows, coiled to strike. Competent killers—they'd shred the thief in seconds. Alone or not, their luck was up.
-Here they come.
As the Secret Book spoke, the heavy door creaked open silently. At last, the infamous phantom thief from ten years hence appeared.
-Hm?
I frowned. Nothing like expected. I'd pictured a shadowy man in black. Instead, a woman in hunter's garb, face masked. Model-long legs and sleek build evoked a graceful deer. Her exposed eyes were stunningly beautiful—lashes so long, they seemed dewy.
-Amazing. Even masked, that beauty. Impressed, even me.
Her long silver hair, tied back, shimmered like moonlight.
-Check it—the warriors are frozen.
Ready to pounce, now confused. No one expected a fragrant beauty after the royal treasure.
Only Agamemnon snapped to.
"Who the hell are you?!"
His shout rallied them. Weapons drawn, they charged murderously, awaiting the order to dismember her.
-Fine warriors. Brief fluster, but true to duty.
-Yeah. No mercy for her gender.
I alone stayed hidden, per his prior request: help only if needed. He wanted the glory solo—I obliged. Buying favor without risking a brawl suited me.
"Oh dear, guards after all…"
The thief looked annoyed, pondering leaked intel. But unconcerned by the blades and spears.
The warriors bristled at her nonchalance.
"State your identity! I am Agamemnon, son of King Atreus!"
He exuded princely authority, but her reply was priceless.
"Oh, Your Highness is here? Can't have you getting hurt."
No fear—just intent to subdue gently. Pure warrior's poise, leaving even me stunned.
-Who the hell is she?
-Aren't you supposed to know everything?
-Misunderstanding. I access the god of secrets' knowledge via offerings—like a librarian. I don't know it all myself.
-Ah, got it. Anyway, no clue on this thief. Plenty of famed women heroes, but as a temple scribe, I never met one—just rumors tangled in my head.
"Insolent wench! I can't stand it—capture her! Kill if you must!"
Agamemnon raged, and the warriors lunged like wolves.
I braced for carnage. I'd said take alive, but they'd butcher her.
"Raaargh! Die!"
"Grrraaah!"
Ferocious, I'd bet on her shredding. But no—blood sprayed, and it was them falling.
"Urgh!"
"Argh! Aaagh!"
Screams rang as warriors toppled. A slender woman thrashing burly fighters—unbelievable. She used a short staff, one-handed, sparing lives. But she beat like a dog-breaker, foaming mouths her stop signal. No mild temper.
"Aaaagh!"
"M-mercy! Ugh!"
In moments, a dozen elites down. Only Agamemnon stood.
No more pitying her—I clenched my fist.
"Your Highness, show that wench your dignity!"
Or I'd be next for the beating. Still, not too worried. I knew his strength—from myths, he'd later rival Hector of Troy. Peak mortal might; no street cat could—
"Urk!"
A short yelp, and the prince hit the floor, dazed. Disbelieving his defeat.
"Dear prince, making the stone floor your bedchamber?"
"Eek!"
Flushed, he pounced leopard-like—but thud! Head-planted, out cold. No princely grace—just a drunken slob.
I gaped.
-Looks like stopping the thief failed.
-Not going out?
-Crazy? Agamemnon got wrecked. I wanna live.
Stay quiet, they'd never know I was here.
Sword stolen? Whatever. Perfect—heroes down, no blame for my cowardice.
-After, just bash my head on the wall: 'Got jumped too.'
-Lmao, life's a lie.
-Shut up. I'm stressed.
I merged with the statue in no-mind unity. Emptiness, transcendence… She'd miss me.
Wishful thinking. She pointed her staff right at me.
"Stop hiding and come out?"
No way. I stonewalled. She chuckled incredulously.
"That 'damned wench'? Not coming?"
…Sharp ears too.
"Ha… fuck."
Sighing at the impending whack, the Secret Book gloated.
-Just go? Man's gotta have pride.
-We're screwed.
-Heh, total flop. Time to squeal like a piglet.
-No, asshole. Just figured her out.
Deep sigh inward; it sounded shocked.
-What? Why didn't I notice sooner? Hunter garb, bow. Moonlit silver hair. Rumors from scribe days clicked.
Knew earlier, I'd have bolted during the fight. Regret's always late.
-What else? We're fucked.