Chapter 138
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Honor for the Warriors
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No matter how much of a big shot I was, with a once-in-a-lifetime event unfolding right where I belonged—and me holding up one pillar of it—I couldn't just idly flirt around with Nesneria.
On top of that, these Greek seas' most powerful and belligerent pirate—not pirate, sea god—couple happened to take a huge interest in my martial arts.
One day sparring with spears against Poseidon, another crossing swords with Amphitrite, and another with Nesneria... well, anyway, I'd been spending my days pretty busily.
Poseidon and Amphitrite's preferred battlefield of choice was none other than the deep ocean depths.
Not some Bikini City level, but the pitch-black abyss of Melong City depths.
Gods had no issue with darkness blocking their vision anyway, and as a half-divine martial artist wielding divine power myself, none of us faced any discomfort from sight or breathing—but there was one totally unexpected obstacle: water pressure.
To reach even the nearest sea from where I'd been in the Divine Realm would've taken at least three months minimum, and factoring in variables, closer to half a year.
Of course, with time being of the essence, I had no spare moments for ocean trips, and besides, the Haenam Sect pirates had welcomed me with open arms after granting them some autonomy in exchange for manpower against the wokou raiders—making them better than the Murim Alliance, so no real naval battles either.
Even while wandering, I'd oddly always had too much on my plate to head out to sea, so to me, the ocean was just a giant salty puddle.
So this landlubber dives in all cocky, and once I pass a certain depth, this insane water pressure starts crushing down on my entire body.
If I hadn't reached the pinnacle of extremes, that pressure would've twisted my bones and ruptured my organs.
If my divine power wasn't at a level you could call half-divine, my breathing would've cut off and I'd have sunk as a corpse.
Of course, the executioner couple—being sea gods—probably would've saved me before then.
Or would they have?
Thinking back to how they marveled, "Whoa, he's enduring it?" when I withstood the deep-sea pressure and breathing, who knows.
Anyway, my whole body felt five hundred times heavier, like gravity cranked up.
Breathing was fairly free underwater, sure, but only a smidge better than a scuba tank.
And in that state, spear-wielders and sword-users come charging—these gods who'd lived twice the span of my three lifetimes combined.
One hit sends me slamming back, another flips me over.
The sea king couple cheats by manipulating currents too, and thanks to them, I felt the bone-deep thrill of real danger for the first time in ages.
But in return, I gained plenty too.
Adapting to the deep sea, getting used to the currents—my physical balance, stamina, divine power, and demonic arts all advanced a step.
Under the crushing water pressure bearing down on every inch of me, where the slightest lapse blocked breathing or crushed some part of me if my focus slipped even a bit.
The result of struggling to survive against sea gods who cleaved building-sized deep-sea monsters in half with a single stroke, all gunning for my neck.
Oh, and the deep-sea monster bisecting? Totally real.
The sea gods instinctively know to leave them alone, but they treated me like a tasty snack—after I got blasted over two deep-sea mountain ranges, one just grinned wide and lunged.
Looked like a king kong eel, but the size dwarfed the 63 Building.
By the time I went, "Huh? Sea king class?" Poseidon had lopped its head off in a flash—but even headless, that colossal eel thrashing around was straight-up horror.
I'd seen plenty that could shatter mountains or massacre armies, so those were familiar—but a building-sized eel smashing mountains to come eat me? Even the Twelve Divine Demons would freak.
Anyway, coming back up to the surface from all that felt like paradise.
Air's crisp, shoulders light.
Emerging from the pitch-black depths into the vibrant colors of the surface world even had me humming tunes.
And Atalanta, whom I hadn't seen in a bit, had grown enough to be on the verge of breaking through her wall—sparring with her and pushing her over it? For a martial artist, that's pure dopamine; my excitement had long blown past limits.
Of course, that high faded seeing the 600 half-dead bodies collapsed with eyes rolled back.
"...Was that a bit much?"
The Sea King Spear: Megia Kimar I'd fired off at the end just to look cool.
Inspired by Poseidon's strike that blasted me across three mountain ranges, it was a demonic weapon art I'd improvised as a variation of the Mad Wind Spear, tailored for god-slaying.
The thrill of evolving the peerless arts I'd inherited from my masters, unlocking new possibilities in techniques I knew—that joy rivaled the ecstasy of bearing sons and daughters; for any warrior, it was a monumental achievement.
That's why I cheekily named my new spear art after Sea King Poseidon.
But still unfinished, and blasting it at kids...
"Gonna catch hell from Asclepius later."
Heracles was already furious about me knocking the kids out every morning.
Better steer clear of the infirmary for a while.
"What do you think, Jason?"
"Urgh...! So you noticed, huh?"
At my call, Jason—who'd been huddling under his shield, biding his time—rose with a wry smile.
In his hand gleamed a razor-sharp Cyclops-forged kopis.
"Haha... We were all training and prepping with real resolve to kill."
Jason scanned the surroundings with a hollow look, but his brown eyes burned with fighting spirit, contrasting his expression.
"Ho, wanna go a bit more?"
"Of course."
Jason tossed aside his helmet and armor like it was nothing, laughed freely, and leveled his sword at me.
"I knew anyway—you're a monster on Heracles' level, or beyond."
"And you're still pointing your sword at me? Betting on that lame 'no killing' rule?"
A flicker of contempt crossed Jason's face at my taunt with hands behind my back and tilted head.
But it hardened instantly under the pressure I unleashed.
-KyaAAAAAHH!!
A horrific shriek like an asura from the Hell Charts wailing.
The aura of my past life's signature art, Asura Heaven-Reversing Gong, mimicked an asura's scream.
A vicious presence that'd stop a normal heart just facing it.
Iolcos' prince, witnessing it head-on, paled as if about to collapse.
Yet his trembling legs held firm.
"I, I, IIII...!!"
His quivering voice hid raw fear, his teary eyes brimmed with terror—unsightly, but the defeated general stood tall against me despite lost troops.
"N-not like He, Heracles or y-you! Not st-strong! N-no di-divine blooood either!
N-not b-bl-blessed by g-gods like A-Atalanta!"
His contorted, wound-split face streamed blood; foam and spittle flew from his seizure-like screams.
Unbefitting a prince, in this ugly state—yet he kept his sword raised.
"D-don't stooop meee! I can't stop. I mustn't stooop... even if I smash my face in the dirt and crawl between legs. I can't stoooop!!"
An insurmountable wall, unbreakable foe, unwinnable fight.
In his screaming eyes, I was his newfound comrade he could only envy—and the epitome of the world's unfairness that's tormented him lifelong.
I'd snuck a peek at Iolcos royalty's dog-eared family tree from Heracles.
Father poisoned by his own half-brother for the throne; mother took that usurper as concubine—not even wife—to save her young son.
A trashy, all-too-common tale of the world.
But if there's one thing that elevates tragedy to epic heroism...
Not feather-light hope, nor clichéd divine miracles.
Only a wrathful human.
"Th-that crow-bait princeling... won't even let me play dead...!"
"Kekekeke, can't blame the thunderbolt-bait bastard either. We're the mad ones rising now, right?!"
"Heh, hehehe. Making us unable to stay down, Jason..."
Behold: amid the feigned-dead remnants who snapped to awareness, warriors rising.
Warriors staggering up to their leader's cries.
From wind sons flapping wings maniacally, laughing, to Thebes' hunters dusting green-cropped hair and grinning.
Exactly fifty out of six hundred elite soldiers rose, reforming ranks.
Filthy with dirt and wounds, nothing unscathed from the tsunami that swept them—pitiful sight.
Yet I couldn't help but feel deep admiration.
In the murim rife with deceit and hypocrisy.
Unlike that era of deception that steeled my resolve to fulfill my masters' wishes, this mythic land breathed true heroes.
Witnessing it, I—a warrior transcending eras—could only be moved.
-Clang! Clank!
Defiled steel rolls on the ground.
Shattered armor drops.
The fifty discarded broken spears, shields, even armor—drawing swords from their waists.
Greece's famed phalanx ditching shields and spears for swords meant cornered-rat desperation.
A declaration: charging with lives forfeit.
Even with the no-kill rule, facing my aura, they'd think it's do-or-die.
Yet they burn with will to charge.
"Then I must respond in kind."
The black spear in my hand shifted form in an instant.
Length about three feet half—a jet-black sword that could cleave steel.
My utmost honor for these warriors staking life and limb to shatter their shackles.
Facing them with the strongest of my martial arts.