Hey everyone, sorry for the delay with this chapter.
I'll just say that Friday was the celebration of my country's national holidays, so I decided to take the day off to celebrate; however, the next day I was—to put it plainly—under the weather, so I couldn't get any writing done over those two days.
I should also mention that I'm quite busy on Mondays; I wake up early and get home late, and by the time I walk through the door, I'm exhausted, so I almost never write on that day. Consequently, I've officially decided—at least until my classes end—not to write on Mondays, regardless of which chapter of the fic it is.
But here is the chapter, without further ado; I hope you enjoy it.
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The three of them headed back to the ship, as their other companion had to go retrieve the three Servants who were lost out in the middle of nowhere.
"Are you sure he won't come back?" Achilles asked, looking somewhat doubtful as he glanced sideways at Bemus.
"No, it wouldn't be in his best interest," Bemus replied, emerging from the forest and reaching the ship, where a man was waiting for them.
"To be honest, I expected more," the man remarked, looking at the three of them.
"I'm just grateful no one died," Martha said, slipping back into her role as a saint; she clasped her hands and offered a brief prayer.
Bemus simply watched this and sighed.
"If you had expected more, perhaps none of us would have survived," the swordsman declared as he boarded the ship.
"Was it that bad?" asked the man dressed in Viking attire.
"It was exactly that bad," Achilles confirmed, stepping aboard to look at the man. "How did you manage to find this place?"
The man made a casual, dismissive gesture.
"Getting in here is simple enough—it's not like it's Vinland," he replied, glancing at the saint, who was still praying.
"That doesn't answer anything," Achilles remarked, but seeing that the Viking was ignoring him, he simply continued on his way.
...
On another ship, two individuals were watching a third—who was asleep, snoring, and making a racket—and contemplating whether to toss him into the ocean and abandon him forever; but, to their misfortune, they couldn't.
After all, the being before them was the key to destroying the rebellion's defenses—the very person around whom the Servants summoned by the World would gather to plan the destruction of the Fantasy Tree.
Odysseus looked at Dante, whom he found insufferable for some reason—especially given the ideas the man had planted in his head.
He didn't know what to think or what might be real; he began to question his actions—both those of his Pan-Human History self and those of his current existence.
For a moment, he considered abandoning the man on one of the nearby islands, but he simply shook his head and walked away to his quarters.
About two hours later, the man responsible for the fall of Troy spotted the stowaway—now awake—fishing with a makeshift rod.
"Oh, I see you're alive—well, sort of. The way you live isn't exactly what I'd call 'being alive,'" Dante said with a smile, never letting go of the parasol he held in his hand.
Odysseus looked at the demon before him; the description seemed to fit the being perfectly.
"Why are you so intent on pestering me?" Odysseus couldn't help but ask as he walked up beside the blond man.
"Well, I have two reasons for that," he explained, gazing out at the sea. "First, there's the fact that a dog who once placed his pride above the gods has now become their lapdog—a massive contradiction that is an annoying delight. You're like an alter ego of your original self."
The white-haired man could only grimace in distaste at the words of the demon beside him.
"And the other reason?" he asked, mostly out of curiosity.
"Isn't it obvious?" Dante asked, dropping his fishing rod to grab the other man by the collar and force him to meet his gaze. "You were granted permission to pilot a mecha; that shitty wooden horse of yours is now a mechanized mecha capable of destroying everything in its path."
Dante's words made it sound as though he were the victim of an injustice.
"When am I supposed to get to pilot my own mecha? I've been around longer than you—both in Pan-Human History and in this Lostbelt—yet I'm still waiting for my giant mechanized robot equipped with hundreds of weapons of mass destruction capable of fighting giant kaiju."
Upon hearing this, Odysseus could only regret having asked; he forcibly broke free from the blond man's grip, clicking his tongue and grimacing in annoyance.
"We're getting close now," declared Chiron, who—for the sake of his own sanity—had ignored the entire conversation. "I can see the island where Astraea's temple stands; we'll arrive in a few minutes."
...
The Viking ship sailed under the daylight, guided by an explorer nicknamed "the Lucky"; he ensured the round trip to the island was a smooth one.
Eight servants waited aboard, bound for the rebellion's stronghold to fulfill the mission for which they had been summoned.
Among them, Achilles could not shake the memory of the events he had just experienced. He replayed the battle in his mind, focusing on his opponent: Dante—son of Hades, or rather, son of Chaos. Dante was far more powerful than when Achilles had last seen him, or indeed, than he was supposed to be.
He couldn't help but glance at the man who had managed to drive back Bemus—the very man who served as Hades's custodian. If anyone knew the weaknesses of that monster, it was his daughter and this man beside him.
He still remembered the legend. One of the early Greek heroes, desperate to save his son's soul, had struck a deal with a witch—an act that led him to Dante. Dante offered him a chance at salvation in exchange for defeating him; ultimately, the hero pledged a life of servitude to save his son—a bargain the son of Hades accepted.
He spent years in Chrysa until the time came to collect the debt. Dante opened a portal, sent Bemus to Hades, and departed. There, thanks to the skills he had mastered alongside Dante and Libra, he caught the eye of Hades himself. He was tasked with clearing away the refuse surrounding the god's abode—as well as any trash that dared approach—a duty he would perform until the end of time.
Achilles knew the legend well. It was one of many tales Chiron had told him during his youth and training; he knew, then, that the man beside him was no mere nobody—not if Hades himself had recognized his worth, even if only to assign him the task of taking out the trash. As I do so, I glance at the other Servants accompanying him: a bipolar saint, a ninja dressed in rags, an odd Viking, a knight who wore the same expression the whole time, a monotone nurse, and a girl who seemed incapable of showing any truly genuine emotion.
"Some Argonauts we are, heh," he thought, unable to help comparing their situation to other stories.
"We're here," the Viking declared, turning the helm.
...
Before the group of eight stood massive walls featuring a gate that looked incredibly heavy, constructed from dense, resilient material.
"Open the gates," a voice called out from atop the wall.
It took several minutes for the gates to open wide enough for a person to pass through the gap.
"Let's go in," Bemus said, crossing first, with the others following close behind.
As soon as they stepped through, they were greeted by Orion, Leonidas, and a man dressed with an air of refinement.
"I see you made it safely," Orion remarked, smiling at Bemus.
"We got lucky," Bemus replied, his smile shifting from slightly sheepish to serious. "We need to talk."
"With *her*?" the hunter asked; the Spaniard nodded. "Understood. Moriarty, could you show the newcomers around?"
"No problem. It seems none of them are infiltrators—at least, not at first glance," the elegant man replied.
"Infiltrators?" Gaheris asked.
"Exactly. If those types manage to capture a Servant, they can alter their memories and control them to do whatever they please—all thanks to that goddess of love. But just looking at you all, I don't see anything amiss. I'll investigate further later, once I know who you are and whether you match your true profiles. For now, follow me," the man said, brushing off his mustache.
"Well, I'm off; I have things to discuss with Danzou. See you later," the ninja said, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
"I'm going for a drink; I have to make the most of things before it's all over," the Viking said, walking in a straight line as if under mind control.
"I don't have much else to do, so I'll tag along," Martha commented, shrugging with a hint of lethargy.
"No problem," the elegant man said, walking forward as the others followed.
...
Libra sat with her eyes closed, meditating and taking the opportunity to rest as much as possible, until she sensed the approaching footsteps of two people.
"I see you accomplished the mission objective—and quite quickly, too," she remarked, opening her eyes to look at Orion and Bemus.
"Well, you could thank your father for that." At the swordsman's comment, the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
Libra's smile vanished instantly.
"Explain yourself," she demanded.
"When I arrived at the island where Achilles was, Dante was already fighting him and three others," he explained, causing Libra to grimace.
"And how did you manage to come out of that so unscathed?" she asked.
"Honestly, I don't really know how I did it myself," the swordsman admitted.
The pair of hunters looked at Bemus, confused by what he was saying.
"What do you mean you don't know? How were you able to repel him?" Orion asked sharply; he didn't believe they could defeat Dante. Even if all eight of them faced him together, that being would still find a way to escape and live to see another day.
"That's exactly why I came to ask her. When I came face-to-face with him, I drew my sword, and the moment Apollo's blessing activated, Dante simply started burning alive," he recounted.
"Burning alive? Is he a vampire or something?" he asked jokingly, glancing at his wife, who remained silent, staring at the ground in thought.
"He isn't, but my other mother is," she said, causing the other three to fall silent.
"By 'mother,' do you mean Lady Kiss-shot?" Bemus suggested.
"Exactly," she confirmed, looking at the two of them. "She explained it to me a long time ago when I asked how her powers worked; one of her weaknesses was that she couldn't be in direct sunlight." "But I faced Dante, not Ms. Kiss-shot; it makes no sense," Bemus retorted.
"Yes, but there is a way," Libra countered, raising a finger. "She once explained to me that the relationship she shared with my father went beyond the emotional—it was a complete union of souls, a symbiotic bond. Consequently, depending on how deeply intertwined their souls were, they would begin to share characteristics, powers, and weaknesses."
Silence reigned in the room.
"No wonder I felt Dante was stronger than usual; he had absorbed some of Lady Kiss-shot's strength, speed, and agility," the swordsman stated.
"This is bad," Libra remarked, biting her lip.
"Why does Dante have vampire powers?" Orion asked.
"No, this is bad because if my father can do that, it means he has my mother by his side and can call upon her at any moment," she explained, leaving both of them speechless.
They were both aware of the pair's strength; they knew that if the two of them fought in perfect synchronization, they could defeat even a god—a fact that had already been proven.
"Do you know what class my father is?" Libra asked, given that very few people in the fortress had ever faced Dante, and even then, only briefly.
"According to Gaheris, he must be an Assassin-class; no one was ever able to sense his presence, which is a hallmark of that class," the swordsman explained.
"Right," Libra said, clenching her fist tightly as she stood up abruptly. "We still have a chance. If he's an Assassin-class, many of his abilities and stats will be reduced. So, vampire or not, we aren't facing his strongest version—which means there's still a chance."
"A chance for what?" Bemus asked.
"A chance to kill my father and eliminate one threat, making it easier to reach Olympus," she declared with a smile, looking at Orion. "Call Atalanta and Heracles; I have a plan for them."