As night fell, Samael sat before the flickering fire, feeding more wood into the crackling flames.
"Thank you for saving me today. Here, have some water."
The golden-haired beauty approached from behind, now dressed in a pure white gown. She moved gracefully, offering a waterskin before settling beside Samael. Resting her chin lightly on her hand, she gazed at him with open curiosity and a glimmer of heated interest.
The emotions of those born in the Age of Gods were often wild and unrestrained—ethics, morals, and even laws seldom served as real boundaries.
There was no mistaking it—Princess Helen had taken a liking to him.
Of course, that affection was rooted in desire, drawn first and foremost from his looks.
As the old joke went: when a handsome hero saves a beauty, it leads to the story of "this humble maiden has no way to repay you, except with myself."
But if the hero were ugly, the tale would become, "in the next life, I'll be your ox or horse, repaying your kindness through loyalty and toil."
After countless layers of Mystery had been grafted onto him, Samael—the ancient serpent carrying humanity's original sin—had long since gained the trait of "desire." His charm and appearance spoke for themselves.
Coupled with his gallant rescue, it was no surprise that the appearance-obsessed Princess Helen had fallen for him. After all, this was the woman who had dared to elope with Paris, the pretty-faced prince of Troy, years after her marriage.
But for all her beauty, Samael had no intention of accepting such a conveniently presented temptation.
Even Jason had sensed it—and the Ancient Serpent himself knew Helen was far too dangerous for him to handle.
Besides, there were plenty of other women just as beautiful, intriguing, and well within his preferences. Why go looking for trouble?
Many beautiful things were best admired from afar; not everything needed to be plucked and placed in one's own vase.
After exchanging a few polite, indifferent words, Samael noticed the princess rubbing her hands together, shivering in her thin gown as her shoulders trembled slightly in the cold.
Young lady, this is a hunt for Magical Beasts, not a spring picnic. Could you take it a bit more seriously?
You want to look beautiful, fine—but did you really have to wear that for night watch duty?
The Ancient Serpent sighed at her lack of sense, but remembering Leonidas's efforts to earn goodwill for Sparta, he rose, fetched a blanket from the tent, and handed it to the Spartan princess.
Helen accepted it with a bright smile, her expression warm with gratitude.
The moment Samael sat back down, however, a soft, fragrant body leaned gently against his chest. Her fluttering lashes, the watery gleam in her eyes, and her blushing face were enough to make her look irresistibly sweet.
"The night is cold," she whispered. "Let's keep each other warm."
Really? You're not the least bit worried about starting a fire you can't put out?
Samael grumbled inwardly, but as their skin brushed, a heat stirred deep in his stomach. His pulse quickened, his breath catching in his throat as warmth spread through his body.
Yet just before their shadows overlapped in the firelight, the Ancient Serpent's eyes twitched. He smiled faintly, patting Helen's shoulder.
"Looks like one blanket isn't enough. You take this one—I'll find another."
Speaking softly, Samael wrapped the blanket around her himself, then rose and walked away.
By the bonfire's glow, the Spartan princess touched her lips with delicate fingers, her eyes glinting with a trace of disappointment. Soon, though, a gentle smile replaced it as she rested her chin on her hand, staring dreamily into the flames.
...
At the edge of the camp, Samael loosened his collar and drew a gold-threaded necklace from beneath his shirt.
The heart-shaped ruby dangling at its end pulsed faintly, glowing warm in the darkness.
His earlier smile faded, his expression darkening.
The power of Eros.
So it really was this.
The sacred relic gifted by that troublesome woman, Ishtar—it actually proved useful for once.
After murmuring a few words to the pendant, Samael's eyes flickered, his brows knitting as doubt clouded his mind.
If he remembered correctly, Pollux—the younger twin swordswoman—and the beautiful Helen were both daughters of Zeus, the King of Gods, born from his affair with Leda, the queen of Sparta, by the lakeside.
Undoubtedly, the current King of Sparta was yet another man who'd inherited someone else's mess.
Logically speaking, as a second-generation divine offspring, Helen shouldn't possess the authority of Eros—even if she inherited only her mortal mother's beauty.
After all, Zeus was the god of the sky and thunder; that kind of power didn't exactly translate into charm.
Take Pollux, the younger of the twin swordsmen—he clearly wields divine power that resonates with the constellations themselves. Word has it he's even a famed boxer across Greece.
Yet the Ancient Serpent paused, his expression growing thoughtful.
The future Helen wasn't just beautiful—she was also the beloved princess of Sparta. After the twin siblings—one dying young, the other following in sacrifice and ascending as stars—the Spartan throne had remained vacant for quite some time.
Suitors then flooded in, one after another—some craving Helen's beauty, others coveting Sparta's throne.
Besieged at his own palace by a crowd of demigods, the King of Sparta found himself terrified. Knowing he couldn't afford to offend any hero from any land, he took the advice of one of Helen's suitors—Odysseus.
The plan: to decide Helen's husband by casting a ring, and to make every suitor swear an oath—never to raise arms against the man who won her, and to come to his aid whenever he called for help.
In the end, Menelaus, brother of King Agamemnon, seized the ring and won Helen's hand.
The marriage strengthened their position immeasurably, elevating Mycenae, the brothers' kingdom, to the leadership of all Greek city-states.
Thus, when Helen later eloped with the Trojan prince, Agamemnon had the authority to rally every Greek army against Troy.
Even heroes like Achilles, Odysseus, and both Ajaxes were bound to heed his command.
Whoever possessed Helen held the allegiance of Sparta's greatest warriors—and through that sacred oath, the loyalty of all Greek heroes.
That was the true origin of Helen's title as "the most beautiful woman in Greece."
Once, Samael had believed that as well.
But now, he wasn't so sure.
What was that saying again...
Men conquer the world to conquer women. Women conquer men to conquer the world.
From another perspective, Helen wasn't just a beauty—she was the key that linked all of Greece together.
If his suspicions were right, someone had tampered with her.
Tch... the power of Eros.
Samael glanced at the faint silhouette of the Sacred Mountain against the dark horizon and shook his head, a trace of dark amusement tugging at his lips.
So even the gods atop Olympus weren't as pure as they liked to appear.
Perhaps... this was an opportunity.
After estimating he'd lingered long enough, Samael turned back toward the tents, lost in thought as he went to retrieve another blanket.
But by chance, just as he reached the edge of the camp, he bumped straight into Atalanta, who had been walking his way.
"Big Sis, it's not time for shift change yet. What brings you out here?"
As they stepped apart, Samael rubbed his head, blinking in confusion.
"Couldn't sleep," Atalanta replied casually. Her emerald eyes gleamed faintly in the dark, reflecting the feline vitality that thrived under moonlight.
"Oh, right—this necklace. You dropped it, didn't you?"
The huntress stepped closer and opened her palm. A heart-shaped ruby rested there, glowing faintly with a hypnotic light.
Hiss—
Samael froze, staring at the gem as its glow dimmed. A sharp breath escaped him as a certain myth involving Atalanta flashed across his mind.
Wait... three days and three nights?
I'm so—cough, cough—I mean, I'm so concerned!