"You vile thing, you really never learn."
Just as the blonde, brown-skinned beauty yawned to herself, turned, and took the lead toward the door, a silver-violet cross-shaped staff came whistling across the entrance and blocked her way.
"Vritra, while I'm here, don't even think about slipping out to do evil!"
The purple-haired holy maiden, brimming with righteous fury, rebuked her without the slightest courtesy, killing intent gathering between her brows.
"What, you can go, but I can't? They're just humans. I used to treat them as snacks. Now you're saying I'm not allowed to eat. Are you picking a fight?"
The brown-skinned blonde beauty raised a brow, her snake-like pupils narrowing in displeasure. She cracked her wrists with a series of sharp snaps, then cast a sidelong glance and let out a cold, scornful laugh, haughty to the core.
"Besides, a little girl like you isn't enough to stop me."
Vritra was the serpent Demon God, also known as an evil dragon, from the ancient Indian epics the Rigveda and the Mahabharata.
Her name meant "obstacle." She possessed the immense power to block the flow of water and bring about drought, and had waged several earth-shaking wars against Indra, the thunder god of ancient India.
She was also said to be an Asura, bearing the title of Asura King.
In the Mahabharata, Vritra was described as leading vast demonic armies such as the Kalakaya and Rakshasas, pushing the gods of Indra's heaven into a bitter struggle.
But in truth, during that Age of Gods, when myths and information from different lands bled into one another, "Asura" was simply a contemptuous term Indians used for invading gods from foreign countries.
Their true origin and nature lay in the deities of Persian Zoroastrianism.
Because of that, Vritra did not merely possess the power to "block everything." She could also turn that power into pure violent force and wield the Authority of drought. Her strength was terrifying.
Let alone one Martha. Even eight or ten of them would not be enough to match this war god.
In a sense, among the seven Servants summoned by Cyrus the Great this time, this seemingly seductive and enchanting blonde beauty could firmly rank near the top in raw power.
Aside from Cyrus, who supplied Mana to sustain her incarnated descended spirit body, there were very few capable of restraining this Asura war god.
So even as the atmosphere inside the tent grew sharper and sharper with the two women closing in on each other, the other four Servants tactfully stepped back and showed no intention of breaking things up.
"Martha, stand down. The compassion of a Saint should not be stained with too much innocent blood."
Seated upon the throne, Cyrus the Great first offered a gentle word of restraint to the purple-haired holy maiden. Then he swirled the golden goblet in his hand, his gaze flickering.
"As for you, Vritra, Xerxes has just recruited three heroes from India. Their names are Karna, Jinako, and... Rama...
"If you are interested in going with them, then you may join this battle."
The serpent Demon God first revealed a dark, malicious smile. But when she heard one particular name, her pupils contracted slightly, her eyelid twitched, and her wandering gaze abruptly lost its fire. In the end, she declined Cyrus's offer.
"Forget it. I suddenly lost interest. Rather than waste time on that, I'd rather go back and sleep."
"Very well. In that case, I happen to have other plans as well. Unless something unexpected happens, stay by that thing for now and wait patiently for the day of the final battle to arrive."
Cyrus the Great drew back his gaze, raised the golden goblet, looked slowly around the six Servants in the tent, then rose to his feet and spoke in a grave, earnest voice.
"Remember this. Answering the Holy Grail's call, you have descended upon this world in its hour of peril. Shun the bitter fruit of sin and evil. Devote yourselves only to the restoration of the Kingdom of Heaven and the coming of light!"
"By the contract! My body obeys your command, and my life stands with your sword!"
At that moment, the six figures in the tent knelt one after another and solemnly pledged themselves to their summoner.
...
While Cyrus was pacifying his six unruly contractors, the war on the front lines at Thermopylae had already begun.
Fully prepared, Leonidas rallied the Spartan soldiers into tight formation while looking down past the battlements to observe the enemy.
As the ground began to tremble, the first to advance were the Medes.
They wore narrow-sleeved, knee-length fitted garments belted at the waist, embroidered with exotic eastern patterns. Beneath those ornate clothes were linen armor or scale armor similar in style to that of the Greeks.
Each carried two or three short spears measuring roughly 1.5 to 1.8 meters, suitable for both throwing and close combat. They were accustomed to protecting themselves with dipylon-style shields with notches on both sides.
Some also wore short swords at their waists. Most of these soldiers had wrapped headcloths that exposed only the face, marking them as more poorly equipped, while wealthier Median soldiers wore steppe-style semicircular helmets beneath their headgear to make up for their weaker head protection.
Close behind them came the Scythians, wearing pointed caps with ear and cheek guards. Some nobles had helmets bought from the Greeks or taken from them in battle, along with studded leather armor, fitted tunics, and scale mail. Battle axes hung at their waists, and quivers sewn from the scalps of enemies were slung across their bodies, making them look savage and cruel.
The Greeks who had withdrawn from the Thessalian line nearly spat fire when they saw the bloodstained trophies in the Scythians' hands, but under the restraint of discipline, they held their ground.
Whizz! Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!
At the same time, to lessen the pressure of close combat, the main Persian force in the distance drew their bows before the battle even began and launched a vicious long-range volley.
Meanwhile, the scattered Medes and Saka at the front also bent their bows in coordination, releasing an arrow storm as dense as pounding drums and forming a continuous barrage of suppressive fire.
"Raise shields! Defend!"
At the order of the herald, the Greek heavy infantry within Thermopylae skillfully formed a shield wall to withstand the locust-swarm of arrows.
After several volleys, the arrow rain did almost no real damage to the heavy infantry. Even so, the arrowheads embedded in the shields increased their weight, and some slipped through gaps to pierce the arms and thighs of a few unlucky men, bringing blood and cries of pain and placing no small amount of psychological pressure on the shield-bearers.
By the time the wounded had been dragged to the rear for treatment, the enemy had already reached Thermopylae.
The Medes and Saka, now entering close combat, put away their powerful bows and rushed forward. The narrow mountain road stretched out their ranks and prevented them from making use of their superior numbers, leaving their formation disordered. At mid-range, they followed their usual practice and hurled several waves of short spears before moving in with another spear for melee, only to slam headfirst into Sparta's finest, the 300 royal guard.
While warriors from the other city-states had already switched to lighter linen armor or scale cuirasses, these 300 relied on their exceptional physiques and wore bell-shaped bronze cuirasses. Each man held a large bronze-rimmed shield in his left hand and a spear in his right, stabbing downward at Persian eyes or at necks left unprotected by helmets. As the front rank grappled with the enemy, the two ranks behind them took the chance to thrust through the gaps in the Persian shield wall, viciously finishing off anyone still standing.
Even when the occasional blade or long spear struck the bronze armor of the Spartan royal guard, the dense activated runes and the divine blood surging like tides within the soldiers' bodies sent violent shock through their attackers' limbs, numbing their hands and feet and throwing them stumbling to the ground.
Divine Blood Warriors! Damn it, they were all Divine Blood Warriors!
The Medes and Saka leading the attack were instantly dumbfounded. In a moment's lapse, wave after wave of soldiers were disemboweled.
Likewise, at the neighboring pass, Greeks from the other city-states exploited Thermopylae's terrain advantage, where one man could hold the line against ten thousand. From higher ground, they gripped their sharp spears and savagely thrust down at enemies wielding Persian blades, using long weapons to dominate short ones.
Alexander, who was directing the flank, had arranged the famous Greek phalanx in defense. It took the form of a wall of broad shields with layered spears stabbing out from between them in relentless succession.
The small shields and short spears of the Thracians and Medians in the Persian army had no way of matching this rotating killing machine. Men fell in batches before the shields of the Greek phalanx.
"No mercy! No prisoners!"
Leonidas roared as he drove his spear through two Persian soldiers and, with the royal guard as the core, launched a counterattack.
As the Persian soldiers at the front were cut down like harvested grain, the second rank of Spartan guards used the butt-spikes of their spears to stab the fallen again. The phalanx pushed slowly forward along the line, and the ground was soon strewn with enemy limbs and weapons.
Even when a warrior collapsed from exhaustion or from being struck by an arrow, the men behind immediately stepped in to fill the gap, while the others stepped over their fallen comrades and left them to the medical teams coming up from the rear.
In only a few dozen breaths, a single countercharge shattered the stretched Persian vanguard, burying several thousand men and forcing an urgent retreat to regroup.
The Greeks also withdrew back to their defensive line, clearing the battlefield, stripping armor and clothing from the enemy, collecting spoils, and breaking into thunderous cheers.
And yet, as Leonidas and Alexander looked at each other from atop the wall, their brows drew tight. Gazing at the massed Persian army, deep worry welled in their eyes.
This was only the beginning. A few small victories could not possibly reverse the overall situation.
Buzz!
Suddenly, a vast black mass like a rising tide flooded across the mountain road and surged forward. Two figures seated upon thrones were flanked from left and right, and in midair, a figure like a golden sun abruptly rose and began to shine.
The twin kings of Persia, the Immortals, and... that foreign powerhouse, Karna, son of the Indian sun god!
The course of this war was moving even faster than they had imagined.
Leonidas and Alexander exchanged a look, their hearts sinking straight to the bottom.