Albert and Bruno were dragged into the great stone hall, their hands bound tightly with thick ropes. The flickering torchlight revealed carved pillars of warriors locked in eternal battle, and above them—on two high thrones—sat the twin kings of Sparta. Their gazes bore down like mountains upon ants.
The chamber fell silent as one of the kings leaned forward. His voice thundered.
"Why summon this meeting? They are outsiders. You could have ended them where they stood."
The young commander who had captured them stepped forward. Barely in his twenties, his armor still shone as if unscarred by war, yet his eyes were steady.
"My apologies, my king," he said, bowing. "But these two are… different. They know nothing of our customs, our weapons, or even our land. They fought with no technique, acted reckless. Our soldiers—and perhaps all our people—have never seen men like them. I do not believe they are spies."
A sharp laugh escaped the first king. His voice was firm, cutting like a spear.
"A pathetic excuse. You should be punished for sparing them. An outsider is an outsider—harmless or not. Last time we let one live, our people paid the price."
Before the commander could reply, the other king spoke. His tone was calm but precise, like a blade unsheathed in silence.
"Calm yourself, Agesilaos. These boys are no more dangerous than ants. Even our children could break their bones."
Albert's eyes darted around the hall, desperate for an escape, while Bruno remained silent, his pride crushed by the ease with which the old Spartan general had defeated him.
Agesilaos turned sharply to his fellow king, anger flashing.
"What did you say, Archidamos? That I should calm down? Do you forget the battles I've fought—the blood I've shed to defend our people—while you sit here weaving schemes?"
Archidamos did not flinch. His calm voice carried over the council like a river over stone.
"And yet, what is the use of land if there are no people left to call it theirs? You may win fields, Agesilaos, but I keep our city united. Without the people, your victories are as worthless as grass to a lion."
The hall stirred. The two kings now stood face to face, tension thickening the air.
"You dare speak of ideals," Agesilaos growled. "You, who have never stood on a battlefield? You speak with soft words while I learned through blood and fire!"
Before the quarrel could break further, an elder councilor rose. His voice, though aged, commanded authority.
"Enough. This council will not be the stage for your quarrel. This matter concerns Sparta's safety."
Archidamos bowed his head slightly. "My apologies for the dispute," he said with composure. Agesilaos only rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
The councilor's tone grew firm. "These outsiders cannot stay. The risk is too great. As head of the council, I decree they are to be executed."
The chamber erupted with applause. Agesilaos smirked in satisfaction, while Albert's face paled in horror. Bruno, beaten and humiliated, kept his gaze empty—yet a flicker of anger burned deep within.
Archidamos inclined his head, unshaken. "If that is the council's will, I will not oppose it."
Albert's heart raced. If he didn't act now, history would end with his blood on Spartan soil. He had read countless books, memorized countless tales of ancient Greece—but never imagined he would stand in one.
"Wait!" he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking through the hall. "If you are truly Spartans… then I demand trial by combat!"
The words froze the council. Murmurs filled the air. The young commander scoffed.
"Ridiculous. You stand no chance. Your friend was defeated by our elder general. Do you truly think you can face us?"
Albert swallowed hard, but forced the words out. "Yes. We can. Just give us… one year to prepare."
The hall buzzed louder. Agesilaos leaned forward, glaring.
"One year? Why should we grant such a foolish wish? Outsiders deserve no trials."
Albert smirked faintly despite his fear. "As I thought… Spartans are not as great as I believed. You're afraid of two harmless boys who don't even know how to fight."
The soldiers seized him roughly. "Say that again and your death will be slow and painful," the young commander hissed.
But Archidamos raised his hand. "Enough. Let him speak."
The soldiers hesitated, but obeyed. Archidamos turned to the council, his calm eyes glinting with calculation.
"This boy has challenged our honor. If we deny him, the name of Sparta will weaken. We are the sons of warriors who crushed Troy itself—will history remember us as cowards who slaughtered two helpless boys in fear?"
The chamber fell silent. Agesilaos growled, seizing Archidamos by the chin and lifting his face.
"Do you mean to say we should grant them a year? It is a trick. You are a fool."
"Enough, Agesilaos," the head councilor snapped. "Release him."
Reluctantly, Agesilaos shoved Archidamos back and stepped away, seething.
The councilor's gaze narrowed. "Then tell us, Archidamos—why should we risk this?"
Archidamos straightened, his voice ringing clear. "Sparta's greatness lies not only in its victories, but in its reputation. If other states learn we executed two defenseless boys out of fear, suspicion will spread. But if we grant them one year under our terms—if they train, eat, and live as Spartans—then their defeat will prove our strength to all. And if by some miracle they survive… we will have forged warriors of Sparta's making."
The council whispered among themselves, weighing his words. Finally, the head councilor rose.
"Very well. By the authority of this council, these outsiders shall have one year of training. At the year's end, their trial by combat will decide their fate."
Albert exhaled in relief, his body trembling. Bruno's lips curled into a rare grin—finally, a chance for revenge. Agesilaos clenched his fists in silence, while Archidamos allowed himself the faintest smile.
For better or worse, their lives now belonged to Sparta.
Meanwhile, in Athens…
Leo and Richard were dragged before the king, Princess Damaris standing proudly at their side. The chamber emptied at the king's command; he would not risk his council hearing what madness his daughter had brought home this time. Already she had shamed tradition—running away from the palace, learning archery, refusing every marriage alliance. If word of this latest scandal spread, Athens itself could be mocked.
"So it is true?" the king asked, his voice sharp. His eyes narrowed at Damaris. "You have chosen this stranger as your husband?"
"Yes, father," she replied firmly, chin lifted. "I have chosen him." Her blonde hair caught the light as she tightened her grip on Richard's hand.
Richard's stomach dropped. He and Leo exchanged a silent look: one wrong word and they'd be executed. Neither had the faintest clue how they'd even landed in ancient Athens—let alone in a royal marriage crisis.
The king's face hardened. "Then you leave me no choice. You shall be stripped of your title, and these men executed for disgracing this throne."
"I know you won't do that," Damaris said boldly. "I am your only daughter."
"Yes, and I love you," the king snapped, "but I will not allow this outrage! Alliances hang on your marriage. Our enemies will laugh if they hear of this."
"Why must I marry for politics when I already have a husband?" Damaris shot back. "If you truly loved me, father, you would not think of power before me."
"You dare question my love?" His temper flared. "You are reckless, ungrateful, spoiled beyond measure! Guards—seize them!"
Steel clashed as soldiers rushed forward. Damaris' eyes glinted cold; she snatched a sword and cut down the first man who dared touch her. But there were too many. Leo was pinned to the ground, and Richard stumbled backward as a soldier grabbed for him.
Then the king's eyes caught on something strange—Richard's phone.
"Wait," he barked. "What is that object you carry, stranger?"
Richard froze. His brain screamed do something! And then it clicked: bluff.
"My king," he said, forcing confidence into his trembling voice, "I am no stranger. I am a messenger of Olympus. The gods sent me to aid your kingdom."
The hall fell silent. Even Damaris blinked in surprise.
The king frowned. "A messenger? From Olympus? Prove it."
Richard lifted the phone and snapped a picture. He stepped forward, showing the screen. "Behold—the gods' gift. Your likeness, captured in this divine device."
The king stared at the glowing image, his breath catching. For the first time in his life, he saw his own face perfectly preserved. His hands trembled.
Leo, still trapped under two soldiers, muttered, "Unbelievable. This idiot really brought a phone to class. I'll kill him—if the guards don't first."
The king's suspicion flickered. "One miracle may be trickery. Show me another."
Richard swallowed. He opened a music file, and the booming anthem of a modern stadium roared through the hall. The king flinched, staring as though Zeus himself thundered in the chamber.
"This," Richard declared, voice steadier now, "is the voice of Olympus. The gods themselves bless Princess Damaris' choice. Deny it, and you risk divine wrath."
The king sank back, shaken. His mind wavered between fear and doubt. "If this is truly the will of Olympus…" He turned to his daughter. "Do you still claim this man as your husband?"
Damaris smiled faintly. "I already told you. He is my husband."
The king exhaled heavily. "So be it. One week from now, the wedding shall take place. Until then, chambers will be prepared for you and your companion."
"Thank you, your majesty," Leo said quickly, bowing even as guards finally released him.
As they left the throne room, Damaris leaned toward Richard. "You're an even bigger liar than I am."
"Huh? What do you mean?" Richard stammered.
"I can smell lies. I don't know what magic that object is, but it isn't from Olympus. Still…" She smirked. "You bought us time. And you saved me from a dull prince. But don't get the wrong idea—I don't love you. We'll just pretend for the crowd. So get ready to play husband."
She swept ahead, leaving Richard frozen.
Leo patted his shoulder. "Well, you pulled it off. But you really need lessons on women."
Richard groaned. "Lessons? Forget that. I just want my anime back. Instead, I'm stuck marrying a sword-wielding princess. Why does this only happen to me?"
Meanwhile, upon the heights of Olympus…
"So, you've already played your hand, Apollo."
The golden-haired god, rinsing the dust from his feet in a silver basin, turned at the sound of his sister's voice.
"Oh, indeed, sister," Apollo replied with a faint smile. "I granted my champion the divine gift of persuasion. With his tongue alone, he shall sway hearts and bend wills. A weapon sharper than any spear."
Artemis regarded him with calm, measured eyes. "A thoughtful choice, brother. Subtle… but dangerous."
Apollo chuckled, amused. "And you, sister—your move was far less subtle. The entire council of Olympus nearly gasped when you chose the runaway princess, Damaris. Even I was surprised."
Artemis's gaze drifted away, her voice quiet yet firm. "I prefer when the odds are against me. That girl has been underestimated, ignored, cast aside… yet in her struggle, I see something powerful. No one stands beside you when you falter—yet when you triumph, they all rush to embrace you. I chose her for that reason."
Apollo tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, you see yourself in her, do you, sister?"
Artemis rolled her eyes but did not deny it. "Perhaps."
"My, my… Artemis showing sentiment?" Apollo teased, grinning. "Tell me, have you blessed her yet?"
Her hand shot out and tugged sharply at his ear, making him wince.
"Not yet," Artemis replied coolly, ignoring his protests. "Her time has not come. When it does, I shall grant her my divine favor."
"Ow—ow! That hurts, sister!" Apollo groaned, struggling to free himself.
"You deserve worse," Artemis said evenly, finally releasing him.