Chapter 96: Medea's Love Was Kicked Away
This time, Rowe did not hold Hermes responsible for anything.
With Hermes's authority, he could barely manage troublesome lesser gods. Expecting him to stop a main god was already asking too much.
Let alone the supreme god among the main gods.
Poseidon, King of the Sea.
Even Rowe himself had not noticed it at first.
As one of the three great kings of Greece, Poseidon might not stand quite at Zeus's height, but among the main gods he was unquestionably supreme.
And on the open sea, no one could interfere with whatever the Sea King decided to do.
Still, that thought did not depress Rowe.
If anything, it pleased him.
Since Poseidon had already begun to pay attention to him…
Then Zeus should not be far behind.
Rowe imagined the face of the King of the Gods when he finally noticed him, that mix of arrogance, fury, and divine self importance, and he could not hold back a quiet laugh.
"A strange laugh for no reason," Atalanta said from the reef nearby, cutting a sideways glance at him. Her expression radiated undisguised disdain.
"If I am happy, I will laugh," Rowe replied without shame. "So, kid, you have been standing up there for a while. Have you seen anything?"
"Do not call me that!"
At once, Atalanta's back arched and her beast ears stood straight up, fur bristling. She bared her teeth, trying to look fierce, though it only made her seem more like an angry kitten.
"Fine, fine. I will not call you that. Children grow up, after all. They get harder to handle."
"Wah!"
Atalanta finally snapped.
She kicked off from the rock and lunged, biting down on his forearm with all the force of a wild animal. Only after staying like that for a while did she seem to calm down.
"Hmph."
The princess of Arcadia turned away with a blush still on her cheeks.
"There is a city ahead."
A city.
That should be the Kingdom of Colchis, where the Golden Fleece rested.
"Then let us go," Rowe said, smiling. "We will enter the city first and see what this Golden Fleece really is."
Since they had been sent here ahead of schedule, there was no need to go back and wait for the heroes of the Argo.
Better to see if he could simply take the Golden Fleece before anyone else arrived.
Even if the fleece was a treasure of Greece, the legends said that no one who laid hands on it ever came to a good end.
Rowe wanted to see for himself.
To see whether it could grant his wish.
To let him die.
"Hmph. Do as you like," Atalanta muttered. She wiped away a trace of drool that had not completely left the corner of her mouth, her face still pink. "I hope you die in there."
Yet, despite those words, she still could not help following behind him.
"My pleasure," Rowe answered.
…
"Someone claims to be a hero from afar, begging for the legendary Golden Fleece?"
In the great hall of the palace of Colchis, King Aeetes sat on his throne.
His face was already marked by age, but his posture remained straight, his tall frame still giving the impression of a warrior. As he listened to the report from his guard, his eyes narrowed slightly. Within them, a faint green light flickered.
"Do not see him," he replied without hesitation.
As the land that held the Golden Fleece, a treasure almost unique across the entire Aegean, Colchis drew visitors in droves. Men calling themselves "heroes" arrived in every generation, each one seeking a glimpse of that treasure.
But a treasure so exalted was not something Aeetes would casually display.
It was not that he feared their swords or schemes.
He possessed powerful knight attendants, and he himself was no weakling.
His father was Helios, the Sun God.
His mother was Perse, a daughter of the ocean.
If his inheritance of that power had been just a little stronger, he might easily have become a true god instead of a demigod. Even so, this bloodline meant that, despite his years, Aeetes still had enough strength to tear beasts apart bare handed.
He had no reason to be afraid.
Just as the attendant was about to withdraw to deliver the king's refusal, a clear voice cut across the hall.
"Wait, Father."
"My dear daughter Medea, do you have something to say?"
Aeetes turned his gaze to the speaker.
It was a petite girl.
Her light purple hair was tied up in a high ponytail, the loose strands at her forehead drawing attention to her fine brows and eyes. A simple white gauze dress wrapped her slender waist, the skirt split just enough to show a flash of pale thigh. Her calves, clad in white stockings, bent slightly as she curtsied.
This was Medea, the princess of Colchis, not yet sixteen.
Aeetes, as a father, cherished this daughter of his.
Medea, however, had never abused that affection.
Even now, she maintained a respectful posture.
"Father, may I ask that man's name?"
"With Your Majesty's permission," the attendant replied, bowing his head, "he calls himself Rowe, from Arcadia."
Rowe.
Like most people of this era, Medea thought instantly of the Sage of Uruk from the stories.
Of course, that was a figure from more than a thousand years ago.
It was probably just a coincidence of names.
"Regarding this man, Father, I believe you should meet him," Medea said quietly. "I can feel that he carries the blessings of many gods."
Aeetes's eyes narrowed further.
A "hero" who had received multiple divine blessings was not someone he could dismiss casually.
Colchis lay far from Athens and Arcadia, and news among common people traveled slowly. The recent legends about Rowe had not yet spread here.
But the blessings of the gods alone were enough to make any ruler cautious.
"Let him in," Aeetes ordered with a wave of his hand.
The attendant immediately left to carry out his command.
"My daughter, you have helped your father again. Do you desire a reward?" Aeetes asked.
"Father, I hope you can spare those commoners…"
Before she could finish, the gentle expression on Aeetes's face vanished. His features hardened into cold iron.
"This is the one thing I cannot grant," he said firmly. "This country is my country. Even if the taxes I demand are heavy, how can commoners be allowed to complain?"
"I must use their deaths to affirm my authority."
Medea fell silent.
She had expected such an answer, yet hearing it aloud still left a bitter taste in her throat.
Aeetes was a tyrant.
Everyone in Colchis knew it.
He was cruel, arbitrary, and wasteful, and all of his extravagance was piled upon the backs of the common people.
He did not permit even the faintest dissatisfaction.
A single word of complaint about his taxes, spoken carelessly over a drink, was enough to see someone seized and executed by palace guards.
Medea was Aeetes's daughter, but she was also a sorceress of the divine age, learned in many things.
She knew the path her father walked could only end in tragedy.
And yet, she had no power to stop him.
All she could do was let out a quiet sigh, the sound drowned by the echo of footsteps approaching the hall.
Steady steps.
She looked toward the entrance, and Aeetes narrowed his eyes once more.
The one who appeared was a young man.
A youth, really.
Black hair. Black eyes.
A slim frame with a cultured, almost gentle bearing.
Rowe walked in alone.
Atalanta remained outside the palace. The princess who had grown up in the forest had no fondness for crowded halls.
"King Aeetes, greetings."
Rowe gave a small bow.
Aeetes rose at once and offered a similar gesture. A man blessed by multiple gods was, at the very least, an equal in standing.
"So you are Rowe," the king said. "I am Aeetes, ruler of Colchis. This is my daughter, Medea."
Is it really him…?
Medea watched with open curiosity.
This man was clearly different from the frauds and braggarts who had come before.
He looks… very handsome, does he not?
The thought slipped through her mind, and color rushed into her face.
Her heart gave a strange little jolt, as if pierced through by something sharp and feathered.
For an instant, Medea felt her whole body tingle.
"Wait a moment."
Rowe's apologetic smile flickered across his lips, then he casually reached up and grabbed at empty air.
From that "empty" space, he yanked out a small, winged child holding a bow, the little god's face full of disbelief.
"Eh? How did you find me? How can you even see me? Wait, what are you doing…?"
The child's shocked protest cut off as Rowe swung his leg.
With one smooth kick, he sent the boy flying.
Medea stared, speechless.
If she had not been mistaken, that child had to be Cupid, the god who governed love.
This strange "hero"…
Had just literally kicked away the god of love.
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