Chapter 97: Let the Warrior Slay the Dragon
Only after Rowe sent the little winged child flying did Medea manage to look at him again.
The strange rush of heat in her chest from earlier had already vanished.
That alone told her everything she needed to know.
There was no mistake. That child really had been Cupid.
Only the arrows of that mischievous god could make a person fall in love at first sight the moment they laid eyes on someone.
But emotions dictated by someone else were always something pitiful.
Medea felt a quiet relief settle over her.
At the same time, her impression of Rowe grew even softer.
He had cut off that manipulation before it could take root.
"Alright, let us continue," Rowe said as he clapped his hands, as if nothing serious had happened at all. He lifted his gaze to Aeetes, who was still standing there in stunned silence.
"You truly are… remarkable," Aeetes finally managed after a long pause.
"It was nothing. Hardly worth mentioning," Rowe replied.
For him, it really had been little more than swatting aside a fly.
Cupid, the god who governed love, was a habitual troublemaker in Greek tales. Even gods were not exempt from his "pranks."
As the concept of love given form, he could toy freely with the hearts of those pleasure seeking Greek deities.
However, if one could perceive him, catch him, and remove him first, then his influence could be avoided entirely.
That much was trivial for Rowe.
And he certainly would not let Cupid act unchecked.
If he recalled correctly, it was precisely because of one such prank that Medea, princess of Colchis, had been pushed step by step toward the path of a vengeful witch.
As for offending the one behind Cupid, Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty…
Frankly speaking, Rowe would be delighted if another god came down with the intent to kill him.
"Someone, bring Lord Rowe a seat," Aeetes ordered.
Whatever cruelty he hid in his heart, on the surface the king remained impeccably polite.
Rowe, however, did not sit.
"Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty," he said. "But I have already stated the purpose of my visit. I hope you can grant it."
"You mean the Golden Fleece?"
Aeetes tilted his head slightly and tapped the armrest of his throne with one finger.
"You should understand that the Golden Fleece is a unique treasure bestowed upon us by the gods through Hermes. It is not something just anyone can take."
"That is precisely why I cannot let this trip be in vain," Rowe replied.
He then revealed the divine favors that wrapped around him: blessings from Ares, Athena, Artemis, and Hermes, who, in this case, could be considered there merely to fill out the list.
Aeetes's expression shifted. A moment of calculation flashed through his eyes, followed by a reluctant nod.
"In that case… very well."
He paused, then added, "But I have conditions. I will explain as we go. If you regret it, you are free to turn back at any time."
Just as in the story that would later be told, Aeetes demanded that Rowe:
First, subdue the pair of divine bulls with bronze heads and iron bodies, the beasts he used for plowing the fields, which spewed flame from their mouths.
Second, after plowing the land, sow the teeth of a poisonous dragon into the soil and then defeat the fierce warriors that would grow from it.
Third, finally face the vicious and cunning dragon that guarded the forest and the Golden Fleece itself.
Three trials. None could be skipped.
If Rowe could accomplish all of them, Aeetes swore in the name of his kingdom that he would hand over the Golden Fleece.
Rowe was not surprised.
He already knew the script, but he still put on a serious face and listened as if for the first time.
Aeetes glanced at him, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faintly smug arc.
These trials were merciless.
Unless a god descended in person, there should have been no way for any mortal hero to pass them.
What Aeetes did not know was that Rowe's thoughts had already wandered somewhere else.
They left the palace together, escorted by a contingent of guards.
The city state of Colchis sprawled around them, its streets wide, its buildings dignified under the sun. Yet the sunlight that spilled over the rooftops, glinting faintly, illuminated more dust than life.
People hid inside their homes.
Faces that should have been lively and sun tanned were instead sallow and drawn, peeking timidly from barely opened doors and shuttered windows.
A country that should have been thriving under divine favor was withering under Aeetes's rule.
Rowe's gaze swept over the hollow eyed citizens, then flicked briefly to the rooftops, where Atalanta shadowed them from above, bow in hand.
On his other side was Medea, her brow faintly creased with worry as she walked.
"Interesting," he murmured, then lifted his eyes forward.
They had reached the fields.
"Please, Lord Rowe," Aeetes said, gesturing.
Rowe nodded and took a step into the open ground.
A thunderous bellow shook the air.
Along with the tremor came heat. Flames burst out, and two titanic shapes emerged at the far end of the fields.
The divine bulls.
Aeetes's lips curled in self satisfaction.
In the next heartbeat, his smile froze.
Because the two massive bulls that had appeared so ferociously turned around the instant they saw Rowe and bolted without a backward glance.
Aeetes stared blankly. Medea's rose colored lips parted slightly.
Only Rowe looked mildly amused.
"Where did you get these two bulls?" he asked casually.
"It is said they are divine beasts from Uruk," Aeetes answered before he even realized he was speaking.
In other words, they were "descendants" of the Bull of Heaven.
Or, more accurately, remnants of the Bull of Heaven's cloud like body, dispersed long ago by Rowe, had later recondensed into these creatures.
Their strength was perhaps only one ten millionth of the original.
Even so, they barely qualified as successors of the Bull of Heaven, enough to inherit one thing perfectly:
The instinctive terror engraved into them when they first faced the Sage of Uruk.
He really did keep meeting old acquaintances wherever he went.
"If you do not want a beating, come back here," Rowe said.
He did not raise a hand or take a step.
He simply spoke.
At once, the bulls froze mid flight, then, trembling all over, shuffled obediently back toward him like giant, nervous oxen.
Aeetes watched his "beloved beasts" in silence.
He knew how much effort it had cost him to tame them. He had nearly lost his life to them in the process.
And now…
Aeetes suddenly felt that his past efforts had been entirely pointless.
Was this the power granted by Artemis, the goddess who governed hunting and taming?
"Continue, Lord Rowe," the king said, forcing himself to maintain a calm tone. "Use the bulls to plow the land, then sow these teeth into the soil. Fierce warriors will soon sprout from it."
He handed over a container.
"These are the teeth shed by the dragon that guards the forest. They carry the resilience of a dragon's strongest part. At the same time, the warriors they produce bear the blessing of Ares, God of War. Only the blades in their own hands can pierce their bodies. You must take care."
At this point, Aeetes could not help regaining some confidence.
Yes. This time it would work.
A short time later, the ground, freshly plowed by the docile divine bulls, began to shift.
"Roar!"
Warriors burst out of the earth, armor clanking, spears and shields in hand. Their eyes, the moment they opened, locked onto Rowe, and they charged at him with a single, furious war cry.
Rowe raised his hand and slapped the nearest one across the helmet.
"What are you roaring for?"
The Sage's rebuke exploded in the field.
The warrior he struck stood there stunned, jaw hanging, as if his thoughts had been knocked out of his head.
Aeetes also stared.
These were war spirits blessed by Ares himself.
And this man's first reaction was to slap one in the face.
Was he trying to die on the spot?
"You," Rowe said, his voice suddenly turning calm. "You will immediately go and subdue the dragon in the forest. I want it alive."
The method he used was the same as when he had dealt with Ares.
He reached through the blessing of the God of War branded on himself, touched the same concept that dwelled within these warriors, and twisted it in his own favor.
"Yes!"
The earthborn warriors immediately knelt in unison, their voices merging as they took the command.
In perfect order, they formed ranks, turned away from Rowe, and marched toward the forest.
Aeetes said nothing.
His mind had gone numb.
Was this a test he had set for another?
Why did it feel more like he was the one whose ability to accept reality was being tested?
Medea watched, completely entranced.
She had never imagined that the trials her father had crafted, obstacles that had crushed so many so called heroes, could be brushed aside in such a casual manner.
Could it be…
This man really was the Sage of Uruk himself?
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