Apollo's answer could only be yes—because Rovi was no longer merely human. He now possessed the status of a god.
In Greece, that sort of thing was common enough. The Greek Gods who could walk freely in reality already held divine essence within human shells. What truly shocked Apollo was the shape of the "Godhood" Rovi displayed.
It was a Machine God of Atlantean civilization—nothing like the Greek Gods' present-day existence as purely conceptual divinity: a higher-dimensional core that manifested only as a beam of light.
"Cronus… I see." Apollo drew a sharp breath. "You devoured the Titan God-King's body itself?"
"Then of course you're qualified to enter this conflict."
His already respectful attitude grew markedly more deferential.
Yet the God of the Sun didn't recoil in fear. Instead, he looked faintly… excited.
"Then—now you and I are enemies."
"The victor of this war will receive the other gods' pledge, and for the next thousand years—on heaven and on earth—will hold divine authority second only to Zeus, King of the Gods."
"So I'll do everything in my power to defeat you."
With that, Apollo turned and left. Only the lingering afterglow of his brilliance remained, bathing the temple of Olympus in light.
Honestly, Apollo was the most normal Greek God Rovi had met so far.
"So you are a god." Aphrodite, on the other hand, seemed to relax. She flicked her flame-red hair. "No wonder I cared so much about a mere mortal."
"But even if you're a god—I'll make you acknowledge me, and kneel at my hem."
Aphrodite departed as well.
She took Ares's echo with her. Ares was her closest lover and comrade; standing at Aphrodite's side in the Trojan War was his duty. It was precisely why Mars had left this trace of his past behind—to fulfill the myth's required role.
An echo had no reason, no self—only a fog of duty. It acted, and it didn't care about Rovi.
The one tied to Rovi was Mars, not Ares.
"A third party in the Trojan War—challenging both sides' six major gods alone?" Hera smiled. "Then I look forward to your performance, God of Ten Thousand Machines."
Hera vanished. Hephaestus, looking troubled, pulled his gaze back from the direction Aphrodite had gone and followed after her.
No more gossip to watch, huh?
Hestia was considering slipping away too—when, the next second, she froze in place.
Because Athena suddenly leaned into Rovi's arms and kissed him.
Is it because I have no presence? If I leave now, will they notice I'm still here? This is so awkward...
Hestia tucked her head down.
But Athena's kiss wasn't impulsive.
She opened her arms and pressed herself fully against him, soft body snug against him through fabric. She rose on tiptoe as her hips brushed close, her slim waist shifting with a tenderness that felt almost like a promise.
A kiss—then separation.
Athena swept back her silver hair, the ends veiling red-gem eyes as she looked up at Rovi.
The goddess smiled. "Then—we're enemies for now too. I won't hold back, my only beloved."
"I'll prove it to you. My strength now is absolutely worthy of you."
Either she would capture him, or he would capture her.
She was the ruler of war—and now a God-King, master of a miniature pantheon of her own.
Athena had always been dignified and sacred.
She would never be anyone's burden. Never an ornament.
Even if she was willing to give everything to the one she loved—even if she chose to stand as his foil—that was because Athena chose it, not because it was all she could be.
"Wait and see—the one beloved by wisdom and war." With that, the Goddess of War left the temple of Olympus.
Just like Apollo, Aphrodite, Ares, Hera, and Hephaestus, Athena went down to the world of the living.
They were supposed to be the hands behind the game board—the ones moving pieces. Yet now, faced with the threat Rovi represented, the gods willingly stepped into the world themselves.
So on that day.
Within Troy, Apollo the Sun God, Aphrodite the Goddess of Love and Beauty, and Ares the God of War descended in person.
Divine light washed over every soldier, every commander, every demigod hero on the walls, sweeping away fatigue and gifting them power.
And on that day.
Within the Greek coalition, the Goddess of War donned a crown woven from the authorities of her many subordinate gods and stood high above. Hera appeared in the camp bearing the lightning and thunder Zeus had shared with her. Fire flared—Hephaestus's presence in the flames, burning with shifting majesty.
Greek morale surged.
And yet—just when people thought the gods' personal descent meant an earthshaking god-war was imminent—Troy and the Greek coalition both stopped fighting at the same time, as if by unspoken agreement.
Even the Uruk soldiers Rovi had summoned from the Netherworld fell silent.
They camped. They held position.
Rovi still stood in the Pantheon atop Mount Olympus.
He knew both camps—Athena's and Apollo's—were waiting for him to appear. To act.
Because of the power he had shown.
So the gods stood ready.
But after ordering Uruk's warriors to stay their hands, Rovi did not move.
In a corner of the temple, Hestia: "…"
She hadn't managed to leave in time. And now the black-haired Goddess of the Hearth realized she'd gotten herself into a spectacularly awkward situation.
If she moved, Rovi would definitely notice she'd been here the whole time.
And what he'd just done with Athena… probably wasn't meant for witnesses.
So Hestia discovered she might not be able to leave at all.
Because Rovi, too, was waiting.
Waiting for—
The "unjust war" to end itself.
...
"Achilles, what are you thinking about?" Night had fallen. In the Greek camp, bonfires burned. A boy with sharp, spiky, pale-green hair lifted his head at the voice.
A man in heavy armor sat down beside him. He was the coalition's commander—Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, a strategist of renown.
Weaving through the resting soldiers, he reached the green-haired youth and lowered himself to the ground. "What's on your mind?"
"Ah—so it's you." Achilles answered, then his face twisted into a cocky, irritated look. "I'm just wondering when I get to step onto the battlefield and tear those bastards apart."
"Hahaha! Don't worry. Your chance is coming soon." Agamemnon laughed and patted his shoulder. "Now that Lady Athena and Lady Hera have descended, victory—without question—belongs to the Greek coalition!"
"Hmph. Who cares?" Achilles clicked his tongue.
Agamemnon didn't mind the boy's arrogance. He knew Achilles had the right to it.
Achilles was the son of Peleus—the demigod hero who had completed the Argo's adventure and retired in glory—and Thetis, one of the three thousand sea goddesses. Born half human, half god, he'd trained from childhood until his spearwork reached the realm of divinity. He was the fastest of human heroes—and because he'd once been immersed in the waters of the River Styx as a child, his body was invulnerable to blade and spear, tough enough to rival divine weapons.
That strength made Achilles the Greek coalition's foremost spearhead in the war against Troy—the first to charge, the first to break.
So Agamemnon only laughed again. "Get some rest. The great battle will start soon."
The commander rose and walked away, stepping past bonfires and sleeping soldiers until his figure vanished into the camp's vast night.
Achilles curled his lip and glanced aside.
Above, the light of the Goddess of War blanketed the sky—brilliance no one could look at directly. Yet the green-haired boy felt something was off.
From the start of this war, something had felt wrong…
"Why do you still look so worried?" Another voice. Achilles raised his head to see a young man—his childhood friend, another demigod hero, Patroclus. "Did the commander say something to you?"
"Patroclus," Achilles asked, his expression no longer cocky like it had been with Agamemnon, but thoughtful instead. "What do you think… this war means?"
Since the gods descended, that question had grown heavier and heavier inside him.
"It means invasion," Patroclus replied, as if it were obvious.
With no "Helen abducted by Paris of Troy" as an excuse, the Greek coalition had still launched its campaign—but their declared casus belli was, frankly, flimsy.
This was an "unjust war," without any righteous claim.
In the past, Greek heroes wouldn't have cared.
"But my father's generation would!" Achilles said suddenly. "They'd care whether it's just. They'd care about good and evil, glory and shame—and what war is for."
"Your father… an Argonaut hero," Patroclus said, startled, then understanding. "One who went through the Sage's trial and grasped the spirit of heroism."
That generation really would.
Because they had been tested, and the ones who emerged were heroes in both strength and soul.
If it were truly for a nation—then even a shameful war could still draw heroes like moths to flame.
But this war wasn't that.
It was born from human greed and jealousy, and from the gods' standoff. After it ended, the kingdoms might gain nothing at all.
"Before I left, someone prophesied I'd die in this Trojan War," Achilles said, grin turning wilder. "And I came anyway, because I'd rather live brilliantly."
"But is an unjust war like this really the 'brilliance' I want?"
"Should my people die in a war like this?"
Should they?
If Achilles had never been touched by the Sage's influence, he'd never have asked.
But now—he did.
"So you're thinking the same thing after all, Achilles." A new voice cut in—one that wasn't Patroclus.
It came from the other demigod heroes supporting the Greek coalition.
In the firelight, soldiers cautiously moved aside, leaving a clear path as tall heroes strode forward.
Some were descendants of the Argonauts. Others had been inspired by the Argonauts' tale. They knew that story by heart—and they knew the Sage's teachings to the heroes of old.
They felt what Achilles felt.
"Our people's blood shouldn't be spilled like this." They came to one conclusion.
"Then let me see what you can do," Achilles said, still grinning. As the strongest hero present, he naturally became the spearhead.
"Don't worry." The tall hero with silver hair—Odysseus—smiled. "We're heroes too. Even if we must stand against gods, we'll still take this step."
"Yeah, Achilles!"
"You're not the only strong one!"
The heroes moved.
They would stop this war—a war that would profit neither nations nor people in the end.
In Troy, a hero moved as well. He was Troy's foremost champion, Prince Hector—short beard, always looking like a man half-asleep in life, sloppy, like he'd been coasting.
But now he stepped forward too.
To stop the war, both attacker and defender had to abandon hostility.
Both had to lose the ability to wage war.
So...
"You're surrounded, you know?" Facing Trojan soldiers coming from all directions, a man with a blade of grass in his mouth closed one eye and smiled—an extremely mocking smile.
In the vast night, before the war even began, both sides erupted into "internal strife."
The heroes killed no one.
Yet with the goal of stopping an unjust war, they acted.
And in that instant, the Sun God Apollo stationed in Troy snapped his eyes open, furious.
"Hector—do you understand what you're doing? You're defying the will of a Major God!"
In Greece, gods and men lived together; some gods were no stronger than demigods. But Major Gods were different. They stood above—and unless another Major God opposed them, their will was rarely something mortals could resist.
Light blazed.
A terrifying, scorching fire appeared overhead. Apollo, Aphrodite, and Ares manifested together—divine will descending like a blade.
At the same time, Hera appeared before the heroes with thunder in hand. Hephaestus silently called down heavenly fire. Athena paused—
And did not act.
Heroes faced Gods.
For the first time.
A gap that seemed impossible to cross.
But—
"A hero is someone who creates miracles—and crosses them!" Achilles threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Yeah… I'm scared as hell," Hector said with a crooked grin. "But I still can't let this war go on."
"I'm Troy's prince. This war came out of nowhere to begin with, didn't it?"
Different heroes, different places—same choice.
They raised their spears and pointed them at gods.
Greek Heroes were chosen by gods. They had always lived beneath divine shadows.
But now—spears leveled at Olympus itself, and the shadows in their hearts were swept away.
The heroes of old were heroes chosen by gods.
These heroes would become heroes of humankind—heroes who carried their own will. And that will was enough to cross any fear, any trembling dread.
"So that's it…" Apollo lifted his gaze, realization striking. "The mutated spirit of the Argonauts—this is what you're relying on, to oppose the gods alone."
Hera let out a long breath.
High above, a colossal Machine God descended slowly.
Rovi finally stepped out of the Pantheon atop Mount Olympus and appeared here.
Of course, it was really only "stepping outside."
The entrance to Olympus lay in the Caucasus Mountains, but Olympus itself hung in higher-dimensional space—like Mesopotamia's Heavenly Realm. One step forward, and you were in the mortal world.
He hadn't fully left Olympus, yet he could manifest before all eyes.
His steel-forged divine body glittered under the moon. Spread wings poured down scarlet wind and fire.
This was the moment he'd been waiting for.
His presence—
Was the miracle the heroes had made.
"I stand here, to bear witness to the worth of your courage!"
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Uruk's army raised spears and shields in unison and stepped forward.
The heroes laughed.
Oppose the Major Gods alone?
No.
Even setting Uruk's soldiers aside, Rovi had never been alone.
Because he had heroes too.
True heroes—heroes of humankind.