Alkaios's POV
Perfect.
The way they grouped together was exactly as I had envisioned, displaying a tight-knit formation, an air of arrogance, and an obvious confidence in their collective strength. Bronze feathers and hooked beaks made them seem like a living storm, their wings overlapping like shields in formation, while every instinct inside him screamed they would overwhelm him. The corners of my mouth turned up in a smile. A single word was enough to convey the entire meaning of the situation.
"Shamak."
The spell did not create darkness, but it did, however, lead to the complete disappearance of any sense of direction. The world has lost its shared understanding of what "up" means. Although their bodies kept wings, balance organs, and instincts created for flying, Shamak made those instincts function within a falsehood. They attempted to correct it. Because of this, the Stymphalian birds crashed into each other.
A violent collision destroyed the formation, which they had maintained in a disciplined way. The talons raked at the armor-plated feathers of bronze bodies and clipped wings, and then the coordinated momentum turned into an impactful, panic-stricken chain reaction. Some birds collided with trees with such force that they broke branches and sustained serious injuries.
Some of the Stymphalian birds, rather than succumbing to their confusion, turned it into a tool. Adopting dive-angles, they yielded to gravity's pull, guiding their bronze mass to the desired destination, their movements akin to the precision of hurled spears.
I focused on letting my Aura encompass me, and I watched as my soul-light solidified into a hidden defense. Although it exhibited a predatory hunger by pulling at ambient mana, my control remained remarkably clean throughout the process. I placed every strand of power meticulously, as if I were driving in a nail with precision. My hand moved upwards toward the lake.
"Shīha."
The water violently rushed upwards, almost as though an unseen force had seized it by the neck. A spiraling column first rose from the water's surface, then its structure tightened, and finally, its speed surged, compressing the water with each rotation, and changing it. The vortex's swirl captured the birds as they descended. Beating and snapping, the wings worked against pressure. As the current pulled, the talons desperately tried to find something to hold on to but were unsuccessful in their attempt. Employing their beaks, they made efforts to bite their way free, yet they discovered only a chilling, unrelenting force.
As their panic escalated the chaos, I used the chaos as a tool, although my work was not yet complete.
"Fura."
As if it were a sharpened blade, the wind accumulated along edges that were not visible. Arcs of green-lit air that were precise, merciless, and incredibly thin sliced through the spiral repetitively, allowing easy passage between feathers and plates. The jointed wings moved and ripped and tore at the connective tissue, pulling the bronze quills apart. Blood resembling dye seeped into the cyclone, causing the water prison to transition from a clear state to red, and subsequently, to a darker hue.
Close to the outer rim, a few Stymphalian birds launched themselves into freedom, appearing to be injured, disoriented, and driven by a need to escape. Intending to eliminate every bird, I drew Reid from its sheath. Today, Reid was nothing more than a simple iron sword. These creatures were not even worthy of a glint from the blade.
As I stepped forward with careful consideration, the earth below graciously welcomed my feet. I opted for a narrower stance intending to improve my precision, foregoing the option of widening it for the sake of stability, and as a result, I could rotate my hips without the added difficulty of moving my mass. During the process of changing direction on the front part of my foot, the heel of my opposite foot left the floor slightly. Instead of aligning with the birds, I positioned my front foot a little askew, guiding myself toward my target after the swing. I inhaled deeply, feeling the air expand within my lungs while simultaneously sensing that my chest was being crushed.
My skin felt as though it was constricting, and my aura was tightening underneath, much like invisible armor being cinched. The flow of mana became stable, demonstrating not a chaotic surge, but a focused arrangement, and I collected the energy much as one would prepare a rope before a strenuous task, ensuring there was no looseness or inefficiency, with every bit of the effort channeled towards a singular aim. The instincts of the Sword Saint did not give rise to feelings of bravado within me. I received the edge angle, shoulder position, and the precise moment when my wrists stopped behaving as "hands" and instead transformed into hinges.
Because of the immense pressure, the mana inside grew remarkably concentrated, exceeding its containment capabilities and resulting in its visibility. It began by crawling along the blade before then spilling into the surrounding area, causing a slight paleness across the world, almost as if the sun had recalled a more frigid shade. My blade swiftly drew in all the surrounding mana, horrifying any nearby mage.
"Astrea Swordplay technique."
The blade was not responsible for generating the sound that was heard. The separation happened when the world realized it. A bizarre absence momentarily presented itself, evoking the impression of a surrounding vacuum, similar to the sensation of the air becoming attenuated around its boundaries, mirroring the feeling of an excessively prolonged breath. At that moment, the pressure that had been building suddenly released and snapped back. Describing it not as a mere "noise," the impact unfolded as a multi-stage event, beginning with a powerful rush of displaced wind, followed by a sharp, destructive edge at its leading edge, and then a more substantial, rolling force that pushed against trees and water in its wake.
The initial response from the air was not audible; instead, it manifested as a swift pressure change, creating a momentary illusion of reduced size in the surroundings. As a single, clean line of force erupted from my strike, the remaining birds became trapped within it. It was not possible for them to experience a death that was befitting of the circumstances. The force tore their bodies to pieces, reduced them to fragments, and then dispersed them into unrecognizable nothingness, so they couldn't even process the pain.
Metallic snowfall, like bronze feathers, gently descended and landed on a lake that was stained a deep red color. After a brief pause, the silence cautiously returned before it seemed to bend to an unseen force. The change was something I experienced, and I was aware of it before I could actually see it happen. The wind's usual patterns of movement had ceased. A sense of heaviness permeated the atmosphere, creating the impression that a colossal entity had drawn near, effectively dominating the area. As if it were trying to remain unnoticed, even the surface of the lake became still.
A sequence of precisely circular ripples that radiated outward disturbed the lake's surface because of the mass striking the far shore with considerable force. Because of the impact, the trees swayed in opposite directions because of the tremor. Unexpectedly, the stone fractured in a place where it should not have broken. I pivoted my body to face in another direction. At that moment, the object was present, and there it stood.
The individual whom I could only describe as the Alpha of the pack then made their appearance. With a height of four meters at the shoulder, the Alpha Beast was a sight to behold, further enhanced by wings spanning ten meters, a testament to its engineered lethality. Each individual feather appeared like a carefully crafted blade, arranged in a precise symmetrical pattern, suggesting a purpose related to warfare rather than simply aiding in the process of flying.
However, it was not just about the size of it. Three heads crowned the Alpha; each head had a bronze skull, and a writhing spine of iron and hate connected its singular body. Burning within each eye socket was a violet flame, exhibiting qualities of control, coldness, and focus, and yet, it was not a wildfire. Its talons possessed a heat that seemed to glow, a heat that was not like the heat of the sun or a blacksmith's forge. A brand resembling a second heart throbbed steadily between the expanse of its wings.
Ares.
Because of the mark, the world experienced a surge in aggression. The area around the creature seemed to behave according to a new set of rules, as though the natural world had been told to accommodate the language of fighting. Instead of roaring, it evaluated the situation, and then three sets of eyes blinked in response to the perceived dangers, each staggered, focusing intently on a distinct threat, whether it was my blade, my stance, or my breathing. Rather than a beast, this was a commander who simply possessed a physical form that resembled a beast.
"Did you study my little performance, I wonder?" My voice came out soft. "Good. Class isn't over yet."
Compressing my Aura, I threaded it through my muscle and bone, making it feel akin to steel reinforcement. Rather than feeling heavier, my body felt more authentic than ever before, as the strength of my soul permeated and expanded throughout my physical form.
The Alpha assumed a crouched position, lowering its body closer to the ground. The wings extended outwards, resembling defensive shields in their expanse. As the feathers prepared for launch, they shifted into an alignment, each one specifically angled for its release. I felt the sensation of being observed, with two pairs of eyes fixed on my hands and shoulders. With the third head focused on my feet, it was calculating the very first step I would take.
"Let's see what you've learned." I leveled my blade at the Alpha.
The tension built, and then it broke. The Alpha covered the ground in a flash. A talon came close, trying to end the fight and take my legs. Simultaneously, a head darted at my throat, its beak ready to kill.
My vision had already changed its position. What would happen was visible as white lines that appeared before the Alpha started moving. As the angles and timing clarified, it was determined that the safest place to be was in the doorway that had appeared.
I moved throughout the area, maneuvering my body to avoid the talons from contacting my legs, and a small step completely averted the throat strike. Because of the Alpha's aggressive actions, it surged forward, and in that instant, it presented its side as an obvious target, with a vulnerable gap between its wing and rib, and I struck.
"Fura."
The wind surrounded Reid's edge, and this action changed the iron, strengthening it into the light that comes with a storm. Unfortunately, the cut that I made on the flank of the beast did not cause its demise. Scattered outwards, the bronze feathers gave the impression of a shattered shield's fragmented remains. The divine blood, which was dark and heavy, and evoked images of ink taken from a starless night, sprayed out and hissed when it came into contact with the wet soil.
In response, the Alpha withdrew, not because of pain, but because of a surging feeling of outrage, and then it made the adjustments. Its wings spread suddenly, and their force buffeted the immediate area. The force of the air pushed through, bending trees and flinging the lake water into the air like a fine mist. The sudden shift in pressure immediately lifted gravel and struck my arms, while pulling my hair and cloak tightly.
Upon launching into the sky, it swiftly transformed distance into a position of authority and control. Bronze feathers, released in a series of volleys, were each purposefully directed, coordinating to guide the direction of my motion. A green-black shimmer coated them, the toxin neither dripping nor flowing but clinging like oil, forming a net, a kill-grid, which was not trying to hit me directly but was instead attempting to make the next attack unavoidable.
The Sword Saint's vision could convert the continuous stream of attacks into a set of mathematical problems. White lines outlined the course of every feather. A deliberate and economical approach marked my progress, with no wasteful sprinting or frantic dodging as I went through them. Reid, as an extension of my purpose, twisted in my grasp, altering dangerous pathways, removing the slightest edges, and keeping any harmful substances from gaining entry.
Although three of them still slipped through the cracks. I didn't see them because the arrangement concealed them, cast from purposefully flawed perspectives to exploit my reliance on symmetry, not because I failed to observe them. A feather contacted my shoulder, followed by another that tagged my thigh, and then a third that slammed against my ribs.
My Aura reacted just in time to prevent them from delivering a deep bite, preventing the poison from being released into my bloodstream. However, the impact's residual force continued to permeate my skeleton, and my body quickly registered the effect, which clarified that this experience could cause fatigue. Within my chest, a sense of warmth unexpectedly flared, and a feeling of resonance, a newfound knowledge, established itself, much like the growth of a new muscle.
Divine Protection of Arrow Evasion.
I perceived a delicate alteration in the world, though it was not immediately obvious. Rather than a dramatic spectacle, it was as if the atmosphere itself had become less conducive to the effectiveness of ranged combat. The feathers, which were supposed to have formed flawless lines, instead appeared slightly askew.
Fueled by fury, the leader shifted its flight to jagged turns, circling high above as it sensed a change in the air. The colossal monster realized that its dangerous projectiles could no longer reach me.
Opening my left hand, I channeled Yin-element mana into it, a necessity to ground the alpha. The substance gathered together, thick and chilly, much like the sensation of not having any heat. After drawing a large amount of mana from my gate, I cast the most powerful spell I knew.
"You see everything from up there," I breathed. "Let's see how you fly when reality stops agreeing with you."
"Ur Shamak."
The spell did not unleash darkness, but a profound sense of wrongness, and it immediately destroyed the Alpha's control as it bravely flew into it. Wings were flapping against a place that had no definition and did not want to define where they were going. While attempting to make corrections, a single head found that there was no horizon available for referencing. Another one of them snapped, letting out a scream that seemed to be directed at nothing at all. Desperately searching for a direction that made logical sense, the third head twisted and turned.
The sky was no longer its dominion, and it descended, not like a predator diving, but as if someone had cast down a monument. The force of its passage was so strong that it slammed through trees, and in its wake it carved trenches where the tips of its wings contacted the ground. Upon affecting the shoreline, the force of the hit caused cracks to radiate across the stone and packed earth, and the lake appeared to tremble, as though the impact's effect reverberated through the earth.
I started moving, hunting the beast with a specific mission, after the alpha relinquished control. The path meandered across the ground, which was strewn with broken branches, while the scene also presented a wing joint that moved in a way that gave the impression it was trying to take flight, along with armor plates damaged from the fall.
As I approached the beast, I could get close enough to reach my target. The brand of Ares, beneath the bronze, throbbed with a burning intensity that radiated outward and caused the air above it to distort from the heat. Given the current era where belief determines reality, I regarded the brand in its true form, as something fabricated, understanding that such fabricated things are prone to failure if mishandled, and so I pressed my palm downwards and chanted.
"Goa."
The heat that surged forward was under control and highly concentrated in its delivery. As it changed, the bronze metal went from dull to orange, then red, and finally white, a hazardous state. The metal underwent a process of expansion. The seams showed signs of stretching and strain. Despite the Alpha's violent struggle, Ur Shamak could maintain its fragmented sense of coordination. During this time period, the act of shaping bronze was a common practice undertaken by all blacksmiths. I could vaguely recall from my recollection Nikos mentioning how simple it was to heat bronze. Pushing forward, I continued to apply pressure until the war-mark stuttered, the brand's certainty faltered, and the emblem of Ares grew hot, which was when I chanted a different spell.
"Huma."
The cold suddenly affected the heated metal, causing steam to erupt violently from each seam and rivet instead of gently, and this contradiction of conditions forced the steam into existence, causing the bronze to protest. It was common knowledge among blacksmiths that the cooling process for bronze needed to be gradual. The cooling of bronze is a delicate process, and if not done correctly, it can lead to cracking, similar to what happened with the famous Brobdingnagian Tsar Bell. Mirroring the fate of the Tsar Bell, the Ares brand also experienced a division, as cracks spread across its surface, resembling the intricate pattern of stress fractures.
Divine power broke free, manifesting as screaming ribbons of light that violently snapped in the air before dissolving into a state of instability. As all three throats attempted to speak simultaneously, the resulting utterance seemed less like an audible sound and more akin to an intense pressure, creating the impression that the very air was being forcefully compressed within its jaws. I could feel the shoreline quaking under my sandals. The torch fire behind me flickered and weakened, not because of any breeze, but because of the extreme power of the sound it had to contend with as it resonated outward.
The creature's three heads recoiled with a jerk, as if something unseen had pulled them back. The left head reared and snapped, staring at nothing, while the right head convulsed, its beak gaping open, and the center head locked onto the fractured brand, seemingly unable to grasp the magnitude of the betrayal. Its eyes exhibited a violet flame that burned brightly before flickering, because it was no longer fueled by certainty, nor was it held in a steady state by the war god's influence. The scream, now more intense, resurfaced, a sharp, overwhelming surge of pain, which conveyed the same sentiment as a soldier witnessing the destruction of his flag: such a thing should not be happening.
As it thrashed against the ground, its wings shuddered and scraped, the feather-blades digging into the stone as though they could somehow cut away the pain it was experiencing. After a feeble, unsteady pulse, the damaged mark grew dim, causing the Alpha's body to convulse in unison, a reaction that suggested the culmination of an internal revelation.
"Even war-forged things are not indestructible," I whispered to the alpha as I quickly sprang back and assumed a fighter's ready stance. It is especially true when you do not quench them correctly.
The Alpha, with aggressive movements, stood, though not gracefully. There was a time when the Ares brand had a constant and hateful sense of certainty, but that was no longer the case as that feeling had dissipated. The air near whatever this "it" was, stopped being subservient, and no longer yielded. Regardless of how much time had elapsed, its immense size remained, and it could still cause fatalities.
However, the beast had lost its privileged status, and the diminution of divine power caused the alpha to suffer noticeably. I observed the alteration in the way its feet contacted the surface. Its wings, although too damaged to allow for complete lift, adapted by taking on another function, no longer for flight, but for maintaining balance, and becoming protective armor, with blades kept close, ready to slash any threat.
As the three heads rose into view, they did not snarl in the manner of beasts, but assessed the situation with the calculating precision of commanders, with the left head focused on my sword hand, and the right head scrutinizing my hips and shoulders. Like it understood the significance of a fighter's steps in determining the outcome of a fight, the center head maintained its focus on my feet, carefully calculating my distance and the angle of my approach.
The slender, unwavering white lines reappeared, resembling inescapable threads that were interwoven with claws, necks, the edges of wings, and the damaged sections of its armor, and I could observe them once more. I was never told the word "win" by them, but they informed me that death, which could be located here, was the only thing they spoke about.
Opting for a ground war strategy, the Alpha did not rush forward but proceeded in a sequence of brief, eighty movements, each one probing the slippery earth of the shoreline and adjusting its mass just enough to conceal its upcoming action. The creature used its wings to generate an illusion of increased size, spreading them partially, which made it appear larger and closer, thus enhancing the perceived threat, subsequently prompting the instinctive impulse to withdraw.
I did not retreat; instead; I made a deliberate change, understanding that a single step backward would have caused my heel to sink into the wet sand, which would have compromised my traction at the critical moment. Instead, I ever-so-adjusted my foot, making a nearly imperceptible change that improved my pivot. I adjusted my weight so that it was on the balls of my feet, and keeping my knees bent and my stance low, I was ready to spring into action without losing my balance.
While holding Reid, I kept the blade pointed downwards, conveying a sense of neutrality, neither threatening him nor extending an invitation. The deceptive nature of neutrality is that it can make those with predatory tendencies become impatient. Attempting to make me flinch, the Alpha's left head lunged toward my forearm rather than my throat, which would have been the obvious choice. The creature seemed to want my defenses up, and as soon as I raised them, the right talon started its attack, already in motion, and cutting toward my legs.
The Alpha bird constructed the trap, which was then divided into two separate sections. A significant threat elicits a powerful response, and then they apply a less forceful strike to end the encounter. The left head came close enough for me to feel the heat from its bronze beak, and then with only a subtle movement of my wrist, not my whole arm, I positioned Reid's flat to intercept the snap without using my shoulder. Rather than a direct block, my blade's motion was used to channel and shift the energy from the incoming blow.
The back foot pivoted a quarter turn, changing its position. As I moved, my hips naturally followed suit. Rather than moving away from the talon sweep, I was actually moving in a direction to go around it. The lead foot went up just enough to pass the cutting line, and then came back down in the precise spot that the sweep had finished, and as the talon went through dirt and space, the Alpha could sense it. Once more, all three heads exhibited the mechanical sequence of twitches, which showed that their calculations were being updated.
Following a change in its rhythm, the creature progressed, its wings only partially open, beginning to flick the tips of its feathers outwards rapidly in a series of quick motions. Instead of a ranged volley, it felt as though someone was throwing knives at close range, intending to disrupt my advance and force me to use my blade to defend rather than attack.
While not overwhelming, the effect Arrow Evasion had on the world was gentle but noticeable. The worst lines arrived slightly off target, but even though I did not have to waste any movement to avoid them, I behaved as if they were fatal. While staying silent with my sword hand, I kept my footwork active and in constant motion. Through minute movements, from heel to toe and then toe to heel, I constantly adjusted my centerline, ensuring that a perfectly straight line was no longer achievable. The feathers either passed me by, embedding themselves in the soil behind me, or they just barely scraped against my Aura's outer layer, leaving me unharmed.
That outcome did not sit well with the Alpha. Instead of biting, the center head made a sudden move forward, its purpose being to create some space. The intention was to use a bronze skull to shove me, forcing me to fall backward onto the lake's pliable ground, where my feet would slide, and the skull's force would then crush me; that was a clever tactic, a display of adaptation, so, I almost yielded to its design.
I allowed my shoulders to shift slightly backward, creating an illusion of retreat, an impression of instability, and the appearance that I had become more cautious. As the center had moved intending to finish the play, and in that moment became overcommitted, I quickly responded with a pivot. Not a full turn, just enough.
After firmly planting my lead foot, my back foot slid into position to create a triangular stance, while my body simultaneously folded to the side, similar to a door opening on flawlessly aligned hinges. Rather than connecting with the push, the center head's action resulted in Alpha finding empty air located right next to my ribs.
The shift in the Alpha's weight created the first significant opening for me on the ground, so I restrained myself from executing powerful swings because wide swings serve as a declaration of intent, and skilled tacticians are quick to exploit such overtures, hence I implemented a slice, a concise draw-cut, meticulously aimed across the seam at the base of its wing, targeting the region where the heated plate was already in a state of expansion. Like softened wax, Reid's edge, which was still touched by the last memory of Fura, parted the bronze. They were actions that lacked depth and decisiveness; they were enough to cause a widening of the opening I had formed using temperature fluctuations.
The Alpha, no longer appearing offended but filled with anger, recoiled as the divine blood welled, appearing black and heavy. Rather than simply measuring, its heads ceased that function and instead started the process of prediction. Quick darts toward my face, thrown by the right head, were feints meant not for impact but to induce a blink, momentarily obstructing my vision. Anticipating a mistake, the left head fixated on Reid's angle, tracking it with intense focus, as if waiting for me to overextend. My feet were the subject of the center head's undivided attention, a gaze that was as focused and intense as a hawk when it is watching a rabbit.
To force a mistake, the monster used the rhythm of fast-fast-slow, contrasting it with slow-fast-fast. A stutter step, then a sudden lunge, the sound of the creature's claws scraping the stone. My body shifted rhythm with each expected beat, so I discarded its rhythm and adopted my own.
I made myself as small as possible, minimizing every motion. Each response was smaller than expected. My choice was to abstain from positing compensation for damages. Although I was unwilling to get involved, The Alpha attempted the exchange and started trading. As it moved into the space, it used its talons to grip firmly into the stone, and then it used its wing as protection, the sharp feathers acting like a blade to deflect my attack, which provided an opportunity for the left head to target my neck.
Following a classic strategy, one would bind the weapon and silence the mouth, yet it remained oblivious to the fact that it was binding, for Reid was not a weapon I wielded, but the very foundation upon which I stood. By trying to move my centerline, you are offering me your balance, and I permit the wing to contact my blade, and I drop my weight, which means I wasn't retreating, I was sinking. With my knees flexing, my spine remaining rigid, the force seemed simply to glide away from my sword, much like water sheds effortlessly from a stone. I moved into the curve of the wing, not away, and so I entered the area that it expected I would fear entering.
When the left head came down, I pivoted my shoulder just slightly and in doing so; I avoided its beak, which passed extremely close to my jaw and the heat from it brushed against my skin, and then I made my move, but not against the head, instead, I attacked the leg.
Taking a single step. The blade sliced through a vulnerable area, a low cut across the front of the tendon-enjoy plating positioned above the Alpha's talon, where the need for flexibility limited the thickness of the armor, and as a result, the blade bit, causing the Alpha's foot to stutter, its weight to shift so it shouldn't, its mass proving to be a disadvantage for the first time.
The creature immediately attempted a correction, with its central head lunging downward in a snapping motion directed at me, while its right head angled towards my sword arm, and a wing lifted to recover its equilibrium, but the creature was already faltering, its movement appearing to slow in its own micro-second. I have already compensated, as compensation brings a sense of predictability, which I see as a valuable asset, and I have embraced this.
I took a small step backward, just a fraction, and then brought it closer. I made it so that the beast could see the opening. Let it believe I'd finally played safe. The invitation seemed to spark a preference for brute strength over strategy, as it embraced the idea of overpowering me.
It lowered its body and drove forward in a straight-line surge, trying to end finesse with weight. Two heads came at my torso, one aiming to clamp my shoulder and drag me down, the other aiming for my ribs. The third head stayed high, ready to strike if I tried to jump.
A full-scale collapse. In the end, I felt the ground give way under its weight. I felt its claws scrape against the stone on the beach. I didn't flinch as I watched the white lines blaze, as if destiny was bringing me closer to the end. The lake lay in wait behind me, poised to make me fall. Sideways was going to cut me with his wings, so I didn't swerve.
I took a step, placing myself in the critical area between its forward trajectory and its turning radius. This was a blind spot, a place where a large animal was defenseless once it moved. My shoulder dipped below the snapping heads. My Aura tensed around me, absorbing the cut that would have wounded me. Being so near it, I could feel the heat from the alpha radiation.
Completely shifting its weight into the lunge, with front claws gripping, back legs pushing, and all three heads focused, it sprung the trap.
"You were made for war," I whispered, steady and cold. "So break like a sword that's seen its last battle."
"Dona."
Simultaneously, the ground around its feet burst open, fashioning two massive, reaching hands that moved in sync with the moment it fell. A hand made of earth grabbed the left leg, pulling it downwards. The other one grasped the right and pushed it down to kneel.
The Alpha fought, claws scraping against stone, its wings spread but failing. With furious intent, they dropped their heads and tried to bite whatever held them, but once the animal lost its balance, it was helpless.
The collapse made necks drop. Three clear, unavoidable roads to death appeared, prepared. I lunged ahead, using Fura to envelop Reid in a dazzling light, and honed the blade to its utmost sharpness.
I moved a small step to my left, positioning myself away from the closest part of the wing. Taking one more small step would ensure my blade sliced through the most vulnerable spot, not the strongest defense. I stood with my knees bent, my weight balanced, and Reid tilted, ensuring the edge wouldn't hit anything directly.
The Alpha struggled fiercely against the earth's pull. The wings spread wide, brushing the stone, and their feathery edges scraped from the effort. It contorted, straining to wrench a leg loose, to rise even a little. Simultaneously, the three figures shifted, their movements now frenzied. The right head attacked my shoulder, and the left head attacked my forearm. The middle head rose high and quickly dropped, coming toward my face as though it could resolve everything by eating it. Killing was not the intention behind the attacks. Their goal was to be disruptive, to cause me to pause, and ultimately, to make me forget what I was saying.
I knew the answer before I could even ask, thanks to the Sword Saint's perception. White threads traced the outlines of the mouths, talons, and wings, but the brightest feature was three precise lines of destiny, coursing through the necks and meeting in one location.
At the center of the neck, in the area that had expanded because of the heated plate, tiny cracks had spread across the bronze from the rapid cooling. Because all three necks needed the same support, they used a single hinge for themselves.
I allowed the closest beak to get near, feeling its warmth. My shoulders moved slightly; I didn't back down or panic, just a tiny change that made the bite miss.
Instead of strength, I used timing. With my front foot grounded and hips turned, I kept my hands still to hide the cut until the last second. Reid moved in a straight, efficient path, edge aligned to slide through the weak point rather than clash against strength.
The blade sliced directly down the center, like a final judgment. The interaction was fleeting. It didn't take long for the resistance to end. The wind magic performed its intended function, preventing the metal from maintaining its form. After the Alpha momentarily lost its ability to move, its body reacted slowly to the event, and then it fell apart.
The three heads came apart neatly, dropping to the ground without a fuss. The creature's body made a final, desperate attempt to move, driven by ingrained instinct, but then collapsed as its coordination failed completely. Dark, sacred blood flowed in thick torrents, not spattering or theatrical, but simply gushing, as though an ancient secret was being released.
I moved away to keep the falling thing from hitting my legs. Heavy, lifeless, and utterly still, the heads hit the ground and rolled before coming to a stop. The white lines I saw disappeared.
I released Fura. Reid's form shed the storm's light, which vanished as if it had never existed, and I exhaled only at that moment.
The Alpha was a strategist, a deviser of traps, a being whose purpose was to punish errors. Thus, I did not offer it any mistakes, but I gave it a lesson it couldn't endure.
I brought Reid down and then ended the spell. The stone hands let go, and the remnants of the Alpha collapsed, its wings drooping, legs failing, and its massive bronze body sinking into the ravaged ground, as though the struggle had been its sole support. My skin absorbed my Aura, and my limbs gradually lost heat in a regulated flow. After taking a slow, calming breath, and then another, my shoulders released their tension.
'I never knew I was capable of so much strength,' I whispered in disbelief.
Reinhard van Astrea was impossibly strong, and even at half strength, I dominated the Stymphalian birds. I looked at the cold, lifeless corpse. The heads lay on the ground, their vacant eyes staring at the sky.
Then I walked over, and as I shoved all three heads into my haversack, it expanded, as if it had been waiting, swallowing them without a sound. I grabbed the Alpha's fur, and with the metallic tang of blood in the air, I started dragging it back to Stymphalos.
'This is it,' I thought, as the bronze carcass filled the air with the smell of metal against the earth. 'With this, the wind carried whispers of a new era for Greece, an age of heroism and epic tales. An eight-year-old boy completed the sixth legendary impossible task—the kind meant for Greece's greatest heroes—before dinner.'
When I returned, the sun was at its zenith, casting harsh shadows. Before I saw the town, I could already hear the townspeople's hushed whispers filled with disbelief and fear.
"Is that… the Alpha?"
"No… it can't be. That thing's wings are wider than a grown man."
"Gods save us—look at its heads. He cut all three clean off…"
"He's dragging that alone. How—?"
"That's not a boy. That's something else."
From their doorways, wide-eyed children watched as mothers urgently pulled them inside. Old warriors' faces showed a distinct lack of color. Nikos, the blacksmith who had given me my armor earlier, stood frozen in his doorway with his mouth agape. With a wry grin playing on my lips, I walked up to him.
"I told you I'd come back, my friend. I plan on sacrificing the Alpha of the Stymphalian birds. Will you accompany me?" I asked Nikos, who was still quite seeing the massive corpse.
Nikos blinked, as if escaping a bad dream, then nodded, leading me toward the town center where a weathered altar stood.
"Alkaios, whom will you be honoring?" Nikos asked, voice strained. "You could surely win the attention of one of the Twelve," he said, his words hanging in the air.
"You'll see," I said. "It will be quite a sight."
Most of Stymphalos had gathered in the plaza, and the sun beat down as we arrived. As the fire blazed, I dragged the Alpha up to the small shrine, the scent of smoke thick in the air. The priestess must have lit it in advance, filling the air with incense.
I planted my feet firmly and let my voice boom.
"People of Stymphalos—you've heard and seen what I did today. For those who have not, I announce this: no longer will the Stymphalian birds threaten our home. I have destroyed the flock and brought home its leader."
I pulled the three heads out of my haversack and held them up, their dead eyes staring blankly at the sky.
"We have suffered terror for far too long, with no help in sight. Justice has lost meaning in Arcadia and the surrounding lands; monsters and bandits believe they have free rein. That is why I offer this conquest to the Goddess Astraea today—in the belief that Justice always comes around, like it did today."
My voice, though firm, carried no heat of anger, only the unwavering echo of conviction.
"I will change my name. I will no longer be merely Alkaios of Stymphalos. Today I proclaim myself:
Alkaios Astrea.
I take the name of Astraea so that when people hear it; they remember Justice walks the land of Arcadia—and does not allow injustice to remain. I will travel to Mount Pelion in Thessaly at the end of the week to seek the counsel of the legendary Trainer of Heroes, to become worthy of this name and keep my promise to you and the goddess. Lady Astraea, I offer this to you and swear to honor the name Astrea with pride."
I proclaimed as I lifted the heads and dragged the Alpha's body to the shrine-fire. A breeze rose from nowhere—cool, clean—brushing my shoulders like a mother's hand. Then the wind stilled. Above, the sky brightened—not from the sun, but from something purer. Light without glare. Starlight in the afternoon.
The ground beneath the Alpha radiated with a faint heat, almost like a mirage. Sinking into the earth, the beast was no longer a terror as it had been judged, weighed, and returned. Then I heard it—words that resonated within me, touching the deepest parts of my being.
"He who delivers divine wrath, tempered by mortal will. Who cleaves corruption not for glory, but for law—shall wear the veil of my sight."
A blue and gold cloak settled onto my shoulders, its weight a comforting warmth. The clasp felt steady, a cool metal against my skin, and on its face, a single drop of blood tipped the scale against a weightless feather. Adorned with gold, the gift shimmered in the light. A mantle, the fabric whispering against my back, felt smooth. A clear voice cut through the silence, delivering the verdict. I was no longer just a warrior, but Astraea's champion, ready to defend the world. At first, the crowd was silent, a heavy quiet hanging in the air from the shock.
Nikos was the first to move.
His grimy hands came together once—hesitant at first, like he didn't trust his own body to believe what he'd seen. The sound was small, swallowed by the open air. Then he did it again, and this time he meant it. Scarred palms met with a sharp crack, and the motion steadied his breathing the way a man steadies himself at the edge of a cliff.
He kept going. Each clap landed heavier than the last—slower, louder, more deliberate—until it wasn't just noise anymore. It was a rhythm. A decision.
A child near the front copied him, clapping too fast at first, hands stinging, eyes wide. A farmer joined with broad hands that struck like a worker's tools. Then a priest, the sound of his claps tight and precise, as if even approval had to be offered properly.
The rhythm spread through the plaza like fire catching dry brush. One set of hands became ten, ten became dozens, and soon the air was full of it—an overlapping thunder of palms meeting palms, uneven but unstoppable. The clapping didn't just fill the space; it pushed the last of the fear out of it.
And then the plaza broke open.
Cheers surged up, raw and desperate and alive. Voices rose over one another, not orderly, not polite—people shouting because their lungs still worked and because they needed the world to hear it.
"Alkaios!"
"Astrea!"
"Astraea! The goddess walks with us!"
A mother wept openly. A hunter knelt. They weren't just celebrating a victory. They were witnessing a turning point.
Arcadia stirred.
And I stepped fully into legend.
Chapter 2: The Lake of Blood and Bronze End