"The victor is Hippomenes!"
King Iasus delivered the verdict with solemn finality, and his justification was blunt. This divine descendant should have taken first place but was ambushed through despicable means. The rule-breaker would be disqualified, and the victory he stole would be reassigned to Hippomenes.
The arena buzzed with shock and hushed arguments. Then the middle-aged man with the trident slammed it to the ground. Water-blue divine might burst outward, sweeping across the stands as he spoke with cold arrogance.
"All who lost should have been executed by Princess Atalanta. Now, you belong to Hippomenes as slaves. Rejoice—this merciful divine descendant has spared your lives."
The unexpected offer made the surviving competitors waver. Their noisy objections quickly died down. They didn't care who placed first; none of them had any hope anyway. What mattered was that the winner could let them live.
As most of the arena fell silent, Atalanta—still reeling from being stabbed by her own father—could no longer contain her fury. She surged forward, ready to storm the platform and expose their shameless deceit.
But Samael stretched out his hand, catching her wrist. His eyes slid past the bruised, swollen Hippomenes in the stands and fixed on someone behind him.
"Don't rush. Watch. Looks like someone's about to speak up for us..."
Speak up for them?
Atalanta hesitated, following Samael's line of sight. There she spotted a white-haired youth holding a serpent staff, dressed in black medical-style robes with a hood, bangs crossing over his forehead.
Samael eased back, rubbing his fingertips as if settling in to enjoy the show.
Meanwhile, the calm white-haired youth lifted his right hand from inside his loose sleeve. A sudden voice came from beneath his half-mask.
"Wait. What I heard from the patient doesn't match your story.
He confessed that he used a mind-altering tool first, then deliberately attacked the contestant ahead of him—Theseus."
Hippomenes' triumphant smile collapsed. His swollen cheek twitched violently as he blurted in panic:
"That's not true! You're lying!"
The youth with the crisscrossed bangs pulled out a small, shimmering vial and held it up for everyone to see, speaking with cool certainty.
"It's true. To determine the cause of your injuries, I added belladonna to the pain reliever I gave you. According to my research, a certain component of belladonna induces a special sedated state. During that period, patients answer questions with unconscious accuracy."
Before Hippomenes could continue protesting, the youth smoothly drew a recording Magic Crystal from his sleeve and projected it for the entire arena.
Hippomenes' face turned a dark, ugly red. Even King Iasus and the demigod from the Temple of Poseidon looked grim under the barrage of doubtful stares.
A special component in belladonna... atropine? A mythical truth serum?
Samael blinked in surprise, unable to hide a flicker of admiration for the white-haired youth standing behind Hippomenes. As expected of the God of Medicine—he could even create something like that.
This young man with the crisscrossed bangs was indeed Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, also called Ophiuchus. He was Chiron's most exceptional student at the Academy of Athens and, after graduation, entered Areopagus directly.
His arrival meant Athena's side had sent someone.
I knew it. Hippomenes' injuries couldn't possibly let him get up and stir trouble without outside help. If he'd just stayed down, he might've kept his life. Instead he let himself be propped up on a pedestal, only to fall even harder. Killing the body and crushing the heart—Athena, that girl, always so vicious.
Ancient Serpent flicked his fingernail lightly and looked toward the stands where the performance was reaching its peak. His relaxed posture made him look like a fisherman settled on a rock, watching the waves of judgment rise and break.
At that moment, Hippomenes retreated pale-faced amid the chorus of boos, casting a pleading glance toward the demigod of the Sea God's temple.
"Thud!"
The trident, adorned with water ripples and fish scale carvings, slammed heavily onto the ground. The middle-aged demigod gritted his teeth with a cold snort, his gaze dark and ominous.
"Arcadia shall flourish and grow mighty through Princess Atalanta's marriage, forging new glory. This is Poseidon's divine decree!"
The crowd in the arena shifted uneasily, their voices momentarily silenced by apprehension. A guarantee from a Main God—whether genuine or not—was beyond their capacity to defy or question. Those competitors with pride and integrity exchanged helpless glances, casting pitying eyes toward the figure standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Princess Atalanta.
It seemed this man was likely the one Princess Atalanta awaited, while they were merely supporting cast. Yet emotion proved less resilient than the spearhead of divine authority.
Just as the crowd fell silent, their faces etched with sympathy, the God of Medicine on the grandstand slowly withdrew his Magic Crystals and responded indifferently.
"It seems the esteemed God of the Sea has yet to learn his lesson from the last trial at Areopagus.
In that case, I too have an oracle: Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War Goddess, blesses the union of Theseus and Princess Atalanta."
As the scroll was unfurled, golden characters transformed into luminous patterns that shot skyward. Pure white clouds dispersed, and two snow-white owls, each bearing a segment of olive branch, alighted upon the shoulders of Samael and Atalanta. The vibrant green essence dissolved into a stream of light that flowed into their bodies.
The demigod of the Sea Temple's expression darkened. Just as he prepared to utter some diplomatic platitudes, the God of Medicine—master of composure—extracted another scroll from his sleeve and unfolded it.
"Oracle of Themis, Goddess of Justice: Hippomenes has been found guilty of interfering with the race through underhanded means and falsely accusing others. All city-states that worship Her Majesty Themis shall deny him entry."
The demigod seemed to recall a certain son of Poseidon who had died in vain, his breath catching.
Yet immediately afterward, the God of Medicine leisurely drew another scroll of oracle from his sleeve. As he unrolled it, crimson light patterns descended from the clouds, coiling into a serpent that bit into Hippomenes' ankle.
Amid the young demigod's agonized screams, an inverted triangular scarlet brand emerged upon his forehead. The serpent of blood slithered into the crowd, coiling around Samael's palm before solidifying into a faintly glowing crimson gem.
The crowd's expressions turned pale. The Mark of Vengeance.
Those cursed with it endured the torment of venom daily, while their every movement became known to their enemy.
"Oracle of Medusa, Goddess of Vengeance: This is righteous retribution. The Temple of Vengeance shall facilitate it. The victim, Theseus, may now pursue the perpetrator, Hippomenes, to seize his honor, his wealth, and his life."
The God of Medicine delivered these chilling words to the contestants in a measured tone.
"Don't push it too far! This concerns the Temple of Poseidon. Hippomenes may have erred, but you of Areopagus have no right to interfere!"
At that moment, the demigod on the platform leaned closer to the healer, issuing a warning that was soft yet firm.
"By 'too far,' do you mean three oracles aren't enough?"
The God of Medicine glanced up at the demigod, continuing to rummage through his sleeve with casual indifference.
"Very well. I also have..."