The Ocean of Giants, Hecate Island.
On the deck of the Argo, Caenis—once fearless of both heaven and earth—leaned on her spear and limped out of the cabin. She had barely taken a few steps when the little mermaid Rhode rushed up from behind and, half dragging and half tugging, kindly hauled her back inside.
"Oh my, you're hurt this badly and you're still running around? You need to rest properly! Aren't we supposed to be clearing a route together? Since we have time, let's get to know each other better. Oh, right—what good food and fun places are there in Athens? Keep telling me about them…"
Tell you about what?
Ever since we boarded this ship, your mouth hasn't stopped. If you're not eating, you're drinking. If you're not drinking, you're talking. Is there anything you can't do?
My ears haven't had a moment of peace. It's like a whole swarm of bees and flies buzzing nonstop right beside me.
I'm the injured one here. Can't you show a little consideration?
Caenis's body stiffened as she looked back with bitter resentment. But the moment her gaze met that innocent, guileless face that somehow felt disarmingly close, the urge to curse died on the spot. A thousand words were swallowed down, leaving only a disgruntled snort.
"I want to sleep…"
"Sure! I'll help you fall asleep. I'll let you in on a secret—I'm amazing at bedtime stories. I'll tell you about my experiences in the sea. There are so many interesting things, I could talk for three days and three nights without stopping."
Rhode, the little mermaid, was brimming with enthusiasm, eyes shining. Without waiting for an answer, she shut the doors and windows and began making the bed.
Damn it! I'm such an idiot!
If I'd known it would turn out like this, why did I ever take this escort mission? I should've gone straight to the Underworld and fought to my heart's content instead!
Caenis felt her temples throb, her head buzzing, her face utterly drained of hope as she cursed inwardly.
Damn it. I hate everything related to the sea.
As this pair of ill-fated companions began their uneasy adjustment to traveling together, the cabin door slowly closed. The sails were raised, and streams of magecraft light patterns shimmered into motion.
"Wind direction is perfect! Wind speed is perfect! Argo, set course for home!"
Inside the captain's cabin, Jason was flushed with excitement. He drew his sword and slashed it downward, his voice carried by a magecraft array to the ears of every Argonaut aboard.
"Hah, we're finally heading back. The Golden Fleece, plus all these gems and spices—we've struck it rich! Thanks for helping me out today. When we get back, how about I treat you to a drink, bro—"
The triumphant voice cut off abruptly.
The blond youth looked around the empty cabin, his expression stiffening. His gaze dropped, lips moving soundlessly. In the deathly quiet of the captain's quarters, that unspoken whisper gathered into two simple words.
Sorry…
The ship cut through the waves as the heroes took their positions. A pod of dolphins leapt and danced across the sapphire sea, joyfully guiding the Argo forward—guides sent from Atlantis.
…
At this moment, in the Interstellar City of Mountains, within the Corridor of the Machine Gods.
Triton, clad in scaled armor, stood silently before the transparent floor-to-ceiling window. He gazed into the distance, watching the Argo grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the Eye of the Tidal Sea, vanishing from sight.
Change is coming. You shouldn't be caught up in it.
Go. As far away as you can.
The merman prince murmured softly. As time passed, the trident in his hand—once etched with faintly glowing blue patterns—gradually dimmed. His figure was swallowed inch by inch by the afterglow of the setting sun, until it finally faded into stillness.
…
At the same time, above the Underworld, three colossal walls cast from bronze gleamed with shifting light patterns. Their bricks retracted like living creatures, folding inward to open a narrow passage.
A deep-blue vortex spread downward along the rift, and six figures wrapped within it leapt out at precisely the right moment, drifting down to land at the entrance of a jagged, pitch-black road.
The surroundings were steeped in darkness, lit only by the faint glow of drifting blue phosphorescent flames.
The instant they touched the ground, deathly energy—thick as black fog—seemed to sense the presence of life. It twisted into countless pitch-black serpents, surging forward to coil around and erode these living intruders.
Hum!
A clear, solemn resonance rang out, instantly spreading in all directions. Rings of crimson-black light patterns swept across the area like a violent gale, and the serpents formed from condensed death energy shattered and dissipated on the spot.
At the crossroads, Samael, who was leading the group, lowered his head and looked at the back of his hand. A black, crown-shaped brand with seven jagged points was emerging from the flesh, shimmering faintly in the darkness.
An Underworld… blessing?
The ancient serpent froze for a moment, then slowly smiled. A gentle warmth surfaced in his eyes as he raised his hand and lightly pressed his palm to his chest. Heat welled up in his heart, and his gaze softened with quiet remembrance.
"Ere… thank you…"
At the same time, little Medea and Circe snapped back to their senses and hurriedly waved their staves, casting Hecate's blessing of the Dark Moon upon their companions.
Naturally, the effect could only ensure that everyone could move normally. It was nowhere near comparable to the high-grade divine protection on Samael's arm, which could disperse vast swaths of deathly miasma with a single strike.
Did the God of War's mountain really have dealings with the gods of the Underworld?
Artemis blinked, completely at a loss, muttering to herself in confusion.
Whatever. As long as my dear Orion can be brought back, they can do whatever they want.
With remarkable ease, the Moon Goddess tossed aside the crisis facing her own father, Zeus. Hugging her lover tightly, she stepped forward with a light, carefree gait and rejoined the group.
Tartarus was born from the primordial chaos and void of the Greek world. It was the Abyss itself, the true body of the Netherworld.
As such, it was both the final destination of gods and mortal souls alike, and a prison for beings guilty of the gravest sins. Through the River Styx, it connected to the sea and the land.
Fortunately, through a twist of fate, their hastily recruited ally Poseidon happened to be both the gatekeeper of Tartarus's underground passages and the supreme god who commanded rivers and ocean currents. Entering the Underworld, therefore, was effortless.
Even so, this was still the stronghold where the Titans and other enemies of Zeus were imprisoned. Lingering too long would only invite trouble. They needed to move quickly.
Samael immediately took out the multicolored scale etched with the route by Poseidon. Using the faint glow of ghostly flames to confirm their direction, he led the group forward at speed.
Tartarus's defenses were divided into inner and outer layers. The outer layer consisted of three physical fortresses formed from towering bronze walls. Beyond them lay three invisible veils of darkness that distorted perception, suppressed authority, and brimmed with deathly aura.
To avoid drawing too much attention and alerting Zeus or Hades, the ruler of the Underworld, the ancient serpent had no choice but to follow the rules and pass through each veil one by one.
In the darkness, the team advanced along winding paths. Though the roads branched in all directions, the ground was uneven and difficult to traverse. From time to time, they stepped on brittle bones, the crisp sounds echoing eerily through the dead silence.
On either side were slick, freezing cliffs or yawning chasms that plunged straight into the abyss. Danger lurked everywhere.
Relying on the scale map that recorded key details, along with their formidable physical abilities and keen senses, they finally emerged from the deathly region shrouded by the three layers of darkness after roughly a full day and night of exploration.
From a nearby channel came the shrill roar of the River Styx. Even the wailing of the souls within the waters now sounded oddly pleasant.
The six of them let out long breaths. The tension coiled in their nerves eased slightly as they searched the surroundings and found a relatively flat stretch of open ground to rest.
They quickly traced a formation to ward off evil spirits, set up camp, and settled in for a brief respite.
Squatting on a blue-gray stone, Circe, who had taken up watch duty, looked out over the lifeless gray world and the cold, desolate scene that bore no trace of its former bustle. A sense of melancholy crept over her.
Seeing the heavy mood begin to spread among their companions, Samael rolled his shoulders, clapped his hands, and called everyone over. He sat down with a light laugh.
"Alright, alright. Time to use your brains. I've got a fairly interesting thought experiment. Whoever comes up with the most original answer gets a small favor from me."
With nothing better to do, the group perked up and gathered around, listening attentively.
"Hurry up, hurry up! I can't wait!"
Circe, who had been the most dejected earlier, was now the most animated, even smacking her lips impatiently as she urged him on.
Beside her, little Medea blinked her bright, sparkling eyes, her face full of anticipation.
Samael cleared his throat, organized his thoughts, and asked with a playful smile.
"Suppose the Argo is my ship. Because of damage and decay, I have to keep replacing its planks. After some time, every piece of wood on the ship has been replaced. At that point, is it still the same ship? If it isn't, then when did it stop being the original? When the first plank was replaced, or only after the last one was swapped out?"
The group fell silent in thought. The mutually contradictory answers they came up with soon left them frowning, utterly perplexed and unable to find a clear solution.
...
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