Exiting the contenders' room, Alex strode confidently toward the Arena's entrance, following a familiar path. His iron greaves echoed loudly against the marble floor, filling the corridors with a resonant cadence. The sound was both light and heavy, as if each step carried a restrained power.
Alex's thoughts turned to Pantheon, the great warrior of legend whose spirit had inspired him. Pantheon had been an ordinary man, but his unyielding will had made him a legend. Even after a divine essence overtook his body and was later destroyed by an enemy, Pantheon did not falter.
He rose again, wielded his spear and shield, and became the protector of mortals, determined to fight against gods and demons who endlessly brought suffering to the world. To Alex, Pantheon was a testament to how strength of spirit could overcome any challenge.
Though Alex had little respect for heroes who relied on the power of friendship, Pantheon was different. His story lacked unnecessary words about unity or magical bonds—only an indomitable will that refused to break under the weight of destiny.
Lost in his thoughts, Alex didn't even notice when he reached the stone gates leading to the Arena. He stopped, planting his spear in the ground, and lifted his gaze to the vaulted stone ceiling, as if hoping to see the stars.
«Hey, Hlökk, how are you holding up?» he asked mentally, frowning slightly.
At that moment, Hlökk, the seventh of the Valkyrie sisters, was in Alex's spiritual realm. What she saw had left her shaken: memories of bloody battles, the dark castle of the Demon King, and a black blade orbiting his soul, radiating a primal force of destruction.
It was too much for her—her consciousness had faltered, and she fainted. Yet, even before losing consciousness, Hlökk had managed to realize who stood before her. Alex, hiding his identity, was no ordinary warrior but the very man who had once felled Poseidon. Neither Brunhild nor Hlökk herself had recognized his true nature.
Now, awakened by his voice, Hlökk opened her eyes with a shudder, glancing around. Alex's spiritual realm remained unchanged: the oppressive aura of destruction, a black castle surrounded by ancient sigils, and a sword exuding a threat to all life.
«W-w-who are you?» she stammered, her voice trembling as she struggled to steady herself.
Alex, standing by the Arena gates, felt her unease and raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Hrist, his previous Valkyrie partner, hadn't been so overwhelmed, though she had been tense. But Hlökk seemed ready to faint again.
«Didn't you see my memories? I didn't hide them. You could have figured out who I am,» Alex replied calmly, his voice resonating in her mind like a quiet yet confident call.
Hlökk took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. She was torn by conflicting emotions: fear, respect, and, surprisingly, curiosity. Alex, embodying destruction itself, appeared calm and kind—a paradox she couldn't comprehend.
She attempted to delve into his memories again, but what she saw was unbearable. Her eyes rolled back, and she fainted once more, this time with foam at her mouth. Alex could have sworn she hit the floor when she collapsed.
«Since when does my spiritual realm have a floor?» Alex wondered with mild irritation, noting the odd detail before brushing it aside to focus on the upcoming battle.
Meanwhile, the Arena began to transform. Before the eyes of mortals and gods alike, its layout changed. The pool with a central stone platform disappeared, replaced by a standard battlefield. Massive stones began rising from the ground, resembling small cliffs. The vibrations from their emergence rippled through the stands, silencing the spectators.
The final stone erupted from the earth with dramatic force, and the field now resembled a rocky wasteland—an ideal stage for a clash between two of the strongest warriors.
When the transformations were complete, the noise among the spectators subsided. The Colosseum was enveloped in a tense silence, broken only by the resounding heartbeat of anticipation, pulsing as one.
«And now! The moment we've all been waiting for!» Heimdall's voice thundered across the Arena, amplified by the Gjallarhorn. «The fourth battle of Ragnarok begins! Today, we shall see if humanity can even the score or if the gods will claim yet another victory!»
His words ignited a new wave of excitement in the hearts of the crowd. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the warriors to step onto the battlefield and fight for the fate of mankind.
Heimdall, the Norse god and guardian of the World Tree, stood atop the highest rock in the center of the Arena. His commanding voice drew immediate attention from both sides of the audience. All eyes turned to him as a broad smile lit up his face.
He was dressed in an unusual cloak with a hood pulled over his head, while dark glasses obscured his eyes. His face, with a coal-like hue and a metallic sheen to his mouth, resembled a machine. His body was bare except for the cloak, with dark knee-length shorts and oversized boots reminiscent of clown shoes.
«Before you stands a stone desert, the final resting place of countless warriors!» he declared, his voice amplified further by the Gjallarhorn. «Today, on this field, two challengers will meet—each the embodiment of the word Warrior!»
His proclamation stirred the crowd into a frenzy. Mortals, who once cowered before the gods, now gazed at them with defiance, debating the outcome of the battle. Alex's past victory had breathed courage into humanity, transforming their fear into determination. Heated debates erupted in the stands, teetering on the brink of conflict.
«If we don't crush their hope, mortals will stop fearing us,» Loki muttered grimly, his gaze fixed on the human section of the crowd.
His words gave other gods pause. They knew that each human victory further threatened their dominance.
Noticing the tension, Heimdall raised a hand, commanding attention.
«But first! Welcome the representative of humanity in the fourth battle of Ragnarok!»
A strong wind whipped up clouds of sand over the Arena. A wooden bridge connecting the gates to the battlefield slowly descended. Stone statues of warriors with swords and shields lined the path. At that moment, the heavy gates began to part, and Heimdall's voice grew louder:
«Born in a humble village at the foot of the mountains, he was named after a star in the constellation of the warrior, and from childhood, he knew his destiny. His path was not easy. He lost comrades but never surrendered. This warrior was once unknown, but his will has become a legend!»
Out of the sandstorm stepped Alex, clad in armor. His face was hidden beneath a helmet, and a tattered blue cape, marked by the ravages of time and battle, billowed from his shoulders. In one hand, he carried a shield, and in the other, a golden spear. Step by step, he advanced, his movements heavy but assured, as though every fiber of his being radiated strength and resolve.
«He was neither strong nor skilled. All he had was his indomitable will!» Heimdall continued. «There have been many like him throughout human history—unknown warriors whose names were lost to time. But what set him apart was his unyielding spirit. Even when wounded, even when broken, he continued to rise and fight. Every battle left scars on his body. In every battle, he lost comrades who fought by his side. Yet, he never fell. He held his shield high to protect his home and gripped his spear tightly, aiming it at his enemies!»
Reaching the center of the arena, Alex drove his spear into the ground with a sharp motion. Cracks spread across the stone floor, symbolizing the power of his strike. The crowd froze in tense silence.
«And now,» Heimdall extended his hand toward Alex, «This nameless hero, whose name no one knows, carries another name. He is the warrior who remained unknown and forgotten, but even so, he would not accept the destruction of what he so fiercely sought to protect. He is the Shield of Mortals, defending the world from the folly of gods. He is the Spear, aimed at the hearts of their enemies. He is PANTHEON!»
The arena erupted in cheers. The name Pantheon echoed across the stone stands, sweeping the spectators into a whirlwind of emotion.
The humans in the crowd began to cheer for the warrior, who, though unknown and forgotten, had risen to their defense. They immediately understood that Pantheon sought no glory or greatness. All he wanted was to fulfill his duty and protect what he had sworn to safeguard. This realization brought tears to the people's eyes: fighting for them was one they had never known, whose name was not recorded in the annals of history, yet who still took up the spear and shield to become their defender and symbol of hope.
Brunhilde stood at the entrance to the spectator seats, in turmoil. On one side, Hercules, the hero of humanity; on the other, a warrior who, remaining unknown, still stood in defense of mankind. Her thoughts were consumed by the upcoming battle and its potential consequences.
«I hope you're as strong as I think you are,» she murmured, gazing at the arena. «After all, you were recommended by Adam's own brother.»
For humanity, this victory was crucial. It could level the odds in the battle against the gods and inspire mortals to fight. But if the battle was lost, the gap would only widen, further shattering the spirit of humanity. The Colosseum, filled with the noise of the spectators, suddenly fell silent as Heimdall's voice once again cut through the stillness:
«And now, entering the arena is the one ready to bear the burden of his side's defeat and achieve victory! Welcome! The valiant demigod who tamed two Nemean lions! The one who, with the power of his fists, subdued Cerberus, the hound of Hades!»
The wooden gates on the opposite side of the arena swung open, and the spectators were presented with Alex's opponent. A pair of horses pulled a chariot, upon which sat the majestic warrior. It was Hercules. His appearance was accompanied by gusts of wind, and his gaze, peering out from under thick brows, reflected seriousness and determination. In one hand, he held the reins; in the other, a massive club.
«He is the one who completed the twelve labors, who ascended the steps of Olympus!» Heimdall proclaimed.
Cries of excitement and jubilation rang out from both the human and godly sides. For humanity, Hercules was the hero who had completed his great labors; for the gods, he was the one who halted the Gigantomachy and brought the Titans to their fall. But for Alex, Hercules was a traitor, one who had turned away from those he had once sworn to protect.
«Light for the gods and humans. The messenger of justice. Bravest of the brave! HEEEEEERACLES!!!» Heimdall declared.
Hercules leaped off the chariot, gripping his club tightly. He walked toward the center of the arena, where Alex awaited him. The tension between them grew, like a taut string.
«Justice against indomitable will. Indomitable will against justice. Who will prevail? Who will become a legend, and who will fade into oblivion? We will see this only here and only today!» Heimdall proclaimed loudly, announcing the beginning of the battle.
Alex and Hercules stood face to face. Alex held his shield firmly, and his golden eyes never left Hercules' gaze, which radiated determination and readiness for battle.
«State your name, warrior,» Hercules said, with no trace of arrogance. «I see before me a worthy opponent. To fight such an adversary without knowing his name would be disrespectful.»
Alex did not answer. He confidently grabbed the spear lodged in the ground and pulled it out. Lifting his gaze to the sky, where the clouds drifted slowly, he then refocused on his opponent.
«I have no name,» Alex boomed. «I am just a man who took up a spear and shield to defend my home. Throughout human history, there have been countless like me. But we all stood until the end, never letting the enemy pass. Here and now, I am the embodiment of the nameless warriors who defended humankind. I am proof that the spirit of these warriors lives on. And I hold the spear and shield to protect those you betrayed.»
His voice, rough and strong like the rumble of thunder, echoed over the arena, making every spectator freeze in place.
Alex's words, like an explosion, reverberated through the crowd. For humanity, he became not just a warrior but a symbol of self-sacrifice and strength, one who sought no glory, wealth, or recognition.
Before them stood a man who had dedicated himself to protecting his kind, nameless, but with an unyielding will. The people understood why he called himself the embodiment of all those nameless heroes who had given their lives for their homeland throughout the centuries.
However, Alex's words enraged the gods, and in their eyes, he seemed insolent and arrogant. They shouted from the stands, hurling insults at him. But Alex remained indifferent to the noise. To him, the gods were merely beings accustomed to idleness, unaware of what it meant to fight or protect.
«You are a worthy opponent,» Hercules said with sincere respect, no hint of pride or contempt in his voice. «It will be an honor to fight you.»
There was genuine resolve in his tone. Hercules accepted Alex's words, but they made him think. He understood the pain and fury his opponent felt. He understood that he had turned away from those he had sworn to protect.
But the choice he had made could not be undone, and he resolved to bear this burden until the end, fighting until his last breath. Gripping his club in his hands, Hercules took his battle stance. Alex, seeing his determination, also raised his shield and aimed his spear at his enemy.
Time seemed to freeze. The tension between the two opponents was so palpable that even the spectators stood still, afraid to miss the moment the battle would begin. For the seasoned warriors, it was clear that the first strike could be decisive, determining the outcome of the entire duel. Alex and Hercules stood, staring intently at each other, as if trying to peer into each other's soul. Hercules, with his club resting on his shoulder, took a slow step forward.
Suddenly, he vanished and instantly appeared before Alex. His club was already raised, ready to strike. Without wasting a second, Alex held up his shield to absorb the powerful blow. The collision of the club with the shield created a deafening shockwave, sending sand into the air and cracking the earth beneath their feet.
Alex withstood the attack like an immovable rock, pushing the club back with force. This caused Hercules to slightly expose himself, an opening that Alex immediately seized. He lunged with his spear, aiming for the opponent's torso.
Hercules managed to dodge, but the spear grazed his side, leaving a bloody scratch. Feeling the blood trickle down his skin, Hercules did not flinch. He gripped his club with both hands and swung it vertically, targeting Alex's exposed torso. Instead of blocking the strike, Alex struck the flying club with the upper edge of his shield.
The collision once again caused a powerful shockwave, scattering stone debris. The force of the blow pushed Hercules back several steps, while Alex remained standing, unmoved, like a mountain that could not be moved.
«You are a true warrior,» Hercules said with a faint smile. «Fighting you is an honor. Even if I fall in this battle, it will be a worthy death.»
Alex did not respond immediately. He lifted his gaze to the sky, watching the slowly drifting clouds. His golden eyes dropped back to Hercules, and he spoke in a hoarse voice:
«The world moves as the heavens lie still. No matter how much I look at the stars, they remain unmoving. But the world continues to move forward. And you have sided with those who wish to stop it. I cannot honor you as you would like, for you have betrayed those you swore to protect. All your deeds, all your oaths—they were made for the protection of humanity.»
Alex raised his spear and pointed it at Hercules, his voice carrying an indomitable strength.
Alex's deep voice, like the rumble of thunder, spread across the entire Colosseum. Each of his words resonated in the hearts of those watching the battle. Whether old men, young people, or children—Alex's words seemed to awaken something ancient, primal within their souls. The hearts of the spectators, mesmerized by the sight, began to beat in unison. But Alex was not about to stop. His fury, like a wave, continued to swell, crashing down on the hero standing before him.
He looked at Hercules with contempt—the very man who, in the past, stood for justice, now speaking of battle with a look of satisfaction on his face, as if it were merely a glorious fight.
«Remember, Hercules!» His voice was filled with fury, and it echoed with a dull reverberation from the walls of the Colosseum. «Remember the day when, weak as you were, you rose up to protect your city. Remember how you were willing to fight Ares, knowing you could die. Remember the moment when you were ready to burn your body and soul just to protect those you love. And now, look into the faces of those you swore to protect. Look into the eyes of the mothers who will lose their children if humanity falls. Look at these innocent children who believed in you. How dare you speak of justice standing before them?»
His words resonated with the crowd. People who had once admired Hercules could no longer ignore the truth in Alex's voice. Even those who worshipped the hero felt the crushing weight of these accusations. Alex's words struck like hammers against their hearts. Even those who knew Hercules as a legend couldn't help but reflect.
From the stands, Brunhilde watched the scene with pain in her eyes. Hercules had once been the symbol of humanity, its shield and sword, the one who had completed twelve labors to save them. But now, he stood before a man who, though not immortalized in history, embodied all that Hercules once was: he had become a shield for the people.
Hercules listened to every word from Alex, filled with anger and pain. But he didn't try to defend himself. He knew that justifications were pointless here. He had made his choice, and now the consequences were before him.
«You are right,» Hercules spoke after a long pause. His voice was firm, but there was bitterness in it.
«I chose this side, and now I must bear this burden. Yes, in your eyes, I am a traitor. Yes, I am unworthy of being a warrior or a hero. And yet, I will fight. If I win, I will do everything to save humanity. This is my path, my burden. And I will accept any punishment. But first, show me, brave warrior, that you are worthy of being who you claim to be. Show me that your spear is stronger than my club. Show me that your resolve is stronger than mine. Prove to me that you are worthy of being humanity's shield.»
Alex stared at Hercules. In that moment, he stopped hating him, but the realization that this hero had crossed to the enemy's side remained. Alex could not afford to lose.
He took a slow breath. His golden eyes shone brighter, like the light of a star in the darkness. Gripping his spear and shield tightly, Alex spoke:
«Then show me, Hercules, the strength of the hero who turned against those he swore to protect. Show me that my spear is stronger than your divine body. Show me that my shield will break faster than your mace. Show me the power of one who completed twelve labors. Show me the hero who kept his former glory!»
Hercules nodded, acknowledging the challenge. Gripping his club with both hands, he prepared for the fight. His muscles tensed, and the veins in his arms stood out from the force of his grip.
Alex took a stance designed for both attack and defense, perfectly coordinated thanks to his ability to replicate everything he had seen before. He realized that his strength was similar to what he had felt from Adam: just as Adam's eyes allowed him to mimic the gods, Alex's body allowed him to imitate everything that came into his line of sight.
Hercules met Alex's golden eyes and unexpectedly smiled.
The tattoos on Hercules' body began to spread, like a black disease consuming every part of him. Those who knew the true nature of these symbols felt a sense of dread. These tattoos were not mere decorations—they were a mark of his twelve labors. They granted him the power of the defeated monsters, but with each new use, the price grew higher. When the tattoos covered his entire body, Hercules would die.
A desperate cry rang out from the stands:
«Hercules, stop! You'll burn yourself alive!»
The God of War, accustomed to blood and pain, couldn't bear the thought of his brother in arms paying such a high price. They had often fought and argued in the past, but in difficult times, they always stood side by side. Today, Ares didn't want to see Hercules sacrifice himself for this battle.
But the hero didn't even look back. His resolve was unshakable.
«Mighty Nemean Lion, taste my flesh!» Hercules proclaimed loudly.
The lion tattoo on his body gleamed, and steam began to rise from his skin. The massive club in his hands transformed: its surface became covered with the golden mane of a lion, and the handle grew larger. Completing the transformation, Hercules took a powerful step forward, and his figure vanished, leaving behind a destroyed portion of the arena.
Alex barely had time to raise his shield to block the attack. Hercules reappeared in front of him, raised the club, and with incredible strength, brought it down. Alex, sensing the danger, jumped back to avoid the direct hit. When the club struck the ground, there was a deafening roar, and the powerful blow left a deep crater.
Without wasting time, Alex charged forward and, seizing the moment, struck Hercules in the face with the edge of his shield. The hero attempted to block, but the shield hit his forehead, leaving a wound from which blood gushed. The blow was so powerful that it knocked Hercules several steps back.
«Your pain only binds you, Hercules. Was it worth it? Using your labors to defend your 'justice'?» Alex asked, his voice hoarse but firm.
Hercules, ignoring the blood streaming down his face, confidently replied:
«Even if my body burns and crumbles, I will not retreat. This is my choice, my duty.»
Alex gripped his spear tighter. However, suddenly, the club in Hercules' hands changed shape. Its new form resembled bird wings. Alex immediately understood that this was the power of the second labor—the Stymphalian Birds.
«Second labor: The Stymphalian Birds!» Hercules declared, swinging the club.
With a powerful strike, a strong wind rose from the arena, and small stones were lifted, turning into deadly shrapnel. Alex took cover behind his shield, listening as hundreds of fragments hammered against his defense. Hercules didn't give him time to rest: a second swing created an even stronger gust, lifting Alex into the air.
While airborne, Alex kept his eyes fixed on Hercules, who crouched and jumped, instantly reaching his level. The club transformed again, returning to its original shape, and Hercules delivered a direct blow. Alex raised his shield, but the force of the strike sent him flying toward a rock, scattering debris across the arena.
Climbing out of the rubble, Alex did not retreat. Stabbing his spear into the rock, he began lifting it with one hand. The crowd froze in shock: a mortal was lifting a boulder the size of a giant. Gripping the spear with both hands, Alex hurled the boulder straight at Hercules.
Seeing the boulder flying toward him, Hercules once again transformed his club. This time, it took the shape of a bull.
«Seventh labor: The Cretan Bull!» Hercules proclaimed loudly, gripping his weapon tightly.
When the boulder approached, Hercules swung his club with one motion, shattering it into thousands of pieces. But he didn't expect Alex to follow right behind it. At the moment the boulder was destroyed, Alex, raising his spear, struck. Hercules couldn't react in time, and the spear's blade pierced his shoulder.
A loud roar of pain erupted from the hero's chest, but he didn't fall. His eyes burned with fire, and his wounded body resembled a majestic beast, ready to fight until its last breath.
When Alex's spear pierced Hercules' shoulder, the stadium fell into complete silence. Hercules' friends and loved ones watched in horror, while the gods observed the fight with anger and concern. The first wound Hercules received had been minor, just a scratch, but now his shoulder was impaled by the spear.
Hercules, gripping Alex's spear with his free hand, stared into his eyes.
«I see… It's all about these gloves. They give you the strength to wound me, don't they?» Hercules growled, shifting his gaze to the black glove on Alex's hand.
«You guessed it. But you could've just asked, I would've told you anyway. It's pointless— the outcome depends not on the weapon, but on skill and experience,» Alex replied calmly, pulling the spear out of his opponent's shoulder.
Hercules nodded, agreeing with his words. The power of a weapon truly was insignificant if it fell into the hands of an inexperienced warrior. But in the hands of a master, any weapon became deadly. Meanwhile, Alex noticed that Hercules' body was nearly completely covered in tattoos, which meant the end of this battle was near—either the hero would die, or it would conclude soon.
«You're at your limit, Hercules. Why continue this lost fight?» Alex said calmly.
Hercules silently looked Alex over. He stood without a single scratch, only covered in the dust that had settled after the battle. His body was scarred with old wounds, but today's fight seemed to have left no new marks. The blue cloak continued to flutter behind him, and the helmet on his head looked like it had seen countless battles, yet even now, it was undamaged. Hercules realized that throughout the entire battle, he hadn't managed to inflict a single serious wound on Alex.
«You're right, my body is at its limit. But as long as my heart is beating, I will fight. I will not retreat, even if I turn to dust,» Hercules answered with unwavering determination.
Gripping his club with both hands, he hurled it into the sky. At a certain height, the club disappeared into a vortex of black clouds that began to engulf everything around them.
«Twelfth labor: Come forth, hellhound!» Hercules shouted, raising his hand to the sky.
Red, gleaming eyes began to emerge from the dark abyss. Massive paws appeared, expanding the whirlwind, until, finally, from the black clouds, Cerberus leaped into view. The three heads of the beast ominously scanned the arena, as though searching for prey. Two of the monster's heads latched onto Hercules' arms, while the third consumed his head. Black mist enveloped his figure, and when it cleared, Hercules stood before the spectators in a new form, almost completely covered in tattoos.
Alex observed his opponent carefully and noticed that his life force was rapidly fading.
«You won't last much longer,» Alex said, letting his shield fall to the ground. «Let's end this with one blow, hero Hercules.»
Hercules nodded solemnly.
«You're right, brave warrior. Let's finish it with one strike. Everything or nothing,» he agreed.
Alex assumed a spear-throwing stance, tensing every muscle. Veins bulged on his arm, and his gaze sharpened. Hercules, gathering the last of his strength, prepared to strike with all his might.
They moved simultaneously. Alex's spear, launched with incredible force, tore through the air, breaking the sound barrier. Hercules, putting everything into a single punch, met the spear with his fist. The collision produced a powerful shockwave, obliterating the nearby rocks and raising a curtain of sand that hid the outcome.
As the dust began to settle, the spectators held their breath. The first to appear was Alex, still standing in his spear-throwing pose. His presence filled some with hope and others with terror.
When the veil of dust finally cleared, Hercules stood frozen in his striking stance. The right side of his body, including his arm, had been completely destroyed.
Seeing this sight, a mournful cry echoed through the coliseum. People mourned Hercules, their hero, who had fallen in battle. Alex sighed heavily, instinctively reaching for a cigarette, but deciding against it, not wanting to ruin his image.
Slowly, he approached the body of Hercules, who remained in the pose of his final strike. Despite his heart being pierced by the spear, he had died standing—like a true warrior. Passing by, Alex cast a brief glance at the motionless body before heading to his spear, which had deeply embedded itself in the ground after piercing the hero.
Lifting the spear, Alex noticed tiny cracks in its tip. He was surprised—even in his dying state, Hercules had managed to damage a weapon personally crafted by him. Alex glanced at the hero's remains, silently sympathizing with him. The demigod, so valiant in life, had turned out to be nothing more than a victim of the whims of the capricious gods, who had unleashed a new war against humanity.
«The twilight of the gods comes every morning when our world shines brighter than the stars,» Alex said hoarsely, staring at the blue sky and the white clouds slowly drifting across it. His words echoed through the desolate coliseum.
The spectators mourned Hercules' death. Many of them wanted to unleash their fury on Alex, to condemn him for killing their hero, but they understood it would be pointless. Alex was an unnamed warrior who had risen to defend them in their hour of trial. A warrior who sought neither fame nor fortune. A shield protecting humanity from destruction.
As Hercules' body began to turn to ash, Alex picked up his shield from the ground and strapped it back onto his arm. He turned to the spectators and raised his spear, pointing it at the stands.
«Remember and do not forget. When we breathe in, we must remember that we are drinking the dying sighs of those who died before us,» Alex spoke loudly, his voice ringing like a hammer striking the hearts of those who heard him.
These words made the people reflect. Each of them realized the truth: their lives and freedom had been paid for with the blood of those who fought and died for them. The crowd, filled with respect and humility, rose to honor Alex's heroism.
«Glory to the nameless warrior, the Pantheon!» a lone voice cried out from the crowd.
«GLORY!!» hundreds of voices echoed back, filling the coliseum with thunderous reverberations.
Beneath his helmet, a faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered on Alex's face. He turned and, without saying a word, began to walk toward the arena exit. The crowd watched his broad back, adorned with a tattered blue cloak, covered in dust and rips.
His appearance was humble—just a simple iron helmet and worn-out gear that any soldier might wear. But today, Alex had shown humanity that even one whose name would never be recorded in history could perform great feats and protect the weak.
To be continued...
(I still haven't received an answer from you guys. Should I upload chapters earlier to P*treon for those who fed the author, or do you prefer to read at the time when the chapter usually comes out. And just upload long chapters combined from 3 chapters to P*treon?)
My new cute pies:
Deslender
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Jacob Perkins
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