Heracles was stunned. He stared at Suren, the effects of the wine vanishing instantly. He opened his mouth, hesitating, but in the end, he didn't dare respond to Suren's defiant words.
After a long pause, he sighed. "Suren, I can't answer that. But… maybe you're right. Just because things have always been this way, it doesn't mean it's correct."
"But when something is accepted by most people, it becomes the right way. You can't stand against everyone."
"Good or bad, I can't say. But as a hero, as long as I follow the gods, I can roam freely across Greece. So to me, this way of life is good."
Suren scoffed, clapping in mock admiration. "Everyone, you say? Heracles, that's the perspective of someone too secure in his position!"
"The 'everyone' you refer to—does that only include heroes, kings, demigods, and the children of gods?"
"Does it only include people like you, born with strength and power?"
"But what about ordinary people? The villagers, shepherds, farmers, artisans? The true majority of this world, who make up ninety-nine percent of humanity?"
"What about them?"
"Can they enjoy the freedom of this era as you do, simply by worshipping the gods?"
Heracles, born a demigod, had possessed immense strength since infancy, able to strangle serpents sent by Hera as a mere child. His whole life could be summed up in two words: unmatched.
Heracles had no equal. Among those he met, none were stronger.
To Heracles, being a hero meant seeing only other heroes, associating only with those of equal might. In his eyes, ordinary Greeks weren't even the same kind of being as him.
Suren's voice turned sharp, mocking: "Heracles, your view is narrow because you sit far too comfortably in your position!"
Heracles didn't retort, but only said calmly, "Suren, these are questions meant for the gods."
In other words, he believed Suren unworthy of even posing such a question.
"Yet I'm asking you, Heracles. Why not answer?" Suren ignored the implication, pressing forward relentlessly.
A skilled debater doesn't let the opponent dictate the flow. With the advantage, one should press on.
Heracles fell silent, realizing he had no answer to Suren's challenge. He knew nothing about the ordinary people Suren spoke of, nor did he care to know about the lives of those he considered as insignificant as ants.
"The gods may indeed guide humanity with wisdom beyond our own," Suren said calmly. "But how can you be certain they're always right?"
"No person is flawless, no gold without impurities. Any being with awareness has its own flaws."
Suren continued, "The gods may hold wisdom beyond ours, but even they have their blind spots."
"Just as you wouldn't trust aristocrats to monitor their own corruption, you shouldn't expect the gods to restrain themselves from acting on whims."
"So, the relationship between mortals and gods should be as follows—"
Suren's amber eyes glinted with a fierce, unyielding light. "The gods guide humanity forward, and humanity, in turn, regulates the lives of the gods!"
"This is what I envision—a golden age where gods and humans coexist in harmony!"
It wasn't the first time Suren had spoken of this vision, and it wouldn't be the last.
True rhetoric lies in repeating one's ideals clearly and concisely.
The simpler the language, the greater the power behind it. And given how quickly people forget things that don't concern them, repetition becomes essential.
If Heracles didn't understand now, Suren would say it again to Jason. And if words failed to persuade, he was ready to let action speak.
Suren admitted that the divine age was beautiful—perhaps even more so than a world ruled solely by mortals.
It was nearly perfect already, lacking only one small adjustment. Suren believed he was that single missing piece.
"…Suren, you truly are no ordinary man."
Faced with Suren's burning gaze, Heracles found himself taking a step back. It surprised him, feeling himself pushed back by nothing more than the intensity of another man's gaze.
Once he steadied himself, he asked solemnly, "Do you have any idea how you'll accomplish this goal?"
"Of course!" Suren laughed lightly, unwavering. "Easy? Certainly not. I know this path will be full of obstacles, but I've decided."
"I'm no fool. I understand that gods are not mortals. Gods each embody their own nature—Ares loves war and strife, while the goddess of discord thrives on conflict."
"Establishing order among humans would only require a single goddess of justice to enact law. But creating order among gods? That would demand the cooperation of all of them, without exception."
Suren's clarity and rationality stunned even Heracles, who had never considered such an approach.
Suren wasn't just rambling; he had thought deeply, analyzing the challenges and even identifying possible solutions.
"…This may prove even harder than challenging Zeus himself," Heracles admitted with a sigh.
"So you think I'm biting off more than I can chew?"
Suren laughed, slapping the ship's railing. "Heracles, let me tell you—human dreams, my friend, are not meant to fade!"
"A true dream is a goal worth risking everything for. Once you decide to pursue it, you should never, ever regret it!"
In truth, Heracles was a powerful hero. He might not have a divine role, but his strength was equal to that of a god. His renown as Greece's greatest hero was well-deserved.
Such a man wasn't only strong but also more principled than most. Perhaps only Suren could find fault with his morals.
Heracles refrained from the pillaging that the others indulged in, hunting for his food instead when they stopped at an island.
However, he wasn't a selfless figure either. Heracles knew the ways of heroes, and unless he was offered a fair reward, he wouldn't lift a finger to help.
Unlike Suren, Heracles had no ambition to cleanse this world or bring order to its chaotic state.
Yet—
Heracles couldn't help but admire Suren's daring vision, that desire to establish a harmonious era where gods and humans alike would adhere to a shared order.
"Suren… the man you describe is truly a flawless hero."
Heracles looked at him deeply. "But there's always a vast gulf between words and actions."
"For instance, take Jason. He talks grandly, has a shrewd way with people, and has won the favor of most on board in no time."
"But he'll never become the hero he talks about, not even a man like that."
Heracles cast Suren a long, meaningful look. "So, which type are you, Suren?"
Suren shrugged, saying nothing, for there was no sense in debating it further.
But while he kept silent, another voice joined in.
Atalanta, who had been watching quietly since the conversation began, spoke up.
"Heracles, then watch carefully. Suren will become the greatest hero of Greece…"
"No—he will become the most illustrious hero the world has ever seen!"
"One day, you'll be proud of having known him."
Heracles found her words a bit overblown. After all, he was Zeus's son, a hero with strength that could shake the earth itself. Such a man could build empires.
Even without his famed Twelve Labors, he was already one of Greece's most celebrated heroes.
Had another hero made such a declaration, he might have taken offense. But Heracles merely laughed, dismissing it as folly, refusing to let his ego be swayed.
He felt no insult, no need to retaliate. If anything, he found it all quite amusing.
"Well then, I'll be waiting for that day… Suren, don't let this beautiful lady down."
This was, perhaps, the most fitting response. For Heracles to react with anger would have been absurd.
The strong see arrogance differently. To Heracles, with his unshakable confidence, Atalanta's words were hardly more than an amusing boast.
---
Atalanta could see it clearly—Heracles didn't take her seriously. He had dismissed her words as a joke.
In the past, she would have been furious at such a slight. But now, there was only calm in her emerald-green eyes as she gazed at Suren. Her voice was soft but certain. "Suren, don't worry. This dream of yours… it's vast and will take time."
"But I believe in you. You will make it happen."
"Even I'm not so sure of that myself," Suren replied, laughing lightly. "But still… I'll walk this path without regret." Then he gave her a curious look. "Atalanta, where does all this confidence come from?"
In truth, even he felt the doubt at the edge of his grand vision—a harmonious rule of both gods and mortals. How could gods, lofty and omnipotent, ever consent to the laws of a mere mortal?
That Zeus hadn't struck him down yet for his boldness—saying instead that the gods should watch him—was perhaps just for their amusement.
The journey ahead was long, filled with uncertainty, but Suren held onto one thing: his resolve.
"Because this is your path, Suren. I believe in you." Atalanta's words were like an unending vow, her eyes unwavering. "I know you can make it happen!"
"Yes," Suren murmured, deep in thought. "But achieving something like this takes more than just grand ideals…"
His gaze shifted to the waves, and he murmured as if speaking to himself, "What I need is a model—a prototype that the gods would approve of. I need them to see humanity's choice, so that they'll cooperate with a joint rule."
"My goal isn't to oppose the gods—it's to bring them alongside us."
In truth, the gods were the true rulers of Greece, extending their influence to every corner of the realm. There was no place untouched by their will. No mortal could dream of challenging the gods directly.
If Suren's vision faced universal rejection by the gods, then it would be impossible to accomplish.
But the gods were not mortal beings.
Mortal rulers, emperors, and nobles would do anything to protect their own power, often leading to the oppressed rising up in violence to overturn the ruling class. Only then could change come.
Yet gods were different. They were guided by a strong sense of duty. To them, guiding and protecting humanity was essential. If Suren's vision aligned with that principle, they might be willing to help him see it realized.
After all, the gods loved humanity. Each deity might have different principles, but they all shared an abiding love for mortals.
Suren's gaze fell upon the Argo, carrying its fifty heroes on this grand voyage.
"Atalanta, I think I know what I need to do…"
"Then I'm truly glad for you, Suren."
---
The Argo continued its steady voyage, crossing three seas on its path to Colchis and the legendary Golden Fleece. Supplies were already running low.
As the ship neared the shore, Suren broke the silence. "Heroes of Greece, you must all know there exists a measure of justice in this world, known as law."
Law, he explained, was a concept, a measure of justice, no less than a standard of conduct and harmony. And rules, or laws, were the most powerful forces in the world; all things were bound by them.
In fact, law was personified in the form of Themis, goddess of justice and Zeus's second wife. Greece's laws, even now, were not without their nuances, although they were, admittedly, often treated as meaningless formalities. Even the most morally sound among them, like Heracles, never allowed such constraints to govern their actions. Instead, the heroes held themselves to their own moral standards, shaped by personal experience and the values of the world around them—but seldom by rules.
"So, talking about every tedious law won't do a bit of good here, will it?" Suren continued, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. "Each of you is from a different polis, a different city with its own laws. They contradict one another. We'd be here for days if we tried to resolve that."
"Suren, what are you trying to say?" Jason's voice, usually so measured, was tense. He could sense what was coming. "I'll say it clearly. Stop now, and you'll keep your place on this ship."
But Suren ignored Jason's warning, his gaze sweeping over the assembled heroes as he spoke with a quiet intensity. "Why don't we start with something simple? Three basic laws:
"Those who kill will be put to death. Those who harm others will face punishment. Those who steal will pay a debt equal to their crime."
Golden radiance glowed around him, lighting the Argo's deck as he raised his voice. "Let this be fair warning: anyone who violates these three principles will face me as their opponent."
If he couldn't manage a shipful of heroes, how could he dream of working with gods to establish order?
This ship, the Argo, was filled with Greece's mightiest heroes. If he could bring them into harmony, then perhaps he could do the same for Greece itself.
Suren's tone, the subtle menace in his words, was intolerable to the rest. Their resentment hit its peak, and one after another, voices cried out, "Jason, get rid of him! Suren's a disgrace to us all. He has no place on this ship or in our quest for glory!"
The Argo's journey had always been one watched over by the gods, particularly Hera and Athena. The heroes saw it as a sacred honor, an emblem of divine favor.
But what they didn't know was that the honor they craved was a part of Suren's everyday life. If there was ever a day he wasn't under divine scrutiny, it would be a shock.
Nor did they realize that should they succeed in ousting him, it would raise the question: Could the Argo even complete its voyage?
With tensions mounting, nearly every hero on board seemed united in their demand to expel him. Even the demigods who hadn't joined the outcry remained silent—an unspoken show of support.
Suren didn't waver, his expression turning even more dismissive, even mocking.
"Wild animals roam alone," he muttered to himself, "but cattle—cattle need the herd."
Jason hesitated, not from reluctance to rid himself of Suren, but from a dawning understanding: Suren wasn't the least bit intimidated by the hostility around him.
Jason's mind raced. How many would have to fall if they fought Suren and Atalanta head-on?
He didn't know—but one thing was clear: if it came to a fight, everything he'd been working for, his quest, his glory, his rightful throne, would likely be for nothing.
So, no. He couldn't risk it, not yet. Not until he'd secured the throne.
Licking his lips, Jason gave an appeasing smile. "Suren, why don't you ease up a little? It's not worth disrupting our divine quest over… common folk."
"Common folk?" Suren echoed, his gaze cold. "So, you're saying you're above them? That you're more than human?"
Jason squirmed but shook his head quickly. "No, of course not—"
"Then you're human too." Suren cut him off, an edge of scorn in his voice. "You think you're better than others because of some warped sense of 'honor'? On what authority do you get to rank people?"
Suren's voice rose, clear and commanding. "What is it that separates you? If by strength, then I surpass you all, so should I declare your ranks? Or perhaps by intelligence—but looking at the lot of you, that doesn't seem fitting either…"
He looked each one of them in the eye, his tone almost amused. "Are you saying there's one rule for those above, and another for those below?"
Suren was a force of nature, as formidable in argument as he was in battle. "So, you refuse to accept even the simplest of laws?"
Turning to face them all, Suren extended a hand, the challenge stark in his gaze. "All right then, since words won't reach you, let's speak in the only language you understand. Either you defeat me and drive this 'naïve child' away—or agree to my terms and restrain yourselves!"
Jason, his patience fraying, shouted, "Enough! You're as stubborn as a mule and twice as stupid. You may be one of us, but that doesn't mean you're any better! We're heroes, on a sacred quest of honor—you don't get to make rules for us!"
"Even the gods respect our nature, Suren. Do you mean to defy human nature itself?"
Suren sighed, unfazed by Jason's venom. "Human nature is a mix of good and evil. The gods may love both, but they've been too lenient. This is a mistake."
A parent's love, he reflected, was the purest in the world, but even parents knew when to be strict. A parent taught their child by example and discipline, hoping to raise them to be a good person.
But the gods lacked this sternness. They disciplined only those who violated their domains, and even then, it felt more like a job than true care. The gods indulged humanity too often, granting their prayers and whims, rarely setting boundaries.
"Each of you calls yourself a hero, wielding your strength over farmers, taking their goods, even their families, as you see fit—then granting them a small favor, thinking it makes up for the harm you caused." Suren's voice cut through the air like a blade. "If you believe that's right, then tell me: what would you say if I did the same to you? If I seized your families, took your gold and bread, then 'blessed' you by sharing a bit of the wisdom I learned from Athena?"
"Would you see it as an honor? Would you welcome it as the greatest reward?"
For once, the deck was silent.
They couldn't agree with Suren, for that would mean rejecting their own honor. But denying him felt equally wrong.
True, there was a simpler path—a path they understood well. A fight would break this stalemate. He could be silenced with brute force.
But—
Onboard the Argo, only Heracles could rival Suren's strength.
Heracles didn't share the others' savage view of honor, but neither did he turn down the spoils they had taken. In many ways, he was the very picture of a true Greek hero.
And that, precisely, was why Jason and the others were at a loss; Suren was far too strong. Both he and Heracles could probably kill everyone aboard single-handedly.
If Suren hadn't possessed such strength, he would have been cast off the ship the first time he opposed them.
But without Heracles, Jason might already have yielded—at least enough to appease Suren for now, hoping to avoid a massacre.
In the midst of the tense silence, Heracles suddenly sighed, breaking his customary silence. "Suren, you know that all principles in this world require the strength to back them up," he said.
He knew it was time for him to speak.
He had gained respect and admiration from the heroes, and now he owed it to them to stand up.
Even if he respected Suren's grand vision, his task now was to step forward and break Suren's will—to shatter his dream.
"Athens' philosophy, art, and institutions," Heracles said slowly, "are revered across Greece—Sparta aside—precisely because Athens' power commands respect."
Greece's two pillars, Athens and Sparta, were sharply distinct. Sparta was known for its militaristic rigor; every Spartan was trained in arms, combat, and warfare.
Yet, for all its strength, Greece's leaders were Athenian, not Spartan.
Athens' influence stemmed not from mere force, but from knowledge and philosophy. Yet even Sparta, with its military prowess, respected Athens' hoplites, for their heavy infantry was said to be undefeatable. Not even the Spartans could overcome Athens' formidable five-thousand-strong phalanx.
Suren nodded. "True. The philosopher-king wields both wisdom and power, commanding unmatched strength."
If anyone exemplified that union of wisdom and power, it was Zeus, the supreme king of gods, whose wisdom was said to exceed even that of Athena.
"So, Heracles," Suren continued, "what do you want to say to me?"
At two and a half meters tall, Heracles towered over even the Greek heroes. Suren, standing at a modest one-eighty-five, seemed slight in comparison. Heracles pushed through the gathered heroes, positioning himself at their head. His gaze swept over the crowd before he spoke again.
"Morality exists to protect the many," Heracles began, "but some will always rise above it."
"Those people wield influence over society's standards, claiming the final word over what is right."
Heracles had studied philosophy with some of Greece's best thinkers, and he could speak on the topic with ease.
"If you want the final say," he added, his tone unyielding, "then you'll have to convince me—with the most primal reason there is."
There was no pretense in Heracles' voice. His meaning was plain: a duel would settle it.
With no real experience of law and order, those with power would naturally resort to breaking the rules to achieve their aims.
So, for laws to be respected, strength alone would determine who would follow whom.
Heracles turned to the other heroes. "Tell me, do you accept me, Heracles, son of Zeus and Alcmene, to represent you in this matter?"
"If I win, Suren will abandon his unrealistic, naive ideals, and let you do as you please. But if I lose, all of you will swear to uphold Suren's Three Simple Laws. And if any of you break them, I'll stand beside him and help enforce them."
No one dared object. Jason, sensing a turning point, quickly grasped the potential outcome. If Heracles won, everyone could return to their previous lives. If he lost, well… it would be no worse than their worst-case scenario.
"Do you agree?" Heracles challenged, his voice firm. "If anyone disagrees, speak now and face Suren yourself. I won't claim to speak for you."
Jason hurriedly nodded. "We trust you, Heracles! We'd all be glad to have you make this decision for us."
"After all, you're our most reliable hero."
Heracles gave him a long look, then nodded. Jason's outward bravado masked an inner cowardice, but Heracles could appreciate the wisdom Jason possessed. Though flawed, Jason's understanding of human nature made him a comfortable ally.
Suren chuckled. "Heracles, I respect your courage and gladly accept your challenge."
"But are you sure?" His smile turned sardonic. "You're dealing with me, after all."
"Name your contest."
The decision now lay in Heracles' hands, and Suren's confidence was unmistakable. He had no fear—after all, he was the most highly regarded hero in Greece, favored by Athena herself.
Whatever contest Heracles chose, Suren felt certain of his own victory.
A race?
Suren had already bested Atalanta, famed across Greece for her speed.
Hand-to-hand combat?
Athena herself had honed Suren's skills beyond Chiron's wildest dreams.
Archery?
Artemis ranked his archery second only to Apollo, god of the silver bow.
Wrestling?
Athena had trained him with Greece's finest.
Secure in his abilities, Suren saw no need to choose the contest. Let Heracles decide—he was confident he would triumph in any field.
But he overlooked one critical point: Heracles, too, was a man who had never tasted defeat. From birth, his life had been a string of victories, earned through sheer power.
Heracles didn't see Suren's gesture as generosity. Crossing his arms, his gaze filled with steely resolve, he replied, "In that case, I choose no restrictions."
"We'll use any and all skills. No restraint, no holds barred. The first to bring down his opponent wins."
His eyes burned as he continued, "Summon whatever aid you wish, even the gods themselves, if you must. I, Heracles, son of Zeus, will place no restrictions on our battle."
Suren blinked, then burst out laughing, looking Heracles up and down with newfound admiration. "You're an interesting man, Heracles. Wiser than the others by far."
Heracles, he mused, was a paradox—a man with an unyielding loyalty to tradition who, deep down, wasn't as simple as he seemed.
By encouraging Suren to call upon the gods, Heracles was giving him an unspoken option: he could bring down divine intervention and claim victory. Heracles was clever enough to recognize that Suren might actually have gods on his side.
As Greece's greatest hero, Heracles had his pride, yet he also knew when to yield. He had no desire to lose honorably to Suren.
Heracles's challenge was his way of suggesting, "Summon the gods. I'll concede."
But Suren, his expression suddenly somber, said quietly, "You don't understand me, Heracles."
"I have a reason I must win against you."
He would not call on divine favor; Suren intended to conquer Heracles through his own power alone.
Taking the aegis of Athene from his shoulders, he passed it to Atalanta. "Atalanta, this is the Aegis, the shield of guaranteed victory given by Athena herself."
Next, he unstrapped his golden bow and handed it over, saying, "Keep yourself safe with this. Use it to protect yourself."
Though unlikely that the heroes would take a hostage, especially one as strong as Atalanta, Suren wanted no distractions.
Heracles watched all this in silence, a hint of a smile on his face. "Suren, you really are…"
"So, this is your decision?"
"Then I understand," he said, his voice steely. "But I, Heracles, do not lose."
Heracles saw what Suren's actions meant: I will defeat you with my own strength. I don't need divine weapons.
Suren had awakened in Heracles a fire that hadn't been kindled for years. Heracles stood before him, a living statue of strength, already bearing an aura akin to that of the gods themselves.
"No one can defeat Heracles," he declared with unshakable belief.
But what Heracles didn't grasp was the depth of Suren's commitment to his vision. He would oppose all aboard the Argo, even if it meant making enemies of every Greek hero.
These men were princes, nobles, heirs, and priests, with considerable influence in their respective homelands. To make them enemies was to earn the enmity of nearly all of Greece.
Yet Suren did not hesitate, not even for a moment.
For this was his first submission to the gods—a draft of his vision for an age of divine and human order.
He needed to show the gods that humankind was not solely deserving of guidance and affection, but also of boundaries and authority.
Humanity needed both love and discipline; so did the gods.
Suren looked to the heavens, silently inviting the gods to watch.
For this reason, he couldn't call upon their power in this duel; winning with divine aid would leave him seen only as a child, a mere mortal under the gods' wing.
If he wanted the gods to take him seriously, he would need to win by his own strength, standing as their equal.
"Only by my own hand."
His gaze sharpened. While Suren had received abundant gifts from goddesses, he was no helpless ward.
He had his own strength, honed and earned.
This time, he would rely on it alone.
---
The duel between Suren and Heracles took place on a deserted island.
In the Aegean Sea, uninhabited islands were endless in number. As they disembarked, Heracles tossed aside his equipment, choosing to fight bare-handed.
As the son of Zeus and a renowned demigod, Heracles's confidence was absolute.
Before starting, Suren, in a surprisingly considerate tone, addressed the heroes watching from the shore. "You all might want to stay on the ship. Once we start, I won't be able to guarantee your safety."
Atalanta paused and asked, "So, Suren, should I stay aboard as well?"
Suren gave her a look and replied, "Up to you."
Well, that was high emotional intelligence.
After that comment, even the heroes who were planning to stay on the ship had no choice but to come ashore to watch. What self-respecting hero could allow a woman to outdo him in bravery?
Heracles chuckled, shaking his head. Suren certainly knew how to push buttons—probably on purpose, at that.
No harm in that, Heracles thought. If these heroes get a true taste of what we're capable of, maybe they'll finally show a little respect, even if I win.
For his part, Suren's motives were much simpler. He'd spoken from genuine concern… though he was aware of how his words could be perceived.
Flattering? Sure, Suren thought, recalling his experience charming goddesses. But these so-called heroes? He was already doing them a courtesy by not telling them to go back to the boat like the "little trash" they were.
The two faced each other. Heracles met Suren's gaze and began using Pankration, a Greek martial art he'd mastered as one of Chiron's most accomplished students.
In technical terms, Heracles's skill would rank at about A+ level.
But—
Suren laughed. "Heracles, you call that fighting?"
If Heracles's skill was A+, Suren's was beyond even the A+++ range—a level of combat that defied measurement.
Suren's strikes were as relentless and precise as Athena's, overwhelming Heracles with speed and technique. Though Heracles boasted raw power, it was not enough to overcome the sheer refinement of Suren's form. Heracles struggled to keep up, forced into defense after defense.
The toughest part for Heracles, though, was Suren's resilience—his body was unyielding as tempered steel, resilient beyond mortal limits. Even when Heracles landed a solid blow, it hardly made a dent.
While the two fought furiously, the heroes watching had retreated from their initial ringside spots back to the island's edge, staring in horror as the ground trembled beneath their feet.
Could these two truly be human?
They exchanged stunned glances. How can they shake an entire island, just with their bodies?
Suren and Heracles continued to go at it, their strikes rippling across the ground. In close-quarters combat, the force generated from every punch or block made the island itself tremble as if it might shatter.
With a massive swing, Suren's fist connected with Heracles's shoulder, producing a deep, resonant thud that echoed like thunder. The ground beneath them cracked, but Heracles, unfazed, merely adjusted his stance.
This was the strength of a hero from the Age of Gods—Greece's greatest hero, Heracles. Had he been summoned as a Servant, his power would have been diminished to a fraction.
At last, Heracles managed to break free from Suren's relentless offense, wiping his bruised face with a rueful smile. "It's been a long time since I fought so freely."
"Suren, your skill surpasses even Chiron's…" he marveled. "I can hardly believe it. Athena herself may have taught you, but how did you forge a body like this at your age?"
No matter how skilled Athena's training, he couldn't imagine anyone learning that quickly. Chiron had taken centuries to master his craft, while Suren, so young, already wielded it to perfection.
"You think talent alone can bring this kind of strength?" Suren replied, his gaze growing distant. "Athena's a brilliant teacher, true. Without her, I wouldn't be here. But I had no choice—I had to become the best."
Chiron and Heracles might have trained leisurely, improving their skills over time.
But for Suren, fighting wasn't merely practice; it was survival.
The stakes had been high enough to drive him to push beyond any limit—to ensure he'd never be at another's mercy.
With a wry laugh, Suren mused, When you have no choice but to be the strongest, failure is simply not an option.
Grinning, Heracles grabbed a sturdy tree branch, reinforcing it with divine energy to turn it into a makeshift weapon.
In weapon combat, the advantage was clear—armed men had a massive edge. Yet Suren still refrained from using any weapons of his own. If he was to win Heracles's respect, it had to be through pure, unyielding strength.
Unless he wielded a divine artifact, Suren could snap any weapon Heracles wielded with ease. Eventually, Heracles abandoned the branch, reaching for his bow—the deadliest weapon in his arsenal.
As Heracles nocked an arrow, Suren's intensity caught his attention. He realized that Suren wasn't merely any mortal—he was the most powerful human Heracles had ever faced.
But Heracles was undeterred. With his bow in hand, he still believed he had a chance to win.
Watching from afar, Atalanta asked nervously, "Suren, need a bow?"
Suren shook his head, meeting Heracles's steely gaze. "The Aurum Altissimum won't do. Atalanta, lend me yours!"
---
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you spot any mistakes or inconsistencies!
Posture and water check!
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