He turned his gaze away from Perseus, his concentration on his wine, observing the crimson hue of the wine, he drank it-bottom up. Feeling stiffled in the hall, he went out.
The air outside the hall was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the warmth and revelry within. Diomedes strolled down the stone paths of the palace, his steps unhurried. The soft hum of crickets filled the night, punctuated occasionally by the distant laughter and music from the feast.
As he walked, he encountered maids and guards who now recognized him as one of the heroes of Argos. They greeted him with respectful nods or hushed whispers, their admiration evident. Diomedes acknowledged them politely, though he found their sudden reverence mildly unsettling.
Lost in thought, he wandered farther than intended, his feet carrying him to a secluded garden. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. The moonlight bathed the area in a silvery glow, making the scene almost ethereal.
There, among the neatly arranged flowerbeds and sculpted hedges, stood Princess Andromeda. She was alone, gazing at the moonlit sky. Her beauty was undeniable—her flowing gown shimmered softly, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid gold. Yet, for reasons he couldn't fully articulate, Diomedes felt calm, unaffected by her allure in the way most men would have been.
The princess noticed him and turned her gaze toward him. Her expression was unreadable, neither annoyed nor particularly welcoming.
Diomedes hesitated before bowing slightly. "Your Highness, pardon me for intruding. I didn't realize anyone was here."
To his surprise, she smiled faintly. "You need not apologize, Diomedes. The garden is as much yours to enjoy as it is mine. Stay."
Not wanting to appear rude, he complied, stepping closer yet maintaining a respectful distance. They stood in silence for a moment before she broke it.
"The feast inside must be overwhelming," she said, her tone conversational.
"It has its charms," Diomedes replied, his voice steady. "But I find quieter moments like this more agreeable."
Andromeda nodded. "I understand. Sometimes it's easier to think when the world isn't watching."
She studied him for a moment, her curiosity evident. "Tell me, Diomedes, about your journey. The tales I've heard are remarkable, but I'd like to hear them from someone who lived them."
He hesitated briefly, then began recounting their adventure. He spoke of the desert, the battles with Calibos and Hades' minions, the clash with Medusa, and finally the confrontation with the Kraken. He described the harrowing moments and the camaraderie forged through adversity, though he kept his tone measured, never embellishing his role in the events.
Andromeda listened intently, her expression shifting from awe to concern and back again. When he finished, she said, "You've endured much for Argos. It's no wonder my father holds you in such high regard."
Diomedes gave a modest shrug. "We did what had to be done. Heroes or not, Argos is still standing, and that's what matters."
A subtle shift in her tone followed. "Perseus... he must be an extraordinary man."
Diomedes noticed the way her voice softened, the faint glimmer in her eyes as she mentioned Perseus. Ah, so that's it, he thought, though he kept his expression neutral.
"He is," Diomedes said carefully. "A good man, brave and selfless."
The princess nodded but said nothing more on the subject. Silence fell between them again, and Diomedes found himself contemplating her. By all accounts, she was stunning—a vision of grace and poise. Yet, perhaps due to his status as a transmigrator or his knowledge of her historical significance from his previous world, he felt no romantic inclination toward her.
Andromeda eventually spoke again, her voice softer. "I appreciate your honesty, Diomedes. You've given me much to think about."
He inclined his head. "If I may say so, Your Highness, the strength of Argos is not just in its warriors but in its people—and its leaders. I believe you'll play a vital role in its future."
She smiled at that, though it carried a trace of sadness. "I hope you're right."
Diomedes sensed the conversation drawing to a close and stepped back slightly. "I should leave you to your thoughts, Princess. The night is still young, and there's much to reflect on."
"Thank you for staying," she said sincerely.
He nodded and left the garden, his thoughts turning to the subtle complexities of the world he now inhabited.
_______________________________________
After leaving the princess in the garden, Diomedes wandered aimlessly for a while, letting his thoughts settle. The cool night air had a sobering effect on him, clearing the haze of the evening's events. Eventually, he made his way back to the feast.
The hall had grown significantly rowdier in his absence. The dignified air of celebration had given way to the uninhibited chaos brought on by copious amounts of wine and ale. Laughter rang out, interspersed with the occasional slurred toast to Argos, its heroes, or simply the joy of being alive.
Diomedes surveyed the scene, noting that King Cepheus had already retreated, leaving the revelers to their devices. He found his seat again and poured himself another goblet of wine. The liquid sparkled in the golden light of the hall, its aroma rich and inviting. He took a sip, savoring the taste. It was good, better than most drinks he'd encountered in this world, but still inferior to the refined spirits of his previous life.
"Perhaps I should teach Archillaus how to distill properly," he mused, a faint smirk on his lips. The thought of introducing something akin to whiskey or vodka to Argos amused him.
As the noise in the hall grew louder, Diomedes decided he'd had enough for one night. He rose from his seat, stretching slightly, and began making his way toward the exit. The promise of a quiet bed called to him.
Just as he stepped outside, a guard intercepted him. "Sir Diomedes," the man said, bowing slightly. "The king has instructed that quarters be prepared for you in the soldiers' barracks within the palace grounds. As the newly appointed head of the king's guard, it is your privilege to reside there."
Diomedes blinked in mild surprise but nodded. "Lead the way."
The guard escorted him through the palace grounds to the soldiers' quarters. The building was quieter than the main hall, though a few off-duty soldiers could be heard sharing hushed conversations or sharpening their weapons. Diomedes was shown to a private room near the heart of the barracks.
The moment he stepped inside, he took in the surroundings. The room was far more luxurious than he'd expected, especially compared to his modest home outside the city. A sturdy wooden bed with clean linens, a polished desk, a wardrobe, and even a small shelf lined with scrolls and maps greeted him. A basin of water sat on a stand near the window, reflecting the moonlight streaming in.
He set his belongings down and ran a hand over the smooth wood of the desk. "Well," he muttered to himself, "this is a step up."
The effects of the wine were beginning to catch up with him. He splashed his face with cool water from the basin, changed into the provided nightclothes, and settled onto the bed. The mattress was firm yet comfortable, a far cry from the straw-filled pallets he was used to.
As he closed his eyes, the events of the day replayed in his mind—the feast, the king's announcement, his meeting with the princess in the garden. But the thoughts were soon drowned out by the gentle pull of sleep, and before long, Diomedes was lost to the realm of dreams.
Diomedes woke just as the first rays of dawn peeked through the window. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his limbs from the previous day's events. The luxurious room was a stark contrast to the modest life he had been living outside the city, but he realized he couldn't abandon his old belongings entirely.
Determined to retrieve what he had left behind, Diomedes washed his face, dressed in a simple tunic, and headed out. After asking a few passing guards, he was directed to the palace stables. There, he secured a sturdy brown horse, saddled it, and rode out of the city gates.
The cool morning breeze brushed against his face as he journeyed to his old home. The ride was peaceful, the city noise giving way to the calm of the countryside. He arrived at his modest dwelling and stepped inside, taking a moment to let the nostalgia wash over him.
He began packing methodically, sorting through his belongings. Most of his clothes were worn, but a few were salvageable. He gathered his hunting gear—his trusty knife, sword, spear, bow, and a quiver of arrows. These tools had served him well in this world, and he wasn't about to part with them.
Once everything was packed and secured to the horse, Diomedes took a final look around the house. It had been a place of solace for him, but now his responsibilities had shifted. With a sigh, he mounted his horse and rode back to Argos.
Upon reentering the city, he stopped by the market to sell the items he no longer needed. The coins he earned were modest, but it was better than leaving the gear to gather dust.