Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 11: Momentary Stop
The thick canopy of the ruined forest cast long, distorted shadows over the battlefield, the air still heavy with the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood. Yet, amidst the chaos, one corner of the battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence.
Lying on his back, George Washington let out a slow breath, his body tense yet controlled. His modified rifle lay discarded beside him, its once-solid form flickering as it began to disappear, dissolving into nothingness like dust caught in the wind. A sharp cold edge pressed against his throat.
George, despite the situation, inwardly chuckled. He had been caught.
Despite his impeccable strategic mind, he had been ambushed—and worse, he hadn't sensed them at all.
A man crouched beside him, his hood drawn low, obscuring his features. His clothing consisted of layered fabric, each piece carefully draped to hide his movements, to blend into the surroundings like a phantom. In his left hand, he held a steel sickle, its curved blade gleaming as it hovered dangerously close to George's neck.
Standing behind them was a woman, her stance rigid, a bow clutched tightly in her grasp. Her cloak bore intricate indigenous patterns, and though her hood concealed much of her face, the hatred in her gaze burned through the darkness. The three of them remained still, a frozen tableau of hunter and prey.
A bead of sweat rolled down George's cheek.
"So, this is what it feels like to have my life completely in another's hands, huh?"
It wasn't the first time. And, knowing the nature of this trial that he consciously accepted, it probably wouldn't be the last. Still, he forced his breathing to remain steady. He needed to assess the situation—to figure out who these two were, what they wanted, and what their endgame was.
"Can I ask what it is you want?" His voice was calm, controlled, carrying the practiced tone of a man used to negotiation and diplomacy.
His only response was pain.
The woman kicked him hard towards the shin, sending a sharp jolt through his leg. A grimace crossed his face, but he did not cry out.
"Control your anger," the man muttered, his tone flat.
The woman ignored him, glaring down at George. "You speak only when spoken to!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
George inwardly sighed, but his mind was already working.
"She's quick to anger. But is that anger directed toward me personally? Or at me directly?"
His eyes flicked to the man. Unlike the woman, he was collected, methodical. His calm demeanor suggested experience in these situations. A scout? An assassin? A leader?
The man let out a slow sigh. "You heard her. Answer my questions. Speak no unnecessary words. And know this—I will know if you lie."
George's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A lie detector?"
It was possible but not.
Back when the Watcher had allowed them to make requests, George himself had asked for something tactical—the ability to summon and dismiss his weapons at will. It had given him an advantage, allowing him to stay mobile and efficient without carrying anything.
He had also asked the Watcher for a device that could detect lies, but the request had been denied. Knowing this, George narrowed his eyes at the man holding the sickle.
"So… does he actually have a way of detecting lies? Or is he bluffing?"
It was possible that the man had simply trained himself to read people. After all, deception wasn't just about the words spoken—it was about body language, hesitation, and subtle tells.
Or…
Could he have gained an ability through some other means?
After all, they were in a place where the extraordinary was now reality.
Regardless of the truth, George knew one thing: He had to be careful. fully understanding his predicament, chose his next words carefully only telling half truths.
The man's grip tightened on the sickle, his blade pressing just a bit closer to George's neck.
"How many medallions do you have?"
A straightforward question. George took a slow breath.
"I don't know about the others, but I don't have one yet."
Half the truth. He deliberately left out the fact that Lapulapu had one.
Even from beneath the hood, George could see the man's eyes narrowing. The blade did not move away.
"Second question. How many of you are there?"
The sickle nearly pressed against his skin, the reflection of the blade able to reflect on the man cat like eye.
George's mind raced.
"If I lie too obviously, he'll know. But if I tell the full truth, Fu Hao and Jeanne's positions will be compromised. And Billy's too…"
"Only me. The others are fighting that big guy over there. And one more."
Another half-truth. He had left out Fu Hao, Jeanne, and Billy's position. The man studied him carefully.
A tense pause.
Then—a third question.
"Why did your team come here?"
This time, the sickle bit into his skin just slightly, the cold steel warming as a thin trail of blood ran down his neck.
George kept his face impassive.
"Like everyone else in this forest—we're here to observe, to fight, and to take the medallions."
He felt the man's eyes bore into him, searching for any sign of deceit. But before the man could continue—
The woman's body tensed. Her head snapped toward the cliffside.
Her posture stiffened.
"Something's coming," she murmured.
The man turned, his brows furrowing beneath his hood. "What do you mean?"
She pointed.
And George felt his stomach drop. That is the location of where Fu Hao and Jeanne are!
A Tremor in the Earth. Far away, atop a towering cliffside, something massive stirred. The air itself seemed to grow thick with tension.
Birds, once nesting peacefully, erupted into the sky in a flurry of panic. The trees shuddered, as if recoiling from the presence of something immense and ancient.
The woman, still glaring at George, whispered, "I don't know what it is… but its presence is suffocating. It feels… like a raging beast is coming straight toward us."
A single bead of sweat slid down the side of the hooded woman's face. Noticing this the man in the hood inhaled sharply, his grip on the sickle loosening slightly.
"We're leaving. Now."
Without hesitation, he pulled back his sickle, spun it once in his hand and modified the sickle like that of a long curved dagger, and tucked it into his layered clothing.
Then he turned around silent with his footwork vanishing into the dense foliage, his form disappearing like a ghost into the trees.
George exhaled, relieved—
Until he noticed the woman still standing there.
Her eyes remained fixed on him, burning with something far deeper than anger.
"Why?" George muttered. "Why do you hate me?"
The woman gritted her teeth, her fists clenching.
"Because of what your people did to me."
Without another word, she turned—leaping into the treetops, vanishing like her companion.
George touched his own neck, feeling the sting of the blade's cut. His expression was blank. But deep within his mind, his thoughts swirled.
"That man trusted her instincts. He didn't hesitate. He fled instantly. If that presence is real, Jeanne and Fu Hao could be in danger."
His jaw tightened.
"But if I go to them, I can't cover Musashi and Lapulapu!"
His fist clenched. Summoning his modified rifle back into his hands, George took one last deep breath.
And then—he ran. Toward the forest. Toward Jeanne and Fu Hao. Because whatever was coming… It's coming, knowing this info is more important than not getting nothing.
…
Across the battlefield, the clash of weapons seized.
Three warriors—Musashi, Lapu-Lapu, and Yasuke—stood locked in combat, battered but unbroken. Their movements had become slower, more deliberate, their bodies weighed down by exhaustion and wounds.
Yasuke, despite his towering frame and monstrous endurance, was the most injured. His thick skin bore deep cuts, his arms trembled slightly from repeated blocks and counters. Yet, his stance remained solid, unwavering.
Musashi, breathing sharply through his nose, shifted his grip on his twin wooden blades. Lapu-Lapu steadied his shield, adjusting his footing.
The fight was far from over.
But something felt wrong.
Musashi noticed it first. The gunfire had stopped. The supporting fire that had kept their enemies on edge, that had given them space to maneuver—Gone.
A flicker of concern crossed Lapulapu's face as he exchanged a glance with Musashi. The same thought ran through both of their minds.
"Did something happen to them?"
A hoarse, mocking laugh cut through the air.
"Hahaha! Looks like your little shooters got preoccupied! Wonder what happened to 'em? Better hope they're still alive and kicking!"
The pirate grinned wickedly, twirling the thick chain of his anchor in slow, lazy circles. Despite his own labored breathing, sweat dripping from his brow, his arrogance never wavered.
Musashi frowned. Something wasn't right. Their support had vanished, their team scattered. But there was no time to worry. Not yet.
He looked to Lapulapu, their thoughts wordless but aligned. For now, they had to focus on Yasuke. Despite all three warriors standing on the edge of exhaustion, none had yet unleashed their full strength.
They had fought in measured blows, testing each other's limits.
But now—it was time to go beyond. All three tightened their grips on their weapons. And just as they were about to resume—
A sudden, unnatural sound filled the air.
Birds erupted from the treetops, fleeing in a frantic swarm. The trees shook violently, as if something immense had begun to stir. The warriors' bodies tensed instinctively.
Edward's grin faltered slightly. "The hell was that?"
Zheng Yi Sao, standing some distance away, flicked a golden coin into the air before catching it again, her expression unreadable.
For the first time, no one had an answer.
The ground rumbled.
A deep, guttural vibration, like something massive shifting beneath the earth.
Far from the center of the battlefield, Billy the Kid stood frozen, his revolver half-raised.
Across from him crouching in branches of the tree, the mysterious spear-wielding woman was equally still, her sharp eyes locked onto the distant cliffside.
The two of them were the closest to what was coming. A strange, hollow silence filled the space between them, neither willing to speak, neither daring to move.
Then—
The snap of wood, the crash of splintering trees. The distant roar of fleeing beasts, their frenzied cries filling the air.
Billy's outlaw instincts screamed at him. To Run. His entire life had been spent dodging death, escaping the jaws of the law, the hangman's noose, the bullets of bounty hunters. And yet—he couldn't move.
Something in the depths of his gut told him this was something far beyond running. The woman with the spear tightened her grip, her knuckles going white.
Then—
The cliffside above them split open.
A massive size, serpentine form burst from the cliff, its scaly black body shooting upward into the sky. It was colossal, an unfathomable creature of the old world, its dark, gleaming scales absorbing the light.
Its head rose higher, twisting toward the heavens, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of jagged teeth—each one the size of a grown man.
It opened its mouth the sizes of a three storied house, its throat glowing with a deep, unnatural darkness.
And then—
It roared.
The sound ripped through the battlefield, a deafening shockwave that shook the very air. The trees bent from the force. The ground cracked beneath the sheer pressure.
Every warrior, every fighter—Musashi, Lapulapu, Yasuke, Edward, Zheng Yi Sao, Billy, the spear-wielding woman—all of them felt it.
It was not just sound.
It was a warning to all who stood before it. Terror grips the whole battlefield
Edward's usual arrogance was nowhere to be seen. He staggered back, gripping the chain of his anchor tightly, his face twisting in something between awe and disbelief.
Zheng Yi Sao, for the first time, didn't have a witty remark.
Musashi, sweat rolling down his forehead, forced himself to remain steady. But his grip on his swords had tightened.
Lapulapu's shield was raised, but his heart pounded against his ribs.
Even Yasuke, who had stood against the mightiest warriors, who had faced death countless times. For a brief moment—He hesitated.
Billy let out a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Sh*t…"
The woman with the spear said nothing.
But her fingers trembled.
This was not a normal monster. This was something far worse. Something not meant to be disturbed. Something angry. And it had just woken up.
…
Above it all, unseen by mortal eyes, the Watcher hovered.
It watched as the battlefield changed. It watched as fear spread. It watched as the warriors, once ready to kill each other, now stood frozen in an unknown familiar terror.
The great being let out a whisper.
"Show me how you will face this."
And it continued to watch.