Even those slaves rewarded with the so-called "gift of God" (nanorobots) might still be unable to defeat a divine messenger.
Perseus and his two companions had left the divine realm at Zeus's command. The King of Gods had been paying close attention to the debates among the other deities. Since the end of the Age of Gods, humanity's physical strength had steadily declined, and mortals now struggled even to bear offspring with the gods. This meant that raising new warriors naturally aligned with divinity had become increasingly difficult.
Zeus had no desire to keep consuming his own dwindling "cake." Outwardly, he remained calm, but he dispatched his three most beloved children to investigate. He did not yet know who had defeated the divine messenger, nor what connection that individual had to the gods, but he was determined to bring them under his authority if possible.
And if persuasion failed? Then, as the other gods agreed, if he could not claim the prize, he would ensure no one else could either. Destruction was always an option.
The gods had stood too high for too long. They had treated humans as ants, as toys to amuse or discard at will. In their eyes, mortals were small, fragile things to be crushed once they ceased to be useful. Even their own disobedient children were not spared—many demigods had been erased by divine hands.
The only exceptions were those few whose strength was so great that special measures were devised to keep them under control.
"What are gods, anyway?" Perseus often sneered. No one knew better than the sons of gods themselves. And after so long spent at Olympus's side, they too had become more godlike than human. Was it wrong for children to resemble their fathers? Perseus certainly didn't think so. He could hardly stand the weakness of mortals, powerless and frail.
Thousands of years ago, at least humanity possessed strong bodies. But the people of this age? To Perseus, they were nothing but brittle toys for the divine blooded. Toys did not warrant seriousness. Yet if, somehow, a true demigod had been born in this era… it would mean the ancestral bloodline had reawakened, despite the feeble vessels of the present age.
"But never mind," Perseus muttered, shaking off his musings. "We'll know soon enough when we find them."
He spread the mechanical wings on his back. "Since Father gave me this mission personally, we'll have a better chance if we split up. Hercules, you follow her."
The truth was, Perseus never quite knew how to face his massive brother—or great-grandson. Hercules' mother had been Perseus's own granddaughter, which only underscored the tangled absurdity of their divine family tree.
To claim he felt no jealousy toward Hercules would be a lie. Hercules was Father's favorite, his strength unparalleled, the only son of Zeus to truly complete the Twelve Trials. Perseus, by comparison, was dismissed as a lucky man who leaned too heavily on divine aid. Even his greatest deed—the slaying of Gorgon—had required the gods' gifts and a timely counterattack when she unleashed her Noble Phantasm.
Perhaps that was why Perseus was so eager this time. He wanted results. He wanted proof. He wanted to surpass Hercules, if only to secure his place in Zeus's eyes.
With no regard for Helen's opinion, Perseus soared into the sky, wings flaring, and flew off in the direction suggested by Zeus's clues.
Elsewhere, Aslan remained unaware that divine eyes had already turned toward him. The more he learned of this world, the deeper his distaste for the gods grew. At the same time, he found himself admiring Estee Lauder's resolve to rebel against them. Yet admiration was not enough. Aslan still considered her strength lacking.
So, as she neared the completion of her mission, he pressed her into rigorous training. The first step was teaching her the foundations of magecraft. Without a thorough grounding, she would never progress to the advanced techniques he intended to pass on.
Naturally, he also devised a method of "encouragement." Whenever Estee Lauder slacked off, a resounding clang of his forging hammer would fall upon her head. After many such lessons, Aslan had perfected his technique.
He now knew how to strike without injury while ensuring the pain was memorable; how to make a skull ache without breaking it, while also "tempering" it—strengthening it as though it were iron. With time, Estee Lauder's very skull might become as durable as a weapon. Someday, under his guidance, she might even crush an enemy with a headbutt.
Already, after countless failed tests and repeated "inspections," her skull produced a crisp ring whenever tapped with the hammer. Aslan was deeply satisfied. Who knew? Perhaps one day her head itself might rival a Noble Phantasm.
He could picture it clearly: Estee Lauder summoned as a Heroic Spirit, her hands bound in battle. At the critical moment, she would unleash her [Noble Phantasm: Headbutt] and overturn the fight in an instant. The image delighted him. And Estee Lauder herself would surely embrace such a weapon without shame—her carefree personality would never allow embarrassment to hold her back.
Would Lucius, the Roman Sword Emperor, feel disillusioned upon witnessing her in such a state?
Not that it mattered. The chances of Lucius and Estee Lauder meeting were slim. Summoning Heroic Spirits from across the globe was rare. Still, given her mischievous nature, if she ever learned Lucius had once admired "Estee Lauder," she would undoubtedly put on an act—quiet, dignified, ladylike—just to amuse herself.
During this time, Aslan divided his focus between educating Estee Lauder and gathering intelligence on the gods of this world. He was no reckless fool charging headlong into divine battle. Finding cracks, exploiting weaknesses, and striking with precision—that was the surest path to victory.
And as they trained and investigated, Aslan and Estee Lauder also freed many captives seized by the gods' messengers. The frequency of those messengers' appearances in recent days had not escaped Estee Lauder's notice. A storm was brewing, and she could already sense its weight.
-End Chapter-
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