Prince Calydon led the trio into the bustling great hall. From the moment they stepped inside, he was already exchanging fist bumps and friendly shoulder slaps with heroes from every Greek city-state, greeting them with easy familiarity while introducing Atalanta and her companions along the way.
Naturally, upon entering the city, Samael had chosen to go by the name "Theseus" to conceal his true identity. Neither Circe nor Atalanta—who had personally witnessed the earlier sacrifice—had any objection to that.
The heroes in the hall subtly sized up the three newcomers. After hearing about their testing results and noting Prince Calydon's repeated praise, the faint scorn in their eyes quickly faded, replaced by warmth and curiosity.
Meanwhile, through the prince's introductions, Samael quickly became familiar with many of the dozens of Greek heroes present.
The grand hall was alive with revelry. The seats farther from the center were occupied by those of lesser strength, though almost all bore traces of divine blood and had their own unique skills—none of them could be called ordinary by any means.
Looking inward, the heroes seated closer to the center grew stronger and more distinguished, each radiating a tangible sense of power.
In between polite conversation, Samael quietly compared their faces with the names he remembered, playing a private guessing game with mild amusement.
That cocky young man with the flippant grin, golden hair, green eyes, and gaudy, eye-searing outfit—the one who practically begged to be punched—could only be Jason, the famed future captain of the Argonauts.
Though seated among the middle ranks, Jason couldn't seem to stay still. He roamed about with a wine cup in hand, striking up conversations with everyone he passed. Yet his charm and effortless ability to liven the room made him blend right in, drawing waves of laughter and clinking cups from the surrounding heroes.
Before long, Jason had singlehandedly lifted the entire feast's mood, the hall echoing with cheers and laughter.
Still, the golden-haired pretty boy clearly seemed more at ease around men than women.
At one point, he spotted a tanned female warrior leaning in the corner. Smiling broadly, wine cup in hand, he approached her cheerfully to strike up conversation.
But before he could get close, the woman shot him a cold, disdainful glance.
"What are you staring at? Never seen a woman before?"
"Haha, just not one as fierce and captivating as you. If I get to see your prowess on the hunting grounds tomorrow, this trip will be well worth it."
Jason raised his cup half-jokingly to defuse the tension, then wisely turned away, seeking out another group of muscle-bound comrades to drink with instead.
Huh? Isn't that Caenis—the "Hot-tempered Lamb" herself?
Well, well… she's here too. Looks like this is before the whole Poseidon incident.
Come to think of it, this loudmouthed, hot-tempered tomboy was supposedly Thessaly's most beautiful woman, right? Rumor had it plenty of men in her city-state had tried—and failed—to win her over.
Wait a minute... the one standing near the pillar on the left—the pale green hair, the golden eyes, the sharp facial structure...
Tch. No need to double-check.
That's definitely Peleus, the great hero who married the sea goddess Thetis—King of Thessaly, and future father of Achilles, the mightiest warrior of the Trojan War.
Samael mused quietly. If his memory was correct, Thetis had once been one of Zeus's lovers.
But after Prometheus prophesied that she would bear a child stronger than his father, Zeus promptly abandoned her—and passed her off to his grandson, the demigod Peleus, as a convenient match.
With the gods' help, Peleus learned of her usual resting place and ambushed her in her sea cave. Even as Thetis transformed into a lioness, a serpent, and a stream of seawater, Peleus refused to let go. In the end, the determined hero succeeded in subduing her and claiming both his divine bride and the throne.
And in time, Thetis finally found herself swayed by her suitor's persistence—realizing he was not without his charms. Half-resisting, half-yielding, she came to live in harmony with her husband.
No wonder—green hair? That had to be the world's idea of a cruel joke.
The ancient serpent grumbled inwardly, his gaze sweeping across the hall again, soon finding new amusement.
The dark-skinned beauty Caenis didn't even bother greeting the old king. The two kept their distance, pretending the other didn't exist.
So, it seemed she'd already severed ties with the Kingdom of Thessaly.
Relying on his keen intuition, Samael easily pieced together the nature of their estrangement.
Amused, he continued his little observation game, turning his attention back to Peleus and comparing the man to his far more famous son.
Now in his middle years, Peleus wore his long green hair loosely draped over his shoulders. His expression was gentle yet dignified, his eyes carrying the depth and wisdom only time could grant—so unlike the impulsive, battle-hungry Achilles.
Beside the king sat a broad-shouldered man, his rugged face framed by a thick beard. His knuckles were large and rough, his frame massive. The spear and shield placed beside him were each a size larger than those of the other heroes.
If not for the occasional glint of sharpness in his eyes, one might have mistaken him for a seasoned farmer rather than a warrior.
Samael didn't recognize him at first. But from the man's exchange with Peleus and the way the surrounding heroes addressed him, the ancient serpent soon caught his name.
Telamon—Peleus's elder brother, father of the great Ajax.
And also, a close companion of Heracles himself.
Though this "old farmer" looked unremarkable, he shared the same human virtues as his brother—calm reason and sound judgment.
As Samael recalled, Telamon was the very image of wisdom hidden beneath simplicity.
In a future campaign against Troy, it was Telamon who would first breach the city gates, charging ahead to claim the highest honor—even outpacing Heracles.
For the first time in his life, the mighty son of Zeus found himself surpassed in battle. Under Hera's curse of madness, rage and jealousy consumed him.
Blinded by fury, Heracles drew his sword, intent on cutting down the comrade who had outshone him.
But Telamon, glancing back, instantly understood his friend's murderous intent. Without hesitation, he bent down, gathered nearby stones, and began stacking them into a small altar, calling his companions over.
When they asked what he was doing, he replied calmly, "I am building an altar here for the victor—Heracles."
Those words broke through the haze of wrath. Heracles came to his senses, shame washing over him. Bowing his head, he apologized to Telamon, then returned to the fray at his side.
Together they fought once more. Heracles loosed an arrow that struck down King Laomedon of Troy and several of his sons, sparing only one prince. With their royal line shattered, the Trojans' will to resist collapsed.
As thanks, Heracles granted Telamon the hand of a Trojan princess, allowing the hero to claim both glory and love.
Even this brief glimpse showed just how brilliant the "old farmer's" quick thinking truly was.
If not for his wit, he wouldn't have walked away with a bride—he'd have lost his head instead.
After all, countless heroes had met their end, directly or indirectly, at the hands of that cursed son of Zeus.
Compared to their peers, the brothers Peleus and Telamon were not the strongest of heroes. But through prudence and wisdom, they survived where many did not.
Ironically, their far greater, braver sons met tragic ends: the mighty Achilles slain by an arrow through his only weakness in the Trojan War, and the fierce Ajax driven by envy of Odysseus's honor to a failed murder—and finally to suicide.
A bitter irony indeed.
Samael shook his head slightly, his gaze drifting toward the massive figure seated in the deepest corner of the hall. The other heroes instinctively gave him a wide berth, leaving him a space all his own.
No matter where he went, it seemed this mighty son of Greece always drew the center of attention.
...
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