The moon hung high in the sky as the revelry slowly faded. After a night of indulgence, the heroes began to leave one after another.
Samael and Atalanta exchanged a brief nod before following the departing crowd out of the great hall. Guided by attendants, they made their way toward their chambers to rest.
Along the way, the ancient serpent tilted his head slightly, sneaking glances to the side from time to time.
"What are you doing?"
Atalanta, sensing the sidelong gaze beside her, stopped and frowned.
"Uh... admiring the scenery."
Samael's eyes darted around. Seeing only sparse trees and an empty corridor, he tilted his head back toward the sky and corrected himself.
"Well, the night view's actually pretty nice."
"Yeah... I suppose it is."
Atalanta lifted her head at his words, her white neck catching the faint glow of moonlight. The wine had left a soft flush on her cheeks, giving her profile a quiet, intoxicating charm.
The night really was beautiful.
The ancient serpent lowered his gaze, quietly taking in the scene. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
But just as the two were lost in their own respective views, crossing the corridor and rounding a corner, the air split with a sharp hum.
Samael and Atalanta's pupils contracted instantly, their bodies moving on instinct as they stepped back.
"Bang!"
A crimson-shafted, black-bladed spear whistled through the air, striking the stone path and embedding itself deep into the ground. Clods of dirt scattered across the courtyard pillars and leaves with a dull thud.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
Atalanta drew the Skybow as she retreated, the string half-pulled. With a cold snort, she released an arrow toward the direction of the sound—a warning shot.
"Clang!"
From behind a clump of shrubs, a crisp metallic note rang out. A figure emerged, blocking the arrow with an arm shield. The woman arched a dark eyebrow, lifted her chin, and strode forward with an air of confident arrogance.
"Hmph. Your reflexes aren't bad. As a fellow woman, I'll say you just barely pass."
The agile warrior—silver-haired, blue-eyed, and sporting strange, rabbit-like appendages atop her head—turned her gaze toward Samael. She frowned, spat to the side, and smirked with unmistakable pride.
"As for you, boy—what, hiding behind a woman's your only trick? Come fight me. Let's see if you're even qualified to join this Calydon Hunt.
If you can't handle a few of my strikes, you might as well pack it up and head home now!"
A heavy silence fell.
The three of them stared at each other for a moment before murmuring in confusion.
"Do you know her?"
"No..."
"Wasn't she talking to you?"
"I don't really know her either..."
"I'm tired. Can we just go to sleep?"
"Yeah, let's go."
After a brief exchange, Samael and Atalanta agreed to follow Circe back to their quarters. Moving at an unhurried pace, they walked right past the belligerent woman.
"Hey! Don't you dare ignore me!"
Veins bulged on Caenis's forehead as she shouted furiously.
Samael, clearly the focus of her anger, sighed and rolled his eyes.
Seriously... true to her legend—the loudmouth who talked herself into trouble and got buried alive by a centaur. Did she really think she was a match for anyone here?
Forget me for a second—could she even take on Atalanta or Circe one-on-one?
If that earlier spear throw hadn't been aimed at the ground as a warning, she'd already be flat on her back by now.
"Coward! Don't you dare walk away!"
The three had only taken a few steps when the hot-headed, dark-skinned beauty snapped. With a furious shout, she lunged forward, snatching up her spear mid-stride and swinging it sideways toward the ancient serpent's shoulder.
You've just narrowed your path, little sister...
Samael's eyes narrowed. He was about to teach this hothead a lesson when Atalanta stepped forward, bow already drawn. In one smooth motion, she loosed three arrows in rapid succession.
Clang! Clang!
Caenis spun her spear, deflecting the first arrow, but her body staggered back three steps as spiderweb cracks split the ground beneath her feet.
Realizing the danger wasn't over, the warrior raised her shield just in time to block the second arrow. Her arm went numb with the impact, a muffled grunt escaping her lips as her balance faltered.
Before she could recover, that deadly whistling sound came again—closer, sharper—sending a chill crawling up her spine.
"Hmph!"
In the depth of night, a cold arc of light flashed. Caenis, forced to slide half a step sideways, slowly turned her head, the final arrow clenched between her teeth.
"Pfft! That's it?"
The dark-skinned beauty spat out the arrow with open disdain. She wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, then looked down her nose at the huntress opposite her.
"Atalanta, right? You can protect that pretty boy for now, but can you protect him for life?"
Samael's lips twitched as he eyed the shallow cuts on Caenis's face—marks sliced by the arrow's wind pressure—and the thin trickle of blood at her gums.
Why'd you have to act so cocky? Look where it got you.
The ancient serpent glanced briefly at Atalanta, then back at the bristling Caenis, both amused and exasperated.
Did I provoke you somehow? Why are you fixated on me? Wouldn't living peacefully be easier?
Atalanta shot Samael a reassuring glance, then stepped forward with a cold warning.
"Caenis, from the Academy of Athens, right? Mind your own business. You don't need to worry about us. I brought him here, and I'll make sure he returns in one piece.
Also—move, or I won't be so polite."
The Academy of Athens?
Don't tell me this has something to do with that brat Athena. Meddling in your old man's… journey, are you? Looking to get smacked again?
Samael blinked at the mention of her origin, silently grumbling to himself.
Though in truth, this time he was wronging Athena. The Goddess of Wisdom wouldn't entrust a mission of this scale to a hotheaded, impulsive tomboy like Caenis.
No, this was just Caenis's usual loudmouth bravado—a spur-of-the-moment impulse to test Samael and stir things up.
"Fight? Fine! I'll flatten you first, then deal with that pretty boy behind you!"
The fiery dark-skinned woman raised her shield, leveled her spear, and charged forward with a fierce stomp. Atalanta responded instantly, bow drawn and arrow nocked, facing her head-on.
Arrows whistled. The spear's black blade swept horizontally. Metal rang and clashed again and again.
"Heh, not bad—you've got some skill after all!"
"Hmph! Got lucky once. Not bad, but too bad for you—my body's invincible!"
"Ha! You missed! What's wrong, skip dinner?"
Sand and stone flew. The courtyard tiles cracked beneath the force of their blows as the two figures tangled in a blur of motion.
Circe, watching from nearby, flicked her long ears, poking her head out to watch with a faint roll of her multicolored eyes.
Judging by the sound alone, anyone would think Caenis had the upper hand and was about to win.
Behind them, Samael—still being "protected"—rubbed the bridge of his nose with a helpless sigh.
If I'd known it would turn out like this, I shouldn't have taken that arrow for the sake of an advantage—
Ahem. For the sake of the plan, I mean. To fake an injury.
Now Atalanta really thinks I'm some useless bard-type slacker who can't handle a fight.
You two are having all the fun—mind if I show off a bit too, boss?
As Samael muttered to himself, a glint caught his eye. He turned to see the amber sheen of something in Circe's hand—and her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's.
"Where'd you get those grapes?"
"Swiped them from the banquet."
"Give me a bunch."
"Too late, these are the last ones!"
Circe clutched her chest protectively, stepping back as she spoke. Before Samael could say another word, the food-hoarding witch spun around and dashed off.
She had barely gone a few steps before nearly colliding with two figures hurrying their way.
"Both of you, stop! The hunt doesn't begin until tomorrow!"
Prince Calydon strode forward with a furrowed brow, his tone grave and commanding.
...
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