Ares had awakened.
He realized victory was beyond his grasp, yet righteous wars often ended in assured triumph.
Rovi, however, simply stood rooted to the spot, speechless.
How exactly…had he suddenly gained enlightenment?
Breaking through mid-battle—what sort of protagonist logic was that?
Rovi badly wanted to ask this aloud.
But as he looked at the god in front of him, no longer emanating bloodthirsty violence, his divinity purified into clear, radiant battle intent—no, Mars now rather than Ares—Rovi momentarily felt dazed, then gradually understood.
Mars had always been an extension of Ares.
Even though Rome didn't yet exist, the Roman pantheon was merely a continuation of the Greek gods. Mars, as one of Rome's chief deities, was the ascended form of Ares.
Yes, ascended—just as at this very moment.
From a god who swung his spear purely for slaughter, he had transformed into one who guided war toward justice and victory.
Ares had achieved precisely that transformation.
And now, at this moment, he granted Rovi a new blessing.
It might appear coincidental, but…
Why am I not even slightly surprised? Rovi reflected deeply.
He realized his emotional response to failing at dying had gradually dulled over time.
Failed? Try again.
But…
"Witnessing the birth of a God of War and Justice—isn't such a bad outcome," Rovi murmured softly.
He had driven away gods who tried to control humanity but never outright rejected them. Quite the opposite: he welcomed gods who held genuine goodwill toward humanity.
Just like Ishtar Rin and Ereshkigal back then, or Tiamat in the Sea of Imaginary Numbers.
Mars before him was the same.
Mars turned to look behind him.
At the Spartans, still stunned…
"From now on, I'm no longer Sparta's god," he announced clearly. "My past self drove you to meaningless battles. Now, I release you."
"Sparta, my brave warriors, your glory lies on the battlefield—but never in unjust wars. Your path from now on shall lie beneath the sun!"
"From this day forth—"
"I shall ask my brother, Apollo, god of light, to become your new protector deity!"
"The light shall shield you, justice will guard your path."
The Spartans exchanged uncertain glances.
At that moment, the sky, finally calm from violent shockwaves, suddenly shone brightly. A voice echoed downward:
"I accept."
It was Apollo, eldest son of Zeus, Crown Prince of Olympus—the God of Light himself.
"From now on, Sparta belongs to me."
The Spartans exchanged another glance, quickly dropping to their knees.
They bid farewell to their old god and welcomed the new one.
Yet Apollo's voice from above grew softly amused as he addressed another:
"Rovi, Sage from Uruk, I look forward to the day we meet face-to-face—"
"I hope your wisdom then still matches your brilliance today."
"That day will surely come," Rovi replied calmly. "Apollo, God of Light—I hope when it does, your radiance will also match today's brilliance."
He had a feeling: sooner or later, he would become the enemy of these Olympian gods.
Though he'd caused Ares to awaken, Rovi had indirectly weakened Olympus.
Because Mars belonged to Rome—he was a god of the future, not the present.
"It's time for me to leave." Mars gently tugged his chariot's reins. "Farewell, Sage!"
Hooves kicked up dust clouds, and the deity's figure swiftly faded away.
Mars departed.
He headed toward the future—where his true soil lay waiting.
An "Ares" remained in this era, but merely as a lingering shadow.
A mechanical remnant performing the leftover duties of the old Ares.
The war had truly ended.
"I never imagined it would end like this."
Athena, who had watched from afar all along, wore a complicated expression. For the first time, even she, the Goddess of Wisdom, felt genuine admiration for someone else's intellect.
A blessing meant "never winning."
Yet it had paved the way step by step toward an inevitable victory.
"Rovi, Sage of Uruk. Truly, you deserve your fame as the Sage who once banished gods and crafted glorious civilizations with your own hands," she whispered softly, breathing gently into the wind, then turned away.
The war between gods had concluded.
It was a war—without losers.
Athena grasped the Authority of War and, for the next century, faced no further obstacles.
Ares ascended to become Mars, moving toward the future.
Sparta gained a new deity, and under Apollo's protection, they would no longer oppose Athens.
There were no losers—or perhaps only one loser existed:
Rovi himself.
He failed to die.
Instead, he'd grown even stronger.
UNJUST WARS SHALL ELUDE YOU.
VICTORY SHALL ELUDE YOU.
YOU SHALL ULTIMATELY FIND YOUR TRUE DESTINATION.
These triple blessings meant Rovi had deepened his bonds with the gods, taking another step forward on the Hero's path.
Moving onward.
Perhaps the road home lay just ahead.
"Sister, sister, did that guy just beat Ares?"
"Euryale, he didn't actually win."
"Then why did Ares leave? Medusa, what do you think—did he win or not?"
"Mister Rovi didn't achieve victory. But he won."
"Saying confusing things earns you punishment, you know!"
"I-I'm sorry!"
The conversation between the three goddesses, back in human form, drifted toward Rovi from behind.
Still in his linen robes, Rovi glanced sideways, turning slowly.
A young girl in a simple white dress leaned closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
"Euryale, show some manners."
"But sister, you're doing it too!"
Rovi found himself flanked by two little girls, one on each side.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Mr… Mr. Rovi, hello," Medusa cautiously greeted him from three steps away.
Rovi paused briefly.
Then he bent down gently, meeting her eyes evenly.
"Hello to you too, Miss Medusa."
"What about me, what about me!?"
"Me too, me too!"
"Sister, I asked first!"
"…"
...
For the first time, a hero who never killed appeared on the battlefield between Athens and Sparta. He wielded an invisible weapon, unable to defeat anyone or claim victory himself.
Yet he subdued the bloodthirsty God of War, Ares, and even Athena sincerely praised his strength.
For the greatest strength in the world often wasn't destruction—but reconstruction.
It was the strength known as "wisdom"—possessed by the hero who did not kill, the Sage Rovi, who had traveled from distant Uruk to the shores of the Aegean Sea.
Precisely because his story of bringing fire—the flame of wisdom and self—reached Greece, Prometheus stole heavenly fire, and the glorious Age of Heroes was thus born.
—The Opening Chapter of Greek Mythology
...
BOOM!
Thunder roared; lightning cascaded brilliantly across the sky.
On an impossibly high mountain, eagles soared and vultures circled above jagged rocks. A towering man bound by countless chains slowly opened his eyes as footsteps echoed clearly nearby.
"You are Prometheus, correct?"
A figure approached, having climbed thousands of meters barehanded to stand before him.
"My name is Heracles. I heard you stole fire from the gods for humanity's sake, bringing warmth and light to the world, and thus Zeus imprisoned you here."
The youth's rough voice echoed across the mountaintop. Heracles continued:
"I wish to rescue you."
"There's no need, young man." Prometheus paused, then slowly shook his head. "Stealing heavenly fire for mortals was always a sin. Even the Sage of Uruk fell into the Sea of Imaginary Numbers for this act. How could I alone escape judgment?"
"Then…what if I told you…the Sage has returned?"
Prometheus's eyes widened instantly at Heracles's words.
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