Hero In Ancient Greece

Diomedes nodded and followed Draco out of the palace. Outside, the squad of sixteen soldiers waited, their expressions a mixture of determination and unease.

As they mounted their horses, Diomedes happened to glance up at the palace. A movement at one of the high windows caught his eye. There, framed by the sunlight, was the princess. Her beauty was breathtaking, her features delicate yet regal. She seemed to be watching them intently.

When their eyes met, she quickly retreated behind the curtains, but not before Diomedes caught a hint of curiosity in her gaze. He shook his head, marveling at her resemblance to the goddesses depicted in the frescoes.

"She truly is beautiful," he muttered to himself, adjusting his quiver.

The group set off, the sound of hooves echoing against the palace walls. Diomedes took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey ahead.

The forest of Argos was alive with the hum of nature. Birds chirped in the trees, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures going about their business. In a small clearing, Diomedes was flat on his back, exhaling sharply as he finished his 100th sit-up. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he smirked in satisfaction.

"System," he muttered under his breath, calling up the familiar translucent panel only he could see.

The glowing screen appeared before him:

---

[Status Panel]

Strength: 10 safety limit 1 ton

Agility: 9.1 speed 39mph

Physique: 10

Spirit: 5

Stamina: 6

Daily Quests: Completed.

Rewards Allocated: Attribute Points +0.1

---

He tapped the agility stat, watching it rise. The numbers shifted smoothly, and he dismissed the screen with a wave of his hand.

Nearby, the soldiers watched him from a distance, whispering amongst themselves.

"What's he doing now?" one muttered.

"Probably some foreign ritual," another scoffed.

Diomedes ignored them. They wouldn't understand even if he explained. Stretching his arms, he observed the camp. The soldiers sat in small groups, laughing and sharing stories, but one figure was notably alone—Perseus.

The young man had been ostracized from the start. Diomedes could see the unease in the soldiers' behavior. They didn't trust him. Why would they? A supposed demigod, a son of Zeus, was an anomaly in their ranks.

Io sat on a fallen log nearby, her gaze fixed on Perseus. Diomedes couldn't help but admire her face—otherworldly, flawless, like something carved by the gods themselves. She didn't seem human, and it only deepened his curiosity.

"She's no mortal," he murmured to himself.

Before his thoughts could wander further, Draco approached him, his heavy boots crunching on the forest floor.

"Diomedes," the commander said gruffly, "we need to discuss the route."

Diomedes nodded and crouched down, using a stick to draw a crude map in the dirt. He explained the terrain, marking the safest paths through the treacherous wilderness.

Perseus, standing nearby, tried to contribute. "If we take the northern pass, we might—"

"Quiet," Draco snapped, cutting him off. The soldiers chuckled, some openly mocking Perseus.

The young man clenched his fists and stalked off into the trees, his frustration evident.

"I'm going to get water," Diomedes said to Draco, picking up his waterskin. "I drank mine earlier."

Draco nodded, dismissing him with a wave.

---

By the stream, Diomedes filled his waterskin, the cool liquid a refreshing balm for the day's exertions. As he stood, he caught sight of Perseus nearby, crouching low and holding out a hand.

A majestic pegasus stood before him, its coat a shimmering white, its wings spreading wide. Diomedes watched in awe as the creature nickered softly and stepped closer. Perseus moved with surprising calm, eventually laying a hand on its neck.

The sight was breathtaking, but something else caught his eye—a sword lying on the ground near Perseus. Its blade glowed faintly with celestial light, pulsing as if alive. Perseus picked it up, and the light brightened, casting an ethereal glow around him.

"Fascinating," Diomedes whispered, stepping closer but remaining hidden.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" Draco's voice startled him. The commander had followed Perseus, his movements silent as a predator's.

Draco approached the young man, his tone steady. "The pegasus and the sword—they're gifts from the gods. Your father, Zeus, perhaps."

Perseus's face darkened at the mention of his divine lineage. "I don't want anything from him," he said, his voice taut with anger. He dropped the sword, the glow fading instantly, and stormed off toward the camp.

Draco picked up the sword, attempting to wield it, but it remained dull and lifeless in his hands. His brow furrowed, and he carried it back with him.

---

At the camp, the mood had shifted. Perseus was silent, brooding by himself, while Draco organized the soldiers. They packed their gear and mounted their horses, ready to continue their journey.

Diomedes mounted his own steed, glancing up at the sky. The sun was high, casting long shadows as they left the forest behind and rode toward the jagged peaks of the Stygian Mountains.

The ride was grueling, hours of navigating rocky terrain and steep inclines. As the mountains loomed closer, the air grew colder, and an unsettling stillness settled over the group.

Finally, they reached the base of the mountains. The soldiers dismounted, their breath visible in the chilly air. Diomedes stared up at the towering cliffs, the peaks shrouded in mist.

"The Stygian Witches," he muttered under his breath. "Let's hope they're in a talkative mood."

The journey up the mountains was grueling for most, but for Diomedes, it was a tedious exercise in restraint. The climb could have been completed in hours if he had used the abilities granted by his attribute panel. But blending in as a mortal meant pacing himself with the group, pretending to struggle on steep inclines and treacherous paths.

By the time they reached the summit, night had fallen, the moon casting its pale glow over the jagged terrain. The witches' lair was a haunting sight—an eerie clearing surrounded by twisted trees, lit only by a flickering fire in the center. Around the fire sat the three witches, their grotesque forms hunched as they tore into raw human meat. Skulls of various shapes and sizes surrounded them, their hollow eyesockets watching the intruders.

The witches were a sight of horror—filthy, haggard, and eyeless. Their sockets were empty pits, yet they moved and gestured as if they could see. A faint shimmer in their claw-like hands revealed the secret to their sight—a single, shared eye that glowed faintly in the dim light.

As the group approached cautiously, Perseus stepped forward, his voice firm but respectful.

"We seek your wisdom, witches of the Stygian peaks. How can we defeat the Kraken?"

The witches cackled in unison, a spine-chilling sound that echoed in the still air.

"Defeat the Kraken?" one of them rasped, her voice like nails on stone. "Fools! It cannot be done."

Draco, ever the pragmatist, unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming in the firelight. "You'll tell us, or you'll regret it," he growled, stepping forward menacingly.

Before the witches could respond, Io intervened, placing a hand on Draco's arm. "Violence will not work here," she said softly, her tone calm yet commanding.

The brief distraction was all the witches needed. With startling speed, they lunged at the group, their clawed hands swiping through the air. Chaos erupted as the soldiers scrambled to defend themselves.

Diomedes and Perseus were quick to react, the former pulling out his bow and loosing an arrow that narrowly missed one witch's hand. Perseus, with surprising agility, seized the glowing eye from their grasp.

The witches screeched, their movements frantic and disoriented. "Return the eye!" one of them shrieked, her voice filled with rage.

"Not until you tell us what we need to know," Perseus said firmly, holding the eye aloft. "How do we kill the Kraken?"

The witches hesitated, their grotesque forms trembling with fear and anger. Finally, one of them spoke, her voice laced with venom.

"To kill the Kraken, you must journey beyond mortal realms," she hissed. "Cross the Desert of Death, pass through the Underworld, and seek the lair of Medusa."

The name hung in the air like a death sentence. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

"Medusa?" Draco asked, his tone skeptical. "The gorgon whose gaze turns men to stone?"

The witches cackled again. "Yes, fools. Her head is the only weapon capable of stopping the Kraken. But you will never succeed. The desert will devour you. The Underworld will break you. And Medusa will claim you all!"

Perseus tightened his grip on the eye. "Then we'll see for ourselves." With that, he threw the eye into the darkness, far from the witches' reach.

The creatures wailed in despair, clawing at the ground as the group made their escape.

________________________________________

Back at the camp, the group regrouped, tension hanging heavy in the air. Draco turned to Diomedes, his expression serious.

"Do you know this Desert of Death?" he asked.

Diomedes nodded. "I've heard of it. It's a barren wasteland to the east, cursed and dangerous. Few who enter ever return."

Draco's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Then we ride at first light."

The soldiers settled in for a restless night, the witches' ominous warnings echoing in their minds. Diomedes sat apart from the group, staring out into the darkness.

"Medusa," he whispered to himself. "This is a death sentence."