dmims Chapter 13 Achilles
Chapter 13 Achilles
Patroclus was absent.
Although his body was recovering rapidly, the bones shattered by the Minotaur's charge could not heal so quickly, even with medical assistance.
Approaching the field in this manner, Patroclus's only fate was to give up his spot and lose face in front of the Trojans.
No one cares that Patroclus made it to the end, and no one cares that Patroclus and Achilles joined forces to defeat the Minotaur, which had been transformed by alchemy, in the labyrinth.
The audience will only laugh at the loser's vulnerability and only see their pathetic defeat in the end.
Fortunately, Achilles secured the opportunity for his friend to become an Astartes.
Moriarty smiled and nodded, while Patroclus silently tugged at his clothes to express his gratitude after Moriarty made his request.
"We are brothers, Patroclus." Achilles waited for the gates ahead to open, and in the darkness, he sat in the center of the enormous bull's head, sighing at Patroclus's thanks.
The gate opened little by little, and light gradually spread from the ground, up to a person's height, until it filled the entire space.
Achilles, suddenly faced with such a bright light in a relatively dark environment, raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light, then stood up from the bull's head with an excited smile on his lips.
He dragged the bull's head out of the arena with one hand.
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"Victor! Achilles!"
"My God! He defeated his opponent so easily once again!"
"Look! The Minotaur's head is still in his hands!"
"Let's cheer for the winner!"
The broadcast announced the winner of the match.
The holographic projection played Achilles's martial prowess for everyone.
The boy raised his arms high, his face beaming with the glory of defeating his opponent, the bull's head still firmly in his hands.
From beginning to end.
This gift, intended for Hector, remained in Achilles' possession.
Achilles once said that he would hold this head until the very end, and present it to the king as a token of gratitude and a gift.
"It seems your opponent is him, Paris."
Hector, who was watching with the emperor, had a complex expression, showing both his approval and appreciation of Achilles' bravery, as well as his feelings for his younger brother who had been summoned to his side.
Paris's worries and helplessness.
In any case, when Paris got involved in the selection process...
His brother had already gone from being a detached bystander and narrator to becoming a character in the story.
According to Hector's observation, his brother Paris was no match for Achilles, and his defeat was inevitable.
If Paris had been able to end things in a dignified and magnanimous manner, it might have become a celebrated story in Troy.
Hector's thoughts were running wild.
"A fine young man. His martial prowess is comparable to mine back in the day," Hector praised, his gaze lingering on Paris's somber face as he sighed inwardly.
Paris instinctively wanted to respond to his brother's words, but the thought of the Emperor's presence made him appear reserved.
"Brother, I acknowledge Achilles' bravery and strength," Paris said, maintaining a facade of politeness.
But whether it was Hector, the Emperor, the Imperial Guard, or Holmes, they could all see through the forced and rebellious nature of this etiquette.
Meanwhile, Hector, who had been with her the longest, could see even more.
His brother, Paris, remains convinced that he is confident he can achieve final victory.
Even Achilles' current performance might just be seen as flashy stunts by Paris.
"I will bring victory back, brother."
He then looked solemnly at the Emperor and performed a Heavenly Eagle salute: "Witness, Your Majesty."
The emperor nodded almost imperceptibly, without uttering any groundbreaking remarks.
"winner!"
"Unbelievable! Another dark horse."
"Salpethon, remember this name, the son of the Underworld, the indomitable challenger!"
The words "underground gang" were deliberately paused and emphasized, and together with the laughter, one could only taste the barely perceptible dissatisfaction, arrogance, and mockery of the upper-class nobles.
Hector's expression darkened at this.
He initially intended to find his personal guard, but then his gaze shifted to his son, Sherlock Holmes.
"Tell me your name, my son," Hector said.
Upon hearing this, Paris's eyes widened in disbelief as he repeatedly shifted his gaze between the burly man's face and his own brother's.
What a joke.
Holmes was excited. He was being impolite, waving his hands slightly before finally straightening up.
"Father...my lord!"
"Don't be so formal, just call me Father. I'm so glad to have a son like you; we're connected by blood."
“!!!!!!”
Holmes was feeling a bit dizzy; his brain was overloaded.
But he wasn't wearing armor, so naturally there were no medications to maintain his nerves.
"Father, Holmes! My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am the company commander of the First Company of the Second Army."
Hector truly felt the love and enthusiasm of his offspring, and he smiled.
His smile was gentle, and he was exceptionally handsome in Holmes' eyes.
"I have a task for you, my son."
Holmes forced himself to calm down, his face grave, resigned to his fate.
It's hard to say whether, at that moment, if Hector had asked him to leap and strike anyone other than the Emperor, Holmes would have done so without hesitation.
The voice on the radio was still blaring incessantly; Hector was already fed up with that arrogant nobleman, so full of self-importance.
He said to Holmes, "Shut that voice and send someone else who can talk."
Without Hector needing to say a word, Holmes bowed respectfully.
He retreated and left, closing the gate behind him. The moment he stood beside the guards, his face was grim.
Without keeping Hector waiting any longer, the nobleman's enthusiastic commentary was seamlessly replaced by a calmer, more emotional male voice.
Hector could tell that the man was not a native of Troy; his Trojan language was acquired, and he hadn't been able to learn some of the native vocabulary, but that was enough to be objective and fair.
This greatly pleased Hector.
Holmes walked in nervously, ready to receive the evaluation from the father of genetics.
Hector responded affirmatively.
"very good."
As dusk fell and the sun was about to set, Holmes had forgotten how he had left the place.
When he returned to the warship, he felt completely elated.
Everyone left; everyone returned to where they belonged.
Paris polished his sword and shield, anticipating his appearance tomorrow and the glorious victory.
A figure entered the area, and the guards cordoned it off; no one would be allowed to approach.
"Paris," the figure said.
Paris looked up and saw who it was.
It was his brother, Hector.
Without hesitation, he put down his sword and shield, excitedly got out of bed, and ran to Hector.
"Brother!"
Hector looked around, taking in the space where the selectors would rest.
The space is not small, more than 30 square meters.
This place displays a range of permitted weapons, including swords, shields, and bows. The selection process also allows them to use weapons made from the bodies of monsters and alien creatures they have killed.
In addition, there are medical devices and nutrient solutions used to repair the body.
Medical staff and waiters are on standby to respond at any time.
No matter what Hector says, he will not try to influence Paris's decision; he respects Paris's choice.
But emotions still compel Hector to find his brother.
He sat down on Paris's bed.
His enormous body no longer allowed Hector to sit in that chair.
Paris knew this too, so he casually pulled up a chair and sat down next to his brother, just like when he was a child and would cling to Hector, asking his brother to tell him about the day's events.
Hector patted his brother's head.
All the words and emotions in my heart converged into one sentence: "Whether we win or lose tomorrow, I will be proud of you, Paris."
Paris was stunned.
Feelings of gratitude and humiliation surfaced at the same time.
His beloved brother believed he might lose tomorrow, even though Paris admitted that Achilles did indeed have the ability and courage to rival him, and acknowledged that Apollo's words were true.
Hearing these words from her own brother still made Paris feel wronged, and she felt a surge of resentment.
After noticing her younger brother's emotions and expressions.
Hector realized something was wrong; his brain must have been distorted from spending too much time with that golden object.
Is this something you should be saying right now?
"Paris," Hector said.
"I have nothing left to give you. You are my best brother, my best disciple, and the best prince of Troy."
Paris, who was still sulking, was momentarily stunned by Hector's clumsy praise and his deep respect for his brother.
All he heard was "the best, the best, the best".
He quickly put his words and emotions behind him.
Seeing this, Hector breathed a sigh of relief. In order not to let his emotions get the better of him, Hector finally began to explain why he had come here.
Paris was forced to cram at the last minute.