dmims Chapter 16 Gathering at Troy
Chapter 16 Gathering at Troy
"The winner!"
"Achilles!"
Salpedon left the stage. This son of a gangster from the underworld showed no signs of embarrassment or resentment, instead, a smile played on his leaden skin.
His goal has been achieved.
From this day forward, regardless of victory or defeat, he has completely broken free from that quagmire of violence, slaughter, despair, and ignorance.
Although the applause he received was far less thunderous than that for Achilles.
Even with his unique status as the only one born in the Underworld, his fame was far less than that of Achilles, who gradually rose to prominence after being rumored to have defeated the royal family.
This duel that belonged to him may be forgotten by the world in an instant after today.
Or perhaps later, when the Trojans were chatting, they would casually mention him, the warrior who came in second and was easily defeated by Achilles.
His existence is perhaps like a pebble thrown into a lake, destined to become a tiny ripple in Achilles' future story, a stepping stone that no one cares about.
Is it humiliating? Is it helpless?
Perhaps. Salpedon said to himself.
But do you care?
"Of course not," Salpedon said to himself.
Yes, Salpedon didn't care at all.
He neither craved the glory of being the center of attention nor desired the award that was sharp enough to cut.
Alone and refusing all offers of assistance, he walked into the shadowy depths of the preparation area passage, stepping into a gloom where light could not reach and shadows had nowhere to rest.
Just like the long years he spent lurking in the bottom nest, like a bloodthirsty bat hidden in the shadows.
In the dim and gloomy vision, only that half-mechanical, half-flesh eyeball, covered with a layer of gloomy gray, remained, the last glimmer of light in the darkness.
On the other side of the light, Achilles stood in the center of the arena with his arms raised, enjoying the cheers and adoration of the people, having already ascended to the summit where everyone looked up to him.
The Dardanelles sea breeze swept by suddenly, gentle yet swift, carrying a cool breath, a tidal wave of cheers, and the blessings of Troy.
Achilles bowed before the king, before that foreign emperor who was like a god.
To reward Achilles for his bravery, the king bestowed upon him a golden laurel wreath.
Hector, as if in an awarding ceremony, placed the crown, a symbol of supreme honor, on Achilles' head, which he was kneeling on one knee with his head held high.
Hector accepted the gift offered by the other party and praised his bravery and achievements throughout Trojan.
Salpedon stood silently in the shadows, gazing at the radiant moment of coronation.
I do not care.
He silently recited the words in his heart, then turned around and completely dissolved into the boundless darkness.
Deep within the passage, a sigh, so soft it almost blended into a breath, like a whisper from the depths of the heart, quietly mingled with the winds of Troy.
Achilles, beware.
Those who reach the summit should never underestimate any seemingly insignificant stepping stone.
Achilles, you should be humble.
How could someone so easily swayed by arrogance and pride possibly perceive the poisoned blade hidden beneath the flattery?
Achilles...
you……
That's so enviable.
click-
The heavy iron gate slowly closed.
……
……
The old night is ending, and dawn is approaching.
The news of the Primarch's return spread like the wind and like light throughout the Legion companies scattered across the galaxy.
When the news arrived, some of the Second Legion soldiers were praying to the statue of Hector inside the ship.
Some soldiers fought bravely against the surging tide of aliens, their blood staining the ground.
Some warriors are unleashing the fury of humanity for the empire and the emperor, using their flesh and souls to reclaim the lost stars inch by inch.
Some warriors, filled with regret and bitterness, slapped their bloody handprints onto their brothers' shoulder armor, blessing them so they could return to the embrace of the Father of Genetics.
These Astartes, survivors of the carnage, carefully wiped their worn weapons and repaired their battered armor. Filled with burning excitement and trepidation, they embarked on their journey to assemble, heading towards the place where their bloodline belonged, to pay homage to their true masters.
Throughout the long years, whenever they witnessed the three Primarchs returning in high spirits, and watched their blood relatives traverse the galaxy under their father's command, gaining glory and respect, they would fantasize countless times in their hearts about the arrival of this day.
During brief respite, they would imagine their meeting with the father of genes, and then, without hesitation, throw themselves into an even more brutal battle.
So as not to betray the blood flowing in his veins, to betray the glory he was born with, and to betray the illustrious name of the father of genes.
One by one, warships sailed into Athena's dock in Troy for rest and repairs, and towering giant warriors disembarked following the signs.
What greeted them was not the military scrutiny and strict security they had imagined.
Instead, it blends the grand ceremonial music with some familiar triumphant hymns.
These were the Trojan people who, after Hector's early guidance and propaganda, took to the streets with curiosity, friendliness, and enthusiasm, holding flowers in their hands.
This is the highest form of respect offered by the Trojan Planet Defense Force to their hero.
These warriors wore gray armor that symbolized suffering. After years of battle, the armor had been polished smooth and shiny by time, yet it still carried a faint smell of blood from years of fighting.
Faced with the cheers, anticipation, praise, and curiosity of the Trojan people.
After a moment of silence, hesitation, and bewilderment, the superhuman warriors of the Second Legion, led by their squad leaders, quickly formed orderly marching ranks.
The team began to converge from all directions, like streams flowing into the sea.
The formation grew ever larger, more solemn, and more perfectly aligned.
The anxious assembly and march quietly transformed into a grand triumphant parade.
It became the best gift that the Trojan people gave to the Second Legion, and the Second Legion gave to the Trojan people in return.
Bouquets fell from the high-rise buildings on both sides of the street, landing on the broad shoulders of the soldiers.
On the street, a couple from Zhongchao, holding their child's hand, looked up at these giants that resembled angels, their hearts filled with genuine pride and peace of mind.
Their child did something unexpected.
"This is for you."
The child's gaze was fixed on the tall, silent, and heroic figure of the soldier. He broke free from his mother's hand and clutched the bouquet of flowers he had picked while playing, which he had intended to give to the girl next door.
Like a nimble little animal, it weaved through the guards blocking the onlookers and broke into the makeshift marching passage.
"This is for you." The boy raised the bright yellow bouquet in his hand again. The bouquet was not expensive; it was made of wildflowers that could be found everywhere in Zhongchao and bloomed with incredible tenacity.
In front of him, an Astartes wearing an iron halo stopped in his tracks.
The entire marching force came to a standstill.
Astartes raised his hand to stop the guards who were about to step forward, and looked down at the child in front of him who was holding a bouquet of flowers high, but whose face was gradually showing fear and unease.
The towering giant slowly bent down.
Even so, their sizes were still vastly different.
So the giant knelt down on one knee.
He took off his helmet and looked down at the boy, whose forehead had two gold studs and one silver stud.
One half of his face was covered by a cold, mechanical prosthetic, while the other half bore a deep, grotesque old scar, making him look terrifying.
The boy was initially stunned by his appearance, but in an instant, a deep sense of shock welled up in his heart.
I was deeply moved by the warriors' unwavering resilience and by the heavy price these guardians, as described by the king, paid to protect everything.
"It must have hurt a lot, thank you." The child's words were sincere and heartfelt.
The second company commander, Valentine, was about to respond when he heard the child's heartfelt tenderness and gratitude.
The first thing that surged in the heart of this veteran, who had served for more than 250 years and fought his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, was not emotion or numbness, but a sharp pang of sorrow.
It is often said that loyalty itself is the highest reward.
But no one would refuse the most genuine kindness and respect from a child.
"This is an award."
"Reward the victors."
"I know, scars are a man's badge of honor." The boy, no longer frightened, smiled proudly, "My dad said so."
Following the direction the boy was pointing.
Valentine saw his two parents, who were terrified, and three soldiers with deathly pale faces.
They clung tightly to another, younger boy with bright eyes, looking pleadingly at Valentine.
Valentine smiled, but the smile was hardly pleasant.
"You have wonderful parents and children."
"You're right, these are a man's medals, but now, it's time for you to go back to your parents."
"They were terribly worried."
As he spoke, the boy became the first person on Troy to sit on the shoulders of Astartes.
He excitedly returned to the crowd.
The formation continued marching, and no more children were able to break through the army's blockade.
The boy's eyes sparkled as he said to his parents, "Dad, Mom. Someday, I want to be like that."
"Mom and Dad, I will make you proud of me."