"This is it. Just minutes away from facing Ares himself." My voice trembles—not from fear, but from raw, electric anticipation.
— Nine long years since the moment I was gifted these powers. Nine years hunting down every one of Ares' generals. All but three remain: Martinus Rakia, the king—too visible to kill without causing a storm; Garyuu, lost to the shadows; and Marius Victrix Rakia, the one closest to Ares now. —
"The kid wants to be an adventurer, but Ares won't let him go. Not without a fight." I grit my teeth as I near the command tent.
—
Inside, the scene hits me like a cold shock. Ares—once a god of war—now kneeling, trembling like a broken man. Behind him, Marius stands stiff, facepalming as if embarrassed by his master's weakness.
"What the hell is this!?" My voice cracks with a mix of disbelief and fury.
"Please! Have mercy! I'm not ready to return to Heaven yet!" Ares begs, desperation bleeding through every word.
My fist rockets forward—but Marius intercepts, blocking with ease. I step back sharply, summoning Shape with a flick of my wrist.
"Hold him down."
—
Shape's power, Obsession, surges through him — a lightning-fast, iron-clad force, overwhelming even Marius. The younger warrior crashes to the ground, pinned beneath Shape's unyielding grip.
"Don't get in my way," I warn coldly. "I know why you stay here—because of your father."
Turning back to Ares, still groveling, I raise my fist to strike again—only to freeze. Just inches from his face.
Every enemy I've faced fought with fiery defiance. They earned their fate with cruelty. But this? A god on his knees, begging for mercy? There's no satisfaction. No justice in this. It doesn't feel right.
"Why won't you fight me!?" I roar, slashing my scythe through the air—but I stop again, unwilling to touch him.
—
Frustration explodes. I tear through the tent—cloth ripping, maps scattering, furniture splintering. But Ares doesn't flinch. He won't rise. Won't fight.
"Why!? Why won't you fight me!?" I collapse to my knees, hot tears streaming down my face.
—
All I wanted was vengeance—for my family, my friends, my home. I know he's faking. I know.
But even so... I can't do it. Not like this.
"When you're ready to fight… come find me," I say softly, voice cracking.
I turn and walk away, the weight of my failure dragging me down.
—
By the quiet lake, I sit alone, staring at my reflection—still clad in armor, still a warrior, but hollow inside.
"I'm powerless until Ares chooses to face me." The words sting.
—
In this loneliness, I ache for something I lost—family, belonging, a shoulder to lean on.
"Ais…" I whisper, remembering her.
—
Somewhere along this blood-soaked path, I forgot why I began. The real quest was never Ares. It was finding Ais.
A small smile creeps across my lips—childlike, fragile, hopeful.
"Orario, here I come." I stand and step into my tent for the night.
— Dawn breaks, and I wake with a spark in my chest—a purpose reborn.
"I need a familia... but one that cares. Not just for strength, but for their people."
—
Shedding my armor, I swap into simple clothes, hiding the warrior beneath. At the lake, I catch my reflection again.
"Perfect. I look like a rookie." I grin.
—
Packing light—pendants, gear, collapsible scythe—I step out, ready to begin again. Not just as a fighter, but as someone searching for a family.
—
After hours on foot, the gates of Orario loom before me. Guards glance at my bag, then wave me through without a second thought.
—
The day is a barrage of closed doors and sharp refusals. My humble appearance fools them, but each rejection chips away at my hope.
"Why's this so damn hard?" I mutter, exhausted.
—
Then, a silver-haired boy bursts out of the Guild, smiling like he owns the sun.
"This is it. My last shot." I approach and tap his shoulder.
"Hey! Do you have a familia?"
"Yeah! The Hestia Familia!" he beams.
"Are you accepting new members?"
He practically bounces. "Of course! Our goddess loves new people!"
"Then let's go!" I say, heart pounding.
—
As we walk, I realize I haven't even introduced myself.
"I'm Tristan Woods. You?"
"Bell Cranel. And my goddess is Hestia."
—
We reach an old, abandoned church. My instincts flare—skepticism tightening my chest. But I've faced gods, and I'm still standing.
"I can handle a few thugs."
—
"Goddess! Someone wants to join!" Bell calls out excitedly.
—
Suddenly, a small goddess bursts in, glowing with childlike wonder—and an aura of overwhelming warmth.
"Really!?" Hestia's eyes sparkle like stars.