At the same moment, deep in the forested mountains of Thessaly.
Two figures stood behind a dense thicket of shrubs, watching the large group of riders disappear down the slope in a cloud of dust before stepping out from the shade one after the other.
"By the looks of it, I won."
Asclepios spoke without much feeling, a complicated emotion surfacing in his eyes that was hard to place as either disappointment or satisfaction.
"Please. If you had not been sending signals the whole time, pushing me to reveal that you were still alive, he would most likely be on his way to pick a fight with your grandfather right now. Is that result not clear enough?" Lorne rolled his eyes and pushed back with a light snort. "By any fair measure, this round goes to me."
"The result is that he went to drink, not to take revenge." Asclepios stated it again with a blank expression, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the fatherly feeling Apollo had shown.
He really wanted the golden apple and wanted to push forward his research into the immortality elixir.
But he had no desire to set aside his grievances and face that man, let alone accept him.
"Drinking. Perhaps." Lorne smiled and then spoke. "What you see is not always what is real. Do not be so quick to reach a conclusion.
Our bet is far from settled."
Asclepios's brow drew together slightly.
The look he turned toward the city of Thessaly held a quiet unease.
He heard the meaning underneath.
"All right, enough on that."
Lorne stretched with a comfortable yawn and suggested with a smile, "Since neither of us can convince the other right now, shall we put the bet on hold and wait for things to play out before deciding who wins?"
"Fine." Asclepios gave a nod and did not press the matter further.
He looked at Lorne beside him and said. "So where do we go from here?"
"First, a trip to Arcadia. I have some personal business to discuss with Lady Artemis." Lorne paused, then produced the sacred cup and glanced sideways at Asclepios. "For safety's sake, it would be better if you went back inside."
"I have to be a spirit again?"
Asclepios frowned, feeling reluctant.
"No choice. There are too many eyes out here. If anyone recognized you,
I could hardly silence all of them.
And maintaining your physical form puts a constant drain on me. If we run into any troublesome figures on the road, we might both end up finished. "Lorne explained it all with complete sincerity, laying out the stakes as though genuinely concerned for them both.
Asclepios stared at him with a flat expression. "That phrase is generally used to describe a pregnant woman and her unborn child."
"Ha. Close enough in spirit."
Lorne laughed it off and raised the sacred cup toward Asclepios again.
In the end, Asclepios could only consider the bigger picture, as a certain someone kept framing it, dissolve his physical form, and flow as light into the sacred cup to rest in dormancy, reducing the burden his presence placed on Lorne.
Watching his nephew cooperate so sensibly, Lorne gave an appreciative nod, then swiftly tossed the cup into the magical array, giving Asclepios a space of absolute quiet to rest in.
The things that he was going to do next were not suitable for the young generation.
* * *
Several days later, at the border of Arcadia.
Rolling mountains rose and fell one after another.
The trees were lush and bursting with life.
Lorne, returning from Thessaly, walked through this sacred land blessed and sheltered by the goddess of the hunt, his feet pressing through a thick carpet of fallen leaves as he made his way in an easy, unhurried manner toward the depths of the forest.
He had not gone far before he stopped, looking at a slightly raised mound of dry leaves ahead with an amused expression.
He snapped off a length of branch, swept aside the leaves covering the mound, and revealed a metal contraption made of two serrated bronze rings.
A beast trap.
And left in quite an obvious spot, was it not?
Lorne raised an eyebrow, stepped around it, and continued forward.
Before long, he turned up three more of the same traps, two pit traps, three net snares, and five magical inscriptions carved into trees and the ground.
Rough. Far too rough.
Lorne looked over these conspicuous traps with a critical eye, shaking his head.
This was not nearly enough to make a decent hunter.
Lorne narrowed his eyes, sent the branch in his hand shooting forward, and hit the mechanism of the nearest beast trap with precision.
Click.
The sharp metallic ring of the trap springing shut echoed outward and spread through the dense forest.
At the same moment, beside a clear stream not far away, a young huntress sat on a rock, sharpening arrow tips against the water's surface.
The cat-like ears on top of her head gave a small twitch as she sprang to her feet, green eyes flashing with excitement.
Got one.
The huntress stuffed the freshly sharpened and assembled bronze arrows into the quiver at her hip, snatched up the bronze bow beside her, and became a streak of green as she ran toward the area where the traps were set.
That agile figure moved through the rugged mountain forest as though it were flat ground, like a quick and powerful lioness patrolling her hunting ground with effortless grace.
The wild boars, mountain goats, bison, and other creatures nearby caught her scent and pressed themselves into their dens, trembling.
Fortunately the huntress did not stop.
Within moments she arrived at the trap area.
'Wait. No sound. Something is wrong.
The stillness ahead set her on alert at once.
She stopped at the edge of the trap zone and waited carefully, watching for the right moment.
In the shade of the trees,
Lorne gave a quiet nod of approval.
The trap-setting technique was rough, but the instincts were solid.
Barely passing, but passing.
After that brief assessment, a subtle smile spread across Lorne's face.
Then let the second test begin.
Snap.
A clean, sharp crack of a breaking branch came from somewhere in the forest.
The huntress, still hidden in the shadows, tensed at once, drew her bow, and released toward the source of the sound.
The arrow cut through the air with a sharp whistle, and a muffled, suppressed grunt followed.
Rustle, rustle.
The leaves and branches in the forest shifted.
The sound seemed to be moving away.
Trying to run?
In the forests of Arcadia, there are very few who can outpace me in a chase.
The huntress gave a cold snort, did not hesitate for a moment, burst from the shadows, and gave chase after the wounded quarry.
The green figure covered the ground like a gust of wind, and her excellent speed closed the distance quickly.
But when she looked ahead, there was no one there.
The huntress scanned her surroundings carefully, her gaze passing over a few barely visible scrape marks on the branches along the way.
Then she looked down at the small stones resting on the dry leaves at her feet, and the realization struck her in an instant.
Wrong. It was a trap.
But the huntress did not freeze.
Drawing on the trajectory of the stones thrown from the ground and the marks on the branches, she analyzed the approximate hiding spot of her opponent in a flash of thought.
Behind her. Southeast.
Three to four hundred meters.
Driven by wild instinct, the huntress spun on her heel, grabbed two bronze arrows engraved with inscriptions from her quiver, nocked them both, and released them rapidly into the air above.
Hum, hum!
As the two arrows climbed, the inscriptions on their tips began to hum and glow.
A magical array shaped like a full moon constructed itself in the air above in an instant.
As the two arrows passed through the completed array with a sharp whistle, the aether particles in the surrounding air were drawn in and gathered, forming a visible tide of magical energy.
One after another, silver-white arrows of pure light emerged from the magical array and then rained down like a meteor shower, delivering a blanketing strike across the three- to four-hundred-meter zone to the southeast.
This was the Silver of Rapid Fire.
A technique taught to her jointly by her master and the goddess Artemis.
It was the most fitting thing to use right now for flushing out a hidden opponent.
The dense shower of light arrows severed branches, pierced through tree trunks, and sent clouds of dust and splinters billowing outward.
But as the huntress Atalanta watched with sharp alertness, a low voice came from ahead.
"Too slow. Your enemy is capable of moving, you know."
The words were barely finished before a sudden shift in air pressure struck straight at the back of Atalanta's head.
Thwack.
With a dull, solid sound, Atalanta grabbed her ringing head and fell back in humiliated defeat.
The figure wrapped in a concealing mist looked at her from across the distance, voice carrying easy mockery.
"Is this really the best a chosen of the moon goddess can do? If I had been holding a sword just now, you would already be dead."
"That was a sneak attack. It does not count." Atalanta fired back indignantly and, in her irritation, drew her bow without another word and came at him again.
The arrows shot forward like falling stars, the sound of them splitting the air sharp and fierce.
Lorne, whose face was still hidden, raised a hand and pulled a dry branch off the ground into his grip.
With relaxed, casual movements, he swept and deflected the incoming arrows one after another, knocking them from the air without apparent effort.
Strong.
Watching him deflect her arrow storm so effortlessly, Atalanta felt a jolt of alarm and immediately grabbed three arrows from her quiver, releasing them forward with a particular technique.
A chain shot?
You think a trick like that is enough to beat me?
Not even close.
Lorne gave a cold laugh, spun the branch in his hand, and split all three arrows flying in a single line in rapid succession.
He was just about to push forward when the cold silver gleam flickering at the tail of the last arrow made his pupils tighten slightly.
There is more?
Not a three-shot chain.
A three-plus-one?
Three arrows nose to tail in a single line, released on one bowstring pull, each visually masking the one behind it.
The one before falls and the one behind strikes harder, each arrow carrying more force than the last.
And the second and third carried concealment illusions, their whole purpose being to hide the truly lethal fourth arrow.
The arrows carried no overwhelming divine power.
This was a technique refined purely through experience and strength of wrist.
It seems Artemis has trained you well, little Ata.
The thought had barely finished forming when the fourth arrow was almost on him.
Lorne had no time to bring the branch around for a block.
He raised his free left hand and caught the arrow heading straight for his face.
The razor-sharp tip stopped a few inches from his forehead.
A small margin, but a margin that made all the difference.
Having come out on top cleanly, Lorne was about to drop the arrow and drop his disguise to offer a few comments, but in the moment he raised his hand, he caught sight of the detonation runes glowing on the arrow shaft.
The smile forming on his face went still.
Boom.
The aether that gathered and surged around them exploded in an instant, producing a brilliant shower of sparks.
Smoke and dust rolled outward in every direction, and the powerful shockwave sent the surrounding branches snapping one after another.
(End of Chapter)