The time machine burst out of the time tunnel.
Ian's body jolted, the world before his eyes reassembled once again—at this moment, Ian's entire body felt as sore as if it had been trampled by a group of agitated Griffin Beasts.
Finally.
The destination was reached.
He recovered from the impact of the time machine, got up from the ground, dusted off his robe covered in dust, and found himself lying in a narrow alley.
The cobblestone ground was rough and cold, and the air was filled with a faint scent of dust and earth. Ian slowly sat up, rubbing his slightly numb arm.
Then he looked down beside him.
On either side were mottled lime walls, with shards of pottery piled up at the corners, and the air was imbued with a mix of olive oil and smoke scents. The time machine covered in Doraemon stickers had disappeared.
"Where's the time machine?"
Ian looked down in search, finding an ancient bronze ring lying on the ground, engraved with intricate runes on its surface, precisely the miniature version of Claire's time machine.
"Quite good at disguises..." Ian picked up the ring and wore it, as the band automatically adjusted to fit his finger's size, and the icy surface quickly warmed to his body temperature.
As soon as he put on the ring, Claire's voice echoed in his mind: "This is disguise mode, it automatically adjusts its shape based on the environment to avoid unnecessary attention."
"Oh, right, I currently don't know what you're doing; this is just the new player guide message I recorded." Claire's voice faded away carrying a hint of excitement.
As though being a "game planner" gave her much joy. Shouts, clangs of metal, and the crackling sounds of burning flames echoed from outside the alley.
"Are you saying I crashed like a potato just so this thing could turn into a ring?" Ian couldn't help but grumble, though indeed he received no response.
"It seems one truly cannot communicate across time, only record messages." He sighed, stood up, tidied up his clothes and slowly walked out of the alley.
The sight before him made him hold his breath.
He was in a typical Ancient Greek city-state, with architectural styles simple yet grand, and tall stone columns and intricately carved temples lining the streets.
But at this moment, it was all torn apart by war.
Smoke billowed, flames surged, and the entire city seemed to have plunged into Hell-like chaos. Panicked civilians were everywhere on the streets, clutching their children and carrying their bundles, fleeing among the burning houses. The cries of women and the elderly rang out, interspersed with the distant sounds of metal clashing and warhorses neighing.
Ian looked up, spotting in the nearby square a fierce battle underway. On one side were Spartan Warriors clad in red Cloaks and wielding long spears, their bodies were robust, movements swift, like war machines—precise and cold-blooded; while the other side consisted of Greek soldiers of varied equipment.
Though greater in number, they retreated step by step under the Spartans' offensive.
"Is this a time of chaos?"
Ian couldn't help but furrow his brows.
He quickly leaned against a collapsed wall.
Striving not to get noticed.
On the stone-paved street, Spartan Warriors in crimson cloaks fought fiercely with Athenian soldiers. Long spears pierced through shields, bronze swords severed arms, and blood sprayed in the scorching air.
Suddenly.
Ian heard a roar.
"Athena! You betrayed me!"
It was a growl full of anger, resonating throughout the city.