Anagin Chronicles

Chapter 116

Cold words, heavy with disappointment.Those were the words Irida had heard most often from her father.

The reason she heard them was simple: Irida had been born a daughter, not a son.

Only sons could inherit the throne.

Of course, Irida had her grievances. Bluntly put, she hadn’t chosen to be born a woman, had she?

If she could have chosen, she would have been born a man.

But she never said such things out loud. Not only that—she never openly expressed dissatisfaction with her father’s unjust attitude.

She had once heard that her elder sister had been abandoned simply for being born female. Because of that, Irida knew that the only reason she herself had not been abandoned was because her mother had desperately protected her.

She was angry and sad, but at the thought that she, too, might be discarded, Irida did not dare show even a hint of displeasure.

Being abandoned by one’s parents was far too terrifying for a child.

That fear did not change even if the father in question disliked her.

So instead of voicing her resentment, Irida chose to become a man.

Or rather, to become a daughter no less than a son.

She pretended to dislike the dresses and dolls she loved, and instead pretended to enjoy running, physical training, fighting, and archery.

It wasn’t particularly difficult.

Her father had never taken interest in what Irida did in the first place, and her mother, who pitied her, helped Irida become more like a boy.

Thanks to that, despite being female, Irida was able to receive the same education given to boys.

Physical training. Combat techniques. Archery. Hunting. Horsemanship.

Some of it was hard, but Irida endured.

No matter how grueling or lonely the training was, it was still less painful and less lonely than the look in her father’s eyes when he gazed at her.

And then, one day, during those comparatively less painful days, a woman came to the royal palace.

Irida knew her.

The great warrior Atalanta, who, despite being a woman, had stood shoulder to shoulder with countless great heroes and retrieved the Golden Fleece as part of the Argonaut Expedition.

She had come after receiving an oracle telling her to reclaim the status that was rightfully hers, now that she had proven herself as a hero.

That’s right.

Atalanta was the daughter their father had abandoned—and Irida’s elder sister.

The Kingdom of Arcadia was thrown into shock.

Shocked that the daughter the king had cast away had returned as a hero, and shocked again that Isos—who so despised daughters—had accepted her back without protest.

Well, more accurately, he had been unable to refuse.

She had returned bearing a divine oracle.

An oracle was a command from the gods.

No matter how powerful a king was, he could not defy it.

In any case, from that day onward, Atalanta became Irida’s hero.

It felt as though she had taken revenge on their father in Irida’s stead.

As if the knot that had been lodged in her chest had finally been washed away.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Irida liked her sister.

Atalanta treated Irida kindly, despite the fact that they were practically strangers. As if Irida were a younger sister she had raised since childhood.

Even though their relationship was still awkward and they hadn’t known each other long, Atalanta said that to her and helped her, especially with training.

From that point on, the training she had only pretended to like became something she genuinely enjoyed.

The training she had done to earn her father’s approval gradually changed into training meant to earn her sister’s.

And the training to become a son-like daughter turned into training to become a heroic sister.

They were days like a dream.

And so, sweet as every moment was, they could not last.

Thanks to the oracle, her sister had been able to reclaim her rightful status, but that also meant she had once again become bound to their father.

A daughter’s obedience to her father was a rule established by the gods.

Even Atalanta, blessed by the gods, was no exception. In fact, because she was blessed, she had to obey all the more.

And so she could not dare oppose their father’s command to hold a Groom Tournament to produce an heir, despite being a great warrior who had lived through countless adventures.

Irida still could not forget that time.

The moment when her sweet dream was shattered, and she was dragged back into bitter reality.

Irida wanted to question the heavens and her father.

Why must her sister obey him?

Why must a sister who had grown up and become a hero obey her father’s unjust command?

But when she actually tried to speak, no words came out.

When she saw her father’s gaze, Irida could not utter a single thing. It felt like she had returned to her childhood, when she had only ever watched his mood.

She was afraid.

Years of ingrained experience and divine teachings had made rebelling against her father terrifying. She was too afraid of the consequences.

And then came self-loathing.

She hated herself—for being such a coward, unable to raise her voice for her gentle sister.

Yet, absurdly, she also found herself rationalizing it.

This couldn’t be helped.

If even her sister, a hero, could not dare talk back to their father, what could she possibly do?

And it wasn’t just her sister.

Meleager, hailed as a great hero, said nothing. Others like Tramachus did no more than offer consolation.

That was how it was.

This was unavoidable.

She convinced herself that it wasn’t because she was worthless or a coward.

That was when Anagin appeared.

An odd man who had once been called the “Hero of the Outskirts,” then the “Practitioner Killer,” and later the “Practitioner Protector.”

A guy who was bothersome like a thorn in the throat, even though she tried to act like he wasn't.

He said he would do what no one else dared to even consider.

He said he would defy her father, the King of Arcadia.

He even went so far as to criticize him.

Every word was shocking. Part of her thought it was because he came from the backwoods—but somehow, he always struck at the heart of the matter.

He knew exactly what kind of man her father was, and he knew that there was only one way to save her sister.

And yet, why was it?

Every time he spoke the truth, instead of feeling relieved, Irida felt her anger flare.

The truths she had been too afraid to voice—Anagin spoke them so easily.

As if he dared, without knowing her circumstances.

She had noticed it long ago, but he had an incredible talent for getting under people’s skin.

Of all the people Irida had ever met, there was no one who infuriated her more.

And yet, there was one undeniable fact.

Among everyone present, including Irida herself, he was the only one truly trying to move for her sister’s sake.

Even more than she, her sister’s own sibling. Even more than Meleager, who was more than just a comrade.

And he even offered advice.

“Want a piece of advice?… If there’s something you truly care about, move. If you don’t do anything, you’ll regret it. Like I do. I mean that.”

Irida stared blankly at Anagin’s retreating back, and before she realized it, she had gone to find her sister.

To move for what was truly precious.

To stop regretting things.

Her sister asked why she had come, and after explaining everything that had happened, Irida spoke honestly about how she felt.

She begged her sister to be honest. Did she truly want to marry obediently?

If not, then Irida would help. She wanted her sister to choose the path that would make her happy. She truly wanted her sister to be happy.

Because—

“…We’re family.”

Just as Irida began to regret whether she had said it properly, she saw her sister look surprised for the first time.

She even seemed a little moved…

A short silence, yet one that felt like eternity, passed. Then a loud commotion erupted outside.

The after-party venue.

Looking out the window, they saw Anagin facing the suitors alone, chasing Hippomenes.

Getting struck by arrows, stabbed by spears, and smashed in the head with a hammer.

And yet, in the end, he exposed Hippomenes’s true nature.

Irida and Atalanta watched silently—and then, at last, picked up the bows they had once set down.

* * *

“Ah, you sure took your time getting here.”

“Don’t whine like a brat!”

Irida snapped as she darted to Anagin’s side in an instant.

She held a bow in both hands, with three arrows already nocked.

Thud-thud-thud!

The arrows, wrapped in the blessing of wind, flew with a heavy, siege-weapon–like roar.

Hippomenes swung his Orichalcum blade to knock them aside, but he failed to stop one, and was blown backward several steps before collapsing.

The mass of the wind-wrapped arrow had been higher than expected.

“Did you really have to come all the way next to me just to shoot?”

“To laugh at you for almost getting taken out like an idiot.”

Irida answered as if she had been waiting for that moment, and Anagin nodded in understanding.

“That’s so reasonable I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Hmph!”

Seeing Anagin accepted it without protest, Irida gave him a bright smile.

She looked to be in quite a good mood.

Squeaaaaal!

Just then, Hippomenes, sprawled on the ground, let out a scream like a pig being slaughtered.

From the wounds left by the arrows, parasites and pigs came spilling out.

‘He can spill all that out at once?’

The parasites slithered like snakes, rushing quickly toward Irida.

It would be horrifying even for a man—far more so for a woman.

Even so, Irida remained calm.

Fwooosh—!

Tramachus appeared at her side, spewing flames from his hand and incinerating the parasites in an instant.

True to their nature as bugs, they had little resistance to fire; the parasites shriveled far more pathetically than expected and turned straight into ash.

Kweeeek—!!

Kweaak!

Kkkiiiik!!

The pigs, however, held out a little longer.

They were clearly weak to flames, suffering burns almost immediately from Tramachus’s fire, but their bulk let them endure better than the parasites.

Even as they melted like candle wax, the pigs forced themselves forward, charging at Tramachus. In response, he stopped the spraying flames and swung his spear instead.

Thunk!

The spear pierced them with absurd ease, then exploded, blowing the pig to pieces.

Then Thyreos appeared, swinging his hammer and smashing no fewer than four pigs in one go.

Even accounting for the pigs being weakened by fire, it was an overwhelmingly brutal attack.

Looking around, Lynceus was busy binding and subduing the royal guards who had been overtaken by parasites.

“How long are you going to act like an idiot—”

Slice!

Just as Tramachus was about to say something,

Anagin swung the Beast Devourer and split one of the summoned pigs cleanly in half, vertically.

“I’m free now.”

Seeing him recover immediately, everyone let out a sigh of relief, but Anagin himself stayed alert, deciding to be cautious even if he didn’t show it.

He didn’t know what it was, but that shriek earlier had been quite dangerous.

It hadn’t hurt, but losing control of his body, even briefly, was no small thing.

Still, at this rate, it didn’t seem like he’d have to hear it again.

“Atalanta……!!”

Hippomenes shouted in a voice full of grievance, having been blocked by an arrow that Atalanta fired as he tried to attack this way.

It was understandable. Anyone would feel wronged if the woman who was practically about to become his wife shot him with an arrow—one enlarged to pillar-like size by the power of a blessing.

“Hippomenes…….”

But Atalanta’s side was understandable too.

No matter how full the world was of injustice, surely one couldn’t marry a pig.

As if steeling herself, Atalanta set three arrows on the string and released them at once.

One of the three arrows grew larger mid-flight.

Hippomenes overlaid writhing flesh onto his Orichalcum sword, turning it into a greatsword of bone and meat, then swung it and shattered the massive incoming arrow.

Considering it had even damaged Erysichthon, the power was impressive.

However……

Puh-buk!

The remaining two arrows curved through the air and embedded themselves in Hippomenes’s calves.

His mobility sealed, Hippomenes staggered.

Irida fired another arrow, this one packed with a massive amount of wind.

The arrow, carrying a vortex, didn’t just pierce Hippomenes’s shoulder—it ground it away.

As Irida and Atalanta coordinated, repeatedly striking the same spot, Hippomenes’s arm dropped off with a dull thud.

From between the fallen arm, a huge number of parasites poured out.

The parasites didn’t head for Irida, who had injured him, but scattered in all directions—a potentially troublesome situation.

[My flames, surround and imprison the enemy.]

At that moment, Tramachus drove his flame-wreathed spear into the ground, spreading fire wide and fast to encircle Hippomenes, like a pen made of fire.

He poured Energy (Γι) into the flames to raise their intensity, and the parasites crawling along the ground crumpled as they failed to cross the wall of fire.

The distinctive stench of burning insects spread everywhere, and Hippomenes’s flesh writhed and regenerated around his wounds.

Still, it wasn’t meaningless.

As the wounds healed again and again, Hippomenes’s body began to grow visibly gaunt. After all, regeneration didn’t come for free.

“Press the attack!”

At Irida’s shout, attacks poured in from all sides.

Worried that Hippomenes might take to the air and escape the encirclement, Atalanta refrained from enlarging her arrows, instead firing rapidly with only Energy (Γι) imbued in them, while Irida loosed arrows carrying wind.

The practitioners watching nearby also joined in, as if eager to get their share, those capable of ranged attacks added their fire.

A treasure hunter participating in the Groom Tournament fired a crossbow; the prince who had slain a golden lion swung his greatsword to send out slashing waves; even Meleager’s cousin-brothers hurled their spears.

In contrast, Tramachus focused solely on maintaining the flames, guarding against any parasites, while Thyreos stood by, ready in case Hippomenes tried to flee.

As damage continued to accumulate under the relentless assault, Hippomenes grew noticeably thinner.

To the point that it truly seemed like the end.

At that moment, Hippomenes squeezed out his last strength and howled toward the sky.

“Hm?!”

The first to sense something amiss was Lynceus.

His gaze turned toward the treasure vault where the Groom Tournament gifts were stored, the place where a chilling aura had erupted earlier, along with that strange sound.

Sure enough, once again, a strange sound (怪音) rang out, and a cold, ominous presence burst forth.

“A totem? Has it not been destroyed yet?”

Atalanta muttered, as if she knew something.

Then, Hippomenes’s entire battered body burst open, swelling into a massive mass of flesh.

It looked like a crab forming a bubble of foam to protect itself.

The only part still recognizable was the snout.

It seemed like a technique that recovered the body by consuming things brought inside the barrier, but whether it was appropriate for the current situation was questionable.

There was no one around to feed anything into that snout……

However, that question was soon answered.

A golden light shone from within the foam-like flesh, and people nearby began to be swallowed by gold one after another.

Golden belts, necklaces, earrings, rings, and gold coins suddenly moved like living creatures, engulfing those who wore or owned them.

All of them were gifts Hippomenes had given.

The gold that swallowed their owners moved in an amorphous, jellyfish-like form and slipped straight into Hippomenes’s snout.

And each time gold went in, the mass of flesh swelled even further.

“Feels like this just went to hell, huh?”