Among the Argonauts, every single one of them was a hero of legendary fame across all of Greece.
Each came from a noble lineage, each possessed unparalleled skill in combat, they were the very definition of the chosen few among men.
But no matter how mighty they were, their strength was that of individuals, strength for single combat, not for war.
War was something entirely different.
In war, personal valor mattered, but so did coordination, tactics, strategy, and unity.
Even the warlike Amazon warriors had trained extensively for group warfare.
As the battle raged on, they gradually discovered the most effective way to fight against the Argonauts.
Soon, they began forming into small groups of three or five, working together to counter the heroes.
Though a single warrior might not be able to withstand even one blow from a hero, when several joined forces, attacking from every direction, even the strongest of men found themselves constrained, their overwhelming skill blunted by the necessity of defense.
Before long, the battle had reached a deadlock.
However, Alaric, who had been observing from the rear, could clearly see that the situation had already tilted in favor of the Amazons.
The Argonauts, though formidable one-on-one, were too few in number and too disorganized.
Each fought alone, relying only on personal might and passion, charging wherever their hearts led them, without any sense of formation or unity.
Because of that, even though they had initially broken into the Amazons' ranks and thrown them into chaos through sheer force, their inability to coordinate prevented them from capitalizing on their advantage or expanding their gains.
Once the Amazons regained their footing and reformed their lines, the heroes were in deep trouble.
On Hippolyta and Penthesilea's front, Hippolyta had already broken free from the heroes restraining her.
She stopped fighting alone and instead began to command the Amazons with her tactical brilliance.
Those heroes who had previously taken turns fighting her joined the larger fray, but their efforts were now like throwing pebbles into the sea, utterly insignificant.
Under Hippolyta's command, the Amazons quickly divided and surrounded their enemies completely.
At that moment, every Argonaut seemed like a drowning man surrounded by waves.
No matter how powerful they were, trapped within encirclement, they could not bring their full might to bear.
Their focus scattered between countless threats, they were eventually cut down, one after another.
Through Hippolyta's direction, the heroes were constantly outnumbered, surrounded, pressed, unable to retreat.
And when a formation began to falter, Hippolyta and Penthesilea would lead a concentrated force to strike at isolated heroes, defeating them one by one.
Only Alaric and Circe, thanks to their mastery of magic, hovered in the skies above, avoiding the encirclement entirely.
Atalanta, relying on her speed and agility, skirted along the outer edges of the battlefield, sniping Amazon warriors with deadly precision, her constant harassment sent waves of unease rippling through their ranks.
And, of course, Jason was hiding far away, too afraid to show himself, no matter how dire the battle became, he would surely be the last one standing.
Yet even with these few advantages, the Argonauts were merely delaying the inevitable, a slow, painful death.
By now, fewer than five hundred Amazon warriors remained, but of the Argonauts, barely thirty survived.
And even those were battered, bleeding, and on the verge of collapse.
This couldn't go on.
To Alaric, the Amazons had already done enough to weaken the Argonauts.
If their numbers dwindled any further, he feared the Olympian gods might decide to abandon the entire experiment altogether.
At this point, Alaric had no choice but to intervene, to pull the remaining heroes out of the Amazons' grasp.
But how?
He needed to act, yet he couldn't display excessive strength.
Otherwise, not only would he draw the suspicion of the gods, but the surviving Argonauts themselves would question why he hadn't acted sooner, why he had allowed so many of their comrades to die.
Otherwise, with just one area-of-effect spell, Alaric could have wiped out the entire Amazon army in an instant.
Compared to the physical fighters, a mage's destructive range was beyond comparison.
But such a method was off the table now. He needed a subtler way, something that could shift the battle immediately without exposing his full power.
With that thought, Alaric quietly activated "Mental Link", connecting his mind with Atalanta's.
"Catgirl," he said in her mind, using his familiar nickname for her. "Stop wasting time on the small fry. Aim your bow at Hippolyta, give her everything you've got."
"I understand," Atalanta's calm voice replied within his thoughts. "But it won't work. She's fast enough to dodge."
"That's fine," Alaric said with a faint smile. "I just need her to dodge."
"Got it."
Without hesitation, Atalanta ceased her harassment of the lesser warriors.
She drew her divine bow, the Celestial Sky Bow, once blessed by the goddess Artemis herself. A full-powered shot from it carried destructive power few could withstand.
As Hippolyta galloped across the battlefield, rallying her soldiers toward the next target, an inexplicable chill seized her heart.
It was a warrior's instinct, the kind born of countless battles and brushes with death.
It wasn't quite "intuition" or "clairvoyance," but it was enough to whisper a warning.
Where was the danger coming from?
The heroes they had surrounded should already have no strength left to resist.
Then…
She suddenly caught the faintest sound, the subtle twang of a bowstring vibrating.
The sound was barely audible, coming from hundreds of paces away. Yet the moment she heard it, Hippolyta instinctively leaned back in the saddle.
In the next heartbeat, an arrow streaked through the air from a distant treetop, slicing past her chest so closely it grazed her armor, leaving a thin, sharp line upon it.
"A sneak attack…"
For a brief moment, Hippolyta felt her breath stop.
The bowstring had only just sounded when the arrow had already arrived, her evasion had been nothing short of miraculous.
Whoever had loosed that arrow was a master beyond doubt.
It must have been that archer, the one who'd been harassing them from the battlefield's edge all this time.
Damn it. Had she known the archer was this skilled, she would have hunted her down first.
The thought flashed through her mind as she tried to glimpse her assailant's face.
But just as she arched her back to right herself from that near-supine, bridge-like posture, a violent jolt ran through her body.
Her warhorse, it had suddenly stopped.
No, not stopped. In the midst of its gallop, it had frozen completely, all motion ceasing in an instant. Its speed dropped to zero, and the next moment, the beast stumbled and fell.
Thrown forward by inertia, Hippolyta was launched into the air.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her steed, once alive and breathing, now transformed into solid stone.
Who had done this? Could it be… one of those fabled magi? A sorcerer?
There was no time to think. She had to stabilize herself midair, to right her body from its twisted, precarious position.
But just as she was about to recover, another danger appeared.
From every direction, chains of iron whipped through the air, converging on her.
Suspended in the air, with no footing to change her direction and her body still twisted awkwardly, she had no way to dodge.
Hippolyta was in mortal peril.
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