As the queen of the battle-hardened Amazons, Hippolyta, though still young, had already endured countless battles.
Combined with the divine might inherited from her father, the God of War, she was without question one of the strongest warriors of her age.
So when she noticed the chains, slithering like serpents, twisting through the air to encircle her, she immediately realized she had walked straight into her enemy's trap.
From the very first moment, the battle had been under her opponent's control.
That first arrow fired from the distance, the one that had nearly grazed her, had not been meant to kill.
Its true purpose was to force her into evasion, to make her focus on the incoming arrow and neglect the real danger that followed.
And the instant she bent backward in that graceful, iron-bridge posture to dodge the shot, she had already fallen into the enemy's web of snares.
Now, as the chains lunged toward her, Hippolyta found herself unable to evade. They were about to bind her completely.
Yet she did not despair.
Because Hippolyta had absolute faith in her own strength.
She might look like a lively young girl, but beneath that seemingly slender frame was the terrifying power of a demigoddess, strength that could shatter stone and cleave iron.
Mere chains could never hold her. Of that, she was certain.
Even as she thought this, the iron chains whipped around her waist, coiling like true pythons. They wrapped around her several times and bound her tightly, like a dumpling tied for steaming.
Her body continued to fall under inertia until she crashed heavily onto the ground.
Almost immediately, she felt a pull on the chains, lifting her upright.
The fall was nothing, she had taken far worse.
But when she looked up, she saw the one controlling the chains.
It was a man, handsome, with black hair like her own, and an exotic, refined face.
She had seen him before, among the Argonauts, and had found him memorable for one reason: his attire.
All the other Argonauts had been armored and armed to the teeth, exuding the fierce aura of warriors.
But this man, and the woman beside him, wore no armor at all. Instead, they were clad in long robes, staffs in hand, more like scholars than soldiers, utterly out of place on a battlefield.
Hippolyta had seen such people once or twice before. They called themselves magi, wielders of strange and wondrous powers.
Now, she realized the truth, the chains that bound her emanated from beneath this man's robes. He was undoubtedly a mage.
Mages were troublesome foes, Hippolyta knew that well. Their power was unlike any she had ever faced, and even for someone like her, their magic was difficult to counter.
But she also knew one crucial weakness:
Mages possessed fragile bodies.
Unlike the mighty heroes of this age, magi rarely trained their physiques. Their bodies were weak, no stronger than ordinary mortals.
Even a commoner could best them in close combat, let alone someone like Hippolyta.
Yes, if she could get close, victory would be hers.
Testing the chains, Hippolyta quickly determined they were made of ordinary iron, hardly enough to restrain her.
So she came up with a plan.
If her opponent was just a frail mage, why not pretend to be completely captured, lure him in, and strike when he least expected it?
He had tricked her just moments ago, this would be her revenge.
Feigning struggle, she writhed and twisted, acting as though she could not break free, while secretly watching him draw nearer.
One step.....
Another.....
Closer....
Closer still....
When he finally stood before her, reaching out a hand as if to touch her, Hippolyta exploded into motion.
Now!
She would tear the chains apart, catch him off guard, and crush him before he could even react.
In her mind, she could already picture it, his shocked face as she shattered his bindings, the look of disbelief as her fist drove into his gut, the agony of a mage too weak to resist her strength.
But before her attack could land, light flared from the man's hand, a surge of magical brilliance.
The chains binding her flashed in response, a glow that lasted only an instant, yet in that instant, Hippolyta felt the difference.
Something had changed.
She pulled again, but failed.
Her strength, which could easily tear through ordinary iron, suddenly meant nothing. The chains had become harder, far harder, transformed by the magic that had just been cast.
Her plan to break free and strike him down collapsed instantly.
"Damn it…" she hissed through her teeth.
She looked up, and saw that man smiling at her. It wasn't arrogance alone; there was amusement in his expression, as though mocking her futile cleverness.
No… it couldn't be…
She refused to believe it.
With a roar, she tried again, this time unleashing her full strength, the divine might of a demigod.
Her muscles bulged, her face flushed crimson, the chains cutting into her skin, but still, they did not yield.
Not even a fraction.
"It's useless," the man said calmly, shaking his head as he watched her futile effort.
"Under the effect of Touch of Adamantine, these chains are as hard as the divine metal itself. Unless a true god intervenes, you'll never break free by strength alone."
"Despicable mage!" Hippolyta spat, her voice trembling with fury. "To capture me with such underhanded tricks! If you're a man, release me and face me in fair combat!"
"Release you? Do I look like an idiot?" Alaric regarded her with a mixture of amusement and pity.
"I'm a mage, not a warrior. Why would I fight you on your terms?
And as for 'underhanded', weren't you the one planning to pretend you were caught just to ambush me?"
"I–Is that so…?"
Her little scheme exposed, Hippolyta's face reddened, and she turned her head away. "Well… all's fair in war, isn't it?"
"Then don't call me despicable," Alaric said with a soft chuckle, circling behind her.
"When you lose, you should at least admit it gracefully."
Though he lacked the aura of a mighty hero, though his body gave off no pressure or divine might, this man, this unassuming mage, had defeated her effortlessly.
All her tricks, all her pride, all her warrior's instincts… had been rendered meaningless before him.
When their eyes met earlier, she had felt it, as if this man could see straight through her, down to her very soul.
And now, standing behind her, his calm presence pressing against her bound form, Hippolyta, the proud queen of the Amazons, felt an unfamiliar chill run down her spine.
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