For Achilles, fighting was something that went far beyond the simple act of combat.
It was his very essence — the purest pulse of his warrior soul. Every exchanged blow, every spark of metal, every sound of impact between weapon and flesh — all of it made him feel alive in a way nothing else in the world could.
In that instant, he didn't need to think about the past, glory, or destiny.
Nothing else mattered but the fight itself.
For a brief moment, he even thought to himself:
"If only this moment could last forever…"
But paradoxically, deep within his chest, another equally powerful desire burned — the wish for a swift end, for an absolute climax that would bring that glorious battle to its conclusion.
A paradox worthy of a hero: to crave the eternity of battle, and at the same time, its ultimate end.
With his spear gripped tightly, Achilles lunged forward.
His movements were fluid, almost impossible to follow, as if the very wind obeyed him.
He struck with ferocity and precision, aiming for the heart of the centaur who had once been his teacher.
Before him, Chiron — the wise archer — seemed out of place in close combat.
Any other archer would have been overwhelmed within seconds.
But this one was not "any other."
Even under the suffocating pressure of Achilles' assault, Chiron remained unshaken.
His bow, which should have been a disadvantage at such range, became an extension of his body instead of a burden.
Even with the spear slicing through the air mere inches from his skin, he continued to release arrows at a steady rhythm — as if time itself bent to allow him to react.
With each deflected arrow and each parried thrust, the mutual respect between the two grew.
Achilles realized that, no matter how unmatched his strength and speed might be, there was something in Chiron that could never be overcome: the experience of a being who had taught heroes and endured centuries of battle.
Achilles' spear vibrated with each impact, but Chiron's bow remained firm, unyielding — almost divine.
Achilles knew well — that bow had been forged ages ago and wielded countless times.
It might not have borne a legendary name like the Noble Phantasms of later eras, but in power and meaning, it was their equal.
Achilles fought with everything he had.
Every fiber of his body burned with energy.
And still, Chiron managed to defend himself.
The centaur observed, analyzed, and restructured his tactics in seconds — adapting to the fighting style of the pupil he had once trained.
It was as if each exchanged blow was also a silent lesson, a living memory of a shared past.
Both had staked everything on this battle —
Life, honor, pride, dignity… everything dear to them was at stake.
The thrill was so great it became euphoria.
An intoxicating, almost divine sensation.
"Ah!" — Achilles roared like an impatient beast, charging with all his might.
His muscles tensed like steel cables, and the sound of the air being torn apart echoed through the skies.
But even consumed by fury, the hero did not lose his reason.
He knew — he couldn't win like this.
He mentally retraced the countless battles he had fought, all the times he had faced his old master, and recalled a cruel fact: he had never once defeated him.
Even if he could win now, it would take too long.
And time was a luxury he could not afford.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"In that case… I have no choice but to use it!"
With a swift and powerful leap, Achilles retreated, landing on the tail of the aircraft where they fought.
The slicing wind roared around him, making his mantle billow like that of a god descending from Olympus.
Chiron, surprised, continued to shoot — each arrow more precise than the last — but Achilles evaded them all as if he already knew their paths.
Even so, the archer understood — giving Achilles distance was dangerous.
Yet, curiously, that moment didn't seem to give him any advantage at all.
There was something strange about the hero's composure.
"A Noble Phantasm?" — Chiron asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes! Exactly as you guessed, teacher!" — Achilles' voice thundered across the night sky.
Chiron couldn't help but smile slightly.
But at the same time, a shiver ran down his spine.
The tension grew heavier.
That spear — the same one now shining in Achilles' hands — had been forged by Chiron himself, gifted to Peleus, Achilles' father.
The symbol of an ancient bond between master and student.
And now, that same weapon would be used in battle between the two.
Achilles, however, was no longer the student he once was.
With that spear, he had slain heroes and monsters, written legends, and carved his name among the immortals.
"Now, let me show you the true power of this spear… a power even you don't know, master."
With that declaration, Achilles spun the weapon, taking his classic throwing stance.
The air around him began to tremble, and even Chiron — wise and battle-hardened — felt his heart tighten.
But as he saw the motion's direction, confusion crossed his face.
"Go forth!"
"My Spear! My Conviction!"
"Diatrekhōn Astēr Lonkhē!"
The shout echoed like the thunder of the gods.
Achilles' spear spiraled upward, piercing the skies and tearing through the aircraft's metallic frame, releasing an explosion of golden light.
But the attack… wasn't aimed at Chiron.
No killing intent followed the strike.
It was something greater.
"What are you planning, Achilles?" — the centaur asked, already feeling the air distort around them.
And then, in the blink of an eye…
The world changed.
The wind stopped.
The sound vanished.
The stars froze in the heavens.
Chiron looked around — the aircraft was gone.
He and Achilles now stood in a colossal coliseum.
"I never thought you'd be capable of using magic…" — Chiron remarked, genuinely impressed.
Achilles smiled, shaking his head.
"This isn't ordinary magic. It's a dimension I created to fight Hector. He refused to battle me while he still had immortality… so I made this place to put us on equal ground."
"A dimension… created just for a fair fight?" — Chiron murmured, astonished.
Achilles laughed — simple, honest.
"Divinity means nothing here. No one else can interfere. Luck has no power over the outcome… and time stands still. Only the two of us exist."
"So only pure strength remains…" — Chiron said quietly.
"Exactly. And neither of us leaves until one of us stands victorious." — Achilles replied.
A brief silence.
Then the disciple raised his voice, eyes steady, filled with respect.
"Then, teacher… will you accept my challenge?"
For a few seconds, Chiron said nothing.
Then a soft smile curved his lips.
"I accept. Not as the Black Archer… but as a warrior."
Upon hearing this, Achilles grinned widely, genuinely.
The spiritual wind of that dimension seemed to respond, rippling the ground like an ocean of light.
From opposite sides of the floating arena, the two faced each other.
The calm, serene sage.
The fiery, impulsive hero.
Master and student.
"I won't use my spear here, and I won't let you use your bow either," said Achilles, lowering his weapon. "We'll fight bare-handed. One on one. Whoever remains standing in the end will be the true victor."
"Hand-to-hand combat?" — Chiron raised an amused eyebrow. "Have you considered that I might use my Noble Phantasm?"
Achilles laughed.
"This arena is my Noble Phantasm. Even if you tried to use yours, I doubt it would work here."
The centaur crossed his arms, thoughtful, before letting out a restrained laugh.
"You're forgetting that I always beat you in wrestling, boy."
Achilles laughed loudly, confident.
"Then it seems one of us has the advantage."
"Oh really? And which of us would that be?" — Chiron retorted with a smirk, as he dismissed his bow.
Both stepped closer, their gazes locked, and bumped fists — an ancient gesture of respect and challenge.
"I am Achilles, son of the great hero Peleus."
"And I am Chiron, son of the mighty Titan Cronus."
"May this battle be fair!"
"May this battle be fair!"
Their voices echoed in unison, reverberating through the void of the dimension —
a sound that blended reverence and pride.
And so, master and student prepared for their final battle.
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."