"Big Sis is awesome!"
As Atalanta, revitalized and sharp as ever, strode past him, Samael shot her a playful wink of approval. She didn't even glance his way, stepping straight onto the track. Her presence flowed like a mountain spring—cold, clean, and cutting—as she settled into her starting stance, eyes fixed ahead in total focus.
A beam of activated Mana surged skyward moments later, bursting through the clouds.
Atalanta shot forward like an arrow leaving the bow, sprinting with explosive force. In an instant, she pulled far ahead, leaving the other competitors floundering in her wake.
Not good. Big Sis is actually taking this seriously.
Samael's breath hitched. What he was seeing bore no resemblance to the plan they had agreed on last night.
So he'd have to go all out?
The Ancient Serpent let out a helpless sigh, then a fierce flame lit his eyes. An irrepressible grin curved at the corner of his mouth.
His muscles tightened and rippled beneath his clothes like coiling vipers. In the next heartbeat he was no longer a man but a beast reawakened, stomping down hard and launching himself forward in a violent burst of speed.
Wind tore past him in a roar, whipping sand and dust into a storm. The spectacle made the crowd on both sides cough and shout as cheers and screams erupted from the stands.
From above, Heracles stared at one competitor clad in a sealed suit of armor, his expression twisting into something puzzled.
That build… looks familiar.
The race grew more brutal by the second. Contestants pumped their arms and pounded down the road leading out of the city, hearts thundering in a mix of fear and adrenaline. Faces flushed, veins bulged like writhing worms along their limbs, and still they pushed themselves to chase the leaders.
To even stand on this field, you had to give everything for a chance at the prize.
Greece had only so much land. Not every divine descendant could claim a kingdom; not every mortal could shatter the wall between peasant and noble. Winning meant gaining not only a beautiful wife, but possibly the right to inherit the throne of Arcadia—a chance to leap instantly to the top.
So even with Princess Atalanta's cruel condition—that those who lost would surrender their lives—competitors continued to flood in.
Everyone who stepped onto this field came either confident in their speed, clinging to blind hope, or prepared to die. All of them were here to gamble everything.
And so this long-distance race was fiercer and more savage than anything seen in the Olympic Games fought for glory.
In no time, hundreds of runners burst past the starting line, sweeping through Arcadia's capital and into the mountain trails and dense forests of the next stage.
But fate is not fair. No matter how hard one runs, raw talent often outweighs effort.
Those ordinary people who had gambled on luck were the first to fall behind.
Some staggered, gasped, and collapsed with torn muscles and burning lungs, sobbing in pain and terror. Others tumbled from steep paths, bones snapping, screams echoing through the ravines.
They were only the beginning…
Before the divine-blooded and battle-hardened warriors could scoff at the early dropouts, the third section taught them bitter humility.
A tangled mix of swamp, forest, and ravine awaited them—home to countless Magical Beasts. A single misstep meant becoming someone's meal.
Some sank into mud pits, swallowed inch by inch as panic turned to despair. Others were seized by mutated vines and crushed into fodder. Still others panicked and fled off the course, only to startle nearby monsters and be torn apart, flesh and bone alike.
Worse still, beyond the natural dangers, the course hid a maze of traps—pits, snares, steel jaws, and other vicious, camouflaged contraptions.
Screams rose again and again. One by one, contestants stumbled back caked in mud, blood, and humiliation, collapsing to the ground in agony.
By the halfway point, more than seventy percent of the runners had been eliminated. After receiving quick first aid from the off-site teams, they were escorted back to the capital to await the victor's judgment.
Meanwhile, Samael—having dodged every ambush and kept close behind Atalanta—stole a glance back at the carnage unfolding behind him. His eyelids twitched violently as he raged internally.
"Big Sis, to avoid getting married you're really going to sprint straight through the most dangerous parts of the Arcadia Mountains? That's… extreme, even for you."
This huntress had grown up in these mountains; no one knew their terrain and temperament better than she did. Choosing this place as the racecourse wasn't enough—just to be absolutely certain of her victory, she had even set traps along the way. It was absurd.
Only by experiencing this legendary trial himself did Samael finally understand how fierce Atalanta's determination was when it came to guarding her own freedom.
Far ahead, the huntress glanced back at the miserable state of those trailing behind. Her dark brows lifted, and she let out a proud, frosty scoff.
"In my distant birthplace, Arcadia, the mountains rise in endless, perilous chains. I leapt among these crags for play. And you think to beat me on my own ground? Men. Hah."
When Atalanta's eyes landed on the figure stubbornly keeping up with her, she slowed until she was running at his side.
"Whew! Big Sis, finally caught up. We're just putting on a performance—no need to be this serious!"
Samael let out a huge sigh, turning to her with a resentful look he couldn't hide.
"Kid, I don't break promises. Like we agreed, I'll give you a lead."
Atalanta smiled back, but in the very next breath her expression turned cold, her gaze sharp as a blade.
"But remember, you only get ten minutes. Run fast. Don't let me catch you. If I win… I won't be holding back."
Before Samael could even react, Atalanta braked to a halt and stood calmly on the spot, arms folding over her chest.
Great. She really changed the plan on the spot. What is this supposed to be?
Completely baffled, Samael nearly stopped to ask—but when he saw her standing there with arms crossed, lips moving as she counted with deadly precision, the Ancient Serpent had no choice but to grit his teeth and sprint ahead.
Forget it. Just win first. Ask questions at the finish line.
Atalanta leaned back against a tree by the track, mentally keeping time while closing her eyes for a short rest.
Ten full minutes passed in a flash. Only nine runners, gasping for breath, managed to pass her position and chase after the leaders.
These fools, drunk on greed and lust, daring to challenge nature itself… utterly foolish.
When the time was up, Atalanta's eyes snapped open. In an instant she flickered into motion, her form trailing a streak of emerald light as she burst into the forest, swift as a gale.
Hmph. Run while you can. I'll be the wind at your back—and I'll take back every place you stole.
In Arcadia, no outsider can outrun the hunters of the forest.
The runners who had passed her moments before barely had time to celebrate. When they glanced back, they saw her rapidly closing in. No matter how they strained, no matter how they burned through every last scrap of stamina, they could do nothing. They could only watch the lioness sprint past, light and effortless.
Within a handful of breaths—one… two… three…—she had overtaken up to the eighth-place runner. Only then did the crushing pressure ease.
Counting that armored competitor up ahead… only two remained.
Atalanta glanced at the runner in the closed armor, her chin lifting proudly, a light, confident smile curving her lips.
Soon she saw her opening. Using a bend in the path, she shifted her weight and slipped through with a swift, precise turn, ready to pass the second-place contestant.
But just then, a golden, glistening fruit arced in from the side, rolling to a stop at her feet. A rich, intoxicating fragrance wafted up from it, pulsing with a seductive Mana that tugged at her senses.