(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck of the Adrestia, Atlas stood alone near the makeshift workbench he had set up. The sounds of the harbor were fading, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull.
Before him lay the shattered remains of greatness—the Spear of Leonidas. Beside it lay the future—the handle he had forged from Isu metal and Orichalcum.
Atlas took a deep breath, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He positioned the new handle against the base of the golden spearhead. The fit was precise, engineered to the millimeter.
"Now," he whispered. "Let's make you whole again."
He raised his hammer for the first strike of the binding process.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Sami, the air was filled with steam and the scent of lavender oil.
The public bathhouse was a structure of pale stone and open ceilings, designed to wash away the dust of the road and the blood of battle. The group stood at the entrance—Barnabas still damp from his near-drowning, Lukas covered in dust, Alexios looking disheveled, and Kassandra wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek.
"Right then," Barnabas announced, pointing to the archways. "Men to the right, women to the left. Try not to drown in the luxury, lads."
They separated. Kassandra gave a weary wave and disappeared into the left wing, while the three men headed into the right.
Inside the men's wing, the air was thick with steam rising from a massive central pool. Other patrons were there—merchants washing off the day's grime, sailors relaxing after a long voyage—but they paid little mind to the newcomers.
Lukas groaned with relief as he stripped off his heavy armor, his muscles aching from the fight. He stepped into the water, sinking down until it reached his chin. "Oh… by the gods. I might never leave."
Barnabas slid in beside him, floating on his back with a contended sigh. "Water is much better when it's warm and you aren't tied to a weight, eh?"
Alexios waded in last, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He glanced around to make sure the attendants weren't looking, then reached for a bundle of clothes he had left by the edge. From within the folds, he produced a skin of wine.
"For medicinal purposes," Alexios whispered loudly, popping the cork.
Lukas laughed. "You snuck that in? Where did you even get it?"
"A warrior has his ways," Alexios said, taking a long swig before passing it to Barnabas. "To the Cyclops! And his very unhappy goat!"
The three of them passed the wine skin around, the tension of the day melting away in the heat. They exchanged stories—Barnabas exaggerating his sea tales, Alexios bragging about his swordplay, and Lukas correcting him every time he lied.
In the left wing, the atmosphere was quieter, more serene.
Kassandra lowered herself into the warm water, letting the heat seep into her bruised shoulders. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath. The fight with Talos, the Cyclops, the rescue—it all felt miles away now.
A splash nearby made her open her eyes.
Phoibe was there, scrubbing her face vigorously with a sponge, her hair wet and slicked back.
"Kassandra!" Phoibe chirped, beaming. "You finally came!"
Kassandra smiled, splashing a little water toward the girl. "I needed to wash off the Cyclops's stench. Are you ready for tomorrow? Did you finish saying goodbye to your friends?"
Phoibe stopped scrubbing, her expression turning thoughtful. She nodded slowly. "I did. I went to see my friend Rhea."
"And how was she?" Kassandra asked, leaning back against the pool's edge.
"She's okay now," Phoibe said, her voice filled with awe. "But earlier… her whole family was sick. It was the Blood Fever, Kassandra. The priest wanted to burn their house down with them inside."
Kassandra stiffened. She knew the Blood Fever. It was a death sentence. "Burn them? That sounds like something the priests here would do. What happened?"
"Atlas happened!" Phoibe said, her eyes widening. "I met him on the road. He came with me to the village. He fought the guards—he took them down so fast, Kassandra, like whoosh! And then he knocked out the priest with just a tap on the neck!"
Kassandra listened, intrigued. She knew Atlas could fight—Lukas and Alexios never shut up about his combat prowess.
"But then," Phoibe continued, animating her story with splashing hands, "he didn't just leave. He brought them to a safe house. He mixed herbs and boiled bark and made this green medicine. He gave it to them, and the fever broke! He taught the parents how to make it, too. He saved them, Kassandra. He actually cured the Blood Fever."
Kassandra stared at the girl, processing the words.
He cured the Blood Fever?
She knew warriors. She knew mercenaries. She knew killers. But a man who could fight with the ferocity of a Spartan and possessed the delicate, learned hands of a master physician?
Alexios calls him a monster in battle, she thought, sinking deeper into the water. Lukas calls him a leader. And now Phoibe calls him a healer.
A strange curiosity bloomed in her chest. Atlas wasn't just a strong arm for hire. There was a depth to him—a knowledge that didn't belong to a simple mercenary.
"He sounds… full of surprises," Kassandra murmured, her interest piqued.
Back on the deck of the Adrestia, the sun had vanished, leaving only the moon to witness the final act.
Atlas wiped sweat from his brow. The process was nearly complete. The Isu alloy handle was perfectly aligned with the ancient spearhead.
"Last strike," he muttered.
He raised the heavy smithing hammer high. He focused his strength, ensuring the blow would seal the locking mechanism he had engineered.
The hammer fell.
CLANG!
The moment metal touched metal, it didn't just ring—it roared.
BOOM!
A massive shockwave erupted from the spear, blasting outward with terrifying force.
"What the—!"
The hammer was ripped from Atlas's grip, flying across the deck and smashing into the railing. Atlas was shoved back, his boots skidding on the wood, but his instincts screamed at him not to let go.
He lunged forward, grabbing the spear with both hands just as it began to levitate.
The weapon was screaming—a high-pitched resonance that vibrated in his very bones. The spearhead, once dull with age, erupted in blinding golden light.
But it didn't stop there.
Because Atlas had used Orichalcum ore and Isu metal for the handle, the energy didn't just sit in the head—it traveled. The light surged down the shaft, flowing into the new handle like water filling a dry riverbed. The materials were singing to each other, ancient technology recognizing its own kind.
The light became blinding, turning the night into day for a split second.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the light receded, sucking back into the weapon with a soft hiss.
Atlas stood there, breathing hard, holding the weapon.
It had changed.
The rust and wear on the spearhead were gone, replaced by a gleaming, pristine gold finish. The edge looked razor-sharp, humming with faint energy. The handle he had made was no longer just attached; it had fused seamlessly with the head, creating a single, elegant weapon of black and gold.
"Incredible," Atlas whispered, turning it over in his hands. It felt weightless, yet carried the promise of devastating power.
He ran his thumb over a small, concealed mechanism on the grip.
Click.
With a smooth, fluid motion, the shaft extended telescopically, transforming from the length of a short sword into a full infantry spear.
Click.
It retracted instantly, compacting back into a dagger-sized weapon perfect for stealth or close quarters.
Atlas grinned. It was a masterpiece. A weapon that bridged the gap between the ancient world and his own engineering genius.
"But I can't test it here," he muttered, looking around the cramped deck. "I need room."
He sheathed the weapon—now in its compact form—at his hip. He grabbed his shield and vaulted over the ship's railing, landing softly on the pier.
With the moon guiding him, Atlas turned away from the sleeping town and began walking toward the secluded stretch of beach to the east. The sand awaited, and the Spear of Leonidas was hungry to sing again.
(PS: Please support me on patreon there 135+ chapters there and there also my new GoT: The True Dragon Fanfiction of Game of Thrones
https://patreon.com/BX_XDS)