86 [86] Limiter

Seated before the vanity mirror, a strikingly charming young man, every inch of him unadorned, gazed upon his reflection in the polished surface.

His shoulder-length black locks cascaded smoothly down from behind his head, each strand exuding a deep, dark aura as though capable of absorbing one's gaze entirely.

The purple witch Medea, with a delicate blush upon her refined visage, stood behind the youthful king, her hands weaving through the ethereal currents of shadow-like magical energies, taming this mane of black locks.

No, to be precise... this was not simply hair.

In the six months since the construction of the Gates of Hell, Kratos had led dozens of expeditions personally, every battle seeing him at the forefront, transforming his once magnificent and divine physique into one drenched in the blood of devils.

Due to the loosening of his limiter, the rate at which Kratos shed his hair had gradually accelerated.

There was no other way... that shit system was truly unreliable, leaving only him to struggle.

[That's enough, do you know how hard I've worked?]

"If you worked any harder, I would have stormed Olympus long ago!"

[...Well, indeed.]

As his hair continued to fall this month, it had begun to affect his appearance...

Sometimes, even Caenis couldn't help but chuckle.

So, Kratos whipped her even harder, making her understand the duties of a wife.

During the recent rain of favors, Caenis would praise his appearance earnestly, claiming that even with a shaven head, Kratos was still the uncrowned King of Sparta.

"..."

So, without further ado, Kratos shaved off all of his hair, out of sight, out of mind.

The reason for this was simple... he had found a temporary method to maintain his appearance.

Because of the constant intense battles, wearing a wig wasn't convenient. If it accidentally came off during a fight, it would be embarrassing, to say the least.

Kratos had even tried various hair transplant methods, but unfortunately, under the constraints of the limiter, none of them worked... any substance connected to his scalp would fall off entirely the next day as if triggering an inevitable demise.

So, this shoulder-length, smooth, black mane was actually...

"...Such exquisite shadow magic, Miss Medea."

He remarked.

Kratos lightly caressed his hair.

Through the black strands, his fingertips felt nothing tangible, only a faintly chilling sensation, like plunging his hand into a pool of cool water.

Because... this luxurious mane was fundamentally a flow of shadow attribute magical energy, belonging to the category of illusionary magic.

How nostalgic...

Shadow magic, this was the type of magic Kratos was most familiar with, the type Alvin had mastered.

Unfortunately, in this life, the attribute of magic released by Kratos was fire, making it extremely difficult to perform shadow magic, even conflicting with each other.

But, where there's a will, there's a way... Kratos discovered Medea's talent.

The young witch carefully observed the flow of magical energy throughout Kratos's body, finally, with much practice, weaving together the shadow magic that had taken her a long time to master, crafting this flowing mane of black hair, fiercely maintaining his youthful and handsome appearance.

"Please... this is all thanks to your excellent guidance, Your Highness."

Faced with Kratos's praise, Medea blushed, lowering her gaze.

To help the crew of the Argonauts better in their adventures, she had honed her skills in healing magic, which was her innate talent.

However, during their magical exchanges, Kratos keenly perceived Medea's talent in shadow magic, subsequently guiding her to specialize in this area.

"I didn't teach you much, Miss Medea."

Kratos smiled and shook his head.

"Clearly, it's your outstanding magical aptitude at work, don't belittle yourself."

Perhaps all witches had an innate talent for shadow magic?

"No... whenever I encounter complex problems in magic, you only need to give me a slight hint, and it instantly becomes clear. Moreover, you've opened up the library for me. This kindness cannot be expressed in words."

Gazing at the smooth skin of the young man's back.

Medea couldn't help but feel a shy warmth enveloping her.

Because she needed to observe the flow of magical energy throughout his body in detail to weave the continuous hair, she instructed Kratos to remove his clothes.

Actually... this was just an excuse.

A thin robe was no match for her extraordinary magical aptitede and her acute sensory perception of magical energy.

She... she just wanted to take this opportunity to curiously observe the young king's body.

However... after seeing it.

Carefully, meticulously, her gaze swept over Kratos, devouring every detail.

The girl's curiosity wasn't satisfied, instead, it became increasingly restless, intense, and fervent.

She had seen everything.

In her mind, images of that majestic figure involuntarily surfaced again and again.

It was as if it had been imprinted in her eyes, branded in her brain, no matter how she shook... it wouldn't dissipate.

To conceal her own thoughts, to hide her blush.

Medea desperately tried to change the subject.

"Why... do you have such vast knowledge, Your Highness?"

She stammered.

"How can you understand and excel in such obscure shadow magic... aren't you supposed to be bad at releasing shadow magic?"

"It's hard to say..."

The young witch couldn't help but consider a possibility.

When it came to the Greece land, which figure could excel in shadow magic to such an extent?

Medea could only think of one name.

"Are you also a student taught by my teacher?"

She asked eagerly.

The glint of excitement sparkled in the young witch's eyes. If this were true, wouldn't she and Kratos be fellow disciples?

"A teacher?"

Kratos paused for a moment, shaking his head lightly.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any teachers."

His magic mentor was Morgan Le Fay of Britannia, also his wife.

From beginning to end, no one had ever been addressed as a teacher.

Of course... except in the role-playing flirtations on the bed.

"Miss Medea, then, who do you study under?"

Kratos recalled tales from Greek mythology, vaguely recalling an unfamiliar name.

Hec...ra? No, something like Hec?

"Hmm... isn't it?"

Hearing Kratos's response, Medea felt a bit disappointed.

"My teacher is the esteemed Goddess Hecate, Your Highness."

Hec...ate?

It wasn't very familiar.

Reflecting on this obscure title, Kratos pondered for a moment.

"My knowledge of shadow magic is extensive, but it likely has little to do with this esteemed goddess."

"Well... that's a shame. But, I think... if you were to meet, she would surely admire your magical aptitude, Your Highness."

Medea blushed and smiled.

"Because, Goddess Hecate, she is the great witch of Greece, the mother of the night, the embodiment of the crossroad, and the mistress of the dark moon."

Great witch? Mother of the night? Embodiment of the dark moon?

It all sounded quite dark...

Such descriptions inevitably reminded Kratos of his own witch.

Before creating himself, Morgan Le Fay was also such a dark witch.

"Well then, I really look forward to meeting this goddess."

Smiling politely, he responded to Medea's anticipation.

Kratos slowly stood up, turning his gaze to his two wives, still unmarried but essentially considered his spouses.

Although just barely thirteen and a half years old, over the past year, due to the loosening of the limiter, the young man's figure had grown to almost five feet seven inches, with a graceful physique reminiscent of a divine sculpture.

"How do I look?"

He lightly shook his hair, looking towards Caenis and Atalanta leaning against the door.

This slight swaying when he stood up made the young witch, Medea, blush and avert her gaze.

"Tsk, isn't the reason for taking off your clothes clearly just an excuse you made up? Medea, you've already seen His Highness's entire body, why still shy away?"

The silver-haired voluptuous woman, clad in only a thin robe, laughed teasingly at the young witch, her arms crossed.

"Caenis!"

Medea's face turned red.

Noticing her seemingly eager state, Kratos coughed and grabbed a white robe, draping it over himself.

Atalanta, with a flushed face, continued to gaze unwaveringly at her king.

Her restless tail swayed beneath the thin robe, her cat ears twitching slightly.

The more she looked at the young man before her, the more Atalanta felt as if her gaze was becoming immersed.

Regardless of the words used to describe him at this moment, they would all seem inadequate.

Compared to his original short black hair, Kratos's current shoulder-length black hair was casually draped behind him.

His hair, of such a deep color, seemed to shimmer with a mysterious darkness, inch by inch.

Clad in a pure white robe, which was essentially just a piece of cloth... yet draped over him, it seemed to infuse him with a soul.

Black and white, almost eerie beauty, together presented an exquisite artistic sense akin to conflict.

Caenis had only thought that adding a bit of hair was enough... whether the prince had hair or not, she didn't really mind.

However... with a casual glance, her azure eyes became completely fixated, and a deep crimson gradually spread within her pupils.

The silver-haired woman's breath became increasingly ambiguous and heavy.

Kratos was teasing her... Kratos, with such a casual smile, absolutely must be teasing her!

Seeing the almost frozen gazes of his two wives.

The trembling of her thighs, licking her vermilion lips.

Kratos understood, he must... seem like an incubus to them.

He smiled wryly.

"It seems... the effect is not bad, right?"

Unable to perform shadow magic himself and with their conflicting magical attributes, Kratos's black hair would continue to fade.

Almost once a month, he needed to touch up his hair.

Now he really needed a trip to the barber.

"Your Highness losing hair? Is it... a curse? No, it's impossible to curse you. You're already the well-deserved god of courage in Greece."

"This, it's not a curse... It's a long story, but simply put... it's a side effect of my growth."

All gifts from fate had already been marked with a price tag.

Kratos stretched out his palm.

Over the past half year, he had gradually adapted to his skyrocketing strength.

With the triple boost of fury, faith, and the limiter.

His panel's baseline strength value had reached the level of A+++, and it was impossible to count any higher.

Kratos only knew that, with a punch now, he could easily pierce through a small mountain like the legendary Alcides had once done.

Alcides could only resist him by using his trials.

But, this level of strength was still not sufficient to confront Ares, the god of war.

The power of faith couldn't be overly relied upon... it would only turn him into another Ares.

As the god of courage, Kratos did his best to distribute this power as blessings to the Spartans, dispersing this power to the point where even Alcides, now blessed by Kratos, had become the chosen champion. The devils he had slaughtered were piled up enough to encircle Sparta several times over.

But Alcides did not believe in Kratos... he trusted him.

They trusted each other.

Kratos used the filtered power of Aatrox to help Alcides dilute the curse of Alcides' madness. The great hero's mind was becoming clearer, and his speech was gradually becoming smoother.

The Argonauts watched this scene with joy. After half a year, they now considered themselves part of Sparta.

The Spartan army had promoted over a thousand chosen by Kratos, and between battling devils, this number continued to rise steadily.

The rifts of hell in Spartan had been opened up by more than half, and within the Gates of Hell, sturdy magical defenses had been constructed, automatically and tirelessly shredding the incoming waves of devil minions.

If they detected those tricky devils with proper names, whose eerie abilities ordinary soldiers couldn't handle, they would be dealt with by the chosen.

Other city-states developed prosperously under the stable peace.

Warriors from all over crossed mountains and seas to support Sparta, and now the city's population had surpassed a million.

Worried that the tragic events of the past, where homes were destroyed and lives were lost, might recur.

Kratos led the city's priests to outline a defensive array across the entire city area, using enough devil blood to fill the coastline, creating a defensive formation for the nation's territory... now, even if the war devil were to appear again, they would be temporarily resisted from the fierce onslaught.

Everything in Sparta was moving forward steadily and solidly, developing prosperously.

However.

In Sparta, Kratos could continuously receive various forms of support, but to ascend Mount Olympus, his explosive power was still not sufficient.

Kratos measured his accumulation with the 'ability to destroy the body of a starship.'

He was engulfed in flames of vengeance, and because of this, to confront Ares and save Vergil, Kratos undoubtedly needed more aces up his sleeve... he had no room for any mistakes.

After barely regaining control of his strength, Kratos whispered such words to Caenis amidst their passionate encounter that night.

Just a few days later, he and Atalanta ventured into the forest for research, preparing to compile a book about the flora.

Within the depths of the forest, the hunter's slender fingers lifted the young king slightly, pushing him into the bed of flowers.

No... with the strength of this cat, even if she had no defenses, Kratos wouldn't be moved by her, would he?

However, as Atalanta's shallow mint-colored hair met Kratos's dark gaze, it gradually tinged with a dark purple hue.

Under the dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy.

The tips of the hunter's hair gradually shifted from mint green to silver-gray, and her elegant forest green robe seemed to take on the color of midnight, staining it with a deep black hue.

Mysterious purple patterns appeared above her abdomen.

Upon receiving Caenis's message, Atalanta activated her caltrop skin, inducing a frenzy to maintain her sanity, to support her courage in seeking love, to support her... feelings that transformed from affection into admiration.

If she desired prey, she had to boldly pursue it.

Since childhood, she had learned the law of the jungle in these forests, where only the strong survived.

With every step of her frenzy, Atalanta turned into a bolder and more passionate version of herself.

The only thing that remained unchanged was her emerald green pupils, sometimes reflecting the clarity of a hunter, and sometimes the confusion of a woman.

Amidst the riotous flowers.

Kratos looked at her, allowing her to press against him.

Her delicate nose, inhaling the scent of the young king beneath her, emitting a pleasant aroma.

At this close distance, Atalanta finally realized.

...That... it wasn't just a fragrance.

It was a lingering feeling of desire, swirling and lingering in her mind, difficult to dispel.

As long as she didn't marry...

...Then, it wouldn't be considered a violation of the oath to the moon goddess?

The peculiar patterns on her abdomen emitted a faint glow.

In her emerald green eyes, there were ripples of rosy pink.

Those enchanting colors.

Like the foam about to overflow from a bottle of wine.

Outside of her thoughts... would Kratos reject her?

But, as the limiter gradually loosened.

Kratos vaguely realized that his emotions seemed to be subtly changing as well.

Many things that he thought would be constraints, that he thought would be difficult to accept.

Gradually seemed to become tolerable, even obedient.

Was this... good? Bad?

Or perhaps, it was a form of growth?

His chaotic mind couldn't bear to think about it anymore.

The only thing certain was... Kratos had chosen to live more freely from now on.

Stroking Atalanta's silky hair.

That day, amidst the riotous and colorful flowerbeds of the forest, the lush dew water nourished the fertile soil of the woods for a day and night.

Bathed in the moonlight, holding the cat in his arms, Atalanta just blushed and buried his face in the young king's chest, welcoming the admiring words of the silver-haired woman.

Caenis pondered, wondering why even though she was favored by His Highness, she never experienced a night as exaggerated as Atalanta's, could it be that Atalanta's endurance was even stronger than hers?

No... it was clearly His Highness's technique that had improved so much here with her, right?

Hmph... anyway, every time, she passed out, feeling no difference in technique, the more intense it was, the more she liked it.

"So, do I still have my share tonight, Your Highness?"

Standing at the door of the palace, the silver-haired voluptuous woman licked her lips, her azure eyes shimmering.

Kratos's response was to wrap his arms around her waist.

Facing such a developer conference.

Atalanta, in her frenzy, initially felt shy and hesitant, unable to let go.

But, as she performed more and more in front of Caenis, she quickly adapted.

In her frenzied state, Atalanta became bolder than Caenis, especially when it came to her keen sense of smell.

Just as she was doing now... her soft tongue brought an incomparable sensory experience.

Like the harsh winter month of December, with the sky closed off, like the scorching sun, burning intensely; like the gentle spring breeze, caressing everything, like the rippling autumn water, washing away impurities.

"So... are you willing to let go?" Kratos smirked, his tone teasing. "Looks like today's top prize will be claimed by Atalanta, Caenis."

"Hpmh, I've won more trophies than her. I feel pity for her when I see her pushing herself all day. So I cut her some slack."

Caenis considered herself the victor already, not caring for this meaningless banter.

Even the news of Kratos's firm strength was shared with Atalante by Caenis, driven by her loyalty to her dear friend.

The flimsy silk robe draped the ground.

The silver-haired woman approached, tilting her imposing figure slightly downward, seeking the kiss of the young and wise king above her.

Their exploration and affection were equally fervent.

On the sidelines, the purple witch bathed in the pure moonlight blushed faintly, her eyes discreetly observing the intertwining of the three figures.

Once, they might have shown some restraint... but now, they paid no heed to her, the audience within the palace walls. They treated her as a mere decoration, boldly enacting their drama before her eyes.

It seemed like an eternity passed.

Finally, they reluctantly let each other go, yet remained close, exchanging tender words that made one blush with embarrassment.

Their lips, at last, parted.

A strange impulse stirred within Medea.

It felt as though her most cherished grimoire had been snatched away...

Her body trembled slightly, just as she prepared to step forward.

But then she saw the silver-haired woman lifting the young and wise king, and carrying him toward the bedchambers.

Beneath the lotus canopy, there was no battlefield.

Only hope entwined with eternity.

In the purple witch's mind, thoughts of what would happen next began to involuntarily emerge.

Would the chambers tremble?

Would the crystal lights on the ceiling start to sway?

Would she find herself unable to walk properly, her ears leaning against the walls of the library, seeking solace akin to an oasis?

Medea halted her steps, gazing down at the necklace Jason had given her, nestled against her chest.

Under the moonlight, the pendant adorned with rare jewels seemed to sparkle brilliantly.

Such radiance.

But it paled in comparison to the shimmering threads at the corner of Caenis's and the king's parted lips, flashing in her heart.

"Medea."

Atalanta, the silver-haired, by her side, stretched out her graceful body like a cat.

She wiped away the last traces of the hook's temptation from her lips, savoring the taste of the young and wise king.

"Prey doesn't come knocking on its own."

Between her eyebrows, her gaze flowed, alluring and seductive.

Seeing her sisters' happiness, a sight she had witnessed countless times before, the purple witch felt a slight pang of envy.

After that, Atalanta abandoned her flimsy robe and pushed open the doors of the chamber.

Medea stood frozen at the doorway of the chamber, like a post.

Beside her was the library where she usually rested, but every corner of the palace seemed to tremble now.

So... should she continue to listen at the corner of the wall?

Engulfed in the familiar darkness, what should have been a comforting night for Medea now felt unsettling, her heart pounding with unease.

When did it start...?

Was it when she saw his smile in the banquet hall?

Or when she glimpsed his profile while teaching magic?

Or when she stared at him atop the city walls, his figure akin to a god?

Or perhaps every night, feeling the vibrations through the walls, wrestling with the tumult in her heart?

Even though she kept finding reasons to deceive herself.

But now, as she reexamined the memories of the past eight months, Medea knew.... she had indeed fallen for Kratos.

But she shouldn't have fallen for Kratos.

She didn't want to, nor dared to vie with her sisters for his favor.

Even if she were willing to join in, she didn't know how to adapt to such a chaotic relationship...

Having witnessed their battle up close, those fleeting glances, the cream oozing out from the pastries, just the thought of being among them made her blush with embarrassment.

What she actually wanted was... exclusivity.

She refused to lie there as a neglected cushion.

Upon careful consideration, Medea felt quite ridiculous.

Her sisters, much stronger than her, Caenis and Atalanta, accepted such a relationship format with ease.

It was she, a mere little witch, who felt so melodramatic, almost foolish... but deep down, she was afraid.

She was more afraid that Kratos would value her.

Because... her heart belonged to...

Jason...

"Prey doesn't come knocking on its own."

Click.

Her actions, quicker than her thoughts, interpreted the choice made by her instincts.

The little witch abruptly tore off the necklace from her chest, clutching it tightly in her palm, then, after a moment, decisively dropped it to the ground.

She let out a deep, deep sigh.

As if she wanted to expel all the tumultuous thoughts, all the chaotic notions, all the curses injected into her soul....

No longer would it be the arrow of love that made her fall for that person.

She chose her own arrow of the heart, piercing through to that person.

Under the moonlight's gaze.

Medea raised her hand.

And then, she pushed open the doors of the chamber...

If she needed to repent, she'd do it after tonight.

"Make way!"

She proclaimed loudly, firmly, resolutely...

"Your Highness, you're mine!"