Stomp—
The footsteps stopped not far behind, diverting attention away from the mural. Laine turned slightly.
Before him stood a tall and robust youth, his eyes lively.
Like sculptures of the Ancient Greek deities, he embodied a masculine beauty.
"Heracles, the criminal?"
It was a rhetorical question, or perhaps a reaffirmation.
Yet, the youth did not take offense; after all, he was nameless in this world.
"I am, but I am not a criminal."
"Since coming to this city, I have not violated any of Athens's laws. Or do you mean that, by your rules, any foreigner present in Eryxis is a criminal?"
Heracles seemed irritated by the keyword "criminal."
He could not deny the crime of patricide, even though he himself did not understand why he had committed it.
Other than that, he would admit to no wrongdoing not his own.
"Is that so?"
"So you think that if you have not made a mistake, you are not a criminal, and you should not be punished?"
"Isn't that the case?"