7

I hoped that with good nutrition, we had every chance of winning the competition. As long as no one discovered our loophole. So far, luck had been on our side, but it wasn't wise to tempt fate. I had caught others taking more than their share before. Greed blinds, and mistakes here are paid for in full.

The competition began today. No ceremonial speeches or greetings, just quick preparations. They simply painted markings on our backs to distinguish us from one another. The first stage held no surprises: we took second place. We had to cover a short distance, jump over a wooden log as tall as my shoulder, then balance across stones without touching the ground, and cross the finish line.

The next trial tested endurance. Four laps around the camp the winner was whoever finished the fastest. The key was pacing: not starting too fast and not giving in to exhaustion on the final lap.

But luck abandoned us. This time, we placed only third.

In total, we earned three points. One team of Angeloi had seven, the other six. The competition was fierce, and everything was decided in the last seconds the winner was determined a mere instant before the finish line. Our training was identical, our appearances, physical abilities, and skills so similar that finding clear differences was difficult.

While we competed, the older children had their own contests. These games were held every year until the age of twelve. After that, something entirely different began. There were no more competitions only battles, sweat, and blood.

Our elder did not look pleased. As a teacher and warrior, it was a disgrace for him he had failed to train us for an undeniable victory.

"Forward. Win this now," Arethid gritted out through his teeth.

Five of us took hold of the rope. At the signal, the struggle began. The opponents tensed, pulling with all their might, but I had warned my teammates in advance: don't waste energy at the start. We just had to hold the rope steady and wait for the right moment for a decisive pull, when our opponents would weaken. A simple strategy meant to ensure victory. Winning required taking two rounds. We barely secured the first one.

There were six matches in total among all teams. Our rivals quickly caught on to our strategy and tried to adjust. Now both sides waited, holding back their strength from the beginning. It all came down to patience, power, and calculation. But fortune was on our side. In the deciding round, we emerged victorious. They fought honorably and, though they lost, accepted defeat with dignity.

The final trials were grueling. At the very start, one of our teammates faltered and fell an instant loss. But our team regrouped, clenched our teeth, and won the next two rounds. Victory was ours.

The score shifted: we now had twelve points, the Spear Angeloi eleven (as I called them for convenience), and the Shield Angeloi eight. We had taken the lead, but two trials remained.

The next event featured Androcles. Now he looked even more formidable thanks to good nutrition, and he was naturally larger than most. His height and strength gave him a clear advantage. Without much trouble, he earned us another four points.

Now, we were the undisputed frontrunners. The overall score: sixteen for us, twelve for the Spear, ten for the Shield.

The next trial was mine to face. The Bloody Clash one of the toughest challenges. A small arena had been prepared, and twelve participants stood in a circle, drawing lots. Opponents were chosen randomly and placed into a bracket. Losers were eliminated, and their wooden nameplates removed from the board.

My gaze lingered on one of the competitors. He was from another group.

"First contestants to the arena! Kratos versus Pyrrhus!" the elder announced loudly.

I froze, my eyes scanning the boy. Something about him seemed eerily familiar.

Then, I noticed the scar on his eye.

This couldn't be.

Only now did I realize that this was the world of God of War. I knew how this story would end. Total annihilation. Kratos' war against Olympus would leave nothing behind. As it was said: the death of gods never comes without consequences. And those consequences would be catastrophic the fall of Greece, the destruction of the very world itself.

"Something wrong?" Damippus asked. "You noticed him too? He looks like a formidable warrior."

He gestured toward Kratos.

With just a few blows, Kratos destroyed Pyrrhus. His opponent lay unconscious before he even realized what had happened.

"Yes, a formidable warrior," I answered quietly.

Formidable? That was an understatement. This boy would one day kill gods and titans, erase Olympus from existence, and bring doom to the world. What should I do? What the hell should I do?!

For a moment, I felt nothing no will, no desire to live. What did it matter if the world was doomed?

But no. Not all was lost.

I remembered Kratos fell into madness when Ares forced him to kill his own family. If I could prevent that… if I could save them… maybe I could change the future?

There were still years before that tragedy. In Sparta, one only started a family after thirty. Maybe Kratos' strength earned him an exception? No, even kings obeyed Spartan law. That meant I had time.

If I failed… I didn't even want to think about it.

"Damocles and Phaertid!"

I heard my name. Without hesitation, I stepped into the arena, sizing up my opponent from the Shield. He stared intently but did not strike first.

Well… I would have to take the initiative.

I moved forward slowly, closing the distance, then suddenly lunged with a strike to his torso. At the last moment, I tilted left, shielding myself with my right arm against his counterattack.

My blow landed squarely in his liver. Despite our brutal training, our bodies were still those of children they simply couldn't endure such hits. He managed to land a couple of heavy blows to my head, but I withstood them, blocking what I could. However, with each passing second, his condition worsened. His legs buckled, and he dropped to one knee, clutching his side and breathing heavily.

"Surrender," I said calmly.

But we both knew it was pointless. Pride would never allow him to admit defeat. He growled in frustration, gritted his teeth, and lunged at me again.

This time, I didn't just defend. Now I countered blow for blow. A few well-placed strikes to his face knocked the fight out of him, and he collapsed heavily to the ground.

Everything else faded away. In that moment, I could think only of the future.

Kratos.

The same scar. The same look in his eyes.

Now I was certain: the gods were real. They were not just myths. But the real question was how do I survive in this world?

If I wanted to stop Ares, I needed to become strong enough. If he interfered, I had to find a way to stand against a god. Yes, Kratos had destroyed his own family with his own hands. But I was sure Ares had been watching him. If I intervened, he could kill me.

After several brutal rounds, six children had been eliminated. Two of us remained. The Shield had three fighters left. The Spear had only lost one warrior.

Damippus won his match, performing well. He had only a few scrapes to remind him of the fight.

Next, it was my turn.

My opponent was from the Spear agela. He wasted no time, launching into a fast-paced assault one of his blows could have seriously injured me if it had connected. But I read his movement, dodged, and with a precise counterstrike, knocked him out cold.

"Kratos and Damippus!" the instructor called.

"Fight with all your strength!" I shouted. Though, perhaps it would have been wiser to surrender.

The moment the fight began, Kratos surged forward. His blows were like hammer strikes heavy, destructive. Despite his lean physique, his strength was far beyond that of a mortal. After all, when you're a demigod, your abilities are always superior.

Damippus fought bravely. He even managed to outmaneuver Kratos a few times, but enduring such an onslaught for long was impossible. In the end, he lost.

A shame I wasn't a demigod. That was an advantage no one could overcome. But the price was too steep. Being a pawn in the gods' games was a terrifying fate. Just look at Heracles another son of Zeus, another victim of their schemes. Yes, in legend, he triumphed, but reality is rarely so kind.

Only two remained. They stepped into the fight, and the boy from the Shield emerged victorious.

The final rounds began.

We had three victories, the Spear had four, and the Shield only two. The outcome of the competition would soon be decided.

We were given a brief respite before the final battle.

"Damocles, you're doing well. Win this round," Arethid said.

I nodded, acknowledging his words. But the main problem remained the demigod.

By my estimates, his strength was around an eight, his agility a seven. That was at the level of a twelve-year-old. But he was still a child. And the older he got, the more his divine nature would awaken.

"Agis and Damocles!"

It seemed they had saved the most interesting match for last.

Agis lunged, aiming a straight punch at my face. I dodged to the side and struck his ribs, but he was clever before I could retreat, he caught me.

His knee slammed into my block. The impact was enough to break through and land a solid hit to my face.

I retreated but took a direct hit, my body tilting slightly to the right. Seizing the moment, I ducked under his outstretched arm, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him over my shoulder.

Catching hold of his arm, I twisted it back and began to pull. Agis cried out in pain but refused to surrender.

"Give up already!" I hissed, increasing the pressure.

His scream grew louder.

"Damocles is victorious!" the judge's voice rang out.

I immediately released my grip and let him go.

Agis slowly got to his feet, breathing heavily, gritting his teeth.

"I didn't surrender," he forced out.

"You lost, boy. Accept your defeat with dignity," the judge said.

Agis clenched his jaw, grasped his injured arm, and lowered his head.

"Yes," he muttered, then silently turned and walked toward his comrades.

The final battle was set to take place in just a few minutes. I was given time to rest.

But rest meant little.

Even if my opponent was just a child, he was Kratos. Comparing a mortal to a demigod was pointless.

"Kratos and Damocles!"

I took a deep breath.

His gaze had been terrifying since childhood. A narrow scar crossed his eye, giving him a fierce look. His wiry, sinewy body seemed as taut as a drawn bowstring. Even at seven, he looked formidable.

"You fought well. But you won't defeat me," Kratos said, clenching his fists.

"We'll see," I exhaled.

The moment the judge gave the command, Kratos charged forward. There was not a second of hesitation only the desire to crush me.

I managed to block, but after the first hit, my legs buckled. Monstrous strength. If not for my resilience and a few buffs helping me resist stronger opponents, I would already be lying in the dust.

Seizing the moment, I delivered Sparta's famous kick straight to his stomach. Kratos crashed to the ground, gasping for air. The look he gave me said everything. He was furious. And he would not tolerate such humiliation.

Kratos sprang to his feet instantly.

"ARRRRR!" With a wild roar, he unleashed a flurry of blows.

I barely managed to dodge, retreating step by step. Every block sent pain jolting through my forearms, my skin burning from the strikes, bruises quickly forming.

But even a demigod has limits.

Kratos slowed, his breathing growing heavier. Now it was my turn.

Summoning my remaining strength, I lunged forward, striking rapidly, searching for an opening in his defense. Twice, three times I hit blood trickled from his broken nose.

He caught my arm. Then the other.

I didn't realize what he was about to do until his forehead slammed into mine with a dull thud.

It felt like a battering ram had smashed through my skull. My vision darkened. My legs buckled, and I collapsed. Kratos mounted me and began raining down blows. I couldn't get up.

I could only feebly shield myself as his fists struck again and again. My strength finally gave out. My arms fell limply to my sides.

I lay there, waiting for more blows. But they never came.

Kratos abruptly stood up.

"Good fight," he muttered.

I tried to stand, but my body refused to move. He had won.

The Spear Agela roared with joy, celebrating their victory. We only secured second place. But I didn't care. The only thing I wanted was to fall and never get up again.

The difference in strength was too great. I needed more than just a mortal body.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, I noticed a familiar face Lochagos.

"You surprised me, Damocles. And your little trick with the food was quite clever. Take him to the healer and make sure he's properly cared for," said Creon.

My body was lifted and carried off to the healer.

*

Name: Damocles

Age: 7 years

Strength (Physical Power): 5

Agility (Speed, Reflexes, Evasion): 5

Endurance (Resistance to illness, fatigue, survival): 4

Intelligence (Understanding, Learning, Languages): 4

Charisma (Leadership, Inspiration, Eloquence): 5

Defense (Armor, Body Toughness): 3

Talents:

Son of Sparta – +1 to starting attributes.

Evasion (6%) – You have a small chance to avoid a fatal blow. Your body has already survived numerous injuries that could have been deadly. It has adapted to react in time to threats.

Resilience – If an opponent's strength is higher than yours, it becomes easier for you to block their attacks. You've endured many strikes, and your body has started adapting to them.

Fleeting Shadow – Stealth level increased by 20%. You are harder to detect, and your movements are as fluid as a shadow.

Cunning of Hellas – It's easier for you to deceive others. After surviving numerous adventures, you've learned how to adapt to situations, subtly manipulate those around you, and get out of difficult circumstances.

Abilities:

Immunity to Diseases (Passive) – When infected by a virus or illness, endurance temporarily increases by +2.

Combat Proficiency, Level 3 (Passive) – Increases agility and endurance by 7% during battle. Improves attacks, helps identify enemy weak points, defend, and counterattack.

Swordsmanship, Level 2 – You are only at the beginning of your warrior's path, but you can already handle a sword decently.

Rock, Level 1 (Passive) – +2 to defense. Your body has been hardened by countless blows, becoming like stone.

*

I was surprised by my updated stats. A new ability had appeared. And another parameter defense. If I understood correctly, the higher this stat, the tougher my body would become. Meaning that, one day, I might even become impervious to ordinary metal weapons.

But how many years would it take to achieve that?

I had to endure until I was twenty and become a true Spartan. Only then would I have even a sliver of strength in the face of the looming threats.

Yes, it would be painful. Brutal. Unbearable. Perhaps even deadly.

I had heard it many times before how someone couldn't endure, how another body was carried away from the camp, how yet another had perished.