**Chapter 89: Achilles' Heel**

"Through wind and rain, Old Six awaits you!"

Paris, with his vivid performance, demonstrated what it means to be Old Six.

No, actually, it's Apollo, the Sun God, who is truly Old Six.

With his heightened perception, Atreus noticed the subtle chAtreuse in the air. A faint divine presence was descending upon the battlefield. Without a system prompt, Atreus might not have noticed it easily.

After all, attacking from the shadows is hardly something to boast about, and the Sun God, who stands for justice and light, would be embarrassed to do it openly.

The arrow that would change Troy's fate had arrived!

The battlefield was already in chaos, a complete mess.

Most warriors were blinded by rage, focusing only on the enemies directly before them. There was no chance for the idea of "watching all directions and listening to all sides" to come into play. Besides, none of the Greeks believed anyone could harm the 'invincible' Achilles.

Honestly, Achilles had sown the seeds of this disaster with his previous temper tantrums. If he hadn't offended Apollo, one of the Olympian gods, would he be in this mess now?

Just as Achilles was going berserk on Penthesilea, two arrows were silently loosed.

Why two arrows?

Because someone wasn't confident enough. Following the trajectory of Paris's poisoned arrow, they added another shot.

The two arrows hit one after the other, striking Achilles' heel with deadly precision.

In the humid, warm climate of the Aegean, the ancient Greeks often went barefoot or wore sandals. Even soldiers, who preferred a type of mid-length boot called **kothornos**, only wore basic leather shoes.

Unlike later European knights, who wore metal boots for protection while on horseback, Achilles' feet were left exposed. As a result, these arrows easily struck Achilles' heel.

Ironically, Paris's arrow was too weak. It was a poisoned arrow, yet it only pierced the boot, barely scratching the skin on Achilles' heel.

However, Atreus's second arrow followed closely behind, splitting Paris's arrow and driving the poisoned tip deep into Achilles' vulnerable heel like a hammer hitting a nail.

The moment his Achilles heel was hit, Achilles, who had been in a rage, suddenly realized— *aaarrrrrgh , I'm going to die!* 

He let out an earth-shattering scream.

"Who?!"

"Who ambushed me?!"

Instantly, Achilles snapped from his grief and regret over killing Penthesilea and flew into an uncontrollable rage—entering the state of **Achilles' Wrath**.

His perception expanded violently, and the first person that caught his eye was none other than Paris, who hadn't even had time to lower his bow.

A true demigod can even sense the law of causality.

Paris still reeked of Apollo's divine scent. If it wasn't you, Paris, who ambushed me, then who was it?

"Paris! You coward! You used a poisoned arrow!?"

Achilles' roar, equivalent to the deafening 150-decibel sound of a jet engine, was all the evidence the Greeks needed. Every single Greek warrior turned their angry gaze towards Prince Paris.

To be honest, Paris had long been considered the lowest of the low, ever since he abducted Queen Helen. No one expected Achilles to die—because even after being struck by a poisoned arrow, there were a hundred ways to remove the poison, from bloodletting to divine magic.

But, except for atreus and the Sun God, no one knew Achilles was struck in his weak spot with 1000% damage.

**Achilles' Heel** was, in a way, a divine curse. Though it was only a heel, it was connected to his heart. The sudden rush of adrenaline sped up his death, but his powerful body still retained some mobility.

It was a final burst of strength!

At this moment, Paris felt utterly wronged. He knew his arrow hadn't even broken the skin.

It was like a magnetic levitation train passing through a tunnel without touching the walls, yet someone still asks if it went through. Then, a stronger force comes from behind, pushing his arrow deeper.

But Paris was still blamed.

What could he say?

*(Atreus: Just admit whether you shot the arrow or not.)*

Seeing Achilles rushing towards him barehanded, Paris felt as though a massive sea beast was coming to devour him.

"Help! Someone, protect me!" Paris screamed like a terrified child.

Around him, a dozen or so elite Trojan guards abandoned their own battles, clustering tightly around Paris.

"Don't be afraid! He's just one man!"

Just one man?

So what?

When even his defense couldn't hold, what difference did it make how many people there were?

Achilles, like a lion charging into a flock of sheep, began a wild slaughter.

The heavily armed Trojan guards, weighing over 200 pounds each, were tossed aside like broken dolls, flying through the air, coughing up blood, their limbs twisted grotesquely.

When the enraged Achilles finally reached Paris, the Trojan prince was so terrified he collapsed onto the ground, a foul-smelling liquid leaking from his crotch.

"Don't kill me! I'm a prince of Troy!"

"Die, you despicable coward!" Achilles, knowing his time was short, didn't hesitate to grab Paris by the ankles, lift him high, and tear him apart.

"Ahhhhh—"

Before hundreds of onlookers, Achilles ripped Paris from the groin to the armpit, tearing him in half.

Blood and guts splattered everywhere, drenching the ground in a gruesome spectacle.

"Hail Achilles!" Unaware of the gravity of the situation, many Greek warriors continued to cheer for their commander.

Few noticed that Atreus had already slain two more elite Greek soldiers and was now standing beside Penthesilea.

"Still alive?"

"I'm almost dead."

"Let me borrow your sword." Atreus didn't waste time, grabbing the divine sword lodged in the queen's abdomen.

"Take it, as long as you avenge me." The queen didn't even look at Atreus, her gaze fixed on Achilles, filled with unwillingness and resentment.

"You won't die; I'm still waiting to fuck you."

The queen was taken aback. She didn't expect Kratos to be joking at a time like this.

But in the next moment, she realized Kratos wasn't joking.

Atreus quickly placed a clean cloth over her wound, healing it with a strange magic. It was the power he had obtained from slaying a witch. Though primarily for killing, it could also heal at a lower level—good enough for now.

"I... won't die?" Penthesilea looked at Atreus in surprise as he walked towards Achilles, wielding his own divine sword.

"Achilles! Die!" In a deafening roar that matched Achilles' earlier shout, Atreus charged toward the demigod, his divine sword aimed straight for Achilles' chest.

Time seemed to freeze as the sword pierced Achilles.

(End of the Chapter)