"Why am I here, you asked?" Zald replied, lifting his hand to take off his helmet.
When Ottar laid eyes on him, words escaped him completely.
His face was marred by deep scars that stretched across his eyes, as if he had been clawed by some monstrous beast.
He looked exactly as Ottar remembered him.
Zald had been his master—an ex-adventurer who had taught him how to harness incredible strength.
"Zeus is gone, and I have come looking for worthy opponents. Isn't that a good enough reason?" Zald continued.
"I thought you were retired after our battle with the Behemoth. Some even said you were dead. Where have you been?" Ottar bombarded him with questions, his mind swirling with confusion.
He still vividly recalled their last encounter in the sea of black sand.
Zald had fought valiantly and defeated the Behemoth but had collapsed from exhaustion, his strength spent.
The image of Zald's massive sword, lodged in the earth as if marking his grave, haunted Ottar's memory.
"Dead?" Zald scoffed.
"Do I look like a wandering spirit to you?" he asked.
No matter how much he wanted to deny it, Zald's return felt horrifyingly real.
To emphasize this reality, Zald drew his great sword and pointed it at Ottar.
"Enough chatter; it's time to take up your weapon," Zald ordered.
"I don't plan to end your life quickly. I intend to savor the experience of making your blood and bones part of mine," he added.
"I still don't understand," Ottar grimaced, his muscles tensing in anticipation.
"What is there to understand?" Zald countered.
"I'm not the brightest, I know that. But you were once a champion of Zeus, a hero who protected our city. I don't understand why you would betray that legacy and join the evilus side," Ottar lamented, pain evident in his voice.
Zald had been the city's protector, but now he was back as an invader.
Ottar struggled to reconcile this bewildering turn of events, and his emotions grew tumultuous.
"Answer me! Why?" he roared at Zald, who remained silent, raising an eyebrow in indifference.
"I've drawn my sword; will you do the same, or will you die trying to understand my motives?" Zald asked.
At those words, Ottar calmed himself.
There was a certain truth in Zald's statement; he was a warrior at heart, and to truly communicate with him, one had to do so in the language of battle.
Before Ottar could respond, Zald interrupted, echoing words he had once shared with him.
"You are still weak, fragile, and soft," Zald began.
Hearing this made Ottar feel as if his heart had stopped.
"Although you weren't part of my familia, I once believed you had potential. Clearly, I was mistaken." Zald's words detonated like a bomb within Ottar, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in him.
Though he wanted to lash out, he held himself back, only managing a low growl of defiance.
The two men locked eyes, and it felt as though they held that gaze for an eternity before Zald finally lowered his sword and spoke again.
"Since you are so eager to learn my motive, I shall tell you," Zald said, his tone almost playful.
"It's because I'm disappointed—disappointed in this city, disappointed in adventurers, and disappointed in you," Zald declared.
"Disappointed! Is that why you attacked our city?" Ottar asked, disbelief lacing his words.
"Yes, it's this disappointment that has drawn us back to this city and compelled us to war," Zald affirmed.
"We allowed Zeus and Hera to become arrogant while immersing ourselves in illusions of greatness. Others followed our example, creating a cycle of hubris and fantasy. We let the towers rise, and now we alone must bear the weight of bringing them down," Zald explained.
"The age of gods must come to an end, and we will be the ones to end it. So fight, adventurers! Strive and struggle with all your strength, or be swept away by the waves we create," Zald proclaimed, his voice intertwining with Alfia's as she explained the same to Gareth and Riveria.
Upon hearing this, Ottar's teeth clenched in anger.
At that moment, he sensed a massive surge of magic not too far away.
As he turned to look, Zald calmly put his helmet back on.
"We should get started; it seems Alfia has made her move," Zald remarked.
"Alfia… so the Hera familia is here too," Ottar muttered in disbelief, his agitation mounting.
Zald was already a formidable adversary; the presence of Alfia only deepened Ottar's concerns about their ability to cope.
Seeming to read Ottar's thoughts, Zald decided to amplify his despair.
"Alfia should be the least of your worries. An old fossil from a past era is also roaming this city right now, but more importantly, you should be more concerned about me," Zald said.
'Old fossil? Could it be the other person from the magic stone factory incident?' Ottar pondered.
But he didn't have the luxury to dwell on other threats; the one in front of him was challenge enough.
"You must be cursed, child of Freya—cursed to fall to my blade once again," Zald said, his voice almost taunting.
Ottar was one of the few who knew Zeus and Hera personally.
Many times, he had fought against Zeus's champions and Hera's brave female warriors, each battle ending in defeat.
Memories of his past failures flickered behind the veil of his rust-colored eyes, fixating on a mountaintop he had never reached.
"Face me, Ottar! Hold nothing back unless you wish for me to devour you," Zald challenged, baring his teeth as if preparing to bite down on Ottar.
All Zald craved at that moment was to satisfy his insatiable thirst for battle, and he readied his sleek black sword.
Ottar's heart trembled at the challenge, his jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack.
Reluctantly, he grasped his weapon and roared at the top of his lungs, an effort to banish his fear.
"Oraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
Ottar raised his great sword overhead and charged at Zald.
It was the desperate charge of the mightiest Boaz, a man determined to obliterate anything in his way.
"Pitiful," Zald muttered, effortlessly seeing through Ottar's intentions.
Swoosh!
In one swift stroke, Zald ended the battle.
All the speed, power, and weight that Ottar had put behind his attack were effortlessly deflected by a single flick of Zald's sword.
Zald's parry not only halted Ottar in his tracks; it wrenched his weapon from his grasp and sent him sprawling back.
As he staggered to his feet, Ottar could hear Zald's footsteps drawing near.
Struggling to lift his head, their eyes met through Zald's visor.
"You remain so pitifully weak," Zald noted, raising his sword to attack him.
Rage surged within Ottar at those words; Zald was belittling everything he had worked for throughout his life.
Yet before he could act on that anger, the cold black blade in Zald's hand sent him into flying into the distance…