The battlefield was alive with chaos. The deafening roar of clashing armies echoed in the distance, but within the eye of this storm stood two titans: Hector, the Prince of Troy, and Chiron, his former teacher and mentor. Their duel had captured the attention of all around them. Even the most battle-hardened warriors hesitated to approach, the sheer force of their strikes creating ripples in the air and quakes in the earth.

    Chiron, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, shifted his weight. His lance trembled slightly in his grasp, a testament to both his age and the ferocity of Hector''s attacks. Across from him, Hector stood tall, his golden aura shimmering like sunlight caught in motion. His breaths came heavy but steady, his grip on his sword unyielding.

    "You''ve grown strong, Hector," Chiron said, his voice steady despite the exertion. "Stronger than I had imagined. But strength alone does not make a warrior."

    "A lesson I learned from you," Hector replied, his tone laced with both respect and determination. "But today, I fight not as your student, but as the defender of Troy."

    Without another word, Hector surged forward. His sword gleamed in the golden light as he brought it down in a powerful arc. Chiron met the strike with his lance, the two weapons colliding with a deafening clang. Sparks flew, and the ground beneath them cracked from the force.

    Chiron countered with a swift thrust of his lance, aiming for Hector''s chest. Hector twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the attack, and retaliated with a horizontal slash. Chiron reared back on his hind legs, the blade missing him by inches. The centaur''s movements were fluid despite his injuries, a testament to his centuries of experience.

    But Hector was relentless. He pressed the attack, his strikes faster and more precise. Each swing of his sword carried the weight of his resolve, the pain of loss, and the hope of his people. Chiron parried and dodged, his every movement calculated, but he could feel his strength waning. Hector was no longer the eager student he had trained; he was a warrior in his prime.

    The two clashed again, their weapons locking. For a moment, they were face to face, the tension palpable.

    "Do you really think you can win, Hector? It''s impossible. You should look at the reality."

    Hector''s eyes hardened. "I will kill you, Chiron and then make sure Troy will come out as victory."

    With a surge of strength, Hector pushed Chiron back. The centaur stumbled, his hooves skidding against the dirt. Hector seized the moment, lunging forward with a powerful thrust. Chiron barely managed to deflect the blade, but the force sent him reeling.

    The others watched in awe as the duel unfolded. Each exchange was a testament to their skill and determination. Hector''s raw power and speed were matched by Chiron''s experience and precision, creating a balance that seemed impossible to break.

    But the balance began to shift. Hector''s strikes grew more forceful, his movements more aggressive. The golden aura around him intensified, a manifestation of his inner strength. Chiron, on the other hand, was visibly tiring. His breaths were labored, and his movements lacked their usual fluidity.

    Hector''s sword came down in a powerful overhead strike. Chiron raised his lance to block, but the impact was too much. The lance snapped in two, the shards scattering across the ground. Chiron staggered, his eyes wide with shock.@@@@

    "It''s over, teacher," Hector said, his voice resolute.

    Chiron''s gaze hardened. "Not yet."

    Despite his injuries, Chiron charged forward, using his hooves to kick up a cloud of dust. Hector shielded his eyes, momentarily blinded. Chiron used the opportunity to grab one of the broken halves of his lance and swung it with all his might. The makeshift weapon struck Hector''s shoulder, drawing blood and forcing him back.

    Hector gritted his teeth, the pain fueling his determination. He swung his sword in a wide arc, dispersing the dust and forcing Chiron to retreat. The centaur''s movements were slower now, his strength nearly spent. Hector advanced, his strikes relentless. Each swing of his sword chipped away at Chiron''s defenses, leaving the centaur with fewer and fewer options.

    "This ends now!" Hector roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield.

    With a final, powerful strike, Hector''s sword pierced through Chiron''s remaining weapon and into his side. Chiron gasped, the pain overwhelming. He dropped the broken lance and fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him.

    Hector stepped back, his chest heaving. He looked down at his former teacher, his expression a mixture of sorrow and resolve.

    Chiron raised his head, his eyes meeting Hector''s. "You''ve become a great warrior, Hector. I''m proud of you."

    Just moments earlier, Menelaus had erupted upon hearing the news of Chiron''s death. "Chiron is dead? That useless horse!" he bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder across the camp.

    The typically composed king had lost his temper, his frustration boiling over. He had grown increasingly impatient with the war, desperate to reclaim Helen and restore his honor. But Helen—his wife, the spark of this bloody conflict—had not appeared on the walls of Troy for days. Her absence gnawed at him like a festering wound.

    Even others who usually graced the walls with their presence had vanished. Astynome, Kassandra, and Helen, the woman who had drawn armies to war. None of them had been seen since Heiron''s death.

    As Menelaus brooded in his fury, a soldier approached him cautiously, his armor glinting faintly in the light of the setting sun. The battlefield around them still echoed with the clash of swords and the cries of the wounded, but here, near the Spartan king, there was an unsettling stillness.

    "My king," the soldier began, his voice low but firm, "I think it would be wise to retreat."

    Menelaus froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He turned his head slowly toward the man, disbelief etched on his face. "What did you say?" he hissed, his tone dripping with venom.

    The soldier swallowed hard but stood his ground. "We are losing ground. If we stay—"

    "You dare!" Menelaus''s roar cut through the soldier''s words like a blade. His face twisted with rage as he closed the distance between them, grabbing the man by the collar of his crimson Spartan cloak. "Do you know who you speak to? Do you want to die for your insolence?"

    The soldier remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his hand shifted subtly toward his side.

    Menelaus''s fury blinded him to the danger until it was too late. A searing, blinding pain erupted in his stomach, stealing the breath from his lungs. His grip on the man faltered, and he staggered back, his expression contorting into one of shock and disbelief.

    Lowering his gaze, Menelaus saw the glint of steel protruding from his abdomen. A sword. The soldier had thrust his blade deep into his stomach. Blood poured from the wound, staining his armor and pooling at his feet.

    "Gaaaarghhh!" Menelaus groaned in agony, clutching at the wound as he stumbled backward. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

    The soldier stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate. With a single motion, he removed his helmet, revealing a face that sent a jolt of recognition and fury through Menelaus''s fading senses.

    "You!" Menelaus choked out, his voice trembling with rage and hatred. His vision blurred, but there was no mistaking the man before him—Paris, the prince of Troy, the man who had stolen Helen, the man who had sparked this endless war.

    Paris''s lips curled into a twisted smirk, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Helen is mine," he said, his voice filled with venom and triumph.

    Menelaus clenched his fists, his hatred burning brighter than the pain in his body. He tried to rise, his legs trembling with the effort, but his strength failed him. He collapsed again, blood pouring from his wound, staining the ground beneath him.

    Around them, the battlefield seemed to fall into an eerie silence. Soldiers froze in place, as if bound by some unseen force. None moved to intervene. None dared.

    "I will... kill you!" Menelaus rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper, but his glare was filled with unyielding hatred.

    Paris''s smirk widened as he raised his sword high, the blade catching the last light of the dying sun. "Not today, king," he said coldly.

    With a swift and merciless strike, the blade sliced through the air—and then through Menelaus''s neck.

    SPATTER!

    Blood sprayed across the ground as Menelaus''s head fell from his shoulders, his lifeless body crumpling to the dirt.