*Chapter 199: Don’t Lower Your Head! Your Crown Will Fall!*

Since Helen had returned to this world and the Greek heroes came charging in, it was expected that they would most likely encounter their old foes, Kratos and Penthesilea.

Menelaus, using the power of the divine staff, led his people in pursuit. Partly, it was to fulfill his master’s mission, but it was also for his pride.

Countless times, he had imagined what it would be like to reunite with Helen.

But never did he expect it would be like this...

Both he and his elder brother Agamemnon, thanks to the power of Ares, had gained lifespans far beyond that of ordinary mortals. However, their extended lives were more like that of the Asgardians, lasting for five thousand years, though not immortal in the truest sense.

Back during the Trojan War, they were already middle-aged. Even with the gift of long life, after 2,500 years, they were now equivalent to sixty-year-old mortal men.

So when they saw the still "youthful and energetic" Kratos and the clearly still young Penthesilea and Helen, they were stunned on the spot.

What the heck? This was supposed to be a battle of old-timers, and you send a bunch of twenty-somethings? That’s pure cheating!

The long-awaited reunion with his wife should have been a comedy, but it turned into a horror show instead.

Of course, horror is just a matter of perspective. If you're on the weaker side, it’s horror. If you’re overwhelmingly stronger, then it’s comedy.

Atreus (Kratos) hadn’t expected that when he charged out with his weapon, he’d face a group of elderly men in golden armor, with white hair, white beards, and even white nose hairs.

Their golden armor still gleamed. It wasn’t the outdated bronze armor of the past but true golden armor, even faintly glowing with divine power, blessed by Ares.

But the men inside were no longer the fearsome warriors they once were.

That hunched figure—was that Great Ajax?

And the slightly hunched one over there—was that Odysseus?

Hilarious!

Even at their peak, after slaying Achilles, Atreus didn’t particularly fear them. Now, with their old age spots, even less so.

In the arena, Kratos's fierce aura filled the air. As his sharp gaze swept across the Greeks, not a single one dared meet his eyes.

That included Menelaus himself.

Unable to face Atreus’s gaze, Menelaus lowered his eyes.

Little did he know, Atreus wouldn’t let him off so easily.

"Menelaus! Don’t lower your head! Your crown will fall!"

The deep, violent voice, though rough, carried a strange logic. Every Greek present turned their eyes toward Menelaus.

The army of the dead needs a Lich King—I mean, the Greeks need an emperor.

Since you received the crown through Ares’s hand, if you don’t bear the responsibility, Menelaus, who will?

Old Menelaus was stunned.

With gritted teeth, he raised his head, biting down so hard that his gums nearly bled. “I am Menelaus the 233rd, rightful Emperor of the Greek Empire. Kratos, as a Spartan, why do you not kneel before me!?”

“Pffft!” Atreus, though an expert at acting tough, couldn’t help but laugh at that statement.

He wanted to laugh.

So he did.

Atreus’s wild laughter echoed throughout the museum!

“Hahaha! Menelaus! We’ve been old rivals for ages, who do you think you’re fooling? You’ve always been indecisive. You even sacrificed your wife just to fabricate a reason to attack Troy. And to become emperor, what other sacrifices did you make? Tell me, I’m really curious!”

Atreus’s words were a dagger to Menelaus’s heart.

Menelaus’s face turned an unpleasant shade—let’s say, it wasn’t pretty.

The tale of the Spartan king’s wife being stolen was strange enough. How could Helen have been taken with so many guards and maids in the Spartan palace? Sure, Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, had a hand in it, but didn’t Greece have any gods to defend it? How could a relatively weak goddess help Paris abduct Helen?

The Greeks lusted after the fertile lands of Troy, and powerful gods like Ares, Athena, and Apollo sought to seize more divine roles and powers through war.

In the end, Helen was just a pawn, a fuse that Menelaus deliberately lit. It’s easy to deduce that this once-Spartan king played a less-than-honorable role.

Menelaus wasn’t as clever as modern schemers. After all, in modern times, even a bag of washing powder can be labeled as a weapon of mass destruction.

Agamemnon might have kept quiet about certain things, but Atreus, their enemy, had no such restraint.

With a few words, he tore open Menelaus’s most sensitive wound.

Menelaus trembled with rage.

At this moment, Atreus wrapped his arm around Helen’s slender waist, eliciting a soft gasp from Greece’s most beautiful woman. Despite being watched by her former suitors, who were now old men, Helen didn’t resist. Instead, she leaned into Atreus’s broad chest, not even glancing at her former pursuers.

“Menelaus, although Helen came to me willingly back then and didn’t want to fall into your hands after Troy’s fall, I’m still giving you a chance—” Atreus deliberately dragged out his words before finishing, “Helen’s right here. If you’ve got the guts, take her back. If not, then die!”

Menelaus’s face flushed red, and the arteries in his neck bulged like two sausages stuck in there. His bloodshot eyes bulged out.

What could he say?

He knew Kratos was mocking him. He knew Helen was probably like a princess trapped in a goblin’s lair. Yet, he still couldn’t resist the taunt.

Because he had never achieved a perfect victory to cleanse his reputation.

“Kill him!” Menelaus screeched, his voice cracking as he gave an order that sent chills down the spines of the Greek soldiers.

The emperor’s command couldn’t be ignored; after all, he represented the will of Ares.

Ironically, the first to act were the children of the gods.

In this era, it’s hard to rise to prominence.

Atreus came from a place where even a prince who ruled for 64 years seemed impressive.

In the Greek Empire, that was nothing—multiply it by forty!

Even a former king like Agamemnon had been downgraded to duke. Did these third-generation demigods expect to become kings?

Their only chance was to perform great deeds to win Ares’s favor.

A middle-aged man, though likely over a thousand years old, charged at the front.

With one Spartan kick, he was sent flying.

(End of Chapter)