"Was that necessary?"
Samael clutched his red, swollen, dislocated wrist, sucking in breath through gritted teeth as he cast a resentful look at Leonidas, who was rubbing his muscles nearby.
"General Leonidas won again!"
The Uruk soldiers watching from the side with their arms draped around one another's shoulders beamed with pride.
"Won my ass! The time ran out!"
Leonidas, slumped on the ground, snorted irritably. His slightly trembling hands pressed against the earth as his chest heaved without pause.
Tabad, the old general in charge of keeping time, solemnly nodded, confirming the result of the match.
"Then..."
Samael hesitated slightly, clearly implying something.
"Spartans would never stoop to lying. If you want to learn spear throwing, come find me anytime..."
Leonidas rolled his eyes and swayed to his feet. He then spread his arms and exchanged a ceremonial embrace with a certain little bastard, marking the friendly end of their contest.
"What future can you have hanging around with those women at the ritual grounds? Join the city guard. Whatever you want to learn, I can teach you."
As they parted, the future Spartan King, who greatly valued Samael's physical talent, could not help muttering softly.
"Why don't you try saying that to Siduri's face?"
Samael wore a teasing expression as he casually bumped fists with Leonidas, immediately leaving the future Spartan King speechless.
Equipment, supplies, even the ale he drank for leisure and relaxation—all of it was controlled by that chief priestess.
Unless he wanted to gnaw on dry rations every day, he could only keep these complaints about that little bastard Samael to himself.
As a Spartan, Leonidas knew very well that there were some women he truly could not afford to provoke.
His ancestor Heracles' experiences were a painfully vivid example.
That Hercules had been powerful