The Greece Antagonist-Chapter 740 - 143 Start Praying Start Praying_2

Chapter 740: Chapter 143 Start Praying! Start Praying!_2 Chapter 740: Chapter 143 Start Praying! Start Praying!_2 Furthermore, once he did so, even if there was a reason for it, his relationship with his daughter would inevitably shatter, never returning to the close bond they once shared.

Agamemnon’s face was a mix of cloud and sunshine; although his wife’s disloyalty angered him deeply, he still had genuine feelings for his well-behaved daughter.

Seeing Agamemnon hesitating and looking at her, Pandora assumed an uninvolved demeanor and smiled, saying,

“I’m just suggesting, you decide what’s more important to you: family affection or the throne.”

But then, she raised her hand to point at the night that enveloped the tent outside and playfully reminded him,

“However, you’d better be quick, or by the time dawn breaks, the second siege may begin, and by then, I cannot guarantee I’ll be able to save you from the deities’ hands.”

Agamemnon’s body shook as he finally made up his mind. With a somber face, he walked out of the tent and summoned his brother, the commander of the Divine Blood Guard,

“Menelaus, bring Iphigenia here. And, while you’re at it, prepare some other things for me.”

When Menelaus heard the request, obviously pertaining to ritual items, his gaze flashed. He respectfully nodded and then summoned two members of the Divine Blood Guard, disappearing into the night.

At this moment, Pandora in the tent watched Agamemnon, who had already made his choice, and a hint of mockery crept onto her seductive face.

...

Indeed, for the descendants of the Divine King, power and the throne forever outweighed everything else.

Soon after, having completed his task, Menelaus led Agamemnon to a newly built altar.

On the altar lay a chestnut-haired young girl, sleeping sweetly amidst the flammable aromatic wood like a baby.

Agamemnon, looking at his daughter who was unconscious, frowned and turned to his brother,

“What have you done?”

“I gave Iphigenia a jar of wine, so she wouldn’t suffer too much pain later on.”

Menelaus answered calmly, his voice steady.

Agamemnon glared at his presumptuous brother and then looked over at the Mycenaeans gathering around the altar, knowing there was no turning back. He gritted his teeth, stepped onto the altar, and loudly declared,

“My people, tonight I have decided to offer my daughter, Iphigenia, upon this altar as a sacrifice to the gods! This act is not for revenge against my disloyal wife, but a willing sacrifice for the victory of all Greece! For the divine oracle has informed me in the darkness: only through a blood relative’s sacrifice can my devotion be proven, can the Mycenaean receive divine favor again, and conquer Troy!”

Hearing his words, the gathered Mycenaeans were deeply moved.

Some admired King Agamemnon’s righteousness, others longed for the divine favor this holy sacrifice could bring, erasing past humiliations.

Soon, the moment to light the fire arrived. Menelaus smoothly handed a bundle of burning fennel branches to his brother.

Agamemnon, looking at the fervently expectant faces under the firelight and his brother, who was sizing him up, felt trapped.

It seemed that regardless of whether or not Helen came, he had to continue this play; otherwise, once his subordinates learned it was all a deceptive farce, not only would he lose their trust, he might even struggle to maintain his throne.

After all, there were others in Mycenae with claims to the throne, not just him.

Agamemnon glanced at his brother beside him, steeled his heart, and resolutely threw the torch onto the altar.

Just a daughter, after all—given his strength and vitality, he could always have another one.

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“Stop!”

At that moment, a crisp, stern shout rang out, and a streak of golden light smashed toward the altar, extinguishing the burning torch.

“Agamemnon, do you know what you’re doing?”

Helen, who had arrived just in time, glanced at her sleeping niece on the pile of wood, then turned an angry gaze toward the ruthless Agamemnon.

“Of course, I know. This is for the victory of the Alliance! To spare more Greeks from dying in this war!”

Agamemnon replied passionately, his face resolute with righteousness.

As Helen arrived, the last shred of guilt he held for his daughter was also extinguished.

Helen, holding her niece, retorted indignantly,

“If our victory can be purchased with the life of an innocent sacrifice, what then is the purpose of the swords in our hands? Such a victory for a hero is not glory—it is disgrace!”

“You’re absolutely right!”

Diana agreed loudly, with Penthesilea also showing disdain as she chimed in,

“To want victory, fight for it with your swords. What skill is there in throwing your own daughter into the fire?”

Agamemnon huffed coldly, his face showing grief and anger,

“You talk so lightly. It was us Mycenaeans who suffered dearly in the daylight, and now it is my beloved daughter who is to be the offering for the Alliance to achieve victory. If your courage is only in your words, then shut your mouths and don’t interfere with my sacrifice to the gods!”

“Who said we’re all talk? You Mycenaeans may fear Troy, but we Argives certainly do not!”

“That’s right, we’ll take on tomorrow’s battle, you Mycenaeans just watch!”

“Exactly, all of Greece’s most elite troops and Divine Blood Heroes are here, I refuse to believe we can’t take down little Troy.”

At this moment, one by one, the Divine Blood Heroes from the other city-states also arrived upon hearing the news, each vocalizing their own courage.

Seeing the situation unfold as he desired, Agamemnon immediately turned to Helen,

“Helen, you are the commander of the Alliance. Tell me what to do, we Mycenaeans definitely do not harbor cowards afraid to die!”

By then, Helen knew she had fallen into her brother-in-law’s scheming, but with things having come this far, she could only make the best of a bad situation,

“The Mycenaeans have already proven their courage in the last battle. What is needed now is rest and recuperation. Tomorrow, heroes and warriors from other city-states will replace you in the fray. We’re not yet at the point of defeat—we don’t need to beg for the pity of the gods. Let’s end this sacrifice here. Iphigenia, stay by my side for now.”

“Good, I await the triumphant news from you!”

Agamemnon replied contentedly, his expression sincere.

However, Helen nearly vomited at her brother-in-law’s pretentious demeanor. She snorted coldly, said nothing, and walked down from the sacrificial altar with her sleeping niece in her arms.

After dispersing the crowd and settling her niece, Helen walked into a secluded tent, biting her lip and lowering her head in shame,

“Lord Luo En, I seem to have thwarted your plans with my recklessness…”

Listening to Helen recount the events that had transpired at the sacrificial site, Luo En put down the scroll in his hand and replied with a faint smile,

“I only wished to test the depths of Mycenae, using them as bait to lure out something from beneath the waters. It was never my intention to exterminate all Mycenaeans. Now, I have some insight into the answers I sought. It’s not a total loss. Since our opponents are guarded, we’ll just find another way to continue the validation. There’s no harm done.”

Hearing those comforting words warmed Helen’s heart, but her guilt intensified,

“Yet I was still impulsive…”

“But you did the right thing. If I were you, I would have made the same choice.”

Luo En looked at Helen with softness, his eyes showing no blame but only affirmation and approval.

“And besides, changing the combatants tomorrow isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s an opportunity to probe Troy’s defenses.”

Helen looked at the understanding deity before her, her eyes brimming with tenderness and emotion—so intense it seemed to solidify.

As the high priest who had governed Sparta for two hundred years, she was no longer the naive young girl and knew she wasn’t blameless, but she also knew there was a deity ready to cover for her.

With the mistake made, she needed to atone.

Glancing at the thick night outside the tent, Helen blushed and knelt, crawling forward in both a devout and blasphemous posture, entering the narrow and dim confessional. She stretched her fair neck and moved her moist lips, praying and confessing to the deity she revered.

The desk rocked slightly as Luo En stiffened momentarily, choosing to accept this act of self-penance for faith. Then he drew a deep breath, lowered his arms to cradle the confessing head, and with body and spirit, he listened and felt the deepest confessions coming from the young girl’s lips and tongue.