The clash between the Greek army and Troy resumed once more.
In the midst of the battlefield, Hector, the supreme commander of the Trojan army, felt something was off.
"Behold, I am Hector, the shining helmet of Troy!"
"Let us conquer Troy by the end of today!!!"
First, the morale of the Greek army was abnormally high.
No matter how much he had killed his own brother, Paris, King Menelaus of Sparta must have returned to his homeland, right?
And then...
"Ahhh! What. What is that monster!"
"He caught the arrows with his bare hands. Is he a god...?"
"He’s not even wearing armor, why can’t we kill him... Ugh!"
Achilles, rampaging in the center of the Greek army, at least fell within the realm of understanding.
He was just a bit more skilled than Hector himself.
But those two middle-aged generals over there were a bit different.
One was charging forward, defeating the Trojan soldiers with his bare hands, without any armor.
"Ugh... What is this."
"Insane. Isn’t that Pankration?"
"This is a battlefield! A battlefield! Just one barehanded guy..."
Boom.
Crack.
"Ah. Don’t do that, it’s dangerous."