Swept by the wind, traveling day and night, Thessaly soon appeared in Hercules’s view.
Looking at the Boots of Hermes beneath his feet, he couldn’t help but be grateful to the teacher who had always secretly had his back since he was young.
To avoid putting his elder in a difficult position, Hercules decisively donned another divine artifact lent to him by his teacher, Perseus—the Invisibility Cloak, and sneaked into Thessaly City under the cover of fading night.
With the aid of the two divine artifacts, he easily bypassed the soldiers along the way, entered the Royal Palace, and knocked on a tightly shut great door.
A woman, dressed in plain clothes and looking haggard, walked out of the room, her face full of weariness.
"Who are you?"
The woman who answered the door was clearly startled to see not a maid, but a powerfully oppressive stalwart man.
"I am Alcades, an old friend of King Admetos. I heard he was severely injured and have come especially to visit him, please go in and report my arrival," he said.
From the shadows, Hercules tightened the hood on his head and used the power of the Invisibility Cloak to conceal his original aura and appearance, announcing a name little known to others.
The woman nodded politely and then returned to the hall to convey the message.
A moment later, a feeble cough emanated from within the room.
"Ah, it’s you, come in," the voice said.
Hercules followed the sound inside and stepped up to the bed behind the curtain, shocked to see Admetos’s gaunt appearance and feeling of near death. He quickly handed over the Magic Potion he had brought with him.
"What has happened to you?"
Admetos did not hesitate to down the Magic Potion; his complexion regained a touch of color and he spoke resignedly.
This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.
"I was never one much for battling, injuries are inevitable. With the recent surge in warfare, my body started failing to cope," he said.
"Why not sacrifice to the Father God? His divine power could surely protect your safety," Hercules suggested.
"I tried, but the King has not responded; he may have forsaken Thessaly," Admetos lamented.
"..."
Hercules fell silent for a moment, his voice dry as he tried to explain.
"The Father God must have his profound reasons for doing so..."
But quickly, his straightforward nature made it impossible to deceive himself, and he could only silently swallow the unconvincing excuse, guiltily lowering his head.
"I’m sorry, Admetos..."
"What does this have to do with you? It must be my shortcomings in some areas that angered the King. I will do my best to mend," Admetos replied while waving his hand, soothingly comforting the old friend beside his bed.
Hearing this, Hercules bit his lip.
What wrong could Thessaly have possibly committed? At most, they had participated in the meeting at War God Mountain, trying to save themselves.
If even that was seen as a betrayal and thus subject to punishment, what were the people of Thessaly to do?
Were they simply to await their demise?
Grasping his friend’s increasingly frail hand, Hercules felt even more ashamed.
"I am sorry, if only I had been here..."
Admetos raised his hand to interrupt Hercules, speaking earnestly.
"I understand your dilemma and wouldn’t want to trouble a friend over these matters. Let’s not talk about this anymore," he said.
Then, pausing, a bright smile crossed his face.
"I’m glad you came! Come, let’s drink together," he invited.
"But your health..."
Queen Alcestis hesitated, clearly concerned.
Admetos waved his hand, reassuring his wife.
"Don’t worry, it will be fine. Bring the newly brewed Ambrosial Honey Wine; I want to wear a Flower Crown and drink merrily with my friend who has come from afar. Nothing suits better to smooth my furrowed brow and bodily pain than a full glass of fine wine! Ha ha, praise the God of Wine!"
Seeing her husband’s resolute attitude, the queen reluctantly led the servants to fetch the wine and food to entertain the guest in the sickroom.
—He was always like that, treating friends with utmost hospitality.
Soon the dishes and drinks were ready, Admetos waved his wife and the servants away and sat by the bed, picking up the wine vessel, beckoning Hercules to drink heartily together.
Feeling guilty but not wanting to dampen his friend’s spirits, Hercules simply sat at the table and matched Admetos drink for drink.
For a while, the room was filled with clinking cups and laughter, and the two friends lost themselves in jovial drunkenness.
After who knows how long, Hercules awoke and sat up in bed, noticing a set of dry clothes and sobering medicine on the table. He smiled knowingly.
Admetos was always so considerate, never neglecting his friends, making every visit to Thessaly feel like returning home.
Unfortunately, he now had to leave...
Hercules glanced at the dim light outside the window, sighed resignedly, got out of bed, packed his belongings, and summoned the servants waiting outside.
"Where is Admetos? I’d like to say goodbye to him," he said.
"The king has already instructed that you can leave anytime you wish, but there is no need for farewells," the servant answered, his head bowed, his voice muffled and somber, as though choked by something.
"He is very busy at the moment, afraid he has no time to entertain you..."
At these words, Hercules paused, his gaze drifting to the black hue inside the servant’s collar and the evident sorrow on his face, his expression subtly changing.
In Greece, black represents the color of the Netherworld, and it is also a symbol of death and mourning.
Although Thessaly had just endured a great battle with many fallen, the only person who could make the palace servants and guards wear mourning was likely just one.