That mocking face.

Jason’s sword harmlessly bounces off from the pelt.

She is laughing.

It bounces off again.

The girl is freaking laughing.

Bounces off. Again.

That white shrimp is enjoying this!

Again.

Jason grits his teeth so hard, it hurts. He grips his sword so hard, he bleeds. The situation is so familiar, he remembers.

Argonauts. His crew. The crew he gathered .The crew he commanded. They were the best of the best in their era. In their voyage together, they overcame one obstacle after the other without fail. Seas and mountains, men, beasts and unnatural monsters… Nothing could stand in their way.

Again.

They were too good at their job.

Jason, in his inexperience and arrogance, had made a lot of mistakes. But they were no trouble. He could have made twice as many mistakes and his crew would still be fine. It was supposed to be a gruelling journey that tested his worthiness for the throne. Instead it was a vacation with over-skilled friends. Some dog could have taken his place, and with that crew, it would have likely succeeded.

Again.

All right. That was probably exaggeration. But still, Jason was nothing special. Half of his crew could have led them as well as he did. And the other half would have made an even better job.

Sure, he was the one to overcome some of the obstacles. Like those fire-breathing bulls. But it wasn’t because he was the only one that could do it. It was more akin to the youngest of a family taking care of some menial tasks. Not because others couldn’t do it, because it was his responsibility as the leader.

Again.

And the worst was Heracles. Before Jason set sail, during his preparation, they heard Heracles was on his way to Iolcus. Before he even arrived, the elders of the city decided to leave the leadership of the journey to him. It was Jason’s journey, and he had no say in the matter.

By right or by skill. The journey itself was a ploy invented by Jason’s uncle Pelias, who denied his right to the throne of Iolcus, and wanted him to prove his skill. It was supposedly for Jason to show that he was worthy to be king. But the only reason Jason actually got to lead his own journey was because Heracles had flat out refused the responsibility.

Again.

Young Jason was arrogant. Just like Chiron had told him, just like time had proved. He was swimming in self-confidence. At the time, he had not noticed this. He was so full of himself that he hadn’t realised his succeed was a given with a goddess and numerous demigods and heroes at his side.

No, he hadn’t mattered. He had realized this only after they returned. By himself, he couldn’t even hold his throne he had supposedly won by bringing the Golden Fleece. Without his crew, he couldn’t do anything.

Even now…

Against Lancer, he had lost. Even using one of his two Noble Phantasms wasn’t enough. He had simply crushed him with his superior skill. Alone, he couldn’t do anything to him. His only chance against him would be his other Noble Phantasm: His crew.

Even now…

He is facing one of his crew. And guess what? He can’t even touch him! Only way for him to even dream of victory is by calling his crew for help.

Again!

“Raaaaargh!”

He gathers all his strength, and this time swings at Heracles’s face.

It bounces off.

                *                             *                             *

Sten is stuck. His attacks don’t work, and even though he can defend himself right now, that is bound to change.

His combat tactics sense says, go for the magician. One can expect a swordsman to strike with a sword, a spearman to stab with a spear, or an archer to fire arrows. But most times, foreseeing what a magician will do is simply impossible. A decent magician will have multiple different ways to attack, not to mention many other non-direct methods to harm enemies and help friends. And this one, Medea, is beyond a decent magician.

Sten must take care of Medea quickly, or who knows what she will do. Even with his A rank magic resistance that can negate any kind of quick spell she may cast, she will undoubtedly find a way to kill him. Maybe she’ll summon some monsters. Magic resistance would not help against summoned beings. Or she may lift up some rocks or trees and throw them at him. That would work because it would be a physical attack. Or she may turn Atalanta into a mass of muscle that can punch him to death.

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Sten would have laughed at that mental image if not for the arrows coming his way, this time from rear left. He ducks and defends with his left arm. Two arrows go past him and one connects with his gauntlet. Meanwhile he is hit by one more magical blast. It simply dissipates as it gets close so he doesn’t care.

Atalanta is a beast with her speed. By the time he defends against those three arrows, he hears the release of a bowstring from his rear right. She is far faster than him. But she is against the wrong opponent. Difference in speed is something Sten can deal with. He holds his own just as he did in his fight against Lancer.

However, that doesn’t mean he can go on the offensive. On the rare occasion he can attack, he fires his own arrows at Medea, but they are immediately shot down. Even if he fires when Atalanta is behind him, his arrows can’t go through.

Arrows don’t work, so obvious next step for him should be melee attack. But this presents some problems as well. Atalanta is clearly faster than him on her feet. And she fires her arrows while sprinting around. Charging at her would be as futile as infantry running after a chariot archer.

On the other hand, Medea is in the air. Since Sten cannot fly, only way to for him to reach Medea is by jumping. That would be unwise, because dodging mid-jump is impossible. Atalanta can shoot down arrows in mid-air; she can obviously shoot him before he reaches Medea. He can defend himself while he is on his feet, but in mid-air, he’d be a sitting duck. It seems he may have to stop fighting as just an Archer and go full Changer on them.

Medea stops using her favoured Rain of Light spell. All of her rapid-fire magical blasts are A rank attacks. Casting even a single one of them would require a modern magus a magical circle, ten lines long chant and one minute of casting time. Even a single direct hit would be enough to obliterate the body of a servant. But they don’t even touch him. Sten must have at least A rank magic resistance. It appears stronger attacks or indirect spells will be necessary.

Medea takes out a handful of teeth from one of her pockets. These are the teeth of the famous Colchis Dragon that stood guard around the Golden Fleece. Down there, Atalanta is putting pressure on Sten. She wonders how well he will hold up after this.

She spreads the teeth all around them. They vanish before they touch the ground, and from the spots they would have fallen, a dark mist starts oozing out. It doesn’t go above ankle-height, but is thick enough to make the ground non-visible.

Sten isn’t late in realizing the mist. It must be a trap, but why are they visible? What is the point of making a visible trap? Could it be a simple bluff? Just to limit his movements? The spots with the mist are all around him, from a single step to about ten meters away.

For now, he’ll simply stay away from those spots.

But it is not that easy. For the first time since their battle began, Atalanta stops running around. This time, rather than her usual double or triple shots, she pauses for a second and lets loose a salvo of close to ten simultaneous arrows.

Sten is not about to get hit just because the number of arrows increased. He takes a weird pose. It would likely be funny if he had done so under different circumstances, but now it causes the majority of arrows to barely miss him. He has to block only three arrows. One witch each arm and the last one with the armour on his raised leg. He is unhurt, but three arrows while he is on one leg is too much. He involuntarily takes half a step back and barely manages to keep his leg away from the misty spot right behind him.

His foot touches the cold hard ground right next to the mist. Atalanta doesn’t resume moving, instead, she prepares a second salvo. Sten tries to move his foot away from the mist before that.

Tries.

It doesn’t move. A bony hand has come out from the mist and grabbed his ankle. Not stepping on it wasn’t enough.

Sten stumbles. An irreparable mistake.

Two arrows find their marks; one to the shoulder, one to the upper leg.