Look, I'm not picky. If it moves and doesn't kill me first, I'll call it dinner.
So when I saw the wild boar, massive and snorting like a bulldozer with tusks, I thought: yeah, okay, maybe.
I had my dagger. My hands didn't shake much anymore. I crouched low, creeping through tall grass with all the grace of someone who had definitely never done this before. The boar was rooting around in the dirt, distracted.
Perfect.
Then it lifted its head and rammed a tree in half.
Like, actually cracked the trunk right down the middle with a loud, teeth-rattling WHAM.
I stared at the destruction for half a second.
"Yeah, nope. Nope nope nope." I turned on my heel and ran so fast I almost tripped on my own good sense.
Forget steak. I'd stick to chasing rabbits.
By the time I got back to the clearing, I was wheezing, drenched in sweat, and clutching my dagger like it owed me rent. The white horse—Poseidon's apparent four-legged murder machine—was still peacefully grazing like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.
"Don't mind me," I told him, hands on my knees. "You keep eating. Wish I could join you."
If only I had the stomach for grass.
I collapsed under a tree and stabbed my dagger absently into the dirt, tracing squiggly lines. It'd been three days since my great escape from psycho goddess babysitters. The seafood I'd packed was long gone. And I'd burned the last of my dried fish as an offering to Poseidon.
Helpful? Yes. Smart? No.
All I had left was a fat pouch of drachmas stolen off a group of extremely unconscious bandits. Great for bribing guards. Terrible for eating.
I sighed and stared at the horse. It was still chewing grass like it was fine dining.
"You think it's edible?" I mumbled.
The horse blinked at me, then stepped aside—as if offering me the good patch.
I stared at the grass. My stomach growled.
"…I hate my life."
Just as I reached out, there was a loud rustle behind me—branches snapping, something crashing through the underbrush.
I shot to my feet, dagger ready.
WHAM.
The boar again. Same tree-demolishing energy, same death-in-pig-form look in its eyes.
"Seriously?!" I yelped, diving to the side as it charged. I hit the ground hard, rolled, came up covered in leaves and panic.
The horse? Still eating.
Then it casually raised one hoof—and crushed the boar's skull like a soda can.
The ground shook. The boar went still.
I blinked.
"…Okay. That was… efficient."
The horse just snorted, then kicked the boar toward me with a flick of its tail, like: Here. You cook it.
I nudged the thing with my foot. No twitching. No dramatic last breath. Just one dead, angry pig.
Then I noticed something weird—an arrow, buried deep in its neck. Right in the artery.
It wasn't the horse that finished it off. Someone had already wounded it.
Which meant…
"Okay," I said aloud, scanning the trees. "Just putting this out there—I'm not stealing your kill! We can talk this out like rational murder-avoiding people."
A beat.
Then a voice, cold and sharp as flint, called out:
"But you already took my prey."
An arrow thunked into the dirt right beside my foot.
"Whoa, okay, yeah, fair point!" I raised my hands. "But technically, the horse is the one who squashed it. So unless you want to file a complaint with Poseidon…"
No response. Just the faint creak of a bowstring pulling tight.
I gestured wildly between the boar and the arrow next to my foot. "Same arrowhead, see? You're clearly the pro here! I'm just the idiot who almost ate grass!"
A rustle, then movement.
The hunter stepped out of the trees, bow still drawn. And yeah, she was beautiful. Dangerous-beautiful. Like a panther you don't make eye contact with unless you want to become lunch.
She had wild brown hair streaked with green bangs, and eyes that practically glowed with a beast-like sharpness. Her gaze flicked between me, the horse, and the boar. Calculating.
"…Can I have it back?" she asked flatly. "The boar."
I scratched my head, then really looked at her.
And oh no.
I knew who she was.
"All due respect, but I think I've had a change of heart~" I said with a nervous grin.
She narrowed her eyes. "Please reconsider."
"I'll pay you," I added quickly, jingling the coin pouch at my waist. "You want the whole pouch? Take it. I just want the meat."
She gave me the look. You know the one. The 'are you flirting with me or being weird on purpose' look.
"Hey, don't look at me like that!" I waved a hand. "I'm not interested. I swear. I just want to not starve to death."
Something in her posture shifted. Her bow lowered—slightly.
"…Sorry. Misunderstood," she said, voice a bit softer now.
Yeah. She'd probably dealt with her fair share of creeps. Who hadn't, in this messed-up world?
"Rest assured," I said, dead serious, "I have no romantic interest in you."
She blinked. "That's… oddly specific."
"It's survival strategy," I muttered.
Greek Myth Survival Rule #1: Don't mess with beautiful women.
In fact, avoid all beautiful things. Period.
You didn't need to be a myth expert to know how those stories ended. Helen? War. Medea? Dead kids. Circe? Pig farm.
Plus, this was Zeus's turf. And Zeus?
Certified divine menace. Guy seduced anything that moved—clouds, animals, married women, probably a tree once. He had range. You didn't just avoid relationships. You avoided anything that might get you noticed.
And this girl?
Wild hair. Bow like a war machine. Beast-gaze. Probably affiliated with Artemis.
Probably… Atalanta.
Which meant: deadly, fast, and fully capable of outrunning both you and your excuses.
I gulped.
A beautiful woman connected to Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and moon
Definitely dangerous.