After the clouds parted and the rain ceased, Paris was still not satisfied. Aphrodite, however, was miserable. Her injuries were already severe, and she had just expended even more divine power to subdue the little beast that was Paris.
"Did you consume Oenone?" She could sense an ancient divine power within Paris—Titan divine power, the same as hers. It was very faint, but it undeniably existed. That was the only explanation she could think of.
Paris neither confirmed nor denied. "I can heal your wounds, but I don't intend to help you."
"Darling, I gave myself to you. How can you be so heartless?"
Talk about feelings with you gods? Your little affair with Ares was caught red-handed by Hephaestus, and instead of being ashamed, you boasted about your skills in public. You even made Apollo depressed.
Paris wrapped her girdle around his own waist, covering his impressive cock. Aphrodite laughed in fury and condensed rose thorns to lash at him.
"So this girdle can tempt you too." Paris removed the girdle, folded it, and stored it in a wooden box. Then he walked up to her and confiscated her earrings, bracelets, and other ornaments until she was as unadorned as he was.
She had actually been robbed by a mortal, and he had only taken her valuables, not her body.
Aphrodite was so angry her face paled. "Darling, I was gravely wounded for Troy. For ten years I did everything in my power to help you."
Paris nodded repeatedly. "And the golden apple I gave you?"
Aphrodite exclaimed, "What do you mean you gave me? I won it through my own merit."
"A trade for the golden apple—I'll heal you," Paris proposed.
Aphrodite laughed. "Is that all? If you want the golden apple, just tell me." She reached into the air and the golden apple appeared before Paris.
He recognized it—it was definitely the golden apple he had once held.
What kind of magic did this thing possess, that even Hera and Athena were willing to fight tooth and nail over it?
Paris took the golden apple and bit into it without hesitation.
"You can't eat that!"
It was too late. The beautiful young man had just eaten his own golden apple. Aphrodite's heart was bleeding. Where would she ever find such a beautiful man again?!
The golden apple was the Fruit of Creation. Even the gods dared not eat it—how could a mere mortal survive consuming one?
Paris's thinking operated on a different dimension from theirs. In the East, everything could be eaten. So the golden apple was no exception. One bite released a sweet, fruity fragrance. The taste was quite good, sweet and sour, refreshing. "This thing is probably like the Peaches of Immortality back home," Paris thought to himself.
Paris ate the golden apple bite by bite, swallowing the divine relic right before Aphrodite's eyes.
What was worse, after finishing it, he asked: "Where are the other two?"
Aphrodite's worldview shattered completely. Although her worldview had never been upright to begin with, now it lay in pieces on the ground. Paris had eaten the golden apple, was still alive, and his body's aura showed no change whatsoever. She couldn't help but suspect he had swapped the golden apple for a fake. After she obtained it, her divine power had more than doubled over ten years.
Even her father, Uranus, the sky god, wouldn't have dared such recklessness while alive.
"The remaining two, one is with Hera, the other with Zeus."
Never mind then. Seducing Zeus would be highly unwise. Better to fleece you first. "Cyprus is your home in the mortal world, isn't it?"
Wait, you've been resurrected, shouldn't you be seeking revenge on the Greeks? Aphrodite said, "Agamemnon's forces are still on the road. The people of Troy await your salvation. Helen awaits your salvation."
Helen? She's Zeus's daughter—immortal and ageless. Since when does she need me to save her? And what do the people of Troy have to do with me, a man from the East?
Paris lifted her hair and gently caressed her cheek. "My goddess, without your golden girdle, have you lost even the courage to conquer a man? Then I'll go find Helen."
Pfft... Aphrodite coughed blood in fury. Her shame and rage exploded into a storm of flower petals as she swore to take Paris down.
The price of expending divine power again: several more ribs broken, and the very source of her divine power was invaded. The divine power she had cultivated through the golden apple shared a primal connection with the apple itself. This time she completely surrendered beneath Paris. Her lofty dignity was shattered to pieces.
The pain of her body and the trembling of her soul intertwined into a vortex of agony and desire that locked her in place.
"How do you gods cultivate?" Paris asked.
Cultivate? What was that? Divine power grew naturally, thank you very much. Only humans needed to cultivate. Aphrodite said, "You've stumped me. My divine power is nourished by bloodline and faith."
Then should I build a temple for myself? Paris considered it for a moment, then dismissed the idea. Building a temple would just be inviting trouble. If Zeus found out, it would be a tragedy.
Mount Ida was too close to Troy. He had only survived this time because Aphrodite had come looking. Had it been Athena instead, he would have died all over again.
He needed to slip away now, while Athena and the others were busy dividing the spoils and had no time to deal with lingering war issues. Hide in Aphrodite's home.
In Paris's view, the Trojan War was just a game played by the gods. Athena and Hera took one side, while Aphrodite stirred up chaos for the other.
After the war ended, the gods would all be one big happy family again. As fellow members of the Twelve Olympians, they shared the worship of mortals. And he, Paris, would already be dead, burned to ash in the ruins of Troy.
"You didn't go to the victory celebration, yet you came to torment this mere mortal. That's somewhat unsportsmanlike." Paris grinned.
Aphrodite was crumbling inside, but her lips were coated in honey: "I missed my darling too much. I finally drove away that hateful Helen. I want to take you to Cyprus."
Paris did want to hide in her home, but since she was the one proposing it, he couldn't help but be suspicious: "Taking me to your estate... do you want your old flame Ares to kill me?"
Aphrodite spoke with genuine emotion. "You know I love you the most. For ten years I've watched over you. My love for you was never because of the golden apple."
If he hadn't died once already, Paris might have almost believed her. He took out the golden girdle and tied it around his waist. Aphrodite lost all resistance. She collapsed into his arms. "My darling, you are everything to me~"
"If only this girdle would grow on my waist," Paris murmured.
What are you thinking, mortal? It is the source of my charm. Aphrodite continued kissing, drawing closer to the girdle. The moment her lips touched it, the girdle suddenly vanished. She rose smoothly, leapt out of Paris's embrace, and said smugly, "It is unseemly for a mortal to covet a divine artifact."
She reached for her waist, only to find it empty. Looking down, she saw the girdle had not returned to her. She focused and summoned it, only to see a golden light flickering at Paris's waist, and even the thing below it radiated a golden glow.
Aphrodite collapsed, but Paris caught her.
How could this be?! How could the girdle recognize him as its master?! Unless he bore a special destiny or the mark of divinity. What kind of monster had Oenone created?!
The instant the girdle vanished, Paris felt something primal return to his body. An uncontrollable force surged through his limbs and bones, his very breath glowing with heat. She naturally became the vessel receiving this divine fury. In a daze, he lost all awareness of heaven and earth.
Aphrodite's wounds were healed. Not only had her divine power recovered, it seemed to have grown stronger.
Paris too had been reborn, divine radiance flickering in his eyes. But it lasted only an instant—before she could look closely, Paris returned to his mortal appearance. He lay quietly beside her, fast asleep.
Aphrodite conjured a feathered robe with her divine power and walked out of the cave, glancing back at the beautiful figure sleeping within. In the end, she resisted the urge to spirit him away to Cyprus.
Perhaps the war was not yet over. Zeus, as the third-generation king of the gods, ruled the sky, but the first and second generation divine kings had not completely fallen—they still constrained the gods. She herself was formed from the power of the first divine king, and she could sense the same power within Paris.
Taking him back would only bring endless trouble. She was different from the other gods—her combat power was limited. Now that the golden girdle that could topple the gods was gone, she dared not even face Ares.
Over the years, she had relied on absolute beauty and seduction, making countless romantic rivals. Now she truly had to lie low.
Fortunately, her divine power had improved. Wherever she passed, all things still flourished, and a hundred flowers bloomed. She took one last look at Paris. "Darling, if you can survive, I will come find you."
Paris had not actually been asleep. Lying next to a god, how could he dare to sleep deeply? After she left, Paris sat up with a whoosh, found Oenone's clothes, and put them on. This place was too dangerous to linger—he needed to flee immediately.
Just as he stepped outside, he saw three elderly Trojans carrying someone toward him. The person they carried was the son of Laocoon, the priest.
The Trojans had ignored Laocoon's warning and brought the wooden horse into the city as an offering to Athena, leading to Troy's downfall—men slaughtered, women and children enslaved. Now only the old, weak, sick, and disabled remained in Troy, along with crumbling ruins and endless sorrow.