At that moment, the archer standing in the clearing looked at the billowing smoke of the explosion and let out a long, relieved breath.
The rapid-fire technique the goddess taught her, combined with the little trick her master once showed her, had finally caught her opponent off guard.
He was a difficult opponent, but in the end it was over...
Smack.
A sharp, clean sound came from behind.
The huntress felt a brief numbness, and then a hot, stinging pain spread across her buttocks.
"What are you standing there daydreaming about? Did you think I was that easy to deal with?"
Accompanied by a low, cold snort, the figure that had somehow appeared behind Atalanta rapped the half-broken branch in his hand against her backside again.
Smack, smack.
The burning sting came again.
Atalanta snapped out of her shock, and the fierce pride in her heart was instantly flooded with intense humiliation.
"You..." With an explosive shout, the huntress swung her arm back, bringing the hard wooden body of her bow around toward her opponent's throat.
"Attacking with a short range weapon against a long one. Foolish."
The dry branch flicked out like a striking snake and hit Atalanta's wrist with casual precision, sending a wave of uncontrollable numbness through her arm.
The longbow slipped from her grip and fell toward the ground.
Seeing her weapon drop, Atalanta instinctively bent forward to snatch it back.
"Your intention is that obvious and you think I am blind?"
The branch swept sideways with an irritated snort, the burst of energy at its tip sending the falling bow flying clear, cutting off any hope of Atalanta reclaiming it.
Run.
Realizing the opponent before her was beyond what she could handle, the huntress swallowed her pride through gritted teeth, leapt backward, crashed into the dense forest, and turned to use the uneven branches to vault and spring through the trees like a forest spirit, trying to make it back to the temple of Artemis at the heart of the mountain range and regroup.
One loss could never decide the whole battle.
If she could create distance and recover, the outcome was still open.
In the territory of Arcadia, she had full confidence in her own speed.
"Trying to run? Too late."
The quiet, unhurried snort came again.
Atalanta felt her vision blur, and the figure that had been standing in place was suddenly beside her.
Then a certain demon wielding a half-broken branch started thrashing her buttocks in earnest.
Atalanta dodged left and right in mortified desperation, trying everything she had to break free.
But the uninvited guest clung to her back like a shadow, relentlessly targeting her backside with patient, focused commitment, always finding the most padded spot.
A rapid series of sharp sounds rang out through the forest like popping beans, with what almost seemed like a cheerful rhythm woven underneath.
Smack, smack.
"You wretch, stop it this instant!"
Smack, smack, smack.
"A warrior can be killed but never shamed! Come on then, hit me properly!"
Smack, smack, smack, smack.
"You demon, I am going to take you down with me!"
In the end, after being smacked the entire length of their chase,
Atalanta reached her absolute limit.
Like a cornered lioness with nowhere left to go, she flooded her entire body with divine power, spun around, and charged back with everything she had, ready to take this source of her unbearable humiliation down with her whatever the cost.
It was common knowledge that feline creatures should not be provoked.
Once truly angered, it did not matter who was in front of them or whether they could win.
They would bare their teeth and fight to the finish regardless.
Smack.
But a single flick to the forehead cut right through Atalanta's ferocity.
Her fierce eyes cleared in an instant, and she stared at the figure who had just dropped his concealment with startled disbelief.
"Master?"
Lorne gave a nod, then put on a grave expression and began his critique with righteous authority.
"It took you this long to recognize me. Situational awareness, failing grade."
"Was this a test? Honestly it felt like you just wanted an excuse to hit me."
Atalanta rubbed her impressively swollen buttocks, hissing through her teeth, eyes full of deep suspicion.
Lorne glanced at her and opened the questioning in an even tone.
"Would a real enemy hold back against you?"
"No." Atalanta shook her head.
"Would someone trying to kill you point out your weaknesses?"
"No." She shook her head again.
"Would a stranger choose this particular method to teach you a lesson?"
"Probably... not?" Atalanta thought about it and shook her head a third time.
The clear-eyed gaze that had blazed with fire a moment ago was now thoroughly bewildered.
"So if you used your head for even a moment, you would have known that whoever this was, disguise or not, it had to be someone who knows you well." Lorne dropped the answer without much sympathy and followed it with a cold assessment.
"You fought me this entire time without figuring that out, and at the end you were actually ready to take me down with you."
Watching her master's expression of genuine exasperation,
Atalanta felt a deep flush of shame at her own impulsive behavior and poor performance.
"You are right. There were so many signs and I did not notice any of them in time. I wasted all the effort you put into this for nothing."
"Forget it. You are still young.
Lacking this kind of experience is completely normal."
Lorne waved a magnanimous hand, then glanced at a certain spot behind Atalanta and softened his tone with a note of concern.
"How is it? Does your butt still hurt?"
"It does not hurt at all."
The strong-willed Atalanta straightened her posture on instinct the moment she heard the question.
Then the movement engaged the muscles in question, the burning sting returned in full force, and the sensitive feline creature gave an involuntary full-body shudder, biting down on a pained whimper.
Lorne, seeing this, reached out without ceremony and drew his student over to him. "All right, stop pretending. Come here and let me take a look."
As he spoke, he raised his right hand slightly and activated the life and healing power of the Seventh Avatar, the Crown.
A soft scattering of green light fell across her swollen backside, and a cool, soothing current moved through it, rapidly dissolving the bruising and swelling.
The pain on Atalanta's face gradually gave way to something entirely more comfortable.
The ease the healing brought, combined with the simple security of having her master nearby, made her lower her guard without realizing it as she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the sensation.
Behind her, the tail swayed gently in rhythm with her rising contentment.
Watching that fluffy thing sweep back and forth in front of him, Lorne felt a surge of burning desire to touch it.
The color of it. The softness.
It would feel incredible, would it not?
Damn it. He really wanted to find out.
But after having the thought for a moment, Lorne firmly suppressed the impulse and made the more dignified choice.
"All right. Done."
With the last of the bruising dispersed, Lorne gave Atalanta a pat on the shoulder and woke the student who had been rather visibly enjoying herself.
He put on a serious face and delivered his assessment.
"Now let us talk about what needs work. First, the traps were too rough, and the approach was too uniform.
Every one was independent with no coordination between them.
Any opponent with basic intelligence could avoid them without difficulty. That needs to change."
"Understood."
Atalanta nodded, taking her master's words to heart.
The practice session had already proven it.
Although the techniques and tricks her master used were not exactly what one would call honorable, but they were genuinely effective.
That one unexpected arrow was one of the few real strikes she landed in the entire exchange.
"What about my archery? How was that?"
"Ahem. Passable."
Hearing Atalanta bring up precisely the topic he least wanted to discuss, Lorne gave a dry cough and moved on quickly.
"And finally, situational awareness, tactical thinking, and combat experience. All far too underdeveloped.
Against an ordinary demigod you would manage fine, but against a genuinely skilled opponent, you would have died seventeen or eighteen times over in what just happened."
"Mm."
Atalanta had no argument for this, because her master appeared to have been operating at roughly a demigod's level throughout their entire exchange.
Lorne wrapped up.
"Congratulations. For this assessment, your score is ten."
"?"
"Out of one hundred. What did you think?"
"Oh."
Atalanta's head drooped. The pride she had built up from lately dominating the mountains of Arcadia was thoroughly demolished.
Seeing those fluffy cat ears droop with dejection, Lorne felt a pang he could not quite ignore, cleared his throat, and held out something sweet.
"Your archery and your abilities are genuinely solid. You are simply short on real combat experience.
Once we head back I will take you into the city and arrange for you to spar with opponents your own age.
I guarantee your strength will improve at a pace you will not believe."
"Really?"
Hearing these words, Atalanta, whose mood had been sinking, snapped back to life instantly.
Arcadia's mountains were beautiful and she could hunt and run as freely as she liked, but having spent her whole life there from childhood, the novelty had long since worn thin.
The idea of going into a city and seeing something different held very real appeal for someone as restless as Atalanta.
"When do we leave?"
"Patience. At the very least I need to report to Lady Artemis and take my formal leave first."
Lorne shook his head with an amused, helpless expression at Atalanta's enthusiasm.
"Go and pack your things. I have some private matters to deal with."
Atalanta gave a nod, then leapt and bounded away, vanishing into the deep shade of the forest in moments.
Watching his student disappear into the trees, Lorne turned to look at the shrubs to one side.
With a soft rustle of leaves, the goddess of the hunt stepped out from the shadows in her linen dress, her skin and hair carrying the moist warmth of recent water.
She looked at her sweetheart with an expression that carried layers of meaning.
After a moment, Lorne began to feel rather self-conscious under that gaze and cleared his throat.
"When did you get here? What timing."
"Right around the time you started chasing Atalanta and spanking her buttocks." Artemis smiled in a way that was not quite a smile, her gaze drifting to the half-broken branch in a certain someone's hand with obvious amusement. "Felt good, did it?"
"Ha, ha. Just a bit of instruction. I was simply fulfilling my duties as a teacher." Accompanied by a thoroughly guilty laugh, Lorne quickly dropped the incriminating evidence in his hand and put on a serious face, steering the conversation elsewhere.
"About Apollo and Asclepios. I have dealt with everything."
As her sweetheart talked through everything that had happened along the way, the expression on Artemis's face shifted between heartache and deep feeling.
Because of a single word from her, he fought his way through the underworld at the edge of death to cover for Asclepios, made it back out through countless dangers, and then went straight to the scene to protect the boy's soul without stopping to rest.
And that was not all.
He then traveled all the way to Thessaly to talk sense into her foolish younger brother.
To smooth over the tension between her and Apollo and keep Apollo from doing something reckless, Lorne gave her all the credit without keeping a single part for himself.
The goddess of the hunt looked at this travel-worn sweetheart of hers, and everything warm and fierce she felt poured freely through her eyes.
"Lorne..."
Hearing that soft murmur, carrying burning intensity, Lorne immediately understood and his throat went dry.
He stepped forward, swept Artemis up in his arms, and carried her off into the depths of the forest.
"Wait a moment." With a soft word, Artemis, lying in her lover's arms, reached back with one hand and curled her fingers.
The half-broken branch on the ground lifted into her grasp.
"Bring this too."
The goddess touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
The look in her eyes brooked no argument, filled with fierce competitive spirit and the pull of crossing into forbidden territory.
(End of Chapter)