I planted a sacred tree in Tokyo.

Chapter 700 The City of Suspended Edges, The Lion's Mouth of Truth
"#￥@!"

A long procession is advancing through the crimson storm.

Snapped!
They couldn't communicate verbally, but when the whip lashed their backs and tore their spacesuits, even a pig would know to keep moving forward. Only—

"I can't breathe! I can't breathe!"

The unfortunate man, whose spacesuit was torn by the whip, grabbed his helmet with both hands and collapsed to the ground, his face ashen.

?

A Spartan warrior stepped forward, saw the other man's ashen face, and stretched out his large hand.

click,

Pinch your five fingers together,
They thoughtfully helped the other person end their 'pain'.

"*&￥#%..."

As soon as the fresh 'corpse' was tossed aside, several hunting dogs pounced on it and began to tear it apart!
The Spartan warrior then laughed and said to the person next to him something like, "These guys are so weak."

Such a brutal scene made the others immediately raise their hands obediently and quicken their pace—they didn't want to be whipped and then have their spacesuits ripped and die: although they didn't know what awaited them ahead, it was better than dying now.

Several elites who tried to 'reason' have already been swallowed by those hounds, showing others the truth:

Just like the rumors, these 'Spartan warriors' were truly iron-blooded and bloodthirsty soldiers!
Their current status is undoubtedly that of slaves.

Those damned 'veterans' are indeed a bunch of cold-blooded bastards; seeing their opponent was formidable, they all turned and ran.

Thinking of this, many nobles, elites, and even extraordinary soldiers couldn't help but sigh.

If I had known, I would have stayed in my hometown.
Rumble rumble rumble~~~!!
In the crimson sandstorm behind them, enormous creatures roared as they drew ever closer, causing the Spartan warriors to raise their whips in annoyance.

???

Nobody wants to get hit.
So they all rushed forward and ran wildly, even forgetting to raise their hands.

Hundreds of thousands of people began running on the crimson earth. The superhuman soldiers naturally took the lead, while the remaining nobles, having drunk superhuman potions, were still able to hold on. But soon, the ordinary elites, relatives, and lovers gradually began to fall behind.

Snapped,

"Gululu~~"

Accompanied by the crisp crack of a whip striking the air, the barking of hunting dogs came from behind.

Mars has an atmosphere, so it can transmit sound. Unfortunately, these Americans have neither the ability of the Spartan warriors to breathe carbon dioxide nor the various "black technology" creations of the veterans. They can only run forward with all their might in their close-fitting spacesuits.

Fortunately, Mars has only 38% gravity, which inadvertently allows these people to run faster and jump higher. However:
Boom, boom! ! !

The deafening roar behind them grew louder and louder.

Those were a dozen or so 'Spartan Captains' pushing a spaceship, steadily closing in!

That's right. Besides the 'slaves,' these 'spoils of war' should also be taken back: after all, they are huge amounts of metal, which can be melted down, compressed, and made into armor and weapons—or, if all else fails, used to repair city walls and build houses.

"#￥@！！"

Another loud shout of discontent rang out, and even though they couldn't understand each other's languages, the 'elites' present could guess what it meant from the repeated phrases:

This is an order urging them to move forward; if they don't speed up, the whip will fall!

Rumble,

Hundreds of thousands of people ran wildly across the crimson earth, converging into a black river, with black dots constantly falling behind and disappearing; after several hours, in the eyes of these Americans who had exhausted all their energy, pushed their physical limits, and stumbled along, the outline of a vast city gradually appeared in the crimson storm.

"This is."

"It's huge—"

Not everyone was exhausted to the point of delirium. Several C-level superhumans in the group looked up at the magnificent city in the distance. And:
Above the city, there is a giant sword as magnificent as the city itself!

The giant sword hovered high above the city, its tip pointing down at it, as if it would cleave the city in two the moment it fell!

"The Sword of Damocles?"

A superhuman officer, with one arm in a sling and dried, congealed blood on his chest, murmured unconsciously.

The so-called 'Sword of Damocles' originates from a court legend of Dionysius II, the tyrant of Syracuse in Sicily in the 4th century BC.

Legend has it that Dionysius II had a courtier named Damocles who, because he flattered the king and claimed to have "supreme power and good fortune," was allowed by the king to experience a day of royal power. When Damocles approached the throne, he discovered that a sharp sword was hanging on it!
The courtiers instantly realized that this was the deadly danger behind power, and immediately begged humbly to give up this 'luck'.

This is not merely a parable: any ruler must face countless courtiers, natural disasters, man-made calamities, and various political affairs. Any mistake could lead to his untimely death.

If you want to wear a crown, you must bear its weight!
"#%￥&*?"

Hearing the officer's exclamation, one of the 'Spartan captains' turned around and said something to him.

However, after seeing the bewildered expression on the extraordinary officer's face, he shook his head.

"Woooooooo~~~!!!"

As the procession approached, a long, drawn-out horn sounded from the city walls: giant horns placed atop the walls, welcoming the victorious warriors.

At the same time, on the towering city walls, a giant iron gate slowly rose!

"This city?"

"Could the city walls be made of metal too?"

Upon closer inspection, many were astonished to discover that this magnificent city appeared to be constructed from massive amounts of metal: the sharply angled fortresses, the razor-sharp spikes, and the heroic reliefs—different from the crimson of the earth, they were the black hue of metal. Such a colossal city, such an advanced civilization—were those astronomers blind?!
The American people, who had come to 'develop Mars' with the intention of doing so, were now about to become the ones being 'developed' themselves; they were filled with grief and indignation, and angrily cursed the astronomers.

However, the astronomers in the team were also completely baffled. Mars, the planet 'closest' to theirs, actually had such a magnificent civilization?!

This is unscientific
Okay, but maybe it's extraordinary.

All of this cannot be explained by illusion; only the extraordinary can make sense.

Since it's 'Sparta', then this is the territory of 'Ares,' the god of war. Father in the heavens, is there any way to survive in such a place?
Astronomers of this era were, to some extent, also 'theologians,' and they were well aware that in ancient Greek mythology, Ares was the chief god of Spartan worship. This is easy to understand, as Sparta was a truly militarized political system where war was almost ingrained in their very being, and naturally, they were all fanatical believers in the god of war.

Meanwhile, legend has it that Lacdaitis, the founder of Sparta, was a descendant of Apollo and Princess Taiah. Apollo carried him to Laconia in the form of an eagle to establish the city-state.

Therefore, the 'Sun God' is also their belief: in any case, it does not conflict with the God of War, one is their ancestor, and the other is their professional god.

Hercules, on the other hand, was regarded as a symbol of glory by the Spartans because of his heroic deeds.

There are also rumors that Ares and Hercules were good friends.

Regardless of the outcome, what will happen if they fall into the hands of these 'true savages'? Will they be fed to the hounds, the vultures, or the lions?
The Stinfaro hound was Ares's pet; the vulture was Ares's sacred bird.

As for lions?

That is among the major civilizations,

He often plays the role of a stepping stone for heroes or a scavenger for losers.

Just as these American scholars were pondering this, a chariot sped out of the city gate and came to a stop in front of them.

A warrior wearing a bright red cloak and of equally robust and muscular build jumped down from the chariot; however, it was not difficult to tell from the mane on his helmet, the decorations on his shoulder straps, and the patterns on the gold belt around his waist that he was of higher status.

The other party first glanced at these people who were exhausted and collapsed on the ground.
The staggering American then raised his whip and pointed it at an unfortunate man who had fainted.

A Spartan warrior immediately stepped forward, picked up the unfortunate man, and carried him toward the newcomer's chariot. It was only then that the American warriors noticed a large lion head sculpture decorating the back of the chariot.

What happened in the next second

This will make these Americans realize immediately how naive they were!

The Spartan warrior then shoved the unfortunate man into the gaping mouth of the lion statue at the back of the carriage.

Click, click, click.
The lion's head statue, seemingly made of rock, swallowed the unfortunate man whole with the opening and closing of its jaws, and then:

"Ptooey, ptooey, this is awful!"

English?

English!!!

In America, the crowd was shocked, excited, and ecstatic. All sorts of emotions rushed into their minds; the rock's 'lion's head' rolled its eyes and its gaze fell on them.

"Let me see: the Pilas, the Minoans, the Ionians, and the slaves the Egyptians captured from the south?"

The so-called 'slaves captured by the Egyptians from the south' were naturally some black men.

Those previously mentioned races were all names used by the ancient Greek civilization.

"Alright, alright, welcome everyone—"

The lion's head faces hundreds of thousands: in reality, only the few thousand Americans in the very front row can see it clearly and hear its voice.

“You unlucky bastards from the ‘main planet’! Look at your shocked, bewildered, and idiotic faces, it makes even my ‘lion life’ more interesting.”

“This gentleman,”

The officer, his arms hanging limply, stepped forward. He had finally found someone to talk to, and he was eager to understand the current situation, and:
"Where is this place? Why are we being attacked?"

"Is there some misunderstanding here?"

"hehe,"

With a cold laugh, the lion's head embedded in the back of the chariot spoke again, in a standard American accent.

"Here, every breath is a battle cry, and the land itself is a monument to the bones of our enemies—"

"Sparta!"

really,

The Americans weren't surprised, after all, this was the only word they could 'understand' from their opponents during the previous battle.

"And you are the spoils of war for the warriors of glory!"

The lion's head turned up at the corners of its mouth, revealing a human-like 'joyful' smile.

"No misunderstandings, no pity, no negotiations—here there is only war and fire, only blood and sand!"

Seeing the despair on the faces of these Americans, the lion's head was even happier: being decapitated and made into an ornament, only to appear when a 'translator' was needed, was a terrible treatment; and only seeing more miserable creatures could make it happy.

"You unlucky folks, I'll say it again—"

Welcome to Sparta!

This is a bloodthirsty city-state, a bloody battlefield, a gathering place for believers of calamity, and a hell for the weak!

(End of this chapter)