"A God Calling Humans His Slave Dogs?"
Atalante was finding it increasingly hard to accept the situation. Well, to her, all of this must have seemed utterly beyond comprehension.
"Once this is over, I'll tell you everything."
"Is that so? It feels like you're always putting it off like that."
"Sorry, it's not on purpose."
I apologized sincerely. It really wasn't intentional. My entire journey had been anything but leisurely—no ship attacks one day, pirate lairs the next, clashes with the Amazons after that, and now betrayed by an old dragon. There truly hadn't been a moment for a relaxed chat.
"I understand. I've been caught up in that whirlwind myself. But the more time passes, the more it seems like the secrets you're carrying are immense."
"...Yeah. All I want is for you to stay by my side even after hearing the truth."
"I see. I'll give it due consideration."
I wanted to keep traveling with Atalante, but since the path to averting the apocalypse was a thorny one, I had no intention of forcing her. If she chose to leave, I'd have to let her go.
"For now, let's proceed with the offering ritual. I know it doesn't make sense, but this one is a god and a human at the same time."
"Is that even possible?"
"It's because of Divine Incarnation. A god downgraded into a human body."
That's when the First Scribe, Choros, interjected.
"Your Excellency. You scolded me for appearing in my divine form, but in Divine Incarnation, I can't access the Akashic Records. If you intend to make use of me, please permit me to briefly revert to my godly shape."
"Atalante's getting overwhelmed by your presence."
"I'll handle that. I can ensure my presence doesn't reach her...."
I immediately kicked Choros in the shin.
"Agh!"
"You could've done that from the start! Why blast your presence everywhere and make our Atalante nosebleed? The more I think about it, the more infuriating it is."
I snapped in irritation, but then a slightly embarrassed voice came from behind.
"Our Atalante...."
It sounded like she wasn't entirely displeased. I felt a flush of embarrassment after saying it but played it cool.
"Choros, given the circumstances, I temporarily permit your divinization."
"Understood."
With my permission, the bald middle-aged man vanished, replaced by a massive, snail-like god. This time, as he said, his presence had no effect on Atalante whatsoever.
"Your Excellency, I fully understand how dearly you cherish that human woman. I'll be more careful from now on."
"Ahem, just watch yourself."
Chérish her dearly? Hearing it stated so bluntly made my face heat up. I glanced back to see Atalante fanning herself shyly, avoiding my gaze.
"Understood. Recently, through my own Divine Incarnation, I've come to understand human life and emotions a little."
"That's good to hear."
It was a relief that this lofty being had gained even a sliver of insight into human ways. That was precisely why I'd stuck him on the vineyard farm, mingling with the workers.
As I smiled faintly in approval, the First Scribe, eager to boast of his progress, spouted something utterly irrelevant.
"And so, I believe I understand now. In short, Your Excellency views that human woman as a mating partner, yes?"
"What?"
I nearly dropped my jaw in shock. It felt like a dagger plunged straight into my back out of nowhere.
The First Scribe chuckled slyly, as if he knew everything.
"Heh heh heh, I've observed that human males feel intense possessiveness and dominance toward females they fancy. They even resort to knife fights over women sometimes. To me, humans are fleeting beings, living lives as short as a summer night's dream. Yet they risk their brief existences for mating... Truly astonishing."
His tone was like a documentary narrator marveling at mayflies' lifespans. As I stood speechless, he grew even more excited.
"I saw a young farmhand fall for a village girl. It must be brain chemicals at work, what humans grandly call 'love'—though to me, it's just phenylethylamine secretion."
Clearly, the First Scribe loved showing off his knowledge. The Secret Book was frantically signaling him to stop, sensing my expression, but he was lost in self-admiration. After living as Choros, this chance to flaunt his intellect was unleashing a torrent of words.
"Love stems from phenylethylamine acting on the brain's limbic system—a potent stimulant. Right now, as Your Excellency gazes at that woman, your brain's hormone secretions are highly active. This indicates you're viewing her as an eager mating prospect."
Our esteemed First Scribe had neatly dissected my feelings for Atalante. Strangely, my heart pounded fiercely.
Thump. Thump.
I didn't dare turn to face Atalante behind me. His words had shaken me more than expected.
Then, in a somewhat concerned tone, the First Scribe asked, "Your Excellency, are you alright? Your brain is abnormally secreting dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, vasopressin, and more. It seems you desperately wish to mate with that cherished woman. But please restrain yourself. My divinization is only temporary; time is short."
From behind came a quavering, thin voice.
"P-Peleus... Have you... b-been l-looking at me... l-l-like that?"
"No, that's not—!"
As I hurried to explain, Atalante's hand lightly grasped my arm. I could feel her trembling through her fingertips.
"I'm not... ready yet...."
"Sorry, that guy's spouting nonsense out of nowhere. No need to misunderstand."
My hasty excuse fell flat. Atalante had always marched to her own beat. Come to think of it, she was the type who never listened. Ignoring my plea not to misunderstand, she whispered in a bride-like, bashful voice.
"If you'll... t-take proper r-responsibility... I'll c-consider it. Since it's... you, Peleus...."
Her shy murmur by my ear was sweet as honey. This woman... her voice was stunningly beautiful. If she went to Earth, I'd tell her to become a voice actress. She'd be a star for sure.
"Peleus?"
As I froze without responding, Atalante called out worriedly. Then, in a voice tinged with concern, she asked, "Is it because... I'm not enough?"
"Not enough? That's absurd."
"Then... should I prepare my heart...?"
Ah... I had no idea how to answer. I wasn't even sure of my own feelings yet.
But the watching First Scribe offered a clear verdict.
"Girl, do so. Your Excellency is utterly smitten with you. He may deny it due to his heavy burdens, but that brain of his is, in human terms, positively pink. No need for worry. You can mate with him."
I couldn't hold back and bellowed.
"Enough with the 'mating' crap already! My adventures aren't rated 19+!"
"Keh heh heh heh! Your Excellency dislikes blunt terms, I see. Very well. Girl, you can engage in sexual acts with him."
I had to yell again.
"Softer!"
"Understood. Hm, girl, you can love him."
He'd finally toned down the vulgarity, but the damage was done. I glanced back; Atalante had fully turned away, unable to face me. Her nape was flushed red.
"Ah...."
I was utterly lost on how to handle this. What made it worse was how hard it was to refute the First Scribe. Were all those hormones really surging? Goddess-like Atalante looked even more beautiful than usual. Even seeing only her back—her long trailing hair and perfectly curved waist—left me dizzy. Did I really like her that much?
Well, maybe I did. We'd faced hardships together. The thought of her not being around now felt unbearably lonely.
I thought it was only Hestia...
As I muttered inwardly, the Secret Book chided me.
Idiot. Your feelings for Hestia aren't love—they're admiration. Awe and affection for an unattainable perfect beauty. Even I, who isn't human, can see that.
I couldn't deny it. Back as a temple scribe, I'd secretly offered prayers at Hestia's shrine, pouring out affection. But it was like sending fan letters or gifts to an idol. If Hestia was an unreachable superstar, Atalante was the girl-next-door childhood sweetheart!
Ah, that framing made it click. And so, I finally admitted it: I liked Atalante.
Thump.
Thud.
Thump.
Once resolved, everything shifted. Just her standing there altered the air in the space. Even with a massive snail-god wriggling its tentacles everywhere.
"A girl's presence outshining a god's...."
I murmured in awe. The world held so many mysteries I didn't know.
"Fuu...."
Letting out a quiet sigh, I decided to talk things over with Atalante later, when tempers had cooled.
"Atalante, let's pick this up another time."
"...Got it. I'll wait."
Her tone felt oddly softer, gentler. Perhaps everything had changed for her too. It was astonishing in many ways, but regrettably, pressing matters awaited.
"First Scribe, begin the offering ritual. No more chit-chat."
"Understood, Your Excellency."
As I stepped forward with a serious air, the First Scribe ceased his nonsense. I beckoned to the Secret Book.
It gaped wide and vomited something up.
"Urghhh!"
Still a foul sound. A half-charred dragon thudded to the ground—the old dragon Cataphractus, barely conscious.
I pointed at him and asked the First Scribe, "I wish to offer this dragon. Assess its value as a sacrifice."
"Hmm...."
The First Scribe extended a long tentacle, lifting the half-burnt dragon. After inspecting it thoroughly, he concluded.
"A dragon with considerable karma accumulated."
"Karma?"
"Yes. Karma builds through body, speech, and mind—what we call karmic causes. These bear karmic fruits."
"What's that?"
"Karmic fruits are the rewards or retributions from life's accumulated karma."
"Simplify it. Why so complicated?"
"Simple: it means he's piled up plenty of sins."
Whether building merit or committing crimes, it all layers into karma. The more karma a sacrifice had, the better.
"The greater the karmic fruits it can draw forth, the higher its value. This dragon has lived long and done much. An excellent sacrifice—rare even among mortals."
Cataphractus earned high praise. It was his life's deeds, more than his power, that tantalized the First Scribe.
"Good. This dragon's name is Cataphractus. Accept the offering and reveal the secrets you desire."
At my command, massive tentacles coiled around the dragon. Regaining awareness, Cataphractus panicked.
"What is this?! Graaaah!"
The frantic dragon thrashed, but before a god, it was futile struggling.
The First Scribe parted his jaws, lined with blade-like teeth, extending tentacles. Cataphractus bit down hard on one with his weakened jaws in defiance.
Twitch.
Startled by the sudden counterattack, the First Scribe's gelatinous body rippled. But that was all. No mark marred the tentacle—only his ire was piqued.
Crunch!
His maw gaped wide, clamping Cataphractus's midsection in one bite. Scales tore, blood gushed. The dragon's famed sturdy bones snapped at once, ribs protruding grotesquely. In a single strike, the dragon teetered on death's edge.
With tongue lolling limply, it dangled. The First Scribe then tore into its head.
Crack!
Snap! Snap!
The skull shattered deafeningly. As the head pulped, eyeballs popped out, dangling long. Each chew mangled the dragon beyond recognition until it vanished into the god's vast gut.
Munch, munch, munch.
Smacking his lips greedily, the First Scribe looked satisfied. Now, he said, he could share the commensurate knowledge.
"What would you know, Your Excellency?"
"First, tell me about Endymion."
At my request, he accessed the Akashic Records and began reciting. Soon, his face lit with amusement.
"Ho ho, the legends of Endymion diverge sharply from the truth."
"What is it? Spit it out."
"The common tale is that the moon goddess Selene put her beloved shepherd to eternal sleep to preserve his beauty, right?"
"Yeah."
Some versions even claimed she violated the sleeping Endymion and bore his child, drawing much criticism of Selene's character. But the First Scribe dismissed it as mere fiction to obscure the facts.
"Then what's the truth?"
"That sleeping shepherd is a gateway of sorts."
"Gateway?"
"Yes, to the dream world. When Selene was devoured by Artemis, she didn't fully perish. Her soul endured and fled to the dream realm. Endymion is her gateway back to reality—or a path for someone to enter the dreams and rescue her."
This was staggering. It meant Selene, the moon goddess, could be revived?
"If that happens... what of Artemis...?"
The First Scribe chuckled throatily, delighted.
"She'd face her worst moment. Heh heh heh heh."