Chapter 316
Chapter 316
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 316
Chapter Title: God of What #3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Ever since I started getting involved with Pluto's cultists, I'd had one burning question.
Why had the faith in Pluto, who was worshipped as one of the three major gods, been branded as a heretical cult, persecuted, and driven to depravity?
Before my enlightenment, I'd just assumed it was because Pluto was some evil, terrifying demon god, so I hadn't thought much of it.
But there was a huge gap between the man etched in my mind and the Pluto everyone cursed and oppressed without mercy.
So I had no choice but to ask.
"Why on earth is Pluto's church, one of the three major gods, being branded as heretics and persecuted?"
At my question, Hippolyte glanced at my face.
She shook her gaze slightly, as if gauging whether I was sincere, then finally looked into the void and tossed back a single question, light as a passing breeze.
"You of all people should know that best. Heretic leader, Hassaan."
"No, that's... I've told you over and over, it's a misunderstanding."
"Fine, let's say it is. So, Hassaan, have you ever heard any tales or myths about Pluto?"
"Pardon?"
"Anything at all. Tell me what you know. Not stories about your father, but myths about the Lord of the Underworld, Pluto."
At Hippolyte's words, I racked my brain for encyclopedias or theological texts I'd read on this Gaian continent.
Aside from stuff about Pluto's Labyrinth, there wasn't much on Pluto in those thick tomes.
Nothing particularly noteworthy. Hell, what was that about.
Hippolyte answered simply.
"It's been concealed."
"Concealed...?"
"As I told you before, the gods' power comes from their own strength and the faith of their followers. The more they're praised or feared, the more they can expand their dominion and authority."
I'd already heard plenty about that.
In fact, Cizor, the mountain god's son who'd been with Nymph Alinoi, had called himself the son of a fading god with no followers. A god's power seemed proportional to their believers' faith.
Like a YouTuber, maybe? The more subscribers, the stronger they get. Hell, that's what I thought, and I couldn't come up with a smarter analogy.
"That's why—"
As I quietly admired my own wit, Hippolyte continued in a serious tone.
"That's why gods are desperate to exalt their majesty. They appoint great warriors to spread tales of their graces and karma, and send holy knights to instill fear of their powers among the masses."
"I think I get it a bit."
"But Pluto has hardly any such tales. Do you know why?"
"No idea. Why?"
"Because there's no need. Anyone with life feels the inevitable terror of death at the mere mention of Pluto's name. It's an inescapable fate for any beating heart."
"Ah—."
I was starting to understand.
Pluto's name embodied the state of death itself, the dread of the afterlife that might follow, the terror of the unknown.
It needed nothing more.
That's why people hesitate even to utter it. Stories don't form naturally, don't spread.
And yet, that's enough.
But Hippolyte's explanation didn't fully satisfy my curiosity.
"But how does that connect to Pluto's followers being branded heretics?"
It didn't answer the root question. At that, Hippolyte jerked her chin toward the door outside.
"Before that, I'd like to see the skills of the newly enlightened you. Care to step outside?"
*
*
*
"I always feel this way, but every time I stand before you for sparring, it seems like I'm facing someone new."
In the small open space behind the inn.
Hippolyte stood there, lightly stretching her shoulders and ankles as she spoke.
"I thought you were growing faster than anyone, but to think you had such a secret. Archduke of Hell, Hassaan. Leader of the heretics. Accept the challenge of this warrior of Mars, Hippolyte."
Her expression as she said this was as bright as someone unwrapping a package.
With both corners of her mouth lifted, baring her white teeth without restraint, she looked like she was grinning widely—yet at the same time, sharp as a jaguar flashing its fangs with a low growl.
She'd always said it felt like facing a new person each time we sparred, but the same went for me.
As my skills improved, evolving from a clueless amateur into something more shaped, I could see how the woman standing firm before me had been forged through countless reversals.
A blade tempered solely for slashing, unconcerned with anything else.
That was Hippolyte Heavensinger.
Could I win?
As that thought crossed my mind, something fierce hurtled toward me. Hippolyte had closed the distance in an instant, grabbing for my collar with her gauntlet-clad, burly hand.
Pak—!
I swiftly deflected that solid gauntlet with the back of my hand.
But I couldn't block the left hand that followed like a striking hawk, so I tilted my head back to dodge.
Hwaaaak—.
Her left hand grazed my right cheek, leaving an eerie heat.
Jureuk—.
At the same time, I felt blood trickling from my cheek. I'd thought I'd dodged well, but something had torn my skin.
No time to dwell on it, though.
The right hand I'd deflected with my own was now slicing back toward my neck like a blade, cleaving the air at blinding speed.
Sheaeaeak—.
Was that really the sound a human hand could make?
If this kept up, my neck would be ripped open, blood gushing out. Alarmed by the blaring crisis instinct, I kicked off my legs to put distance between us.
Seuuk, pak—.
Kwal kwal kwal—.
Her blade-hand, missing my neck and slicing empty air, pierced the hole in a bucket hanging from a wooden post, spilling strange brass liquid everywhere.
If I'd dodged even a fraction slower, my neck would've ended up just like that.
Hippolyte shook the water from her hand and said,
" Dodging three of my strikes in a row. As a teacher, it's gratifying to see the fruits of your training."
"Does that mean I pass today's training?"
"If this were training, yes. But this isn't training."
Seureung—.
Hippolyte drew her sword from her waist in one fluid motion. The blade pointed at me—the Jealousy Sword—radiated intense demonic energy.
Drawing that long sword made it feel like the entire area had become Hippolyte's domain.
"Wearing a silver necklace and revealing yourself as a son of the gods doesn't mean your life ends there. This is just the beginning."
"...."
Ziiing—.
A golden aura rippled along Hippolyte's sword.
That superhuman energy—call it aura, mana, whatever—sharpened her blade into something even more terrifying.
This was the activation of an ultimate technique.
Hippolyte had unleashed her full power. Which meant I had no chance of winning. So I had to protest.
"...No, that's way too much, isn't it?"
"A son of the three major gods, Archduke of Hell Hassaan, should dodge something like this easily. Right?"
"No, that's not—."
As I tried to finish my sentence, something whistled through the air— sheaeak—grazing my neck.
Juuk—.
A sharp pain from the cut, and thick droplets of blood trickled down from my neck.
"There, you're dead once already. What are you doing? Stand there and you'll be whittled down like an apple. Won't you fight back?"
"...."
"If you make me bleed, I'll let you grope my chest for a minute—in secret from Nox Doti. Hell, summon some undead like a proper heretic if you want."
"Shh...!"
But the result was the same as always.
In the end, Hippolyte twisted my arm, pinning me helplessly to the ground.
She subdued me so fast I couldn't even tell what happened, my face shoved into the dirt.
"Ughhh—."
Hell, if only I could use real necromancy.
Against the back of my head pressed the soft, ample sensation of Hippolyte's large breasts.
Malcang, malcang.
A bizarre mix of defeat and victory etched vividly into my mind when she released my twisted arm with a tap.
"That's the result."
She helped me up and said lightly,
"Awakening your divinity doesn't make you a great and powerful god overnight. You'll only surpass me once you have followers and become the lord of your own temple."
"I see."
Brushing the dirt off my body, I pondered briefly. Honestly, I hadn't thought I could beat Hippolyte.
Just as she said, awakening divinity didn't suddenly grant me new powers or make me overwhelmingly strong.
"And that's also why Pluto's church is being oppressed."
"What do you mean?"
"It weakens Pluto's influence on the earthly realm. Ceres's curse brought a long winter, filling the land with death."
Seureung—.
Hippolyte sheathed her sword and murmured lowly.
"Children dying before the elderly, children before parents—it was an era of rampant chaos. Indiscriminate, disorderly death. And Pluto's Labyrinth appearing everywhere...."
There, she stopped.
She fell silent for a moment.
I could tell she was choosing her words carefully, racking her brain for what to say.
For a straightforward warrior like Hippolyte to hesitate meant she was about to drop something huge.
"Pluto is indiscriminately spreading fear, expanding his forces. Your father Pluto is seen as a rebel with ambitions to dominate the earth, Hassaan."
"...."
"That's how it was perceived. They had no choice but to see it that way. So the gods seemed to want to crush Pluto's cult as well. But those I saw that day on Delphi Mountain's peak welcomed you."
"You remember that day?"
I'd thought she'd forgotten everything from gas poisoning.
"I'm no fool, Hassaan. I realized the Hypnos gods have greater expectations for you than anyone in this world. That means the gods' will diverges from the kingdom's."
The kingdom.
For the first time, Hippolyte's words made me reflect on this 'nation' I was part of. A kingdom with a king, ministers, and citizens.
Paranoia had once told me the kingdom's laws branded Pluto, god of the underworld, as evil and persecuted him.
Jupiter's earthly proxy, the Thunder Emperor.
If the persecution started on his orders, people everywhere must have smashed Pluto's statues, seeing it as the will of the heavens, the lofty Hypnos, and begun concealing everything.
But if that wasn't the gods' will?
This wasn't simple. It needed serious contemplation. As I thought that, Hippolyte's words snapped me out of it.
"Hassaan, with your current power, you could leave me a fatal wound even if it killed you. Pull out that monstrous club, and it'd be certain. But you didn't. Why?"
"Well...."
"Because you don't want me hurt, right? From sparring with you and watching your recent fights, I'd say you've picked up a strange habit in battle. A stubborn one, hard to break."
A habit.
Everyone has habits. Scrunching your nose before lying, furrowing your brow when deep in thought.
But a habit in battle? That was new to me.
"What habit do I have?"
"You're afraid to kill or wound. Disqualifying for a warrior. The worst flaw for a Samaritan, called wilderness barbarian."
Indeed.
Just as Hippolyte said.
At some point, I'd started fearing to kill or injure.
Because the lives I'd have to take felt so vividly real inside me, robbing or destroying them seemed like grave sin.
I didn't know when it started.
Maybe when I first sensed aura.
As I felt more acutely the life force within me and my connection to this world, that tendency strengthened—peaking when I killed Echidna's eldest, Regulus.
"I know you well enough, Hassaan. You're no vile heretic leader, no heartless killer like they say. If anything, you're overly sentimental, even naive."
I racked my brain wondering if Hippolyte was insulting or praising me. What was her point?
"You're ordinary. Kind in your own way. I don't know for sure, but it's probably hereditary. Your father must be the same."
"My father?"
"I'm Hippolyte, daughter of Mars. People see my might on earth and imagine, revere Mars in Hypnos. So daughters of Mars must always carry ourselves boldly. And—."
She met my eyes squarely.
"And you're Pluto's son, Hassaan. Through you, I can see Pluto. And I say your father isn't some evil god."