Chapter 110
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Heracles' Awakening
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Incarnation Realm, Extreme Demon Realm.
The murim's entertainers or the low-class martial artists in the markets vaguely pegged these realms as the absolute pinnacle of realistic martial arts achievement.
It wasn't hard to understand their mindset as ordinary folk—or third-rate martial artists no different from them—when they witnessed superhuman feats like immunity to ten thousand poisons, strength rivaling a hundred horses, and massacres carried out without lifting a finger.
But the true experts in the Incarnation and Extreme Demon Realms—everyone except me—said the exact same thing the moment they reached those heights: it felt like being a child suddenly dropped into the vast, endless sea.
For them, the path from human to divine was so vague and immense that even in quiet moments of reflection, a primal fear would make their bodies shiver.
It's the same with any pursuit.
Learning has no end. Just when you think you've reached the peak, another wall appears.
The walls within human limits are tall, sturdy barriers. But beyond the final supreme wall? It's an endless ocean or a boundless desert.
Like finishing twelve years of schooling, acing the college entrance exam, graduating university, and somehow landing in grad school. Suddenly, you're charting your own path with no clear endpoint—and panic sets in.
The difference? A grad student panicking just becomes a normal one.
A martial artist in the Incarnation Realm panicking? That's a catastrophic qi deviation with small nukes flying every which way.
"So, you're saying we should prevent that kind of disaster, right?"
"Exactly... just in case my energy goes berserk or there are side effects?"
"That's right."
In Hestia's bustling dining hall, lit by flickering hearthfire.
Heracles and I sat across from each other after ages, tearing into warm barley porridge and bread.
As always, meals in the Hero's Grove were abundant.
Today's spread: hearty porridge and bread from barley blessed by Demeter's fields, paired with fresh salad in tangy sauce and yogurt.
I sliced the bread in half, slathered it with salad and yogurt to make a sandwich. Around me, handsome boys and beautiful girls watched and mimicked the process.
Not daring to step within ten meters.
"Why's it so empty around us? We skipped morning hunt after yesterday's coastal chaos—no run either."
"Yeah, first time the breakfast area's this packed, huh?"
Hestia's dining zone was VIP seating the closer to the hearthfire.
Early on, Orion and his crew—who got wrecked by Neris's hand or Nemesis's punishment—hogged it. Now Heracles and the Golden Generation had claimed it, and today it was just me and him.
Normally, aside from us and a few non-combatants, morning breakfast was wide open—like an army mess hall on steroids, no room to step.
"Honestly, we went pretty wild yesterday. No wonder they're shocked."
The young heroes stared at me more fervently than usual, eyes wide in disbelief, as I quipped.
This mythic boar was making sense for once.
But that somehow felt even weirder to me.
"Isn't this place where neighbors turn into bugs or beasts daily, lightning or solar beams crash from the sky in a blink? Shocked over yesterday?"
Were Greek heroes' nerves actually normal?
Even the palace attendants in my past life's Heavenly Demon Palace normalized the Four Heavenly Kings getting death-beamed during final approvals within a week.
"...I'm no saint myself. But you've always got that extra edge."
"Too much salt? This shit's salty."
-Slurp!
Heracles made his own sandwich, shoved it in whole, then chugged his porridge bowl in one go before setting it down.
"Anyway, point is, learn to handle this power from you?"
"Yep. Saw Atalanta wipe the floor in the free exhibition match? Won't hurt."
Atalanta had ultimately left Artemis's hunting party.
Her fanclub acted like she'd memory-wiped, goddess-style.
They tried ganging up on her in the free-for-all, only to film her one-woman massacre.
Now Ares's kids and battle-hardened warrior women, awed by her dominance, followed her as boss.
"One question, though. Check this out."
-Crackle!
Pure lightning gathered on Heracles's log-thick arm.
Zeus's awakened bolt from our last clash.
"Feels like bragging, but this is straight-up Zeus's Lightning. Even if all Olympus's other gods pooled their power, they couldn't match it—the supreme god's authority that toppled the mighty Titan King from his throne."
"Ho...?"
This was unexpected.
Heracles manifesting divine power or tangible energy was just awakening his bloodline potential.
Less a martial artist in the Incarnation Realm, more like a divine beast or spirit beast.
Martial artists refine qi into sword and shield. Beasts swing it on instinct.
No matter how wildly a beast wields qi, it's just an extension of clawing or biting—no control, no intent.
I figured Heracles, with his naturally manifested energy untrained by heart arts, would struggle with control.
Yet here he was, already mastering lightning—the trickiest, most volatile natural qi.
'...Damn demigod.'
This was leagues beyond the static sparks the Northern Peng Clan sworded up, claiming thunder mastery.
A wave of post-nut clarity hit—screw the martial arts seminar, just bail?
Greece, impressive. Myth, impressive.
Making the king of afflictions feel afflicted.
Countless supreme artists busted their asses to spark sword or fist auras.
Seeing this meathead flirt with fist auras? Instant reality check for anyone.
"Congrats on the grand achievement. How'd you manifest qi—or aura—so quick?"
This world had "aura" for qi-like energy.
Usually for gods' authorities and divine power, but folks like Chiron or Heracles wielded it too.
My mystery: manifesting and controlling qi sans heart art.
"Thing is, I always knew something squirmed inside me."
Heracles marveled at his lightning-wreathed arm, drawing every eye in the hall.
"But no matter what I did, couldn't drag it out. Like a fishbone stuck right in my throat."
Instantly, Northern Peng overlords and Podalab's secret thunder sect became throat-fishbone-blind idiots.
Namu Amida Butsu.
Or Zeus be praised?
"Hey, when someone's serious, pretend to listen. You flicker between normal and nutjob."
"Sorry. Go on."
"Ahem. Then, last time with Dianes—you properly decked me and I blacked out. Things changed after."
"What? From then?"
Our first morning run clash.
Orpheus's ballad called it the Colosseum's glorious end.
"Yeah. Why I leave this chest scar be."
Heracles proudly thumbed the five marks on his sternum—direct hit from the Five Aggregates Plague Art's quintessence.
"Man, it was brutal. Guts exploding, blood boiling like oil."
He shuddered at the memory, then grinned wickedly.
"But amid the agony, my spine tingled—felt good. Like the day after you thrashed me clean!"
"...No way."
"Every spar after, body itched and sparked. Yesterday, you slammed me into the sea—boom, this energy surged from my heart. That's it."
A hypothesis flashed.
Five Aggregates Disruption overdrives the five perceptions—form, feeling, perception, impulses, consciousness—with my demonic qi.
Meridians, blood, nerves, muscles, cognition.
Normal humans' afflictions and blockages explode inside.
Bigger qi means bigger afflictions, bigger boom. But Heracles? Opposite.
Innate strength and iron body aside, zero inner power.
So Five Aggregates targeted only his latent congenital essence.
His monster frame tanked the blast, purging impurities and unlocking all eight extraordinary meridians.
"Haha... what a lunatic."
I thought I'd just done acupoint purge. Turns out, I'd paved the ultimate foundation for Greece's greatest hero.
"Heh heh heh..."
"Uh... why the sudden laugh?"
Mystery solved, my chuckle and head-shake drawing Heracles's exasperation—then footsteps approached our VIP spot, mid-sketch.
"Dianes."
"What, Theseus."
Theseus, Hero's Grove's top pretty boy and shining subterranean general.
Lately, he'd been sharpening his blade at me.
I'd let it slide—no line crossed. But today, his voice dripped edge.
"Hey~ Tessy. Looked busy lately, what's up..."
"Dianes, I challenge you to a duel. If I win, release Atalanta now!"
...Fuckin' hell, seriously.
Do these clowns ignore time, place, and occasion?