Chapter 140
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: What is Music?
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After war, flanked by strife and discord and attended by sorrow and fear, sweeps across the battlefield.
To heal these wounds, festivals arrive in procession, bringing fragrant wine and raucous music.
The defeated wash away their scars with drink, while the victorious clash cups and offer honor and glory to the gods—a festival of war.
Yet this festival for the Heroic War was more glorious and honorable than any other.
None other than the God of Wine, Dionysus himself, had declared he would come in person to heal the wounds of the young heroes and praise the victors' glory.
Dionysus's banquet.
A grand festival where nymphs and satyrs, gods and goddesses, humans and spirits gather to share wine, dance, and sing—a dream event anyone would yearn to join.
And in the Hero's Forest, which had unexpectedly become the venue for this grand festival, another war was raging.
-Tweet tweet squeak~!
"Again! Again!!"
"Isn't the pitch wavering? You call that playing?!"
In the eastern part of the Hero's Forest.
At the Hall of Arts dedicated to Apollo, beautiful melodies clashed endlessly with fiery roars, producing relentless dissonance.
"You there! Erilke! What was that squeak just now!?"
"Eek!? S-Sorry!"
"Sorry doesn't cut it—play properly! Play! What was that sound like slaughtering a pig!?"
"What you're holding is a syrinx. Not some savage's hunting whistle!"
"The performance is starting any minute now, and you're still making these idiotic mistakes!?"
Orpheus, the forest's foremost composer, performer, and conductor among the children of music-related gods.
Marsyas, the most renowned lead piper for Dionysus among the naturally gifted satyrs.
These supreme artists, unmatched in Greece save for the heavenly performer Apollo himself, bellowed in fury.
The circular stage's audience seats, once filled with eager students, now brimmed with elite members rigorously selected through auditions.
Orpheus's half-siblings, the Horae, the Muses, and other performers and nymphs descended from music gods—they were the chosen elite set to perform before kings and gods at Dionysus's imminent banquet.
Genius musicians invited as honored guests to royal banquets anywhere. Yet even these virtuosos cowered, tears welling up at the conductors' unrelenting wrath.
The sun would set soon, and the festival's host would arrive with his grapevine staff, leading gods and heroes into the forest. In what was essentially the final rehearsal, such blunders were unforgivable.
More than anyone, these two musicians who loved music and revered performance above all scorched the erring performers with their blazing glares.
"Oh, damn Apollo! We have to perform before the gods soon, and you're still repeating the same mistakes?"
"I should go beg Dionysus myself. Tell him my teaching failed, leading to this disgrace before the gods!"
"I-I'll fix it!"
As if Eris herself had descended, the two conductors raged like never before, but no one dared challenge them.
These seemingly delicate musicians, when anger took hold, had already sent several protesting hotheads to Asclepius with shattered skulls.
No one thought to intervene; they merely bowed their heads, praying the storm would pass. Then, with the midday sun, cheerful footsteps approached.
"Hey~ Everyone looks busy?"
A man intruded onto the rehearsal stage—call it a hall or a battlefield.
A tall, handsome face smiling leisurely, as if nothing in the world could faze him.
Long black hair darker than night, and an equally jet-black robe-like outfit—so striking, one glance made him unforgettable.
Dianes, the protagonist of this Heroic War, who had claimed victory single-handedly and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Heracles as another great hero.
"Oh! Dianes!"
"Welcome! Come in, walking legend, overflowing with inspiration and the festival's star!"
At the arrival of the hero cloaked in ebony, the savage gale turned to spring breeze in an instant.
Unlike Heracles's raw power and boldness, he exuded mysterious allure and enigma—perfect muse material for artists.
Even his skill with Hyperborean instruments had earned the nod of music and festival gods, leaving even these two in awe. How could they not welcome him?
"You all seem busy, so I'll only take a moment."
"Nonsense. For humble servants of Apollo like us, a visit from a top-tier performer like you is always welcome."
"Orpheus speaks true. If these performers could capture even a fraction of the inspiration and rhythm you embody, Marsyas here would have no regrets."
Some members, who'd poured their hearts into preparations, grimaced at the slight, but the male performers who lived on the same insula as Dianes nodded quietly.
That exotic melody drifting faintly in the deep night, lips meeting a beloved lover's, sharing drinks with dear friends.
So opposite to Greece's ever-glorious, joyous music—filled with pathos and longing, it had reduced grown men to tears countless times.
Regrettably, the melody's source vanished whenever they sought it, and disturbing him during sleep with his petite, beautiful lover seemed unwise.
Surprise visits like this were a welcome event for everyone present.
"So, what's up? As today's star, you should be the busiest."
"Eh, kings kept buzzing around excitedly, but nothing substantial. More importantly, check these out."
Dianes handed paper to the two first, then pulled a bundle from his robe and scattered it into the air.
-Rustle!
The papers fluttered through the air, flying straight into the performers' hands as if drawn by a magnet.
"What's this, Dianes? An unfamiliar melody..."
"Hmm... Most unusual. Very unusual."
The papers Dianes scattered were sheets of music.
Neatly inscribed notes burst with unprecedented, radical tones.
Bouncy, upbeat rhythms and addictive repeating melodies.
Even just scanning them, the provocative sounds seemed to echo in the ears, naturally tapping the foot.
"Just came from chewing out Asclepius. How the hell did you break the kids so bad they're carted in with dead-fish eyes?"
In a place with two near-divine physicians, the most dangerous injury for warriors wasn't visible physical trauma.
Bones could break, limbs sever—full recovery was always possible.
But a broken spirit was incurable, beyond any wine or medicine.
Suddenly, the healing center overflowed with such patients.
As a result, before kings' overtures or gods' praises, the first "guest" to visit the war's victor was Asclepius's son, threatening with his obsidian scalpel to fix those dead eyes somehow.
"Plus, the victor's rep has to lead the prayer. Honestly, wouldn't this be better as an opening?"
"Oh... Then you've come to the right place. Nothing heals wounded souls and reignites broken wills like music."
"And this piece? Perfect fit. Festivals demand nonstop excitement and joy till you're blackout drunk. This'll do it..."
"And surprisingly, not too hard to play either..."
Dianes smiled in satisfaction as the two hummed along, tapping hooves and nodding to the beat.
"Hope I'm not intruding?"
"Not at all! Just a minor discord. A few run-throughs, and it'll be fine."
"No one's balking at a piece like this, right?"
The performers' faces stiffened slightly upon review.
But none dared shake their heads under the gods of this hall's glare.
They knew full well the ferocity of Orpheus's pipe-beating and Marsyas's hoof-stomping.
Tearing up inwardly, they grabbed instruments to practice the sudden addition.
"Then the opening singer—no, song king—is none other than you?"
"Probably. Thing is, my singing's nothing special."
"Enough humility. Come on over. Time's short!"
Arms around the wryly smiling protagonist's shoulders, Greece's greatest musicians dragged him center stage.
What song would this enigmatic musician sing?
The two music maniacs wouldn't miss this golden chance to find out.
"Ahem, truly wondrous song. And that title—profound."
"Did you compose it?"
"Nah, no. Song by a seasoned female singer who swept my homeland.
She held a memorial concert at a spirited school event like this—crowd went wild."
"Radical piece, but... Dionysus might love it."
"Apollo too. He's always thirsting for new music.
Word is, he's lamenting the lack of fresh pieces for the gods' recent banquets..."
Thus began a brief rehearsal.
As the conductors declared, the genius ensemble—forged in hellish practice—nailed perfect harmony in two or three tries.
Overwhelmed reliving music from his homeland he loved to hear and sing, the stage's lead forgot rehearsal and belted out joyfully.
A perfect frenzy unfolded.
"Kya ha ha ha! This is living!"
"Great great great! Perfect! Right, everyone!?"
"Ku ha ha ha! Dionysus's vines! You were born to be a satyr!"
Not a drop of wine touched, yet drunk as lords, the three leads linked arms, heads bopping.
"Whoa ha ha ha! Insane! Totally insane!"
"We won't get arrows later, right? This is borderline heresy? Kya ha ha!"
"Even our moms would approve and dance. Swear on the Muses' skirts!"
The once-rigid performers poured from seats, turning it into a wild party, shoulder-dancing along.
The lead wondered if the music was too ahead of its time, but shrugged—good vibes are good vibes.
Practice or party? Festival? It raged on until a divine messenger came to fetch the sole victor.