Chapter 165
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: Marsyas's Request
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Whatever Apollo's true intentions, my participation was already all but confirmed.
Back in my room, I was debating whether to bring the flute or the lyre when an unexpected guest arrived.
"Marsyas?"
"Oh, Dianes. Sorry for dropping by so suddenly."
The music instructor of the Hero's Forest, Chiron’s personal recipient of the artisan medal, and Dionysus's attendant.
Satyr Marsyas.
His sudden visit puzzled me, but I invited him in anyway.
"What brings you here so early?"
"Haha, well... This humble Marsyas has come seeking your help."
Help?
The renowned musician second only to Apollo, on par with Orpheus as a master of the syrinx, asking me?
"Help?"
When I asked with genuine curiosity, Marsyas drew something from behind his back with a grave expression.
It was identical to the invitation from Apollo that Asclepius had delivered earlier. Marsyas had received one too.
"As expected, you've received an invitation as well. Truth be told, I've come to ask for your help precisely because of this music contest."
With that, Marsyas suddenly stood, knelt before me, and bowed his head.
"Wh-what are you doing?!"
In Greek culture, where honor was equivalent to one's life, kneeling before someone was shocking.
Mortals reserved such rituals only for offering tribute to the gods. For one mortal to offer it to another, and for another mortal to accept it, was unacceptable unless in dire circumstances.
"It's utterly shameful and foolish of me, but I beg you, Dianes. Lend me your flute. Just for a short while—that noble obsidian flute!"
"...The flute?"
The full story was this.
Marsyas had long resided in the Hero's Forest and fallen in love with a certain goddess. He'd harbored this affection for over twenty years.
"So, this time, I intend to boldly earn Apollo's recognition through music and propose to her!"
"Propose..."
If he could defeat or at least match Apollo—the god of music and art—in front of all mortals and gods, it would be a feat worthy of reserving a divine seat in Elysium or Olympus someday. It wasn't a pipe dream.
By my standards, Marsyas's musical talent was exceptional. The syrinx tunes he occasionally played rivaled Orpheus's lyre and my cithara, reaching sublime heights.
What I couldn't understand was why he needed to borrow my instrument specifically.
"Don't you have a fine one of your own, sir?"
The wondrous wooden panpipes woven by Pan himself.
What about that syrinx that had once even troubled me?
"A master musician like you surely knows it's unwise to switch instruments just hours before a performance."
"Haha, you hit the sore spot..."
Marsyas gave a wry smile at my words, fell silent, rubbed his dry face in thought, then opened his mouth with resolved determination.
"Truth be told, this is my third time challenging Apollo."
"Your third?"
"Yes. Over many years in this forest, I've guided countless others along the path of music, helping them uncover the joys hidden in melodies and rhythms."
Marsyas's syrinx skills were so impressive that even Orpheus and I acknowledged them.
Anyone, no matter how tone-deaf, would shed tears at the poignant emotion in those rugged yet warm tones, evoking autumn pastures and grazing flocks.
The bards trained in the Hero's Forest—epitomized by Orpheus—and Apollo's music hall had all been Marsyas's students.
His reputation spread from Dionysus's grand banquets to village gatherings, carried on the wings of his beautiful performances.
Naturally, his fame reached the ears of Apollo, the god of music, leading to invitations to perform.
"But Lord Apollo always shook his head, saying it wasn't enough, even as he clapped."
"Pardon?"
"He said my playing lacked refinement and brilliance."
"..."
What was this now?
Refinement? Brilliance?
Setting aside my bewilderment for the moment, the upshot was that Marsyas had been invited to Apollo's concerts three times and performed alongside him each time, only to face nitpicking criticism and become a laughingstock.
"It was all my shortcomings... But the fact that the music I love wasn't recognized by the god of music tore at my heart."
He'd hidden away in the forest for long periods afterward, too ashamed before the object of his affection, who might have witnessed it all from the shadows.
'Asclepius was right after all.'
Just as expected from Artemis's brother.
For a god of music, Apollo's pettiness knew no bounds.
Putting the pieces together, it seemed he'd deliberately belittled Marsyas's style—claiming it didn't match his own—and invited him repeatedly to humiliate him on purpose.
"So, you want to borrow my flute to change your style—your sound?"
"Yes! No matter how much I honed my skills, my beloved shepherd's songs don't suit the gods' radiant aesthetics... I've swallowed my pride to come here. Please! I beg you!"
Love and ambition turn men into fools, as they say.
After being humiliated multiple times by the greatest musician—music incarnate himself—in front of the woman he adored, he was now setting aside his own instrument, practically an extension of himself, to borrow mine.
"...Sigh."
Seeing Marsyas still kneeling before me, ready to kowtow, filled me with mixed emotions.
A performer of his caliber should have been showered with praise anywhere else, not reduced to begging on his knees.
"No helping it, then."
"Yes?! Then...!"
I wrestled with whether this was wise, but ultimately helped Marsyas to his feet.
Who else could understand the agony of a lovingly perfected performance being dismissed and trampled as worthless better than I?
-Click!
The flute case, slumbering in the wardrobe beside the golden wreath, opened with a cheerful snap, revealing the obsidian flute within.
Having played it recently at Atalanta's request, I'd cleaned it thoroughly—it was performance-ready.
Thanks to the preservation spells from Nemesis and Hera on the case, it needed no tuning or maintenance despite a month of storage.
"Ooooh..."
"Right? Beautiful no matter how many times you see it."
To a warrior, nothing eclipses a famed sword; to a drinker, no wine outshines a rare vintage. Likewise, this exquisite instrument captivated any musician simply by existing.
Even Marsyas, who had knelt in desperation for love and glory, let out pure admiration upon seeing it.
Finding it in that instrument shop had been sheer providence.
"Here, take it."
"Such grace... Thank you! I swear by the River Styx, if there's ever anything I, Marsyas, can do for you, I'll repay it even with my life!"
"Calm down first. Want to give it a try?"
"Yes! Gladly!"
Not expecting such ready agreement, Marsyas beamed as he put the flute to his lips and blew...
-Fooo! Foooooo...!
"Huh? Wh-what!?"
Only deflating breaths emerged—no trace of the sweet melodies I'd played.
"Well, you see..."
I'd anticipated this and was about to explain the flute's secret when...
"Hm...? Could it be?"
Marsyas tilted his head curiously, fiddled with the flute, and suddenly began playing.
-♪~ ♪♪~ ♪♪♪~
"Oh..."
"I never imagined such a perfect flute would have a trick like this."
"I was surprised on my first try too. To think you'd see through it immediately."
Like Marsyas, I'd been taken aback when I first tested it.
The mouthpiece was subtly twisted, leaking air unless handled precisely.
Whoever the god was who made it, the exterior was flawless, but the fine details were sloppy.
Still, with the right technique, it produced peerless tones rivaling any instrument.
I could only assume some god had crafted it to prank musicians.
"Otherwise, how could there be such a malicious instrument?"
A sword that won't draw from its scabbard, wine whose cork won't budge, an instrument that won't play.
A tragedy to make warriors weep blood, drinkers vomit blood, and musicians wail.
"Haha, true enough. Or perhaps it was meant to draw a worthy player to this forest."
Either way, with his wish granted, Marsyas grinned ear to ear. To prepare for Apollo's concert, we took turns critiquing each other's playing.
True to his status as the forest's premier performer, he adapted to the unfamiliar flute in moments, unleashing a cascade of enchanting melodies.
"At this level, even Lord Apollo will have to acknowledge you!"
"Haha, you're too kind. Dianes, your playing is the truly enchanting one."
Marsyas waved off my praise modestly, but his syrinx fused with the obsidian flute was sublime.
Simply switching instruments transformed his rustic, pastoral tones into lavish, elegant strains fit for a divine banquet.
It revealed how intensely Marsyas had agonized for this day.
"Shall we head out and prepare? We need to dress properly for performing before the gods."
"Yes, I should get ready too. Good luck, then."
"And may Apollo praise your performance."
Marsyas departed with a bright smile and a bow, but my face hardened the moment the door closed.
"...If this stage is just to stroke his ego."
Then Apollo would pay dearly for persecuting another musician under the guise of being the god of music.
-Ding!
I sat down and slowly plucked the strings. The perfectly tuned cithara rang out with a clear, resonant tone.
It was a mournful timbre filled not with glory or joy, but with resentment, sorrow, and the poignant grief of exile.