Chapter 242
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 242
Chapter Title: Corynetes' Flames
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“Hiiik!”
I’d heard the rumors before.
Heracles, Atalanta, Jason.
These were the heroes beginning to shake the current Greece with their fame.
They apparently had another teacher besides Chiron.
A black shadow who made the great hero Heracles cough up blood and collapse, who taught the Sword Ghost Jason the way of the blade, and who whispered words of love and power into Queen Atalanta’s ear.
But the legends built around him sounded far too absurd, even when passed down by kings and nymphs.
He slaughtered the Aloadae, whom even Periphetes feared and bowed to, chopping them to pieces like they were nothing. And to protect them, he clashed head-on with a divine artifact hurled by Poseidon himself—and survived?
Rumors from the Heroic War like recreating Gaia’s wrath with a single kick, or taking down Artemis and Apollo with one punch, were unbelievable enough.
Clashing weapons with Poseidon himself?
The gods weren’t playing games. For a demigod to survive that was simply impossible.
So I’d dismissed it all as the nonsense of idle bards with nothing better to do...
“W-what the hell is that thing!?”
This Erymanthos Mountain Range was Periphetes’ domain, right in the palm of his hand.
A place where he could run around blindfolded, so he’d desperately fled every which way to shake off pursuit.
Yet that hazy black shadow chasing from afar showed no sign of falling behind.
“Th-the name... it’s gotta be...!”
Even racking his brain between ragged breaths only fueled his terror and confusion.
As he mindlessly sprinted through the night forest, his eyes caught the iron club gripped and swinging in the man’s hand.
“Wait...?”
Countless demigod heroes had crossed the Erymanthos Mountains only to meet their end at his hands.
Among them, from Ares’ famous son the mercenary, to Aphrodite’s beautiful daughter whom he’d kept for fun until selling her off as a slave. But the crowning jewel was Zeus’ son, that unlucky spear master whose shattered skull he proudly displayed.
That trophy had made the Erymanthos Mountains his own, hadn’t it?
“Then... some fake nobody like this should be a piece of cake...!”
Periphetes stifled his breath and flattened himself in the nearby bushes.
The moment the fool passed this spot, he’d leap out and smash his skull in an instant.
“...He’s here!”
Just as expected, the approaching footsteps drew near, and Periphetes flashed a triumphant grin.
The steps slowly reached right in front of him... Now!
“Die, you little punk!”
-Fwoosh!
Hephaestus’ divine artifact spewed flames, painting the air as it swung.
As always, he anticipated the sizzle of searing flesh, the smell of burning hair, and that beloved crunch of a skull shattering—dark ecstasy rising on Periphetes’ face in that instant.
-Thud!
“Huh?”
An unimaginable sight unfolded.
Hephaestus’ flames that even made Ares flee like a child.
The divine weapon containing fire that could boil a river if poured into one, unquenchable until its master commanded it.
The man had caught it casually with one hand, like snatching a child’s wrist.
-Sizzle!
“!?”
The flames erupted like wildfire in response to Periphetes’ will, scorching the man’s hand—but he paid it no mind, merely alternating glances between it and the weapon.
“You carry something far beyond your station.”
His gleaming black eyes appraised them both like an art critic.
Frowning as if piercing through Periphetes’ wretched form and rotten insides, the man soon turned away indifferently, focusing on the beloved weapon in his grip.
“Oh? A blaze with a will of its own? I see, I lacked discernment. Not a mere golden club containing fire, but a mad inferno imprisoned within gold... The smith who sealed you here must be no ordinary craftsman.”
“Y-you bastard...!”
Ignoring him completely, the man muttered to himself even as his hand burned.
But Periphetes couldn’t let it pass as mere mutterings.
Each time this wretch spoke, Corynetes vibrated in response, as if answering.
“Let go! Let me go! Let go!”
Periphetes, who could crush a bull barehanded, found the club immovable in the man’s grasp, like it was embedded in rock.
No matter how he twisted with both hands and thrashed his body, it was futile.
And all the while, the man ignored Periphetes entirely, murmuring to Corynetes.
“You want to escape this little golden club? To return to your original place? And what do I gain from it?”
-Fwoosh! Fwoosh!
“As expected of a spirit born from fire. Your temper burns wild. A deal requires exchange from both sides.”
-Whoooosh!!
Corynetes thrashed and let out a mighty roar at his words.
Then, the black-clad man’s eyes, unchanged even with his burning hand, shifted in an instant.
“Oh? Is that true?”
-Vmmm!
No, it wasn’t just his eyes that changed.
The air, superheated by Corynetes’ raging blaze.
That air suddenly swirled back, enveloping Periphetes in bone-chilling cold.
“Very well. As an advance on the deal, I’ll free you from this wretch’s hand. The rest... we’ll discuss later.”
“W-what?”
The abruptly shifting air, and those black eyes fixing on him again—Periphetes felt an inexplicable dread.
Should he abandon Corynetes and flee now? As that thought crossed his mind...
-Crack!
“Huh?”
A crack suddenly split Corynetes, and Hephaestus’ flames surged from the fissures, sucked straight into the man’s fist.
-Shoooo!
“No! Nooo!!”
The divine artifact crafted by his father, the divine smith Hephaestus, infused with his flames.
Those flames, his very life force, were vanishing from it.
The power that had made him godlike was slipping away.
This meant his doom. Forgetting everything, Periphetes screamed and lunged at the man.
“You bastard!! Give it back! Give it back!!”
“...Pathetic.”
What a miserable wretch.
Those accursed heroes who possessed everything he lacked.
Periphetes’ rage exploded at the beautiful demigod embodying heroism itself.
What princes, what heroes?
They were just lucky bastards born to great gods and kings, looking down on him.
For being ugly, he’d been dumped in a forge at the western edge, and for rejecting that, he’d become a bandit holed up in these mountains.
Yet he wielded that power, beating and slaughtering the unlucky with the club he’d seized as recompense for his humiliation.
What right did this fake hero, born with the whole world, have to steal his power?
“Unfair! It’s unfair!!”
So die. If not, at least fall as low as me.
His hands, filled with baseless grudge and fury, clawed to tear that flawless face apart.
“Five Aggregates Plague Art.”
Five Aggregates Plague Art
[Thought Aggregate Thousand Transformations]
-Fwoom!
A bizarre echo resounded as if from beyond the underworld.
With that echo filling his vision came pitch-black flames, dark as an abyss.
“Wha...?”
The demigod son of Hephaestus, born with a body of inner flame enduring even volcanic lava.
For a brief moment, he recoiled in shock as the black flames greedily devoured that body.
“Gaaahhh!”
Periphetes’ screams echoed from the scorching pain he’d never felt before.
But only for a moment.
A handful of ashes scattered silently on the wind. Soon, the Erymanthos Mountains regained their former silence.
Among the Five Aggregates, the Thought Aggregate.
The third technique of the Plague Art drew forth forms from thoughts and imaginations.
From ancient times, afflictions boiled from one’s own thoughts.
Those boiling afflictions had essence but no form. Giving them form to destroy their host was the subtlety of the Thought Aggregate technique.
“Tsk tsk.”
Having to draw the Plague Art just to erase such trash.
Corynetes—the flames dwelling in the club—had earnestly begged to incinerate the thief who’d dared wield it without permission.
I had no choice but to oblige. Still, with my pride in the Twelve Divine Demon Arts, it didn’t sit well using it on a mere fly of a villain.
“From ancient times, the five desires and seven emotions have been humanity’s great driving force.”
From barren wastelands, humans built walls, tamed beasts, raised villages, and founded cities.
They loved, waged war, lived and died repeatedly, accumulating karma, and upon that karma erected great deeds.
In between bloomed hatred and rage like flowers, propelling history forward.
“But this one’s hatred and rage accomplished nothing.”
Atalanta’s rage and hatred burrowed inward while roaring outward, a red comet heralding upheaval.
Heracles’ passion and vitality thundered inside and out, a bolt of lightning proclaiming itself to the world.
How beautiful were such conflicts, rage, convictions, and tenacity.
How dazzling the great deeds and epics born from them.
“But trash like this? I’ll pass.”
-Fwoosh!
Hephaestus’ flames nestled in my left arm rippled in sympathy.
“Rage that doesn’t stir the world but only gnaws at itself can form no blaze. Hatred that doesn’t rise to avenge itself only rots the self, scheming nothing while spreading needless harm.”
Periphetes.
Hephaestus’ son, who wouldn’t even leave a proper name in future myths, had foolishly let rage and hatred blind him, charging to his own grave.
“And on top of that, he dared covet my possessions with his blind greed and rage, ignorant of his place. He has no grounds to complain even if he died horribly.”
The flames in that club had earnestly confessed Periphetes’ plot to me.
The arrogant scheme to drug Atalanta, violate her, and seize Arcadia for himself.
“To think there’s such a ‘positive’(?) mindset.”
The fool’s plan, twisting every circumstance to his favor, was so full of holes it drew a hollow laugh.
Well, no need to dwell on the dead. What remained was this new burden I’d taken on.
“Anyway... things just got busier. Tsk!”
-Fwoom!
In response, the crimson flames on my left wrist flickered in protest.
The western edge, Mount Etna where Hephaestus’ forge lay.
I had to return this child of that volcano to its home.
“As I said in exchange, you’d better guide the way properly?”
-Whooo!
In return for freeing it from the club, it had offered to guide me.
It knew the path to Graecia’s Etna—and my destination, the Isle of Eretria.
“White Wave! Let’s go. The stench is too foul to linger!”
-Hiiing!!
I mounted White Wave, who’d faithfully galloped to my call, and slowly urged him onward, gazing at the hazy dawn sky.
About three days to Olympia’s great harbor.
Time to pay a visit to my princess.