Chapter 65
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: The Birth of the Lyre
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Briefly, about ten years.
Long, long ago, in the distant, distant past.
Before Pandora, the masterpiece of the gods, was shaped by Hephaestus's hands, a newborn baby ventured out alone from a cave beneath the mountain.
The child, not even three days old, had been sternly warned by its giant mother never to go outside.
But life in the cave, without a nursemaid, friends, or toys, had grown unbearably dull.
How far did it walk? Far across the wide plain, fat, plump cattle grazed idly in the distance.
The baby instantly recognized them as the sun cattle of Apollo, the sun god of Olympus, just as its mother had described.
The child came up with a clever plan.
It padded the cattle's hooves with cloth, tied brooms to their tails, and herded them away to a distant place, mooing in a thunderous voice like its mother.
Then, with its tiny hands, it built an altar and offered burnt sacrifices to the eleven gods, led by Lord Zeus and Queen Hera.
Among them was a sacrifice to the newborn god who had just performed its first divine deed.
The king of Olympus watched this and accepted the offerings with great pleasure, but the Sun, who sees all, heard the news and set out to find the young thief.
However, the baby—no, the young god now—had already prepared its trick.
It had crafted an instrument of beautiful tone never before heard in the world, using the cattle's intestines offered as sacrifice, a turtle shell, and a sturdy oak branch.
As the sun's furious heat drew near and the cattle bellowed loudly sensing their true master's approach,
the young god began to play the instrument like no other before or since.
The bellowing cattle fell silent at the melody, the trembling plants quieted under the sun's rage,
and even the Sun forgot its anger, standing still to listen until the performance ended.
When it finished, the Sun, utterly enchanted by the sound, traded his herd for the young god's lyre, gaining dominion over music and instruments. The young god, in turn, took the sun god's dominion over herdsmen.
"...And that's how! The dominion of the herdsman god, who originally protected the shepherds roaming the pastures following the sun, went to Hermes, the god of travelers and pilgrims as well. And the sun god Apollo gained dominion over music, born from the first instrument, the first lyre!"
Teterir, the petite pottery instructor with light brown bobbed hair, was a rock nymph born of Demeter's kin.
Originally tending to agriculture alongside Demeter, she eventually fell deeply in love with pottery—sturdy as her rock yet adorned with splendid designs, perfect for storing grain and wine.
Now, she taught pottery at this forest of heroes.
"Today, we'll make pottery ourselves and paint the tale of Lord Hermes we just heard on it!"
-Yes~
At Teterir's words, everyone took their places with pottery wheels and clay lumps, slowly spinning the wheels.
The clay began to rotate slowly, and after gazing at the lump for a moment, I gently placed my hands on it.
Even as the clay whirled swiftly, my mind was reviewing the answer to the riddle I'd coincidentally obtained.
"First off, it's certain."
Among the cryptography arts of the Guigisin-thu, there's a saying like this.
A riddle isn't just the metaphorical sentence itself.
Like an oracle, even the same content can have vastly different interpretations and intents depending on the giver.
And for riddles especially, everything around them—front, back, sides—is a clue.
Especially when the riddle is concise and ambiguous, the clues are scattered everywhere outside it.
'Master's grace is amazing.'
I'll offer something proper later, Master Shin-thu.
A child born without a midwife. A child who gained divine dominion.
In Greek myths, whether gods or heroes, their births were rarely blessed.
Eileithyia, goddess of childbirth, was Hera's daughter and kin; without Hera's permission, she wouldn't end the pains of labor.
No reason for Hera to send her daughter to help a cheating wife pregnant by her own husband.
But among such children, one who gained divine dominion means it's a god now.
A god born alone without a midwife, unblessed by the goddess of childbirth?
Among Zeus's famous bastards like Apollo, Artemis, Dionysus, Athena, and others—probably only Hermes.
'Athena from Zeus's head, twins protected by Delos Island with Zeus tricking Eileithyia to come, Dionysus incubated in Zeus's thigh.'
Closing my eyes and rewinding memories, in those Greek-Roman myth comics, Eileithyia was there for their prophesied births.
Twins were rough, but with her husband's head about to split and thigh tearing— even Hera couldn't fully block her daughter from helping her father.
But Hermes was the exception; Teterir added that his mother Maia was a Titaness, daughter of Atlas.
A pre-Olympian giant goddess could birth alone without the childbirth goddess's aid.
'If there's a variable, maybe among minor gods I don't remember...'
Inferring from Hermes teaching a way to escape the sun's wrath.
The calculation: only Hermes fits the complex keywords of born without midwife, knows how to escape sun's wrath, and gained divine dominion as a child.
No way another exists who was born alone, escaped Apollo's temper, and became a god.
"An ambiguous god would've been dried meat the moment it angered him."
So, the riddle's answer is Hermes for now.
Recalling that smug, triumphant face full of pride, it made sense for the protagonist to be himself.
If that's the premise, the part about gaining divine dominion flows naturally too.
"No way it's telling me to steal Apollo's stuff and trade."
It must mean to follow the legend: give the lyre to calm furious Apollo.
"Instrument, instrument, offer an instrument...?"
For a split second, yesterday's adorable cutie flashed in my mind, but I deleted it as irrelevant.
No matter how legendary a divine artifact, it was a flute—the most common instrument in Greece.
Above all, it was too precious to give as payment to soothe some temper tantrum, my number one favorite collection piece, the cute obsidian flute.
"I'd sooner smash it."
Whether Hermes posed this riddle to me.
I could roughly guess.
Apollo, god of music and instruments, mastered countless existing Greek instruments.
To captivate such a god like Hermes did, forgetting even rage—impossible with existing instruments.
"Indeed, those thousands of years weren't wasted, huh?"
In that brief exchange of a few words—even as I flipped my predicted answer several times—
weaving my past life's tale with his own anecdote into such an intriguing riddle.
"Then... the instrument's decided."
The one I studied most fiercely, handled best,
and understood deepest—the instrument holding the pieces that moved me to tears.
"Master will be pleased. Your music will echo across this distant mythic land once more."
-Shurik!
The accelerating clay lump shifted shapes fluidly at my touch, like a mirage.
After conquering the world at full throttle for half my life, a top leader naturally runs out of things to do.
Booze, dance, music, women—all bored; wandering the world, I even picked up pottery once.
Just a short ten-year hobby, but even so, my hands and senses were reviving that knowledge and skill.
-Tak!
As the wheel slowed, in the clay's place stood a proto-vase boasting elegant curves like a swan.
"W-Wow...! Amazing!"
"Man, what's your limit? When did you learn pottery too?"
Teterir and Heracles couldn't hide their awe at the pottery I'd finished lost in thought.
But this wasn't it.
"This won't do."
-Crack!
Not even fully focused, half-distracted, I couldn't let such a sloppy piece bear my name.
With one motion, it reverted to a clay lump.
"...Well, your call."
"Hieeek...? W-What are you doing?!"
Shrugging as if he'd expected my reaction, Heracles stepped back with screaming Teterir, and the clay began spinning on the wheel again.
"Devils cleared, now to make it properly."
-Shurik!
Don't underestimate hobbies.
Hobbies are what drive you mad.
With strange stubborn pride, I ignored Teterir's protests.
Then, with my mind fresh from solving the riddle, envisioning the golden strings' pulsing throb beyond the clay, I slowly began recreating those twelve mournful pieces.
So heartbreakingly sad, chest aching with sorrow.
Those twelve beautiful, poignant pieces.
The twelve memories of a homeland I could never return to, now gone without trace, gradually took musical form, etching themselves into this small pottery vessel.