Chapter 68
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: The Completed Work, The Completed Story.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A completed masterpiece, a completed tale.
"Are all you bard types just spouting cryptic nonsense like this every day? What the hell are you even saying?"
"Damn, that wild boar Heracles at least had some class and gave a good reaction when I spun these yarns.
But pounding iron all day turned his head to iron too? So his brain is, uh..."
"Mmlhhrn kkhkhzrhr..."
No matter how much they prayed, the gods mostly stayed silent, but Zeus couldn't hold back against the bald evangelist's relentless bald jokes and finally punched the kids.
It wasn't for no reason.
Even a bystander god would see mocking someone's bald head forever as downright cruel.
And I couldn't mock his glorious bald dome either, divine punishment or not.
That would be going too far.
Anyway, that was the end of the Wandering Ghost Melody's tale.
He often shared travel stories, but he was unusually tight-lipped about his own past.
Even during training, he rarely mentioned his history, so I had to dig into it myself first.
"Oh, right. Master's signature technique was sound wave blades."
"What?"
The pinnacle of sound arts invented by the Wandering Ghost Melody, dubbed Striking Sound.
Typically, sound art masters infused qi into strings and fired sonic waves that pierced the enemy's ears straight to the brain or induced internal injuries.
Think of it as ultrasonic attacks, but the Wandering Ghost Melody went beyond, launching sonic blades sharper than famed swords or cannon-like blasts.
Invisible attacks flew wildly amid dazzling performances, striking anywhere the sound reached.
When that golden timbre echoed not in theaters but on battlefields, enemies fled in terror, screaming for their lives.
U unavoidable, unblockable, undetectable.
Even in chaotic warfare, that golden sound pinpointed only the foe in sync, outstripping any hawk eyes.
An astonishing sound art that mapped vast battlefields instantly and claimed enemy necks at will.
Even the world's top experts could barely endure half of his Twelve Melodies, countable on fingers.
And fewer than three survived all twelve to the end.
"...Is that even possible?"
"Honestly, even to me, it seemed ridiculously perverse..."
No martial artist draws a sword by turning the melody of their zither into a blade instead of just pulling steel.
If it just rattled minds or caused internal damage like normal sound arts, it'd be ordinary.
Already a top-tier swordsman during his wandering days to fend off bandits coveting his talent, the idea of slicing people with sound waves instead of a sword was just lamentable.
"And do you know why he created such a bizarre technique?"
"Why?"
"...Too lazy to stand up, draw a sword, and cut people down mid-performance."
A statement that would make sword masters spit blood and flip tables.
And I heard it firsthand while getting pummeled by his zither sounds and vomiting blood.
No one can imagine my sheer disbelief.
"What an absolute freak. Mages seem more human by comparison."
"The problem is, it was genuinely overpowered."
That terrifying performance where a single instant's melody decided life or death.
Yet even in war's clamor, his playing mesmerized all into silence.
No one could deny his zither mastery matched his sound arts prowess.
"Using instruments and music as magic conduits is common enough, but crafting blades sharper than real swords with magic? First I've heard of it..."
Hestusias stared at me like he'd lost his appetite, wondering if Hyperborea—our martial world—was crawling with such freaks.
"Don't worry. He was peerless even among sound art masters.
Most were just that(?) level."
When rumors spread not just in the church but the martial world that I'd inherited the Wandering Ghost Melody's Twelve Melodies.
Sound art masters and famed musicians alike sought me out to duel zithers or hear even a snippet of those tunes.
I was just rising in the Demonic Cult then, and the corrupt cult leader, jealous and scheming to humiliate me, ordered me to play.
Thanks to that, I enjoyed hearing scattered martial sound arts and masterpieces.
"I unequivocally say I'm the only one who mastered the Twelve Melodies to reach his realm."
The martial world's greatest blessing.
If another omnidirectional radar with pinpoint stealth strikes existed, beautiful bloodwinds would have swept it clean.
"Hah, believe it or not?"
"Your call."
Honestly, even I could hardly believe it watching Hestusias work.
He had no reason to swallow tall tales from another world hook, line, and sinker.
We could talk after the zither was perfectly complete.
"Anyway, most zithers snapped strings or shattered soundboxes after three pieces."
In that sense, Hestusias's olive wood body was exemplary.
Condensing the tree's vitality inward and compressing its essence, forged with ominous crimson flames and hammer into a body tougher than steel.
Yet it retained wood's soft resonance, amplified by vitality into vivid, profound tones any musician would covet for a fortune.
"What worries me are the strings."
Pearl and silver?
Their threading was magically exquisite, but strings faced qi directly, more than the body.
In my past life, zither bodies lasted ages, but even Heavenly Net Threads of millennial cold iron needed yearly replacement.
I couldn't help doubting if pearl-silver strings could withstand the Twelve Melodies.
"Hmm... Setting aside the rest, millennial cold iron sounds like damn tough metal.
How hard is the ore?"
"Millennial cold iron? Well..."
In the martial world, it topped hardness, heat resistance, and qi tolerance.
I had no doubts on strength, but from handling...
"An apprentice once lost a finger touching a snapped Heavenly Net Thread, clueless."
Beautiful frost-hued metal wire on sight.
Its edge and hardness rivaled treasure swords.
So much so that twelve swords forged from melted snapped strings were hyped as divine blades by the cult leader as rewards for meritorious juniors.
"No wonder you doubt my threads."
Finishing the body's polish, Hestusias grinned unlike his self-deprecating words, rising to display the oddly milky-glowing threads.
"Now it's your turn to ask. I'll chat while stringing. Fire away."
Strutting like he'd spew dirty jokes, Hestusias instead plainly began carefully dressing the strings as ordered.
Deer-hair brush dipped in herbal oil and powders, applied strand by strand with care, checked for flaws, and tapped gently with flame-wreathed hammer if off.
Hestusias grew ever more intriguingly smith-like.
"Heard you're the Heroes' Grove's premier craftsman?"
"Eh, made a few decent pieces. But no worthy buyers, so hammer itch never came."
"Then why bite on my random instrument commission?"
That's my question.
Skipping classes to grind Hestusias's quests, I'd naturally picked up his lore.
"Crimson Flame Hestusias. Hephaestus's son, the sole smith wielding his father's forge blessings."
In Chiron's sanctuary, the forge blessed by Hephaestus.
At its heart pulsed a crimson blaze like a heartbeat—not mere fire, but Hephaestus's divine flame, like Hestia's hearth embers.
Hephaestus's fire burned hotter than any, unquenchable, melting metals instantly, incinerating impurities in a flash—smiths' ultimate flame.
Yet fitting a god's power, it permitted any smith one try.
Failing satisfaction despite aid, it resisted all fuel and bellows, merely flickering irritably, becoming mere mascot from relic.
Only Hestusias tamed Hephaestus's divine flame.
True to its endorsement, his blades were masterpieces without fail; famed kings and princes braved long journeys for his arms.
His renown spoke volumes.
Yet Hestusias had refused commissions long before I arrived, barely maintaining weapons, hardly lifting a hand in the forge otherwise.
"Why?"
"Why? No fun."
-Ding~
Stringing the first string in a flash, Hestusias lightly plucked and nodded.
"How's that? The sound you imagined?"
"...Oh."
Still needing tuning, but unmistakably the gayageum tone I'd always played.
"No need to say. Looks like it hit the mark."
Grinning in satisfaction, Hestusias busied his hands again.
"Humans flocking to me always parrot the same lines. 'I'm a king. Forge me a kingly sword.' 'I'm a prince. Craft a princely spear.' 'I'm a hero. Give me a hero's shield.' Like parrots, so tiresome."
Grimacing exaggeratedly in boredom, he'd finished the second string meantime.
-Dling...
A touch higher and softer than before.
I nodded silently at his glance, signaling I was all ears.
"Melting ores in flames, reshaping steel under hammer—fine at first. But fiddling with blades daily kills the thrill."
-Diring~
The third string done, an even softer, thinner tone filling the workshop, as Hestusias slowly vented his pent-up feelings to me.