Chapter 91
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: Prelude to the Performance for the Queen
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The prelude to the performance for the queen.
Not just any god, but one of the Olympian Twelve.
Artemis herself, no less—the goddess revered and adored by countless huntresses and men alike.
Jason and Orpheus were utterly horrified at the mere fact that I'd tangled with her.
Asclepius promised he'd handle my funeral rites himself.
Actaeon was foaming at the mouth.
And Heracles kept pressing me for details on just how beautiful she was.
I shot back, brazen as ever: wasn't it enough that I'd spared her life after she tried to put a hole in my head? Hadn't I more than fulfilled my duty as a decent human being, god or no god?
But all I got in return was a bunch of cowards saying they didn't want to catch any stray arrows and needed some distance from me for the time being.
Actaeon, the devout follower of Artemis, had already rolled back his eyes and passed out cold.
And amid all that chaos, Heracles came charging at me, demanding a blow-by-blow on the goddess's beauty.
In the end, Asclepius had to jab him with a acupuncture needle to calm him down—like putting down a boar in rut—sparking another round of pandemonium.
Anyway, that was the general flow of my daily life.
Dawn training, midday routines, and the nights that capped off the day.
After wrapping up a mythical routine alongside these famed heroes—either already legendary or on their way to becoming so—I'd return to my room to catch my breath.
Through the wide-open window, a brilliant full moon would bathe the forest in silver light.
"...Where to tonight?"
I packed the golden zither—ordered from Hestias amid her nagging lectures—into its case and slung it over my back.
In my bosom pocket, as always like a talisman, went the obsidian flute.
Then I quietly gazed up at the night sky.
The full verse of the poem that Nostalgic Ghost Melody had left me as his final counsel went like this:
"Full moon, late frost blooming bright (滿月晩霜 靈璨弘響) strings weep in endless lines (連哭條條) the curtain never falls (臺幕不落)..."
The moon must wax full to unleash its radiance.
The spirit must swell full to spread its fragrance far.
Once a melody branches out like spreading limbs,
the stage's curtain never drops.
Not until the moment to grasp the strings ripens—never grasp them before.
But once that moment arrives and you pluck the strings, never neglect them until death.
For all my irreverence toward master-disciple proprieties, even I held Nostalgic Ghost Melody in awe as a fellow human and artist.
And knowing the twists and turns woven into the twelve melodies he'd taught me...
Even without Hermes and Hera's counsel, I was diligently tuning my zither every single day, honoring his dying wish.
And so, on nights when the moon shone bright, I'd head into the forest or to the seaside with my two companions in tow.
On rainy evenings or when it grew too late, I'd play alone on the veranda, strumming the zither and blowing the flute.
Noise complaints from the neighbors?
If complaints come while you're performing, maybe it's time to reflect on whether your skill is lacking.
I was relearning the zither from scratch, running through all twelve melodies daily—and no one complained.
Quite the opposite: on days I skipped or played outdoors, I'd get protests asking why I wasn't performing.
But even so, I couldn't play every night just for those young heroes.
Not when my top VIP fan—who adored my music—was dropping by almost every evening.
-Flutter flutter!
"You're here."
A tickle of dainty wingbeats against my ears made me smile and turn.
A pair of tiny waterfowl landed on my shoulders with cheerful chirps.
-Whisper whisper.
-Whisper whisper.
"Under the old oak where I usually train? Got it. On my way."
Interpreting birdsong—known as avian tongue—was said to be a feat of Daoist immortals' arts.
But after naturally awakening my divine power and getting prodded by three gods, I could now hear whispers not just from birds, but from all manner of things if I chose to listen.
"The shamans of the Witch faction would lose their minds if they knew."
I chuckled to myself, and the two waterfowl cocked their heads curiously before chirping and flying off.
"...Were those two humans once, too?"
A pair of waterfowl chattering in archaic tones, almost flirtatiously.
Perhaps there was something special about them, as heralds dispatched by a goddess.
"Though... why waterfowl?"
A heavenly goddess's birds being aquatic ones felt a bit odd, but it wasn't a big deal, so I set the question aside.
I leaped silently from the veranda.
My near-habitual Ghostless Shadow Wing Step had reached a new depth, empowered by my deepened inner energy and divine power—gliding through the forest like a true shadow.
Counting roughly thirty seconds as I moved,
not under Artemis's venomous crescent moon,
but bathed in Selene's radiant full moon,
a stunning noblewoman awaited me in a forest clearing, beckoning.
"I greet the Queen of the Gods."
"Welcome. I'm delighted you've come so readily."
She wore a light night dress reminiscent of the twilight sky, her long brown hair cascading elegantly beneath a silver veil.
All gods are youthful and beautiful, but none could rival her refined grace and poise.
Queen Hera.
She was the true identity of my nightly VIP, for whom I performed as her personal musician to loosen up my fingers.
* * *
As the host entertaining a guest, Hera couldn't neglect the formalities.
She served me the gods' foods and drinks, and after some light chat, she requested her performance.
"You seem in high spirits lately."
"Hm? Me?"
Honestly, my first glimpse of Hera revealed a beauty and elegance undercut by a subtle, creeping menace that was downright dazzling.
Enough to remind me of that old affair between the Plum Blossom Garden Master and Crimson Lotus Corps Leader.
And piecing together our casual talks since, as I'd guessed, Zeus's philandering left her seething without respite.
'Ares isn't exactly the doting son, and Hephaestus avoids Olympus altogether.'
Her daughters and Iris provided some solace, but Zeus's endless escapades—and his gushing praise for Heracles—gnawed relentlessly at her temper.
Yet lately, when she'd summon me for music and conversation, that deep-seated venom had faded dramatically.
Her once-sharp beauty was softening by the day.
"Oh, that? Well, seeing those hot-blooded youths sweat it out during the day has even this old goddess feeling heartened."
-...?!
Her melodic voice, laced with amusement, made my hands pause mid-tuning of the zither.
What on earth was she watching to say that?
"...You beat him so soundly—that loathsome wretch whose name I won't even utter. It eased my pent-up rage a bit."
"Ah...! You mean the training session today?"
If Hera wouldn't even speak a certain someone's name, there was only one man in these woods.
Heracles—whose name meant "Hera's Glory."
From her perspective, it was as if her husband had named his bastard with his great-grandniece "Honey's the Best!"
Today, I'd thrashed him in real-combat style for my martial training, soothing the goddess's wrath in the process.
'Whew...'
That was close.
For a moment, I'd feared she might bring up Atalanta.
"The more I watch, the more impressed I am by your martial arts and spirit. Truth be told, even I had to acknowledge that bastard's strength and prowess—biding my time for the future. But even a boar like him can't touch you. It puts my mind utterly at ease."
"Young as I am compared to you gods, I've seen more battlefields and fights than the barley in those kids' bread. I can't lose face to some strong-armed boy."
Saying that, Jason's tactical acumen and Heracles's raw power had genuinely tested me more than once.
This era—mythic times when the Three Sovereigns, Five Emperors, and Eight Pure Ones of ancient Central Plains walked the earth, clashing with yokai and demons.
Heroes born in an age thicker with spirit energy and divine power than the two eras I'd lived through were exceptional from the seed.
'The moment I truly felt why the divine arts and artifacts of mythic times were so intricate and potent.'
In the martial world, divine arts and artifacts were what every warrior craved.
But their immense power sparked world wars whenever they surfaced.
Even if obtained, cultivating a divine art often boiled one's blood to death, reduced to a puddle.
Or the artifact's power backfired, turning one into a monster hunted as a public enemy.
Each time, I'd wondered: what manner of monster created these monstrosities?
My conclusion, watching these budding heroes' talents and potential: only divine arts and artifacts of equal might could contain such power.
'Still, their bones and meridians look promising enough. To temper those brats' minds and bodies, I've had them learning Daoist calisthenics and acupoint stimulation training...'
The issue: acupoint stimulation looks like a beatdown to outsiders.
So Hera must've seen it as me thoroughly thrashing Heracles.
'No need to stir up trouble.'
"Their punches pack a punch, though. I had quite the fun time myself."
"Hmm, is that so?"
I sipped the nectar she'd poured, and at my words, Hera's eyes sparkled as she gazed at me.
"...."
I'd heard one of Hera's epithets was "Ox-Eyed."
Unlike the crude connotation, it praised eyes clear and transparent as a bull's—stunningly beautiful.
The Queen of Insight with such lovely eyes.
But now, those beautiful eyes fixed on me with an enigmatic glint.
I swallowed dryly, a "what if" nagging at me.
"Well, I..."
"What if you sparred with a goddess, then? I doubt it'd end 'just for fun.'"
"....Pardon?"
With that, Hera smiled seductively, watching my reaction.