The Villain of Ancient Greece

”Very well. Your father, Hermes, is also a god proficient in music theory. Let me see how much you, as his son, have learned.”

Apollo nodded with a smile and agreed.

His attitude was gentle, but between the lines was clearly the tone of an elder testing a junior.

Obviously, in the eyes of this god of art, the little lamb before him was merely looking for an excuse to learn from him and was completely unqualified to stand on equal footing and compete with him.

As for the so-called ”challenge” and ”victory”, there was naturally nothing to discuss.

Thus, he did not even mention what would happen after winning.

Although this suited Pan’s intentions perfectly, Apollo’s arrogance deep in his bones still made the pastoral god secretly resentful.

Just wait. You will regret this!

He snorted coldly in his heart while maintaining his humble appearance, then took out from his chest the musical instrument he was most proud of.

It was a pan flute made of reeds, named ”Syrinx”.

Just like the lyre in Apollo’s hands and the laurel wreath on his head, it was also taken from a plant transformed from a nymph.

Therefore, once music was played, natural divine power would flow out, making listeners intoxicated.

From the choice of materials for their instruments and from certain sexual-interest perspectives, he and this light god seemed to share similar tastes.

Pan glanced at the beautiful Muses behind Apollo, rolled his pale-yellow goat eyes, and proposed with a simple smile.

”Lord Apollo, since this is a competition, according to Olympic standards, shouldn’t we invite a judge to arbitrate?”

In response, Apollo nodded confidently as before and lightly tapped the strings of his lyre as golden ripples spread into the mountains and forests.

Soon, accompanied by the rustling of swaying branches and the sound of vines dragging across the ground, ancient trees unknowingly gathered around the campsite.

On the thickest central old tree, a deeply wrinkled elderly face squeezed out.

Facing everyone, it gently swayed its branches in greeting and revealed a kind smile.

”Lord Apollo, I understand your intention. If you do not mind, today, I and the forest spirits here shall serve as the audience and judge the performances of you and Pan to see who is superior.”

The god of the mountains and forests, Tmolus, was a very ancient deity of the Arcadian mountains.

Over the long years, he and his followers had witnessed much history and often appeared as arbiters to resolve disputes.

Seeing that the judge he had summoned was already present, Apollo smiled and nodded, then waved his hand to gather earth and stone, and created a wide competition ground and audience seats before the camp.

Then he elegantly bowed backward.

”Everyone, please.”

The Muses and nymphs who were also invited as the audience immediately became excited, holding hands in small groups of three to five and taking their seats, waiting for the competition to begin.

Apollo’s reputation as the ”god of art” had long spread throughout Olympus, and the music he personally played was often praised as heavenly by many gods.

But as time passed and his divine authority stabilized, this light god rarely performed in public.

Now, being able to see Apollo personally perform during this journey, the nymphs and Muses were naturally filled with anticipation.

As the hurried crowd passed in front of the camp, Pan, who was left standing alone, opened his mouth, then awkwardly smiled and hurriedly bent over to follow onto the stage.

Looking at the little lamb no one cared about and the goat face forcing a smile, Lorne shook his head inwardly.

He now somewhat understood Apollo’s arrogance that seeped into his very bones.

Although this was a competition, the light god had never once taken Pan seriously as a challenger from beginning to end.

Whether it was the venue, the judge, or the format, he had not consulted Pan at all, acting entirely on his own authority.

And to an opponent, being ignored was the greatest humiliation.

But at this moment, none of the surrounding gods cared about Pan’s feelings.

Everyone was wholeheartedly waiting for Apollo’s marvelous performance.

”Since the contestants are in position, let us begin.”

On the judge’s seat, Tmolus, the god of the mountains and forests, raised his staff and struck the ground, giving the signal to begin, while lifting aside the tree branches near his ears and preparing to listen attentively to the performances of the two gods.

”I’ll go first!”

Pan, feeling somewhat indignant after being preempted by Apollo, directly rushed forward.

On the stage, he stirred his divine power and began to blow the pan flute, attempting to amaze everyone with the musical talent he took pride in.

Divine power surged. The air trembled.

A mournful and desolate flute sound emerged from the narrow hollow tubes.

Those who heard it felt as if their hearts were dripping blood, and once the blood of the heart ran dry, the heart would fail and die.

Yet the music was extremely beautiful, as though it allowed people to die while immersed in emotion.

The mournful desolation of the music originated from his unrequited love for the nymph Syrinx.

That beautiful deity would rather transform into reeds to refuse his pursuit and avoid seeing him.

Heartbroken, Pan not only used the reeds she transformed into to create the pan flute, but also carefully composed a poem for her.

Goddess wandering in the grassy fields

Your face ripples like water

Here, the grass is lush

Nature has laid a warm bed for you and me

I am madly obsessed with you

Forgetting the honor and disgrace of the world

I only wish to hold you in my arms

But fate shattered my beautiful dream

Reeds sway in the autumn wind

You are my ill-suited sorrow…

Through the low hum of the pan flute, a silent confession poured into the ears of the listeners, and they seemed to follow the music, witnessing the pastoral god’s sorrowful love on a sunny afternoon.

This rustic tune he was most proud of, possessed unparalleled emotional power.

As the final note faded, the entire venue fell silent.

Sorrow and pity grew uncontrollably in everyone’s hearts.

When the nymphs and Muses looked at Pan, there was less rejection and more shared sorrow and sympathy.

Some even shed tears for this pitiful pastoral god.

It had to be said that Pan’s musical accomplishment was indeed admirable, reaching the level where music was the voice of the heart.

But…

Lorne glanced at the nymphs and Muses immersed in sadness, narrowed his eyes, and sneered in his heart.

Trying to influence the audience’s minds with authority and win through trickery wasn’t that a bit too disrespectful toward the main gods present?

”Clang~!”

At this moment, an uplifting lyre note echoed across the venue.

The listeners who had been immersed in sorrow felt their hearts jolt, clarity returning to their eyes.

As they gradually came back to their senses, the more they pondered the story within the music, the more something felt wrong.

The other party had already clearly rejected him, yet he still forced his pursuit, even pushing her to abandon herself entirely.

What kind of love was that?

It was clearly a bestial desire born from rejection!

Moments later, the goddesses who had felt sympathy and pity for Pan now glared angrily at the goat-headed man.

Contempt overflowed from their expressions.

Pan, who had used petty tricks and thought he would receive applause, immediately flushed red amid boos and disdain.

His yellow-brown goat eyes secretly glanced toward Apollo, filled with anger and resentment.

On stage, the light god casually adjusted the strings of his lyre, plucked a few more clear notes, and smiled as he stepped forward.

”You’re done? Then it’s my turn.”

Before Pan could respond, Tmolus turned his face toward Apollo, and all the trees turned along with him.

He wore a Parnassian laurel crown and a Tyrian purple robe that trailed to the ground.

With lyre in his left hand and strings plucked by his right, he radiated brilliance—a true handsome man.

Especially when standing next to Pan, the contrast between beauty and ugliness was even more striking.

Immediately, the hearts of the nymphs and Muses pounded wildly, their gazes snapping toward this handsome god.

No one paid any attention to the little lamb in the corner anymore.

Apollo, standing in the spotlight, maintained his elegant demeanor as his fair, jade-like fingers plucked and stroked the strings.

An elegant and beautiful lyrical piece flowed from the trembling strings.

It was as if, in a forest bathed in sunlight, a gem-like god arrived gracefully, encountered a beautiful meeting, and launched a wholehearted pursuit.

’I am the foremost of poets, heir of light

Like a keen hunting dog tracking a hare,

You run, ice forming a spinning skater,

A sound box adorned with vine patterns, curved tender branches.

The veins in your feet spread into the soil,

A patterned bark sheath covers your chest and hair,

Branches burst forth, emerald leaves overflow,

A body gradually turning into wood envelops your arms and legs;

Your mortal soul drifts within the radiance of the laurel tree.

The immortal god caresses every inch of wooden grain,

Feeling the terrified pulse of the warm main branch,

Kissing each branch as if it were a human wrist;

Slender laurel hands lift and merge into a crown…

Yet in the end, this love-filled confession was ruthlessly rejected.

The proud nymph abandoned a sincere and burning heart, cruelly letting it cool and die.

As the music gradually turned sorrowful, the nymphs and Muses wept like pear blossoms in the rain—sympathizing with the confessor’s fate while loathing the pursued one’s coldness and cruelty.’

Meanwhile, Lorne, sitting in the corner, wore an expression full of black lines.

Pan had just played a beautified version of ”Afternoon of a Faun”, and Apollo immediately followed with a poetic ”Apollo and Daphne”.

Anyone unaware would think the two were deeply in love and terribly wronged.

But the truth was that both of these perverts had forced the girls to accept their love, driving two unfortunate nymphs into despair.

And in the end, they even used composed music to flaunt their affection and accuse the nymphs of coldness.

Such hypocritical scenes nearly disgusted Lorne to death.

Finally, this torturous performance came to an end.

Tree branches swayed joyfully, and the nymphs and Muses cheered together like devoted fans supporting their idol.

Seeing himself at a disadvantage, the cunning Pan immediately resumed blowing the pan flute as soon as Apollo finished, playing several of his best rustic tunes in succession.

The lighthearted and humorous melodies brought pure joy, making listeners unconsciously feel happy, smiles blooming on their faces.

However, Apollo immediately struck the lyre, washing away the rustic tunes with a magnificent hymn.

The praise of the gods and depiction of the Titan War intoxicated the audience, making them feel immersed and their blood boil.

After three rounds, Tmolus stood up at once and declared Apollo, who played the lyre, the victor.

All listeners accepted the verdict, showering the radiant Apollo with praise and floral crowns.

Pan, who was ignored entirely, became nothing more than a backdrop, his goat face alternately red and pale.

Finally, unable to endure the celebratory cheers that sounded like mockery, he forced out a stiff smile, stepped forward to bid farewell to the gods, and asked a certain someone who had set up defensive traps nearby to escort him out safely.

Lorne smiled and nodded in agreement, leading the utterly defeated Pan away from this sorrowful place.

But once the two left the campsite, the smiling Pan suddenly turned his head, glaring with yellow-brown goat eyes at the guide beside him.

”Didn’t you say there was a way for me to marry a Muse? Why did I lose? Damn liar!”

(End of Chapter)