The Villain of Ancient Greece

The next day, Mount Pelion.

Sage Chiron, still worried about his disciple, decided to set off for Athens as early as possible.

Before parting, Lorne moved his lips, but in the end chose to remain silent and did not tell Chiron about his future god of medicine heading to Cyprus.

Although Asclepius was only Apollo’s unloved illegitimate son, he was still Olympus bloodline.

Even if he accidentally offended some uncles and aunts, as long as they still cared about Apollo and Artemis’s status, they would at least show some mercy and not go too far.

After all, the example of Pan’s death was right there in front of them.

Apollo had just been exiled to the mortal world for something similar.

If another incident like this happened, Zeus would have to come down hard on the culprit just to keep up appearances of fairness.

But if Chiron followed right after and got dragged into the mess in Cyprus together with his student, he might not be so lucky.

After all, this centaur brother was the one nobody in the family loved.

If he wandered around in front of Olympus relatives too much, who knows when Zeus might suddenly remember this illegitimate brother of his, turn him into a constellation, reclaim his divinity, and use it to decorate the authority of the sky.

So after thinking it over, Lorne decided it was safer to let the old man go to the Academy of Athens first and teach his books in peace.

But without this kind old man who answered every question, there was no point in staying on Mount Pelion any longer.

After watching Chiron disappear from sight, Lorne shook his head.

His body rippled, shifting from the old blind man back into the handsome youth as he turned and walked into the valley.

Passing through the outer forest, a cheerful singing voice drifted to him on the wind.

”Come, let us begin with the Muses. They sing in chorus of things, making glad the great heart of their father Zeus, who dwells on Olympus.

From their lips flows sweet song, never wearying to hear; their pure voices come forth, and the halls of their father Zeus, the sky god, also hear and rejoice.

The snowy peaks of Olympus and the halls of the deathless gods echo with their song.

With immortal voices, they sing from the beginning, first praising the revered race of the gods born of Earth and broad Heaven, the givers of all good things; then at both the beginning and the end of their song, they sing of Zeus, father of gods and men, praising him as the wisest and most powerful of all.

They also sing of men and giants, gladdening the heart of Zeus on Olympus—they are the Olympian Muses, the splendid daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus…”

Inside the spacious valley, the nine manifested goddesses of the arts stood or sat around the babbling stream, flipping through the manuscripts in their hands, reviewing word by word, improvising and humming the finished preface.

This was both the opening of the book and a hymn of praise to the Muses themselves.

”They dance lightly, around the blue spring or the altars of wine and joy. After bathing their delicate bodies in the Permessus, the Horse Spring, or the Olmeius, they dance graceful and lovely dances on the highest Helicon, their steps full of life.

At night they come forth from here, wrapped in thick mist, singing with sweet voices the songs that praise the gods…”

As the beautiful words turned into notes flowing from their lips, scenes from the past three years flashed through the Muses’ minds.

Poetry and wine, music and song, performances and audiences, every frame was an unfading silhouette, treasured forever in memory.

Amid the flood of memories, the melody in their mouths gradually went off-key.

One by one, their faces flushed red.

It felt as if what they were reading was not a meticulously crafted literary masterpiece, but a love poem dedicated to the Muses.

Or perhaps both—strict scholarship and romance perfectly combined.

”Clap, clap~.”

Clear applause came from the woods.

The handsome ”audience” leaned against a tree trunk, smiling as always, offering his ”listening” and ”praise” to the Muses’ performance.

”Lord Dionysus!”

The moment they saw Lorne, the nine Muses cheered in unison and excitedly crowded around him.

Waving their manuscripts, they chattered questions.

”This line, ’praise Zeus—aegis-bearer’, should we add an adjective, ’all-powerful Zeus’? It would perfectly parallel the next line, ’praise august Hera—goddess of Argos with golden sandals’?”

”Too wordy, isn’t it?”

”I think it fits just right.”

Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), and Euterpe (lyric poetry) had differing opinions.

”Should we add a rest here?”

”I think an aria would be better!”

”No, the overall rhythm should lean more joyful!”

Erato (love poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), and Thalia (comedy) argued fiercely.

”This part, ’praise the bright-eyed daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, and Phoebus Apollo, arrow-loving Artemis, the upholder and shaker of the earth Poseidon, revered Themis, and alluring Aphrodite…’ how do we simplify the dance movements to show each god’s characteristics?”

”Why use dance? Can’t we just project the corresponding constellations onto the stage?”

”That might steal the spotlight. Static background panels would be better.”

Terpsichore (dance), Urania (astronomy), and Polyhymnia (sacred poetry) each held their ground.

Facing the nine arguing Muses, Lorne patiently listened to everyone, then gave his own opinions one by one based on live performance effect, and finally smiled and suggested.

”My single viewpoint may be biased, so why don’t you each compose and revise according to your own ideas first?

Then we’ll perform them one by one in the cities we visit. Whichever version the audience likes best, we’ll use that as the final edition!”

”Great!”

The Muses nodded happily, faces full of eagerness to try.

Lorne raised the paper and pen in his hand and asked with a faint smile.

”So, in order, whose turn is the next city?”

”Erato!”

The Muses laughed and pushed the fifth sister forward.

Holding her seven-stringed lyre, the young goddess of love poetry glared at her sisters, then stepped to the front with a blushing face.

Lorne smiled and reached out, ready to merge divinity with her as usual, letting her take over the ”Homer” account and create a new round of poetry in the next city.

But Erato gave a playful smile and the next moment, amid the other Muses’ surprised cries, she suddenly hooked her arms around the god’s neck, stood on tiptoe, and planted an unexpected kiss on his forehead—delivering her own blessing and inspiration in a bold, fiery way.

Lorne was stunned for a moment.

Then he raised a hand to touch the warmth still lingering on his forehead, looked at Erato, who had quickly retreated back into the group, face burning red and head lowered, and could only smile helplessly.

Love always makes people reckless, blind, and impulsive.

The rest of the Muses either jeered, grumbled jealously, or watched enviously.

The valley instantly filled with cheerful laughter.

Leaving Mount Pelion, the nine Muses followed the God of Wine, taking the name ”Homer,” and continued onward.

They visited Gaia’s ancient caverns, paid respects at Rhea’s abandoned temples, climbed the old site of Mount Othrys, and gazed upon the birthplace of the primordial wisdom goddess Metis…

The whispers of the ancient gods were the finest writing material; the idle chatter of the nymphs was the perfect seasoning for anecdotes; and the rocks and trees that never lied were the most sincere witnesses of history and civilization.

Through the collective efforts of the Muses, the majestic [Holy Words], the meticulous and rigorous [Theogony], and the rebellious [Song of the Titans] were steadily filled out and perfected beneath the pen of the blind poet Homer.

Every performance drew a full house. The moment the curtain fell, the audience erupted in thunderous applause.

It was not empty flattery to the gods—it was pure, heartfelt praise for ”art” itself!

The Muses were thrilled beyond words.

Their hearts and souls were completely immersed in the sense of accomplishment they gained on this journey.

Gradually, they fell more and more in love with this kind of life.

Compared to it, Olympus was unbearably dull and hollow.

Playing accompaniment for Apollo’s love poems felt so pretentious and artificial.

Offering hymn after hymn to the gods was nothing but exaggerated, boring pomp…

Divinity could keep them enthroned in heaven.

But humanity let them sing freely!

The journey marched ever onward.

Using the shared fictional identity of the blind poet Homer as their vessel, the Muses carved the traces of the world with pen, music, and song, quietly undergoing an indescribable transformation.

However, after they crossed a rugged cliff wall, the scene before them jolted the Muses awake from their beautiful dream.

Massive rocks had been eroded by time into bizarre shapes.

Grey stalagmites thrust toward the sky, praising nature’s divine workmanship.

Below lay vast plains, forests, canyons, and picturesque villages. Hidden deep within the dense jungle and shadowy valleys, enormous skeletons could faintly be seen.

Lorne tapped his cane, gazed at the city-state nestled among the distant mountains, and murmured softly.

”Thessaly… we’ve arrived.”

The Muses looked down at the unfinished manuscripts in their hands and sighed in unison as a wave of reluctance and loss welled up in their chests, making them hesitate.

”Father god said… no one is allowed to visit Lord Apollo…”

With that soft sigh, all nine Muses turned to look at Clio.

The serious scholar who studied history gripped her scroll and spoke solemnly.

”Let’s at least confirm from afar that Lord Apollo is safe. Getting too close might anger Father god and possibly lengthen his sentence.”

”Right!”

”Exactly!”

”We have to think of Lord Apollo!”

The Muses’ eyes brightened, and they nodded vigorously, the heavy atmosphere instantly lightening.

Seeing them suddenly so concerned for Apollo’s safety, Lorne smiled faintly and pointed to a lush green slope ahead.

”Look, it seems he’s right there.”

The Muses nodded happily and peered through the trees from afar.

At that moment, the melodious sound of a seven-stringed lyre drifted down from the slope.

Enchanted beasts emerged from the forest: leopards and wild lions walked tamely among the sheep, deer and gazelles danced to the rhythm, all of them surrounding the handsome shepherd in the center.

The entire scene was peaceful and joyful.

Beside him sat a middle-aged man in plain clothes, broad-mouthed and straight-nosed, listening in rapture and tapping his thigh in time with the music.

A few fully armored, sword-bearing attendants patrolled nearby, clearly indicating the man’s noble status.

”That’s Admetus, king of Thessaly,” Clio said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Lorne’s face also showed a relieved smile.

”It looks like Lord Apollo is being well taken care of by the king. He’s living comfortably.”

”Mhm!”

The Muses nodded, their expressions bright and cheerful, genuinely happy that their former master was being treated kindly.

But then they looked at one another and fell into an awkward silence.

Finally, the lively Erato coughed dryly, her gaze drifting to the road behind them.

”Ahem, so…”

”Exactly!”

”Right!”

Before she could finish, the other Muses nodded in perfect understanding, eyes full of approval.

Since Lord Apollo is fine, we don’t need to worry.

To avoid disturbing his sentence, we should leave as quickly as possible.

Having reached a silent consensus, the nine Muses turned in unison to leave.

”BOOM!”

But at that instant, the mountain shook violently.

Pitch-black pits hundreds of meters long suddenly tore open the valley and slope ahead, as if connecting straight to the abyss.

”ROAR!”

The next second came deep, thunderous roars.

Mountain-sized black-brown arms burst out of the pits and slammed into the ground.

Violent shockwaves uprooted trees, sending birds fleeing in panic.

Looking at the giant titans and monstrous beings crawling out one after another, Lorne’s expression changed.

He finally understood where all those enormous skeletons in the Thessaly valley had come from.

Clearly, the rebellious bloodline of the Titans had never been completely wiped out from this land!

They were trying to reclaim everything that once belonged to them from humans and gods alike.

And by terrible coincidence, one of the pits had opened directly beneath the slope where Apollo was herding and playing his lyre.

”BANG!”

With a deafening crash, a greenish-black arm smashed into the ground, and dozens of cattle and sheep were instantly crushed into pulp before they could even scream.

Apollo, standing right there, was completely engulfed by the spray of blood, flesh, and dust.

”Quick! Help him!”

Lorne shouted immediately.

Apollo could not die yet, at least not before he had served his purpose…

Besides, his divinity was only sealed, not gone.

If he were wounded, the seal might break, and he could return to Olympus ahead of schedule, and that would be disastrous.

Perfect.

The corner he had been digging still needed one final push.

In a flash, Lorne dropped his disguise, revealing his true form, and charged straight toward the God of Light.

Seeing their leader since leaving the mountain rush forward first, the nine Muses snapped out of their daze and immediately followed him into battle.

(End of this chapter)