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The night hung heavy.
The wind whistled through the shattered walls, and its hollow wails echoed through the ruins. After the flames died down, the ruins of Rhodes fell silent, the air still thick with the stench of ash and blood.
Zeus handed Kratos's blood to Ian.
"He who sows evil reaps destruction," Ian remarked, hefting the crystal vial in his hand. The dark, crimson blood swirled gently within as if carrying Kratos's rage and resentment to the grave.
Ian casually tossed the vial into the seemingly ordinary magic pouch at his waist, a pouch that contained an infinite space.
"This is none of your concern. It's merely a family matter," Zeus retorted coldly, rebuffing Ian's attempts at counsel.
Ian wasn't one to force himself on unwilling ears. He preferred that others eagerly seek him out. Seeing Zeus's stubbornness, Ian abandoned any further attempts at persuasion.
"One item secured," he muttered to himself.
"Next up...the talking rose and Epiphyllum nectar." Though it sounded like a private murmur, it was actually a reminder to Zeus that he still needed two more items.
At the mention of epiphyllum nectar, the corner of Zeus's mouth twitched slightly. He strongly suspected that Female Titan Claire was craving it, given her notorious sweet tooth, but without proof, he had no choice but to find and retrieve it.
Truth be told, Ian found Female Titan Claire utterly incomprehensible. Her personality was a tangled mess of contradictions. Sometimes she was cold and ruthless; other times, she showed deep compassion for the mortal world.
She presented the list in a serious tone, yet Ian couldn't shake the feeling that the inclusion of the nectar was more about her personal cravings.
Of course, he hadn't sought it out himself.
Ian was more than happy to exploit Zeus's wariness of him.
"You just need to wait a little longer. I'll have someone deliver the item to you. Until then, Raven, I strongly advise you to stay away from our new home." Zeus slowly descended from the sky, transforming into human form as he landed on top of the broken wall.
His eyes remained as deep and thunderous as ever, yet they also held a hint of weariness and vigilance.
Clearly, Zeus still vividly remembered the displacement they had once suffered, and he didn't want Ian anywhere near Mount Olympus, the current abode of the gods.
"Rest assured, I have no interest in your new abode, nor do I like meddling with history," Ian replied with a faint smile. He genuinely preferred not to meddle excessively with the workings of history.
Who knew what butterfly effects might ripple through the future if he caused a cataclysmic event? History's self-correcting mechanisms were only effective against minor ripples.
For example, more civilians had survived in this city. However, because these civilians held such little weight in history, their influence was less significant than stabbing a god.
"That's for the best," Zeus murmured after a moment of silence, finally nodding. A complex expression flickered across his face as he recalled his days of exile and wandering.
He cast one last deep look at Ian before transforming into a giant eagle and soaring away. He left Ian alone amidst the deathly silent ruins.
The city was terrifyingly quiet.
Zeus's divine power had wiped out most living beings, leaving only collapsed buildings, shattered statues, and scattered remains—the corpses of Spartan warriors, the severed limbs of ordinary soldiers and civilians, and the remains of those shattered by the aftershocks of the god-king's sword.
The stench of death permeated the earth, and everywhere one looked were sights too gruesome to bear.
Ancient Greek soldiers, Spartans, and civilians, once enemies, once compatriots, now all lay still and silent upon this scorched earth.
Zeus seemed perfectly accustomed to this.
Ian, however, felt a pang of unease. He resolved to bury all the bodies in the earth.
"Dust to dust, earth to earth," He murmured, standing on high ground and gazing down at the scene. His eyes were calm, yet a faint trace of compassion lurked within them. He slowly raised his hand, palm upward, and sighed softly as his wand appeared.
This was no spell, of course.
By now, Ian rarely needed spells to wield magic.
As his voice echoed,
The earth began to tremble as if awakening from a deep slumber. The ground surged and cracked, fissures spreading like the jaws of a giant beast and slowly swallowing the ice-cold bodies.
Soil surged like a tidal wave, covering their faces, chests, and limbs. Shattered armor and broken weapons were buried with them in the deep brown earth. There were no tombstones or inscriptions—only the most primal form of rest: being laid to earth and finding peace.
Deep down, Ian still adhered to ancient customs.
Even if these soldiers couldn't distinguish right from wrong, war itself doesn't yield to the wills of individual soldiers. He hoped that burying them all together would dissolve their grudges into oblivion.
"Though I have no right to speak for these men, I feel a little better, and that's enough," he thought. Wars are never decided by ordinary soldiers.
They are merely pawns of fate, thrust onto the battlefield and forced to kill or be killed. Ultimately, they are left to die in forgotten corners. Who they once pledged allegiance to no longer matters.
Ian judged neither right nor wrong, only wishing to grant them final dignity. The wind swept away the stench of blood and gunpowder, replacing it with the damp, earthy aroma of freshly turned soil.
In the distance, the massive statue of the Sun God, which was once controlled by Zeus, finally crumbled. Its massive form crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
Gradually, it was swallowed by the churning earth and eventually vanished completely beneath the soil. Such war machines, both animated and inanimate, could no longer be permitted to exist.
The entire city slowly closed in on itself, burying all death, violence, and hatred deep within the darkness. Ian retracted his wand and exhaled softly.
At that moment, amidst the desolation, survivors began to cautiously emerge. They were the civilians Ian had secretly sheltered, concealing them with magic when the Divine Punishment descended.
Now, they trembled as they crawled out of the ruins, their eyes fixed on Ian with a mixture of fear, awe, and worship.
"L-Lord..." An elderly man, his face covered in dust, knelt shakily before Ian. His voice trembled with anticipation as he said, "You saved us... Are you a new god?"
Such was the nature of the people of this era, excessively reliant on faith in gods for protection.
"God?" Ian raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "No, I'm just passing through."
But the people clearly didn't believe him. In their eyes, what else could have protected them from Zeus's wrath but a god? Soon, more people gathered. Some whispered prayers. Others reached out to touch the hem of his robe as if seeking divine protection. They were commoners—the most innocent sacrifices in this war.
Now that the storm had subsided, they gazed up at Ian, their eyes filled with awe and gratitude.
"Please tell us your esteemed name!" a young man bravely shouted. "We will erect a statue in your honor and offer sacrifices! Let us forever remember your grace!"
The crowd persisted as if they couldn't rest until they had done so. The crowd grew larger, and their voices grew louder, as if they wanted to deify this mysterious Boy-Who-Lived as a new deity.
They were also seeking new protection.
"Sigh."
Ian sighed.
He could have simply walked away, but he hated seeing humans in this state, forever searching for new gods to depend on and entrusting their fates to more powerful beings.
So he stood his ground, surveyed the crowd, and slowly began to speak.
"I don't need your reverence, nor do I want your offerings. I am not your god, nor will I ever be your 'Boy Who Lived.' In truth, humanity should never rely on gods."
Though not loud, his voice struck each person's heart like a muffled thunderclap.
"What do you believe gods are? Benevolent benefactors who bestow blessings? Judgmental arbiters who deliver punishment? No, they are merely beings more powerful than you, and power is not synonymous with justice."
"You've always believed that only gods can save you and that only overwhelming power can determine your fate. But I tell you now, this very belief is a shackle. You have been enslaved, exploited, and sacrificed time and again precisely because you believe in gods."
The crowd fell silent. Some were confused, and some were uneasy, but no one dared to interrupt him.
"Look around you," Ian said, gesturing at the ruins. "This is the price of relying on gods. You entrusted your fate to Zeus, who casually decided your life and death. You knelt, prayed, and offered sacrifices, and what was the result? At his slightest whim, your entire city was reduced to ashes."
Some lowered their heads, while others clenched their fists.
"True freedom is not granted through prayer," Ian continued. "You must learn to rely on yourselves, to build your own homes, establish your own laws, and master your own power. Gods may bestow blessings, but they can also take them away. However, what you create yourselves, no one can ever steal."
Understand this: True power does not lie in the heavens, but within your hearts. You built this city with your hands, ignited civilization with your wisdom, and protect one another with your courage. If you unite, work diligently, cultivate knowledge, and strive for self-improvement, you can live peaceful and prosperous lives, even without divine protection." Ian's words carried an undeniable truth that enlightened these ancient people.
"Conversely, if you wait forever for a god to save you, you will be slaves forever. Your fates will always be in the hands of others, and you will merely passively accept whatever arrangements are made for you." His voice boomed with extraordinary clarity, ensuring that every hidden survivor throughout the city could hear him.
This undoubtedly involved some form of magic.
The old headmaster's speech magic often proved useful.
Ian's words stunned the crowd into silence. Some bowed their heads in thought, some wrestled with inner conflict, and some wore expressions of sudden realization. A frail woman began to sob quietly. "But we're just mortals. Without Divine Power, how can we possibly fight them?"
"Of course you lack divine power," Ian sneered. "I don't deny the gods' might, but I have greater faith in humanity's potential. You have intelligence, capable hands, and the power to unite. You can learn magic, forge weapons, and build your own city-states instead of eternally kneeling and begging for the gods' mercy."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across every face.
"Remember this: The gods rule over you, not because they are divine, but because you have grown accustomed to being ruled. So I implore you: Cease your worship of the gods! Learn to rely on yourselves, respect one another, and establish your own order and morality. Only then can you truly escape your suffering and usher in a brighter future."
Ian's words resonated deeply within each person's heart, landing with the force of truth.
Silence.
After a long silence, the elder who had spoken first asked, his voice trembling, "Then what should we do?"
"Stand up," Ian replied. "Don't kneel before anyone again. Starting tomorrow, plant the first seed, build the first house, write the first book, and establish the first rule. Little by little, day by day, until one day you create a world that no longer needs gods."
He took a step back, his black robes billowing in the absence of wind.
"No, I will not be your savior, nor your new god. If you truly wish to change your fate, then begin today. Stop waiting for the mercy of the gods." As his voice faded, his form twisted and blurred, transforming into a pitch-black raven that soared into the sky.
The raven swept past the shattered city walls and over the smoldering ruins before vanishing into the endless darkness. On the ground, the survivors stared blankly in the direction he had flown.
No one knelt.
No one prayed.
Only the wind howled through the ruins as if bearing witness to the dawn of a new era. Fear and despair no longer reigned supreme in their eyes; a glimmer of unprecedented light had taken root.
It was hope and the beginning of an awakening.
Zeus stood among the clouds, his golden pupils reflecting the masses in the ruined city below.
He had never truly left.
As God-King, he understood the danger of allowing humanity to awaken all too well. Once faith crumbled, the gods' authority would falter. Ian's words were like a spark thrown onto dry tinder.
"Humans shouldn't rely on gods," Zeus murmured, clenching his fist so hard that his knuckles turned white. Silent thunder brewed within the clouds.
He slowly raised his hand, and the phantom of the Sword of Olympus materialized in his palm. With a single strike, the entire ruined city would be reduced to scorched earth, and the newly kindled hope of humanity, along with their absurd aspirations, would be extinguished.
"Father."
A golden light blocked his path. The Sun God arrived, riding his solar chariot. Its radiant glow pierced the dark clouds. His face was obscured by the dazzling sun disk, but his voice rang clear and resolute. "Enough," he said.
Zeus's blade paused slightly.
"Do you wish to provoke the Raven again?" the sun god asked in a low voice.
"You dare question me?" Zeus's voice turned glacial, and the thunderous storm in the clouds erupted with a deafening roar. Lightning illuminated his menacing face.
The Sun God didn't flinch; he merely shook his head gently. The flames of his solar chariot flickered faintly, as if tainted by some invisible dread.
"I merely..." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I fear that bird."
In that instant, the air seemed to freeze.
Zeus's pupils contracted, and lightning flickered between his fingertips. He recalled the calamity of millennia past—Ian transformed into the raven, circling above Sky City's mountain, his pitch-black wings obscuring the sun and moon. When he landed, half the palace crumbled.
The lingering scent of charred flesh seemed to fill his nostrils once more.
Ultimately, Zeus chose to compromise.
Though he was old and increasingly senile, it was clear that the Raven had always been his greatest fear.
(End of Chapter)