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Such was the era under the dominion of the gods.
It was a form of divine husbandry. The gods did not guarantee divine grace to everyone, but by occasionally displaying their power, they perpetuated humanity's dependence on them.
"This feudal rule will inevitably be overthrown someday," Ian murmured to himself as he strolled through the city, a complex mix of emotions stirring within him.
Everything here bore the indelible mark of divinity yet remained intimately connected to human life. The gods were not distant, unreachable beings. Their will permeated every corner of existence through priests, the chosen, divine oracles, and miracles.
Yet this coexistence was far from harmonious.
In a corner of the market, he witnessed a woman who had been accused of blaspheming the gods being seized immediately by soldiers. In the central square, a prophet who had dared to proclaim, "Olympus will fall," was swarmed by an enraged mob and beaten to death on the spot.
"They fear the unknown," Ian whispered. "Even more, they fear losing their faith."
This was humanity under the rule of the gods. Even when a prophet who had blasphemed the gods was killed, the other marketgoers saw nothing amiss.
Someone would come to clean up.
Yet...
Life continued as usual.
Ian strolled leisurely through the market.
"No one seems to think there's anything wrong with killing someone for blaspheming the gods."
He ambled down the flagstone street flanked by priests in flowing robes and flower garlands, warriors in bronze armor with short swords at their waists, and ascetics murmuring fervent prayers. The air was thick with the aroma of olive oil and spices, punctuated by the occasional bark of temple hounds and the distant chiming of temple bells.
"Sir, would you like to try the Fates' Threads?" A veiled old woman suddenly blocked his path, her withered hands cradling several strands of golden thread that writhed on their own.
"Genuine artifacts from the Temple of Athena! They can predict fortunes and misfortunes three days in advance!" The woman was clearly a wizard, though she also carried a faint divine aura.
"Probably just a retired priest running a scam."
Ian glanced at the so-called "divine artifacts." His legendary status allowed him to instantly see through the charade, they were just ordinary threads imbued with a trace of the temple's aura.
"At best, they might induce a few vague prophetic dreams."
And they were the uncontrollable kind.
Of course, they weren't entirely without other uses. Among the excessively decadent Main Gods of this era, it was fashionable to use such threads to select handsome men and beautiful women for secret dream rendezvous.
For many ordinary mortals, this might be an extraordinary stroke of fortune. But at its core, it was simply the gods treating human society as a free brothel.
Only when they were in high spirits would they bestow trivial favors upon those they had bedded. The various Temples would then widely publicize these "benevolent acts."
Either way, the gods never lost.
Ian was certain that his striking looks had attracted the attention of a minor god, but he had no desire to be seduced by a petty deity in a dream.
Being seduced by a beautiful goddess wouldn't be too bad, but encountering Zeus or his notorious homosexual offspring would be disastrous. Everyone knew Zeus and his children preyed on both men and women.
"Thank you, but no," Ian politely declined the old woman. "I trust my own judgment more."
Even when needing divination, wizards sought out other wizards, not gods.
They sought help from other wizards rather than any gods.
"Hmmm, no faith?" The old woman grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. "A foreigner? No wonder you don't understand our ways. Here, those who don't believe in the gods don't live long."
Whether this was a threat or not, Ian smiled noncommittally and continued walking. Rounding a corner, the scene ahead became even more intriguing.
On a hastily erected platform, several white-robed youths were undergoing a "Divine Grace Test." They took turns touching a black stone etched with runes. Whenever someone successfully triggered a faint glow from the stone, the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers. Those who failed slunk off to the side, enduring the pitying glances of the onlookers.
"Son of Alcmene, qualified!" the officiating priest announced loudly. His voice was magically amplified to carry through the surrounding area.
"Granted admission to Delphi House!"
The named youth flushed crimson with excitement while his parents immediately knelt to thank Apollo for his divine grace. Ian noticed a faint lyre mark appearing on the youth's wrist, the god's "certification mark."
"Such an efficient method of control," Ian muttered to himself.
Tying supernatural power to educational resources ensures the Divine Descendants' superiority while giving commoners false hope. After all, who could resist a lottery that might allow their child to 'ascend the social ladder'?" This ruling method isn't unique to feudal times. Even later nations employed similar tactics.
"Even Hogwarts considers bloodlines," Ian mused, deeply moved by this realization.
As he pondered this, a commotion erupted near the city gates. The crowd parted like a tidal wave, with everyone kneeling. Ian followed their gaze and saw a squadron of silver-armored guards escorting a floating war chariot into the city. Seated atop the chariot was a young woman wearing a crescent-shaped diadem who was idly playing with a swirling ball of starlight that constantly shifted shape. Clearly, she was a priestess of Artemis.
"Silence! Hear the divine oracle of the goddess of the hunt!" The lead guard proclaimed loudly. "Tonight, at the full moon, all unmarked wild magic users must register at the temple. Failure to comply will be considered blasphemy!"
Ian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"It seems the gods aren't too tolerant of unregistered wizards."
He turned and walked away.
Deep within the alleyway, a group of raggedly dressed children huddled around an injured hippogriff. The once magnificent creature meant to soar through the skies now lay panting in agony with a broken wing.
"It's in so much pain," A girl sobbed. "But we can't find a healer. The Temple people said divine magic shouldn't be wasted on 'lesser creatures.'"
Ian paused to observe for a moment before suddenly crouching down. Under the astonished gaze of the children, he gently stroked the hippogriff's wound. A silver-gray light flashed, and the broken wing was miraculously repaired.
"This..." The eldest boy's eyes widened. "Are you a priest of the gods?"
"No," Ian replied, rising to his feet as his black robes fluttered in the wind. "Just a passing traveler."
He looked up at the towering temple complex at the city's center, where golden light swirled and the gods' divine authority weighed on the entire metropolis like a palpable force. Yet, deep in this alleyway amidst the children's joyous cheers and the hippogriff's clear, renewed cry, those who had suffered and been forgotten also lived.
"Life moves on."
Ian departed, leaving the alleyway behind.
He continued onward and eventually arrived at a quiet tavern. Located far from the bustle of the city center, the tavern was a gathering place for wanderers, mercenaries, fugitives, and those who refused to be bound by the gods.
He entered, ordered a glass of wine, and quietly settled into a corner to observe his surroundings. His decision to stay was no coincidence.
He sensed that all the patrons were wizards, making this clearly a gathering place for them. They all seemed uneasy, likely due to the recent decree issued by the Goddess.
A gaunt man approached him discreetly.
"Interested in joining an 'academic exchange,' friend?" the man murmured, his eyes glinting.
Ian raised an eyebrow. "What kind of exchange?"
"Informal," The man replied with a faint smirk. "The kind without Temple approval."
A flicker of interest stirred within Ian. He nodded.
Led by the man, Ian traversed a narrow alley and skirted several dilapidated buildings. They finally arrived at a deserted, cramped alley.
At the end of the alley, a figure cloaked in brown was vigilantly scanning the surroundings. The person held a bronze coin engraved with runes and tapped it three times against the wall.
Thump... thump... thump.
The wall rippled like water, revealing a hidden passageway.
At the end of the passage was an abandoned barn. Eerie blue magic lamps hung from the rough wooden beams, illuminating a crude wooden table in the center of the room. Over a dozen shadowy figures, some cloaked and some masked, sat around the table. The air was thick with the scents of herbs, sulfur, and parchment.
A wave of damp, musty air washed over him.
Though nighttime illumination was a luxury in this era, the room was unusually bright. Over a dozen candles floated in the air, casting an eerie blue glow.
Ancient rune scrolls covered the surrounding walls, and complex magic array patterns adorned the floor.
"Welcome, new friend," an elderly wizard said, his gaze as deep as a well. "You don't seem to be from around here."
"Indeed," Ian replied with a smile. "I'm a traveler, and I'm quite intrigued by your world."
"Then join us," the man said, gesturing for Ian to sit down. He sensed the faint aura of magical power emanating from him. "Tonight's topic is 'Elemental Spirits and Soul Resonance.'"
Ian sat down and began listening to the wizards' discussion.
"The night's exchange meeting begins," A deep female voice announced. The speaker was a woman wearing a raven mask who seemed to be the host of the gathering. "The usual rules apply: knowledge exchange, intelligence sharing, and no direct combat."
This appeared to be a highly disciplined gathering of wizards, and Ian observed everything with keen interest. The wizards' skill levels varied greatly. Some exhibited magical power fluctuations as faint as candlelight, while others barely qualified as competent.
Yet, without exception, their eyes held hidden fanaticism, the gaze of those who, in a world ruled by gods, yearned to control their own destinies.
"I'll go first," said a tall, gaunt man who stood up and pulled a yellowed parchment scroll from his robes. "This is the formula for 'Moonlight Potion,' which can conceal one's aura at night and evade the Temple Hounds' tracking. I'd like to exchange it for a 'Flame Resistance' incantation."
Soon, an elderly man in a crimson cloak raised his hand in response. After a brief, hushed exchange, the transaction was completed.
Next, a veiled young woman produced a ring inlaid with amethyst. "This ring can store a small amount of magical power, enough to save your life in an emergency," she said. "I want to exchange it for research notes on the essence of divine magic."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Clearly, the topic of "Divine Magic" was extremely sensitive.
"Are you crazy?" Someone hissed. "Researching Divine Magic is a capital offense!"
The young woman stubbornly pursed her lips, refusing to back down.
Just as the atmosphere reached a stalemate, a silent figure in the corner spoke up. "I have what you want."
All eyes turned toward the speaker, a man cloaked in deep blue, his face hidden by a silver-white mask that revealed only his sharp, piercing eyes. He withdrew a slim notebook from his cloak and slid it to the center of the table.
"But be warned," he said grimly. "The more you know, the sooner you die."
The young woman hesitated for a moment, then gritted her teeth, picked up the notebook, and handed over the ring.
Ian's gaze fell upon the notebook, and his silver-gray right eye flickered faintly. He "saw" its contents, not true research into Divine Magic, but rather, a dangerous spell for stealing the Temple's blessing power.
"Intriguing..." Ian murmured silently.
The gathering continued, and the transactions grew increasingly daring. One participant produced a talisman capable of briefly disrupting divine magic divination, while another offered to exchange methods for forging divine seals.
Someone even attempted to purchase information on "god-slaying weapons," though no one could provide any. Beyond these trades, their casual conversations delved into profoundly esoteric topics.
Topics ranged from controlling wind and fire and harnessing the power of celestial alignments to theories on "consciousness splitting" and "dream realm traversal." A young female wizard demonstrated a technique called "Shadow Realm Walk," gradually fading into transparency before the group as if dissolving into the void.
"Truly remarkable," Ian murmured in genuine admiration.
Though these wizards belonged to unofficial groups outside the Olympus system, their knowledge and techniques were far more primal, untamed, and dangerous than anything he had witnessed within the Temple.
They were an oppressed and marginalized group of heretics, yet they were also the true guardians of knowledge. Ian remained quietly observing until the gathering neared its end.
Suddenly, the woman in the crow mask rapped the table.
"The final item," she said in a near whisper. "According to reliable sources, the Gray Wizards' Association has recently been searching for a young wizard known as 'Black Robe, Green Eyes.' He once confronted Zeus at Rhodes Port. If anyone knows his whereabouts, the Gray Wizards' Association is offering the 'Golden Holy Spring' as a reward."
This was clearly a bounty.
The hall fell instantly silent.
Ian narrowed his eyes slightly. Oh? A local wizard organization is looking for me?
"Don't even dream of it," a wizened old wizard sneered. "Someone who can confront Zeus? Do you think we can handle that? The Gray Wizards' Association is trying to send us to our deaths!"
"But if we really had a lead . . ." someone ventured hesitantly.
"There are no ifs!" the old wizard snapped, cutting them off. "We're already risking our lives by hiding here and tinkering with these petty tricks. Don't go seeking death!"
The atmosphere grew tense.
Just then...
Boom!
The barn door exploded inward, sending splinters flying.
Blinding sacred light flooded the interior, accompanied by the clang of colliding armor.
"In the name of Athena!"
A Temple Knight clad in silver armor strode into the barn, pointing his longsword directly at the group.
"Blasphemers! You are all under arrest!" Six fully armed knights filed in behind him, followed by a high-ranking priest holding a golden scepter. The priest's eyes blazed with divine light. With a gentle tap of his scepter, the magical energy within the entire barn instantly solidified.
"Pitiful ants," the priest's voice echoed with divine resonance. "How dare you attempt to defile the sacred domain?"
The wizards immediately panicked. Some tried to cast illusions to escape, but found that their magic was completely sealed. Others fumbled for talismans but couldn't light them. Despair filled the air. They knew that any wizard caught by the Temple faced only one fate, the pyre, where their souls would be burned away too.
"No, this can't be!"
The woman in the crow mask trembled. "We set up an anti-prophecy barrier..."
The priest scoffed coldly.
"Before the power of the Goddess of Wisdom, your tricks are mere child's play." His tone dripped with arrogance.
The knights began to close in, their longswords glinting with an icy light.
Just as the wizards were about to fall into complete despair…
"Cough, cough."
A soft cough came from the corner.
Everyone froze and turned to look. There stood a young wizard, unlike the others, with a calm gaze fixed on the temple's envoy and the priest.
"If the Goddess of Wisdom doesn't want wizards, then let her face me directly." Ian spoke in a measured voice, yet it carried an undeniable edge of irritation.
He had been thoroughly enjoying listening to all of this ancient magical knowledge.
(End of Chapter)