The Myth of the Greek Heavenly Demon

Chapter 70 – The Meeting With The Queen

-Diiiing!

Hestosias crafted a masterpiece befitting his reputation.
Unlike finger piano, it wasn’t sharp or hard, but the deep and soft strings showed strength beyond my imagination.
Even as my internal qi and the Heavenly Demon technique gradually intensified, my body, imbued with condensed vitality, amplified this several times, enhancing its power.
The mystical color of the strings, made of silver and pearl, perfectly executed the desired notes.
The high notes were even sharper, the mid notes were even heavier.
The change in tempo was instantly followed by its innate elasticity, and its skillful absorption of my internal energy, and the Godly Demonic Qi, transforming them into sound, felt as deep as plucking the ocean with one’s hand.
And that depth and power formed an excellent foundation capable of fully embodying the poignant and cruel essence of the Twelve Melodies.

-𝅘𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅰𝆕~𝅘𝅥𝅯𝆕𝅘𝅥𝅰𝆕𝅘𝅥𝅯~𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅰𝆕

The Twelve Melodies of Longing.
Twelve compositions created out of longing for one’s homeland.
The yearning and nostalgia for things now gone, felt in each piece, would make even the hardest of hearts weep.
It was even said that the Iron-blooded Emperor, who had never shown emotion since birth, cried his heart out.

However.
Was it truly because of such a musician?
Could a musician who only harbored faint and tender sorrows create the sound technique that brought the Lord of the Ten Thousand Demons to his knees?

Absolutely not.
A performance is a mirror reflecting the performer and a glimpse into the composer’s abyss.

Even a high monk, known as a living Buddha, carries a sword in his heart.
And a beggar, living off scraps, sharpens a hidden dagger in his heart.
Within the vast wilderness of the Underworld’s riverbank, amid the melodies of the Longing Ghost’s performance, I saw a ghost screaming fiercely within that dignified musician, who seemed like an immortal.

Beneath the tears shed while longing for the scenery of home, there was anger toward those who destroyed that homeland.
On the opposite side of the nostalgia for times that would never return, there was a murderous intent toward the world that erased everything.

Indeed, the scream filled with rage, befitting a Grandmaster of the Celestial Demon Cult, was heard through the beautiful golden notes.

It was eerie, like the sound of screams mixed in the midst of a bustling festival’s joy.
Cruel, like the fierce currents stirring beneath a beautiful water surface.

The confusion depicted by the ever-changing melodies and the beautiful blades flying within them was the true terror of the Twelve Melodies of Longing.
Not Longing but Ruinous Echo.
Why was the nickname “Ghost Sound” attached to the name that longs for home? It was an insidious sound technique.

As you listen to the rhythm to somehow block the blade of the sharp sound, the beautiful melody, and the surging abyss beneath it captivate your mind.
If you exhaust your mental power by being wary of that Ghost Sound, your entire body would be torn apart, leaving not a piece of flesh behind.
Once the performance begins, every sound you hear is a killing stroke or a false stroke, and every flow is a false stroke or a killing stroke—an invincible sound technique.

But.
Today.

For the first time, even after mobilizing all twelve movements of the Melodies of Longing, I faced a wall that couldn’t be touched, let alone killed.

The twelve movements that led to a state of ecstasy soon reached their climax.
The rhythm that fiercely swept in from all directions added to its demonic energy.

The goddess above my head and her divine power still hadn’t budged, but if I go through the last melody…
I wouldn’t know the outcome…

-Diiing!

“…!”

Just before moving on to the final movement.
My fingertips that fiercely danced over the strings suddenly slipped and stopped.

‘Wh-what on earth is this..?!’

In the desolate plain where even time had stopped.
The ghostly music I perfected through the pain of my soul being cut and torn.
Was disrupted by my own mistake?!

“Th-th-thiiis…!!”

What on earth was the problem?
Could it be that my performance ended so awkwardly just because my body changed, or because a few years had passed?
And that, in a situation where I boldly declared a challenge to a goddess of such high divine status that even my past self couldn’t dare to discuss victory or defeat?
It was an unbearable situation that made it feel as if all the blood in my body was flowing backward, and an uncontrollable rage surged.

“This is sooooo! Fucking shitty!!”

My pride?
The accomplishments inherited from the Twelve Divine Demons were my medals and proof of my life.
Evidence that I endured hellish times between death and life and ultimately earned the right to become the master of the Demonic Cult.
Therefore, I couldn’t accept that the Twelve Melodies were interrupted midway due to my own mistake.

“Aaaaaarrrggghhh!!”

I swung my hand, wrapped in divine energy, with a scream filled with directionless anger.
At the end of my blood-red vision was a nameless crack that screamed for the first time today.

[Enough.]

Just before my grip shattered the crack.
A delicate hand, deserving to be called a jade-like beauty, somehow grabbed my wrist and firmly restrained it.
My mind, which had been blazing like a wildfire suddenly turned cold, and instead of anger, a cold vigilance flowed down my spine.

‘…Strong!’

Even though I had momentarily lost my reason, my trained reflexes and senses didn’t just disappear.
I knew well how ridiculous it was for my heated head to cool down so quickly.
However, if I had sensed a presence behind me in such a heated state, my anger would have targeted that presence, not some random air.
This divine young woman who grabbed my hand suddenly appeared behind me and seized my hand just as suddenly.
Not just any power, but the power that absorbed all of the divine energy.
I was shocked by the strength that lightly grabbed my wrist, a strength that even Eris or Nemesis couldn’t easily block.

“You’re bleeding.”

“…Bleeding?”

It was exactly as she said.
My still-tender fingertips were cut and split, and before I knew it, both my gayageum and my hands were covered in blood.

If there was one unspoken rule for me and my master when playing the instrument.
It was to never protect our hands by any other means.
Covering the hands with something dulls the senses, and playing with dulled senses reduces the impact and emotion of the performance by more than half, making it difficult to know where the fingers slowed down or missed a note.
So out of habit, even in this performance, I played with bare hands, without enveloping my hands in energy or strengthening them with divine magic.
This time, my still immature body.
My body, which couldn’t keep up with the years etched into my soul, held me back.

“It must hurt.”

A soft voice, as if coaxing a child, whispered in my ear and gradually came closer.
The beautiful goddess’s face signaled to me playfully and then approached the hand she had grabbed, passing my face.

If elegance could manifest as power, like internal energy or divine power, would it look like this woman?
She was a goddess draped in charm and authority beyond beauty, to the point where such idle thoughts arose.
Her subtle pearlescent halo, like a Photoshop effect, further accentuated her surreal beauty.
Her gestures and movements exuded such dignity and grace that they made the majesty and elegance of the Empress and Princess I once met through the Emperor’s introduction seem like a child’s first steps.

“Hoo~”

Like a mother soothing a child who got hurt while playing.
The goddess, with a benevolent yet mischievous smile, blew on my blood-soaked hand.
Was it a trick of the eye, or the power of a goddess?
A light similar to the divine energy she was surrounded by seemed to linger in her breath and touch my hand.
As the goddess’s breath permeated my wound, I understood the new potential of divine energy and why it was named the power of the gods.
The blood flowing from my finger to my hand and wrist gradually disappeared, as if it were a poorly drawn picture.
My finger, which had been deeply cut and almost gouged out, healed in an instant, as if time had reversed.

“The second child got hurt playing with a spear he received from his brother long ago. Boys are so reckless.”

The goddess, who smiled kindly as if she couldn’t help it, quietly stepped back without a sound.
Naturally, following her and turning back, I sternly asked while making eye contact…

“Do you now know who I am?”

There were many beautiful goddesses.
From my self-proclaimed sister, Eris, who was like a fool, to Nemesis, who wielded the pure white judgment sword and directly countered my sword, even Artemis, the psychopath of the forest, all of whom would have been exhausted by their beauty if they had been born as humans.
However, the goddess in front of me was uniquely beautiful among those goddesses. Moreover, she exuded a higher level of authority than them.
If anyone were to face her, even a blind person would naturally utter her name.

“Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Goddesses…”

And the Hero Breaker.
Hera.

In this forest, the goddess who runs atop the towers, whom one must never encounter, had revealed herself before me.

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