Artemis now greatly admired him and believed that the love of gods burned too fiercely for a mortal like him to survive.
Because of this,
She felt a pang of sympathy and even had the idea of pulling him away from her brother Apollo's reach first.
For the sake of her brother, who gave her no end of worry, she would reluctantly find an opportunity to claim him as her own devotee before Apollo got the chance.
After all, her brother Apollo had shown no sign of expressing any desire to take him on as a devotee.
Even if he had that thought in his heart, as long as no words had been spoken, the (follower) devotion had not been claimed.
First come, first served.
Sorry, brother. Do not blame me. This is for your own good.
Apollo, completely unaware, had no idea his own sister had also set her eyes on the hero he had chosen: shaking with indignation!
So this is how it is going to be! Fine!
If you saw someone you liked and wanted to claim him for yourself, just say so! Why dress it up as doing your brother a favor and steal a man in broad daylight under that banner?
Thanks so much!
Back on the ground, Night said farewell to Telephus and set off on the return journey with his attendant.
Even though he had only used the people here to build his reputation, having an attendant by his side when he eventually faced Agamemnon did better fit the image of a hero.
Every bit of credibility that could be added was worth adding.
If the risk of exposure ever arose, he could find a moment to send Kleis away first.
Night had gone into this journey with a resolve to see it through no matter the cost, but he had no intention of dragging too many others down with him, even if this was only a simulated history.
But when the great changes generated by the simulation had already grown powerful enough to affect reality, there was no longer any real difference between the two.
Every action he took could change the lives of many people.
Precisely because of that,
Fully aware of the weight behind every decision, Night was not someone who would casually use the lives of others in the simulated universe as a tool to achieve his goals by any means necessary.
That was a line he would not cross.
Some things, once done too many times, could not be undone.
Otherwise, he would eventually end up as cold-blooded, selfish, and dismissive of human life as any other Greek hero.
Night had no desire to become that kind of person.
When he arrived at the port with Kleis, Telephus personally came down to see them off with his people and even gifted him a fully equipped, fine mid-sized vessel.
Night played one last piece on the lyre as a farewell.
As that hauntingly beautiful, sorrowful melody of parting drifted over the Mysian coast with a skill that bordered on the supernatural, even the seagulls circling in the distance came down and settled on the nearby rocks, as if shedding quiet tears.
Even animals stopped in their tracks for the music.
This scene, one that had only ever appeared in epics and legends, played out in plain sight, and brought him even greater renown.
A hero named Griffith, a hero who played the lyre and could fill the world with beautiful music.
That reputation traveled toward the Trojan War even faster than he did toward Greece.
And arriving at the Trojan front before him was the letter of recommendation Telephus had already written.
Odysseus was the first to receive it.
When he read the name in the letter, Griffith Lista,
A flicker of suspicion rose in him; after all, he had never heard of any hero with that surname.
But he read through the whole letter quickly, especially the part about the descendant of an Argo hero and even the claim that his grandfather was on very close terms with the great hero Heracles.
Odysseus was surprised, but regardless of whether it was true or not, he didn't dare to be negligent and personally took the letter to Agamemnon.
When Agamemnon heard the news, he did not think much of it.
Griffith? Kratos? Never heard of either. Some backwater hero from who knows where.
He held no real expectations for this outside support.
Unless the newcomer was on the level of Achilles, more ordinary heroes made little difference to the current state of the battlefield.
Heroes were the one thing his camp had no shortage of.
.
.
.
On the Trojan side, which also received word, Paris and the other Trojan heroes paid the news no attention at all.
Only Hector felt something stir within him. Hearing that familiar name, he tightened his fist. He knew his brother had succeeded.
He had no idea how he had managed it, or how he had convinced the son of Heracles to personally vouch for his identity, but with that kind of official backing behind him, the plan was solid.
Thinking back on the mad, bold plan outlined in the temple, Hector tightened his fist again, his blood running hot.
You will make it. My brother.
For no other reason, Hector simply held that level of unshakeable trust in him.
And Chryseis, who also received word that same day, shut herself in her room for the entire day and began praying for him.
Praying that he would return safely and smoothly, with Briseis at his side.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, the addition of a new force to the Trojan battlefield inevitably drew the attention of the gods above as well.
However, Zeus and the gods around him found they knew very little about this hero who had appeared from nowhere.
Zeus furrowed his brow slightly.
Much like Agamemnon, he assumed this was probably some unremarkable minor hero not worth much concern.
But his overwhelming need for control still led him to want information on this Griffith.
He summoned his son Hermes, the messenger of Olympus, and sent him to the Mysian coast, where Griffith first appeared, to gather whatever intelligence he could on this hero.
With the winged sandals of Hermes, any point in all of Greece was reachable in an instant, and Hermes arrived at the Mysian coast very quickly.
Hermes originally wanted to trace the origins of Griffith and use his divine power to find the source of his birth, which was his hometown.
But Apollo and Artemis had each already placed a kind of divine shield around him, using their power to block other gods from tracing him through divine means.
This left Hermes without his most useful ability, and he could only fall back on the most ordinary method, asking questions in person and listening to what people said.
He did not find this particularly annoying.
After all, Greece was not that large, and practically every hero had some connection to the gods.
This Griffith probably had some backing behind him as well.
So Hermes transformed himself into a mortal and began making the rounds, gathering stories about Griffith.
Very soon, the outrageous tales about Kratos Lista and everything Griffith Lista had done in this land started coming in one after another.
But that was a matter for later.
.
.
As for Night at this moment,
He was out on the open sea, sailing with the crew Telephus gifted him.
But unlike the calm, smooth crossing he made from Troy toward Greece a few days ago, this time was different.
One of the crew came to warn him that by the look of the sky, a storm was coming soon and suggested he take shelter in the cabin.
Night looked up at the heavy, dark clouds gathering ahead, with distant rumbles of thunder and flickers of lightning already visible, and his brow creased.
Unusual weather on a normal sea was something he would not find strange.
But this was a world where gods existed.
Many shipwrecks had divine hands behind them.
Thinking about it, Night could not help but feel uneasy.
Which god had quietly decided to act against him this time?
Was something out there trying to stop him from returning safely?
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(End of the Chapter)