The Myth of the Greek Heavenly Demon - Chapter 67

Chapter 67 – A Completed Work, A Completed Story

“Are all musicians like you, always spouting incomprehensible nonsense? What are you even saying?”

“Damn, even that boar Hercules had some class; he would react well to such tales.
Have you been hitting metal so much that your head has turned into metal too? That’s why your head is…”

“Mumble krkrzhrr…”

Even Jesus, who mostly stayed silent despite many prayers, couldn’t bear the bald joke of the bald evangelist and gave the kids a bear punch. It wasn’t for nothing that he did that.
Even a god, who usually remains indifferent, sees mocking someone for their baldness repeatedly as cruel.
And I, too, couldn’t mock his brilliant bald head, even if it wasn’t for divine retribution.

It was just too much.

Anyway, that was the end of the story of the Longing Ghost Sound.
Although he often shared various travel stories, the Longing Ghost Sound was particularly reticent about himself.
Even during training, he rarely mentioned his past, so I had to investigate it myself.

“Oh, right. Master’s main technique was the Sound Arts.”

“What?”

It was the realm of Sound Arts created by the Longing Ghost Sound, known as Striking Sound.
Generally, Sound Arts warriors would infuse their qi into a musical instrument and project it through sound waves, striking the opponent’s brain through their ears or inducing internal injuries by it.
It could be seen as a kind of ultrasonic attack, but the Longing Ghost Sound went beyond this, projecting lethal intent that surpassed any famous sword or launching sound attacks reminiscent of cannon fire.
Invisible attacks flew chaotically within dazzling performances, striking wherever the sound could be heard.
Therefore, when the sound of the golden instrument echoed not in a theater but on a battlefield, the enemies would flee in panic, shouting for their lives.
It was unavoidable, unstoppable, and undetectable.
No matter how chaotic the battlefield, the golden sound that precisely sought out its enemies was superior to any search technique.
An astonishing sound technique that instantly grasped the vast battlefield and freely took the enemy’s neck.
Even the world’s greatest masters could count on one hand those who survived half of the twelve tunes of the Longing Ghost Sound.
Among them, less than three survived until the last of the twelve tunes.

“…Is that even possible?”

“Honestly, even to me, it seems incredibly perverse…”

No warrior in the world, if they intended to strike a target, would draw a sword, let alone think of turning the sound of a golden instrument they were playing into a lethal strike.
Rather, if it were like typical sound techniques that shake the mind or cause internal injuries, it would be ordinary.
During his wandering days, he faced thieves who coveted his talent, and it was lamentable that a master swordsman, not using a sword but Sound Arts to cut people, even conceived such an idea.

“Do you know why he created such a bizarre martial art?”

“What the reason?”

“…he said it was because he found it bothersome to draw his sword and get up to cut people while performing.”

If other swordsmen in the world heard this, they would cough up blood and flip out at those words.
Indeed, I was getting beaten up by his golden sound, coughing up blood, and listening to such nonsense.
No one could imagine how absurd it was for me.

“He’s truly an incredible eccentric. Magicians seem more humane.”

“The problem is that it was genuinely powerful.”

The terror of a performance where life and death could be decided in an instant.
Yet, if he played, it was said to be so captivating that even the clamor of the battlefield would fall silent.
No one could deny that his musical skill, as well as his martial prowess, was of the highest level.

“Using instruments and music as a medium for magic is quite common, but creating a sword sharper than a real blade through magic is something I’ve never heard of…”

Could it be that in the martial arts world, or should I say, Hyperborea, such eccentrics were rampant? Hestosias looked at me with a sense of disbelief.

“Oh, don’t worry. That man was a unique existence among such masters of Sound Arts. Most of them were just those kinds of guys.”

When the rumor spread that I had inherited the Twelve Melodies of the Longing Ghost Sound, not only in the church but also in the martial arts world.
Not only masters of sound techniques but also renowned musicians came to challenge me or to hear even a bit of the melody of the Longing Ghost Sound.
At that time, I was just beginning to stand out in the Demon Sect, and the corrupt leader, trying to check and disgrace me, had me play the instrument.
Thanks to that, I had a beneficial time listening to the sound techniques scattered throughout the murim world and many famous pieces.

“I can confidently say that I’m the only one who perfected the Twelve Melodies of the Longing Ghost Sound and reached the level of my master.”

One could say it was an unparalleled blessing in the martial arts world.
If there were another human weapon striking with extreme precision stealth on a full-range radar, a beautiful bloodbath would have swept through the martial arts world.

“Heh, should I believe this or not?”

“Believe it or not.”

Honestly, even after seeing Hestostasias’s work with my own eyes, I couldn’t believe it.
Hestostasias could hardly believe these otherworldly stories either.
If the gayageum is perfectly completed, it wouldn’t be too late to talk about it then.

“Anyway, most instruments can’t handle three rounds of sieving, and the strings break, and the soundbox gets destroyed.”

In that sense, the olive tree that Hestosias used was truly an excellent body for the instrument.
By condensing the vitality of the wood internally and compressing its essence, the body, shaped with unusual crimson fire and chisel, was harder than any ordinary steel.
Moreover, the unique soft resonance of the wooden body, further enlivened by the wood’s vitality, showed an even more vivid and deep resonance. Any musician who saw it would be in awe and would try to obtain it, even if it cost a fortune.

“But what worries me is that instrument’s strings.”

Pearl and silver, maybe?
The way they were spun into threads was certainly magical. But more directly exposed to energy than the body were the golden strings.
In a previous life, even though I had used the body of the gayageum for quite a while, the strings made of Heavenly Hall thread from a ten-thousand-year-old iron had to be replaced almost annually.
It was inevitable to wonder if the threads made of pearl and silver would be strong enough to withstand the Twelve Melodies.

“Hmm… putting everything else aside, ten-thousand-year-old iron sounds like a pretty hard metal. How hard must it be?”

“Ten-thousand-year-old iron? Well…”

In the murim world, ten-thousand-year-old iron was almost unmatched in terms of hardness and resistance to heat and qi.
I hadn’t thought much about its strength, but based on my experience…

“A novice who unknowingly touched the severed Heavenly Hall thread once had his fingers cut off.”

To the eye, it was merely a beautiful frost-colored metallic thread.
But its sharpness and hardness were treasures comparable to those of any famous sword.
So much so that the twelve swords made by melting the severed instrument thread and mixing it with iron were packaged as divine swords by the leader and awarded to the post-heroic masters who achieved great feats.

“In that case, yes, it makes sense that my threads might be doubted.”

Hestosias, who had finished the bodywork in the meantime, stood up with a grin that contradicted his self-deprecating words and held up a thread that shimmered with a peculiar milky light.

“Alright, then. Now it’s your turn to ask. I’ll tell you a story while I wind the thread. Ask me anything.”

Hestosias, who seemed like he would spout some obscene joke, spoke plainly and then carefully began to handle the string as I had ordered.

He applied a mixture of various herbs and powders with oil to a brush made of deer hair, meticulously brushing each strand, checking for any issues, and if something seemed off, he would lightly tap it with a chisel enveloped in flames to correct it.
The more I watched Hestosias, the more peculiar of a blacksmith he seemed to me.

“I heard you’re the representative artisan of the Forest of Heroes?”

“Well, I’ve made a few decent things. But there weren’t any worthy users, so I didn’t even feel like picking up the hammer later.”

“Then why did you suddenly accept my random instrument request?”

That puzzled me.

Having diligently completed Hestosias’s quests while skipping classes, I naturally started hearing various stories about him.

“Crimson Fire Hestosias. The only blacksmith who can handle the blessing of Hephaestus, growling in the forge as the son of Hephaestus.”

The forge created with the blessing of Hephaestus, even among the sanctuaries of Chiron.
The crimson flame that roared at its center like a heart was not just any flame, but the divine fire left by Hephaestus, like the ember Hestia left in the hearth.
Hephaestus’s fire, which burns hotter than any other, never extinguishes, melts any metal instantly, and incinerates any impurity in a flash. For blacksmiths, it was truly the ultimate fire.
However, befitting such a divine power, it allowed any blacksmith to borrow its strength only once.
Even if he borrowed his own power, if he couldn’t produce satisfactory results, no matter how much wood he added and how much wind he blew, no metal would melt, and it would just sway annoyingly.
The only one who could handle the divine flame of Hephaestus, which had suddenly turned from a sacred tool of the forge into a mere symbolic mascot, was Hestosias.
True to the title of the blacksmith recognized by the divine flame, every sword he forged was a masterpiece, and kings and princes from renowned kingdoms didn’t hesitate to travel long distances to buy weapons from him.
One could understand how high his name stood.

But Hestosias, long before I entered, had refused all commissions and didn’t even lift a finger in the forge unless it was for minor weapon maintenance.

“Why is that?”

“Why else? Because it’s not fun.”

-Ding~

In an instant, Hestosias, who had strung the first string, lightly plucked it and nodded.

“How is it? Is it the sound you imagined?”

“…Oh.”

Clearly, it still needed more tuning, but it was definitely the sound of the gayageum that I had always played.

“You don’t need to say anything. It seems it turned out well.”

Hestosias, smiling contentedly, began to move his hands busily again.

“Humans who come looking for me always say the same thing. ‘I am a king. Make me a sword fit for a king.’ ‘I am a prince. Make me a spear fit for a prince.’ ‘I am a hero. Give me a shield worthy of a hero.’ It’s tiresome, like parrots.”

Hestosias, grimacing as if tired, had already finished the second string by then.

-Diling…

A slightly higher and softer sound than before.
This time, he turned his head and gave me a silent look. I nodded, indicating that I was listening.

“Well, I like working with ores that melt in the flame and steel that changes shape with hammering. But it’s only interesting the first few times, constantly handling weapons gets boring.”

-Ding~

After the third string, a softer and thinner sound resonated in the workshop, and Hestosias began to slowly pour out his inner thoughts to me.