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Play the Villain - Chapter 272 - Vol. 2 - Chapter 99: The Vampire of Olympus
🕑 Added 2025-10-16 15:09:53 +0000 UTCCrete.
The humans who had set out at dawn only returned from the forest in small, weary groups by evening. Most wore faces of exhaustion, their muscles sore and heavy. Every step was a struggle, and they had to carry their wounded comrades, slowing their progress even more.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, a handsome young man with a spear in one hand and a bronze shield in the other frowned, calling out urgently to the lagging members of his tribe.
“Hurry! We must reach the altar before sunset to make the offering to the gods!
If we fail, Olympus’ wrath will fall upon us, and we’ll face punishment again!”
The people clenched their teeth and pressed on, supporting one another as they moved forward. But as their pace quickened, those who had been lightly injured—walking alone so as not to burden the group—began gasping for breath, their faces turning pale.
Among them, a man whose left arm had been torn off at the shoulder lost his footing and stumbled. His hastily bandaged wound burst open, crimson spreading rapidly across the gauze wrapped around it. He tried to push himself up several times, but his strength failed him. Waves of dizziness crashed through his mind.
He knew this was the sign of severe blood loss, that he was close to fainting. Gritting his teeth in despair and fury, he slammed his right fist against a nearby tree.
“The gods! The gods! They’re nothing but bloodsucking parasites! We serve them with all our devotion, yet they’re insatiable—always demanding sacrifices, never caring whether we live or die!”
A sharp gust cut through the air. A spear whistled past his ear and struck the tree trunk with a heavy thud, splintering the bark and exposing the pale wood beneath.
“You trying to get yourself killed, you idiot? Shut up!”
The short-haired youth with flaxen hair and a shield glared fiercely at the wounded man, his voice filled with anger.
“Deucalion, am I wrong?”
The injured man leaned weakly against the tree, his vision darkening, but he still retorted bitterly.
“Olympus treats us like cattle! All day, every day, it’s sacrifices—more sacrifices!
To gather enough offerings, five died hunting yesterday and twelve were wounded. Today, seven more are dead, and fifteen brothers won’t be leaving their beds for days!
And after giving everything to the gods, what do we have left to eat?
Even if we can endure it, what about the women?
They’re starving—no milk for the infants! Who’s going to feed the children?
Don’t you know some of them are already on the brink of death?”
In the prosperous age of the Greek gods, the land was rich with grains and fruits, and wild beasts and birds roamed everywhere. Even without food or water, most could survive for years by drawing in the ether from the air.
Yet under such generous conditions, the human population had not grown at all. Instead, it was shrinking—people were dying of exhaustion and starvation.
It was absurd. A cruel joke of the divine age itself.
As the son of the prophet Prometheus and leader of the Crete people, Deucalion saw the doubt and resentment in his tribe's eyes. He found himself at a loss for words, his lips pressed tightly together.
“Enough talk. Let's return to camp first. We'll find a way...”
“Hot water, food, comfortable beds—the women have prepared all this and are waiting for us!”
Then the demigod Titan dropped his shield and spear, bent down to lift the wounded man, and led the humans toward the camp in silence. Fortunately, with their leader setting an example and offering encouragement, the tribe suppressed their complaints and supported one another as they marched.
Finally, after half an hour of grueling effort, they barely reached the camp before sunset. Before they could catch their breath, the exhausted group dragged themselves toward the altar. Following the divine revelation, they offered sacrifices in turn before the platform. There, Deucalion realized the game the men had fought so hard to obtain barely sufficed for the ritual. Similarly, the fruits, mushrooms, and edible plants gathered by the women left little surplus. Once the intricate rituals concluded, the Ether bound to these offerings would be absorbed by the gods along with the faith bestowed upon them. Tonight, hunger would likely return.
The young leader gazed at the gaunt faces of his people scattered across the camp, his brow furrowed in deep concern. The guilt of failing to fulfill the promise made on their journey weighed heavily on him, making it difficult to speak.
“Look! A new divine decree has arrived!”
Exhausted and hungry, the people who had taken a seat to await food distribution saw golden Titanic characters rise from the burning incense brazier. They craned their necks, crowding closer to watch.
“First, capture alive the fierce, fire-breathing bull of Crete and sacrifice it to Zeus, the God King?”
“Second, build temples for each of the gods as a sign of reverence?”
Deucalion first saw the oracle emerging from the flames, his face turning ashen. He nearly couldn't resist flipping off the distant Mount Olympus and blurting out a word he'd learned from a certain teacher.
“Damn it!”
The humans gathered around the altar, now hearing the oracle's demands, erupted into chaotic murmurs as resentment flared within them. Years of starvation and sporadic meals had left them on the brink of collapse, even with the blessing of the Mother Goddess. And now, these bastard gods demanded they bleed themselves dry—building temples and hunting even more powerful Magical Beasts.
“And now they want them alive? How many lives must be sacrificed before they're satisfied?”
“At this rate, humanity will die out before the Age of Gods even begins!”
“Contact Father and the teacher!”
Deucalion sighed deeply, turning to instruct his wife, Pyrrha.
...
Meanwhile, on the Peloponnese Peninsula, within a nascent city where broad avenues stretched between densely packed houses, a crowd of men and women gathered around a silver-haired, blue-eyed maiden whose smile radiated warmth. Some listened intently to her teachings, others raised hands to ask questions, their eyes brimming with reverence and admiration.
She hailed from Crete, the birthplace of humanity. Her mind was as deep as the ocean, her vision as vast as the sky. Whether it was survival skills like weaving, gardening, pottery, or animal husbandry; or the arts of life such as painting, sculpture, and music—she offered exquisite guidance in all. Indeed, her knowledge spanned everything from the smallest details of hunting formations to the grandest realms of navigation, agriculture, medicine, and order.
Not far away, within a building whose exterior appeared unremarkable yet whose interior had been expanded by spatial magic, Medusa presented chilled grape wine, inviting Samael, Tina, and Prometheus to taste it together. The ancient serpent eagerly sipped a mouthful. The refreshingly crisp and sweet flavor was so invigorating he couldn't help but drink it all in one gulp.
“Who knew you had such a knack for winemaking?”
Prometheus and Tina, equally impressed by the fine brew, offered their praise. Medusa gave a modest nod, not particularly inclined to boast. After all, her talents were few—cooking and winemaking among the few she could truly excel at. Outside, however, the “Cretan maiden” was a prodigiously talented polymath. Such terrifying natural gifts even made Medusa, who constantly competed with her, feel a pang of defeat.
Just as the group was enjoying their pleasant moment, a purple-and-gold Magecraft array pattern lit up on the table, projecting the figure of Deucalion before the Seers and Creators. After hearing the account from Crete's human leader, the atmosphere in the room grew oppressively heavy.
“How about I go take a look? Might as well capture that bull on Crete while I'm at it?”
Athena, having finished her lecture, walked in from outside and offered the suggestion with a smile.
