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chapter 162
On a Mediterranean island in Southern Europe,
in a marble temple that had stood for well over a thousand years and was now crumbling,
the candlelight suddenly flared, dispelling the darkness entirely. A completely white world emerged.
Pure white is, by nature, the color symbolizing Zeus, the god of gods.
When the sky he governs, thunder, lightning, law, and justice are all pure white, his legitimacy is fully recognized.
The masks on the table illuminated by the candlelight were the same.
Pure white everywhere.
Yet the different patterns around the eyes, on the cheeks, or across the forehead signified distinct identities.
—The sons of Zeus.
A secret society active worldwide.
They could communicate their intentions through their organization’s unique ritual, [Prosopon].
[Prosopon]
A mask worn and removed by actors in ancient Greek theater.
Even a single actor could portray different characters depending on the mask worn. While wearing the mask, the personality and legacy of that mask were conferred onto the actor.
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Type: Ritual
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Origin: Dionysian rites
“Ladamnthys… By now, Max’s report should have reached everyone. Shall we begin the meeting?”
Ancient Greek theater originated as a religious ceremony honoring Dionysus, the god of wine and drama.
Thus, the chairperson presiding over this meeting was Dionysus himself.
His mask, adorned with a grape motif, showed a mad expression that seemed half-laughing, half-crying.
When he spoke from the head of the circular table, the other masks responded in turn.
“Is there even a point in debating? Of course, we have to draw him into the negotiation! He claims to be ‘Father’s’ apostle! This is our chance to obtain Astrafe!”
“I agree.”
“Same here…”
“No objections from me either. We have to bring him to our side. Isn’t it time to stop this tiresome treasure hunt?”
Most agreed that they needed to offer conditions appealing to Zeus’ apostle, Guire, to obtain clues regarding Astrafe.
It was proof that they had grown weary over time.
Unlike Max, who openly revealed his face, most of Zeus’ sons concealed theirs.
In the real world, they each had their own occupations.
Yet occasionally setting aside their jobs to carry out the organization’s affairs was no easy task.
Now, with their objective in sight, impatience was inevitable.
“Everyone, calm down. This is not something that can be decided so easily.”
At that moment, a mask crowned in gold spoke.
Minos.
The founder of Cretan civilization’s laws and systems, a master strategist, and after death, said to have become a judge of the underworld.
He was Ladamnthys’ elder brother and currently served as the organization’s military strategist.
“You may not know, but Guire has never once admitted to being an apostle of Zeus. He hasn’t even shown any relics of ‘Father’.”
“Hmm…!”
“Really?”
“That’s something I hadn’t realized.”
Minos’ words instantly cooled the previously heated atmosphere. He had the tact to calm a room full of brave warriors.
“Then, may I ask the military strategist what he intends to do?”
Dionysus rested his chin and asked in a languid voice, fitting of a god who governs ecstasy and decadence.
“I believe we need to test him.”
At once, flames ignited in Minos’ mask eyes.
“A test…”
“Yes. To confirm whether he truly is ‘Father’s’ son.”
“But your brother already confirmed it, didn’t he? He definitely used the Keraunos. And the lightning’s color was pure white like marble, right?”
Dionysus teasingly questioned him, as if doubting his own brother, but
“Techniques can always be stolen. The white color of the lightning is strong evidence, but he might have used some trick to make it appear white.”
Minos remained resolute.
“If he really is ‘Father’s’ apostle, there’s no reason for him to avoid it. Moreover, I don’t think it would be harmful to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he can ally with us.”
Minos’ voice carried a commanding force.
“We, Zeus’ sons, are already a major power with influence over world affairs. ‘Father’s’ apostle would not refuse the chance to have us behind him.”
Zeus was the most power-hungry of the Olympian gods, and his offspring were no exception.
‘That’s why they take this absurd masquerade so seriously.’
Snikt.
A scornful laugh echoed briefly through the meeting room and disappeared.
Even though he was merely a successor of the legacy, those pretending as if they were the ‘true’ sons of a god seemed laughable.
“Alright. Then how do we verify him?”
“We bring him and swear him upon the River Styx. Confirm that he truly is Zeus’ apostle.”
“Oh, that’s a solid plan. It’s so convenient having you, Minos.”
Dionysus grinned.
The Styx oath was an inescapable curse for those carrying Olympian legacy. Even without such a legacy, swearing on matters related to Olympus bound one to Styx.
“Then… who will take this task? If Guire swears willingly, there’s no problem. But if not, someone must enforce it. And if he truly is ‘Father’s’ apostle, we’ll need a bargaining card.”
“I will abstain. I inherited wisdom, not bravery, from ‘Father.’”
Minos stepped back.
Dionysus scanned the room with his eyes.
“I won’t participate either.”
“Guam? Too far. I’m out as well.”
“Sorry, I can’t execute it immediately either. I have matters to attend.”
But every mask that met his gaze averted slightly.
They feared provoking Zeus’ wrath.
“In that case…”
“I’ll go.”
At that moment, a lion-mane-adorned mask responded.
“Oh, Hercules. You?”
The son of Zeus famed for immense bravery.
“I’ll join as well.”
“And I… I want to see the Keraunos with my own eyes.”
Perseus and Aiakos.
The slayer of Medusa and the builder of Troy’s walls.
Dionysus chuckled.
“Haha. Excellent. The three of you can be trusted. ‘Father’ will be impressed. As the chair, I cannot simply remain idle.”
Dionysus offered a long-fingered hand, holding something.
“A sacred cup. Any drink poured becomes wine and shows the drinker a vision of ‘Father.’”
[Kantharos]
A sacred relic used by Dionysus during resurrection rites.
It lifts the burden of self-consciousness at ecstatic moments, elevating a human to divine status. Drinking it can occasionally show glimpses of the future or enable revival without pain.
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Type: Sacred relic, blessing item
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Origin: Dionysian rites
“…You’re offering this?”
Hercules looked incredulous, alternating between the cup and Dionysus.
The others widened their eyes. Among the sons, it was nicknamed:
—The Cup of Resurrection.
It contained the myth of Dionysus, who had died and been revived.
Who in this world wouldn’t want immortality?
Dionysus grinned.
“Why? If you think it’s inadequate, shall I take it back?”
“…No. If you trust us this much, we must complete the mission, no matter what.”
Hercules took the cup decisively, cutting through the darkness.
Some masks clicked their tongues, but Hercules’ prowess made their doubts irrelevant.
“Then, first, we should set off to Guam.”
And so, Hercules, Perseus, and Aiakos disappeared into the darkness.
“Then I suppose…”
“We’ll hear good news soon.”
“The throne won’t remain unclaimed much longer.”
The other masks smiled expectantly before vanishing. Minos gave Dionysus a light nod and disappeared.
Finally…
Only two masks remained lit by the candle.
The chair, Dionysus, and
“Do you have anything to say, Apollo?”
The Sun and Arts god, seated opposite.
A blazing sun emblem on his right eye was striking.
“…Nothing.”
Apollo stared at Dionysus as if probing for something, then shook his head and rose.
Slide—
“Pathetic.”
Dionysus watched Apollo leave, a half-smile playing on his lips.
An ambiguous smile.
After another drink, the cup emptied.
A tap of his finger, and wine filled it again.
“Wine is the blood of the gods and humanity’s greatest gift.”
A variant of Plato’s words.
Raising the cup, Dionysus clinked it toward the light, like the sun or the heavens.
“To our late ‘Father,’ a toast.”
He drank the wine in one gulp and threw the cup to the floor.
Clang!
With a clear yet eerie sound,
Splash—
Wine spilled like blood among the shattered pieces of the cup.
In ordinary human society, the day is defined by “daylight.”
Stock and bond markets open only while the sun is up; office workers focus during the day. The world revolves around daylight.
But in Guam, the day begins at “night.”
The rumors regarding Guire spread wildly during the early morning.
—Zeus’ apostle, Guire, declared war on the City Cartel.
—All the cartel’s operations on Tumen Strip were destroyed, their assets seized.
—No cartel members survived.
Wars happened frequently in Guam, so this wasn’t shocking.
But the fact that the target was the City Cartel posed a problem.
A colossal force led by the top-ranked “Drug King.”
And a single individual dared to attack it?
Some laughed at the madness; others cheered with delight.
No Guam resident was untouched by the cartel, so reactions varied widely.
Thus, the name Guire instantly became the hottest topic in Guam.
“Guire? Apostle of Zeus? Hah… It’s amazing that Zeus even had an apostle, considering we never saw him. But how long can it last?”
“You know nothing, do you?”
“Hmm? About what?”
“All the remnants of the cartel in other districts, plus their subordinate gangs—they all got crushed at Tumen Strip.”
“Could it be…?”
“All gone.”
“…!!”
“And that’s why Guire, aiming to sweep up the remnants, went to the slum area in Dede earlier and cleaned everything. Tonight, he’ll move to the Afra Port District.”
“Insane…! What if the Drug King retaliates…!”
“He’s clearly mad, committing reckless acts. That’s why the cartel at the port is on high alert.”
“Huh…”
“Plus, he even got a sponsor.”
“A sponsor…?”
“Yes. The main sponsor is a bullfighter from the underground arena. And it seems he’s recruiting others too.”
“…!?”
—Guire has a sponsor.
—The underground arena: “The Slaughterhouse.”
A sponsor for a freelancer indicates immense fame.
His every action influenced the standing of companies.
In Guam’s survival-of-the-fittest world, the number and scale of sponsors determined a freelancer’s rank.
With “The Slaughterhouse” as a sponsor, his rank exceeded top-tier A.
“So he’s inflating his power to challenge the cartel. Thought he was just a destructive maniac, but he’s clever too. He even openly claims he’ll take Ribons?”
“Huh…”
“That’s why La Sambrana and Black Maria are considering sponsorship too.”
“…!!”
La Sambrana was a long-established power in Guam; Black Maria was a major force among the “Axis of Evil.”
If they joined, Guire’s reputation would skyrocket.
“Then… are you coming too?”
“If we’re climbing, we should secure the lead quickly. Your business could also gain prestige. Let’s go together.”
“Y-Yes. Let’s hurry before the positions fill up!”
Two businessmen involved in arms smuggling and mercenary operations at Afra Port hurried out of the coffee house.
A young man observing them sent a text with a satisfied smile:
—B37 sector complete. Moving to the next location.
The apprentices of The Slaughterhouse, usually only advertising its name, today went all out spreading Guire’s fame across Guam.
