The Villain of Ancient Greece

A few days later, a new type of drink made from fermented grapes, called ”wine,” began spreading throughout the city of Knossos.

In just a few short days, it had become wildly popular among the people, thanks to its smooth, mellow flavor and rich berry aroma, quickly becoming the drink of choice in the streets and alleys for Minosians to enjoy before meals or in the afternoons.

”Got time for a drink?” soon replaced ”Have you eaten?” as the most common greeting exchanged among the residents of Knossos.

Of course, not everyone could afford the high prices charged in the newly opened taverns, but that didn’t stop them from expressing their love for this new beverage in every conversation.

Because the joy and intoxication that wine brought, the bliss of forgetting all pain, was something nothing else could offer.

Those who loved wine didn’t necessarily idolize it, nor did they deliberately drink themselves into a stupor and remain unconscious all day.

They simply used it as a medium through which they could temporarily shed their masks and pretenses, abandon the roles and responsibilities they carried, release their stress, and allow their souls to rest, if only for a moment.

There was too little equality in human life, and too little joy.

Every child was born into the world crying, no one entered it laughing...

—Everyone must be born, whether they want to or not; everyone must die, whether they want to or not.

And wine offered an equal kind of happiness, cheap and within easy reach.

Whether rich or poor, it provided a delightful and relaxing escape.

So, no matter if tomorrow the sky falls, the earth cracks open, volcanoes erupt, or floods come—

—First, have a drink.

Reward yourself for your hard work, soothe your mind and body, and give your soul a brief rest.

—When life finally reaches its end, there’s no need to rush.

Sleep it off, and carry your burdens again when you awaken.

These were the teachings left behind by the scribe who had created ”wine” and shared this gift with others.

This philosophy, which ran counter to asceticism, combined with the approachable nature of the scribe and his heroic deed of saving Crete, quickly became a motto for wine lovers and gained widespread praise and acceptance.

Life was hard enough, and must go on, why not use wine to find a bit of joy in an otherwise illusory world?

As hundreds and thousands embraced this practice, the city of Knossos soon emerged from the shadow of the beast tide disaster and began to brim with an atmosphere of joy and celebration nearly every day.

On the other hand, however, the number of drunkards the city guards picked up from the streets during patrols also rose steadily.

After all, not everyone had the self-control to resist this kind of temptation, nor could everyone distinguish between loving wine and abusing it.

As a result, the production and livelihood of some households were affected by the spread of wine, and groups of grumbling or angry women started showing up at the source of it all to demand an explanation from the one responsible.

However, after a few cups of ”hot tea,” these women would often arrive full of anger and leave in good spirits.

Because not only did they experience the wonderful stress relief that wine provided, but they also received edicts from the scribe himself, along with the teachings conveyed through the belief surrounding wine.

—Those who truly love wine also love life; they understand moderation and will not indulge in debauchery, for that would be a desecration of this gift.

—Thus, anyone found by the city guards to have caused trouble due to drunkenness would not only be fined and sentenced to labor but would also be disqualified from participating in the Festival of Dionysus the following year.

The scribe personally promised that next year, he would prepare an unprecedented grand festival in Knossos.

During the event, not only would there be unlimited free wine for all to enjoy, but many new varieties would also be introduced for people to try.

If the event proved successful, it would become an annual celebration in Knossos.

Of course, those who had disgraced the art of wine with their drunken misdeeds during the current year would still be barred from attending the festival.

—In short: if you can’t control yourself, no wine party for you!

Very quickly, under the governance of this de facto ruler of Crete, who was now revered as the most sacred teacher in the hearts of the city’s wine lovers, the culture surrounding drunkenness in Knossos was corrected with remarkable speed.

For a time, not only were there no more drunkards lying about the streets and alleys, but ordinary people who had found a balance between relieving stress and living diligently were now filled with even greater enthusiasm for life.

Gradually, all of Crete was enveloped in a joyful and cheerful atmosphere.

The gift known as ”wine” was carried by traveling merchants and trading fleets to various city-states of Greece, in exchange for large quantities of grain, minerals, and other scarce resources, making life for the Minoans more prosperous and fulfilling.

~~

”Old Thales’ house, right? What’s wrong? Your husband is still having palpitations and insomnia? Tell him to cut back on the wine. It won’t help him sleep. Try milk or honey water instead.”

”From the Pittacus family? Want to know how to make better bread? Why not try this fermentation method?”

”Kleubra’s daughter? Had a falling out with your father and want to find work to support yourself? I remember you’ve studied weaving, why not ask at the temple? They seem to be in great need of cloth lately and are short on women workers...”

As the blushing young girl, with eyes sparkling with gratitude, finally left satisfied, Lorne looked at his now-cleared doorway and let out a long sigh of relief.

”You really are popular here in Knossos, Scribe...”

Basket in hand, Hestia glanced up at the nearly noon sun, rolled her eyes, and sighed in exasperation.

Originally, she had planned to go out early to buy some groceries and try a new recipe idea she’d come up with.

For this, the usually late-sleeping goddess of the hearth had even gotten up especially early.

But unexpectedly, from the break of dawn, a large crowd of women from Knossos had been gathering at her doorstep, all eager to greet a certain Scribe and ask for advice or guidance.

Thinking of the situation over the past few days, the increasingly harried Hestia felt another headache coming on and gaze toward Lorne grew more and more resentful.

Apparently, after previously complaining to this Scribe about family troubles with drunkenness and seeking his counsel, his unparalleled wisdom and approachable demeanor had spread like wildfire among the women.

And so, more and more women gathered in front of Hestia’s house to complain to the enlightened and wise Scribe.

True to the rumors, the Scribe was approachable and patient, doing his best to provide them with satisfactory answers and seemingly perfect solutions.

Gradually, the topics moved beyond just drunkenness...life issues, work troubles, even matters of the heart were brought up boldly by these women.

The Scribe’s reputation soared ever higher, and he soon became known as a genuine friend of women.

Every morning now, Hestia’s front door was crowded with throngs of women drawn by his fame.

Some came seeking genuine advice, some out of curiosity, and others simply because they were at that certain blossoming age...

At this moment, a certain ”Treasure of Women” couldn’t help but roll his eyes upon hearing Hestia’s grumbling.

”This is your doing, isn’t it?”

”I didn’t think they’d keep coming even after the original problems were solved...”

Hestia pouted in frustration, a trace of regret crossing her face.

At the height of the wine craze, when unchecked drinking led to numerous family conflicts, the women’s complaints naturally reached Hestia’s ears.

As the goddess of the hearth and protector of domestic peace, Hestia couldn’t just ignore it.

So she brought the noisy group of women to seek help from her external brain and the source of all this trouble—Lorne.

Unsurprisingly, the clever Scribe solved the wine-related issues with ease.

But in doing so, he inadvertently triggered a new wave of family crises.

This time, though, the victim was none other than the goddess of the hearth herself.

”If I had known, I’d never have let them in!”

Hestia looked at the external brain she had once hoped to have all to herself, smacking her head in regret.

Lorne, for his part, could only sigh helplessly.

Perhaps due to the divine nature of joy, indulgence, and pleasure, the original god of wine was not only wildly popular among men, women adored him even more.

Historically, the priestesses who followed Dionysus were all women, his most devoted followers, who would go mad with reverence whenever he appeared.

Legend had it that Orpheus, the son of the sun god Apollo and a genius musician, was killed by frenzied priestesses and female followers after accidentally wandering into a secret Dionysian ritual...

Thus, this ”Treasure of Women” trait likely became part of his very bloodline the moment he chose this divine path—and now it was impossible to shake off.

Sometimes, having too much charm really was a headache.

The beloved goddess of the hearth and the even more beloved future god of wine exchanged a glance, both sighing helplessly and gloomily.

With nowhere else to vent, Hestia began complaining about Lorne’s creation.

”You know, I still don’t understand why so many people like your wine. It’s just a means of numbing oneself, an escape from reality that doesn’t solve anything!”

”On the contrary, escaping may be shameful, but it’s useful.”

Lorne shook his head in rebuttal, his deep gaze falling on the bustling streets outside, on the many faces glowing with contentment, as he spoke meaningfully.

”Not everyone must face bloody reality head-on and become a hero who conquers all adversity. Taking detours and escaping is also a choice.”

Not everyone must, or wants to... be a hero?

Hestia murmured softly, and couldn’t help but think of herself.

Compared to her blood relatives on Mount Olympus, who were obsessed with pursuing kingship and divine authority, she was so very different.

Perhaps, to them, she, the eldest sister who refused to strive, was also running away in her own way.

Lorne glanced at the thoughtful Hestia and spoke again in a measured tone.

”Besides, what humans choose has nothing to do with wine.

A brave soul will not, because of one more cup of wine, completely fall into illusion and become weak.

Nor will a coward, because of one less cup of wine, suddenly have the courage to face grim reality and charge forward.

They are simply seeking a temporary resting place for the soul, so that after a brief respite, they will have more courage to step forward again.

That’s why the presence of wine didn’t make Knossos collapse in disorder, on the contrary, it helped more people step out of their pain and shadows and embrace life with greater love.”

As he spoke, Lorne gestured to the pedestrians and vendors outside, using reality as an example.

”If you don’t believe me, look, doesn’t Knossos have a lot more smiling faces now than before?”

”It’s really as magical as you say?”

Though the truth was right before her eyes, Hestia still looked a little skeptical.

”I’ve had wine before, it never made me feel the way you’re describing.”

”Nonsense! That’s because you’re one of the Twelve Olympians.

How could a mortal-made beverage affect you? But if it were a fine vintage brewed by my own hand...”

At this point, his words trailed off.

Lorne glanced at Hestia beside him, shook his head, and waved his hand, putting on a look of consideration.

”Forget it, forget it. That batch is too strong, I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle it. It’d be bad if you lost composure in front of others...”

”I am a dignified chief god! What haven’t I seen? You think I’d be afraid of a couple jars of your wine?”

Feeling slighted, the goddess of the hearth immediately bristled.

Seemingly awed by her fierce aura, Lorne solemnly expressed his respect.

”My lady goddess, how brave you are...”

”Of course! I’m super brave!”

Hestia raised her brows and patted her chest confidently, then eagerly reached out toward Lorne.

”Bring it! Two jars!”

”How about... we just forget it...”

”Enough nonsense, four jars!”

”I do have a low-alcohol fruit wine...”

”Shut up! Watch me today, I’ll finish every last drop of whatever wine you’ve brewed!”

Driven by relentless provocation and repeatedly questioned, Hestia finally lost all patience.

Puffing up in anger, she glared at the evasive Scribe who kept making excuses, and demanded outright.

”Say it—where is it?!”

”Well...”

Lorne showed a rather troubled expression, but his gaze couldn’t help drifting toward the backyard.

Immediately sensing this small cue, Hestia raised her lips in a triumphant smile.

”Hmph! You don’t have to say it—I know! It’s in the cellar, isn’t it!”

With that, the goddess of the hearth decisively brushed past Lorne and stormed toward the cellar entrance with great momentum.

Today, I’ll expose the lie of this so-called ”wine” and show this arrogant man what a true eternal chief god looks like!

”My lady goddess—you mustn’t! You mustn’t!”

Lorne raised his hand, hurriedly trying to dissuade her.

But though his voice was loud, his feet didn’t move an inch.

As he watched the goddess of the hearth climb into the cellar, the corners of his mouth lifted in a pleased smile, and he thought to himself:

’Now I have my test subject.’

A quarter of an hour later, a rich aroma of wine wafted up from the cellar, not only intoxicating to people, but even causing the birds in the trees to drop from the branches and fall sound asleep on the ground.

”Pop!”

After listening for a moment, and hearing no further sounds from the cellar, Lorne snapped his fingers softly, dispersing the thick wine aroma, then slowly opened the hatch and descended leisurely.

By now, nearly half of the twelve jars of fine wine stored in the corner had been opened.

Lorne counted carefully—five jars.

Looking around, the goddess of the hearth, who had boasted so confidently before was now sprawled atop a pile of radishes, sound asleep.

Her once fair cheeks were now bright red.

”Lorne... hehe... little Anna... mine, all mine...”

Accompanied by a silly, muffled giggle, Hestia, clearly dreaming about something—rubbed her flushed face against th, cool surface of a large radish, thin trails of sparkling drool dripping steadily to the ground.

Only five jars and already this drunk?

This goddess of the hearth really is a lightweight.

Lorne watched Hestia’s tipsy, goofy state with amusement as he pulled out a magic crystal to take some snapshots for future viewing.

After capturing a full 360-degree set of images, thoroughly satisfied, Lorne tucked away this little piece of blackmail material, the corners of his lips curling into an evil grin.

Then he raised his arm high and brought it down hard.

”Smack!”

Two perky cheeks trembled violently, offering an exceptionally pleasant sensation.

[Ding. Trial Two: Desecrate the virgin goddess Hestia — complete!]

Accompanied by an inaudible chime, a silver oracle hovering in Lorne’s mind’s altar gradually dissolved and reshaped itself into a brand-new silver badge.

At the same time, the nearly extinguished glow on his twelve-sided die flared up once more.

A subtle and formless divine will of Chance spread anew, masking his fate and stirring ripples through the otherwise fixed weave of destiny.

Excellent. Mission accomplished.

Fog of War successfully renewed.

So...

”Smack, smack, smack!”

A series of even sharper slaps echoed through the cramped cellar as Lorne mercilessly spanked the upturned butt of the hearth goddess, his smile growing broader and more gleeful.

My dear goddess, let me give you a lesson today, so you’ll understand just how dark the human heart can be.

”Smack smack smack smack!”

His swinging arm moved so fast it nearly left afterimages, producing louder and louder impacts.

(End of this chapter)