Chapter 316

Here is the English translation of the provided novel excerpt, adhering strictly to the given glossary and without additional comments:

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316 God of What #3

Ever since I started getting involved with Pluto’s cultists, there was something that puzzled me.

Why was Pluto’s faith, once revered as one of the three main deities, now being branded as a cult, persecuted, corrupted, and oppressed?

In my previous state of ignorance, I simply thought it was because Pluto was an atrocious and terrifying demon god, so I didn’t pay much attention.

But there was a significant disparity between the man I envisioned in my mind and the Pluto everyone reviled and suppressed without rest.

So I couldn’t help but ask:

“Why is the doctrine of Pluto, one of the three main deities, being persecuted as a cult?”

At my question, Hippolyte glanced at my face.

As if gauging whether my question was genuine, her eyes flickered briefly before she finally looked at the empty air and asked me back, like a passing breeze:

“Shouldn’t you, of all people, know the answer to that, Hassan, the cult leader?”

“No, I’ve told you so many times—that’s a misunderstanding.”

“Sure, let’s go with that. Then, Hassan, have you ever heard any tales or myths related to Pluto?”

“Huh?”

“Anything’s fine. If you know something, tell me. Not stories about the father you knew, but myths about the Underworld King Pluto.”

At Hippolyte’s words, I tried recalling the encyclopedias and theological texts I had read on the Gaia Continent.

From the thick volumes, there wasn’t much about Pluto beyond his labyrinth.

Seriously, there was nothing substantial. d*mn, what’s up with that?

Hippolyte gave a simple answer to that.

“It’s been concealed.”

“Concealed…?”

“As I’ve said before, the power of the gods stems from their own might and the faith of their followers. The more a god is praised or feared, the more they can expand their authority and dominion.”

I’d heard plenty about that already.

In fact, Caesar, the son of the mountain god who had the nymph Alinoy with him, was said to be the fading son of a god without devotees. It seems a god’s power is proportional to the strength of their followers.

In other words, think of them like YouTubers. The more subscribers they have, the more powerful they become. d*mn, I thought about it, but I can’t come up with a better comparison.

“That’s why—”

Just as I was admiring my own analogy, Hippolyte continued with a serious tone.

“That’s why gods are desperate to elevate their majesty. They raise great warriors to spread tales of their grace and deeds, and dispatch holy knights to engrave the fear of their power onto the masses.”

“I think I understand a little.”

“But Pluto doesn’t have many such tales. Do you know why?”

“Hmm. What is it?”

“Because he doesn’t need to. Anyone with a pulse instinctively feels the fear of d*ath emanating from Pluto’s name. It’s an inescapable fate for all living beings.”

“Ah—”

I was starting to get it.

Pluto’s name itself embodied the state of d*ath and the fear of the afterlife, the unknown. That’s why he needed nothing more.

People naturally avoided even uttering his name. No stories were created or spread about him.

Yet, it was enough.

But there was still something in Hippolyte’s explanation that didn’t satisfy my curiosity.

“But what does that have to do with Pluto’s followers being branded as a cult?”

After all, it didn’t answer the fundamental question. In response, Hippolyte gestured outside with a tilt of her chin.

“Before that, I’d like to see your skills now that you’ve awakened to your divinity. Can you follow me outside?”

“As I always feel, every time I face you in training, it’s like facing a different person.”

A small clearing behind the inn.

Hippolyte, standing there, lightly stretched her shoulders and ankles as she spoke.

“You’ve grown faster than anyone, but who knew you hid such a secret? Hassan, Grand Duke of Hell. Leader of the cultists. Now accept the challenge of Hippolyte, warrior of Mars.”

As she spoke, her expression was as bright as someone unwrapping a package.

The corners of her lips rose, revealing white teeth in what seemed like cheerful laughter—yet it also carried the sharpness of a jaguar baring its fangs with a growl.

Hippolyte often said that fighting me felt like facing a new person each time, but the same went for me.

As my skills improved and I transformed from a clueless amateur into a proper warrior, I realized just how much of a tempered blade she was, honed through countless reversals.

A blade forged only to cut—nothing else.

That was Hippolyte Heavensinger.

Could I even win?

As I entertained the thought, something fierce shot toward me. Hippolyte had closed the distance in an instant, her gauntleted hand grabbing for my collar.

Slap!

I swiftly struck her gauntlet away with the back of my hand.

But I couldn’t block the left hand that came flying next—so I tilted my head to dodge.

Whoosh—

Hippolyte’s left hand grazed my right cheek, leaving behind an eerie heat.

Trickle—

Simultaneously, I felt bl**d dripping down my cheek. I thought I’d dodged well, but something must’ve nicked my face.

But I had no time to dwell on it.

The right hand I’d parried had already transformed into a kn*fe-hand strike, slicing through the air toward my neck at blinding speed.

Sshhhk—

Was that really the sound a human hand could make?

If this continued, my throat would be torn open, bl**d gushing out. Fueled by the ringing sense of danger, I kicked off the ground to create distance.

Swish—! Crack!

Splash—

Her strike, missing my neck, pierced a wooden bucket hanging from a post, spilling its strange bronze contents.

Had I been even a fraction slower, my neck would’ve ended up just like that bucket.

Hippolyte shook the liquid off her hand and spoke.

“Dodging three of my attacks in a row. As your instructor, it’s gratifying to see your training paying off.”

“Does that mean I passed today’s lesson?”

“If this were training, perhaps. But it’s not.”

Sshing—

In an instant, Hippolyte drew her sword from her hip. The blade pointed at me—the envious Demon Blade—radiated a fearsome aura.

As she brandished the longsword, the entire area seemed to become her domain.

“Wearing that silver necklace and being revealed as a god’s son doesn’t mean your life is over. It’s just the beginning.”

Zzzing—

A golden energy shimmered along Hippolyte’s blade.

A supernatural force—mana, aura, whatever it’s called—made her sword an even sharper, more terrifying weapon.

This was the activation of an ultimate technique.

Hippolyte might as well have unleashed her Bankai. And that meant I stood no chance. So I had to protest.

“…Isn’t that a bit—no, way too much?”

“The son of the three main gods, Hassan, Grand Duke of Hell, should be able to dodge this easily, no?”

“No, that’s—”

Just as I tried to respond, something flashed toward my neck.

Sssk—

A sharp pain, followed by thick droplets of bl**d dripping from my throat.

“There, you just died once. What are you doing? If you keep this up, I’ll carve you like an apple. Aren’t you coming at me?”

“……”

“If you make me bleed, I’ll keep it a secret from Noxdotty and let you fondle my chest for a minute. If you must, act like a cultist and summon some undead.”

“Tch…!”

But the result was the same as always.

I ended up pinned to the ground, my arm twisted, unable to move an inch.

So quickly I barely understood what had happened, I found myself face-down in the dirt.

“Urgh—”

d*mn, I wish I could at least use necromancy.

Against the back of my head, I could vividly feel the soft, ample touch of Hippolyte’s chest.

Squish, squish.

Losing felt like winning—an oddly complex sensation burned into my mind. Then, Hippolyte released my twisted arm with a snap.

“This is the result.”

Helping me up, she spoke lightly.

“Awakening to divinity doesn’t instantly make you a great and mighty god. Only when you have followers and become the master of your own shrine will you grow stronger than me.”

“Is that so?”

Brushing dust off, I fell into thought. Honestly, I never expected to beat Hippolyte.

As she said, becoming aware of my divinity didn’t suddenly grant me nonexistent power or make me a master of great strength.

“And this is also why Pluto’s doctrine is being suppressed.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re weakening Pluto’s influence on the surface world. After Ceres’ curse brought the long winter, d*ath filled this land.”

Sshing—

Sheathing her sword, Hippolyte muttered again, low.

“An era of chaos descended—where children died before elders, offspring before parents. Reckless, disorderly d*ath. And appearing everywhere, Pluto’s labyrinths…”

She stopped there.

Closing her mouth, she sank into brief silence.

I could tell she was weighing her thoughts—racking her brain for the right words.

For someone like Hippolyte, who’s straightforward, to struggle with speaking could only mean she was about to say something monumental.

“Pluto was spreading fear recklessly, expanding his influence. Your father, Pluto, was seen as a rebel revealing ambitions to dominate the surface world, Hassan.”

“……”

“That’s how it was perceived. That’s how it had to be perceived. So the gods, too, sought to crush Pluto’s faith. But that day, on Mount Delphi’s peak, those who saw you welcomed you.”

“You remember that day?”

I thought she’d forgotten everything from the gas poisoning.

“I’m not a fool, Hassan. I could tell the gods of Hypos placed greater expectations on you than anyone else in this world. This means the wills of the gods and the kingdom are at odds.”

The kingdom.

Her words made me consider, for the first time, the ‘nation’ I was part of. A kingdom with a king, subjects, and people.

According to what Paranoi once told me, it was the kingdom’s law that declared Pluto, god of the underworld, evil and oppressed him.

The Earthly Enforcer of Jupiter, Thunderblade.

If the oppression began under his orders, then it must have been seen as the will of the heavens—Hypos itself. Statues of Pluto were shattered; much was concealed.

But what if it wasn’t the gods’ will?

It wasn’t a simple issue. This was something to ponder seriously. As I did, Hippolyte’s voice pulled me back.

“Hassan, as you are now, you could at least land one fatal strike on me before dying. If you drew that monstrous club, it’d be possible. But you didn’t. Why?”

“Because…”

“Because you didn’t want to hurt me, right? From sparring with you, and watching you fight recently, I’ve realized you’ve developed a strange habit in battle. A stubborn, terrible one.”

Habbit?

People having quirks is common—scrunched noses before lying, wrinkled brows when thinking. But a battle habit was new to me.

“I have a habit? What is it?”

“You’re afraid of killing and hurting others. As a warrior, it’s disqualifying. For a Samaritan, ‘barbarian of the wilderness,’ it’s the worst habit.”

She was right.

Just as Hippolyte said, I had unconsciously grown afraid of taking lives and causing pain.

Because the lives I’d have to take felt too vivid within me. Destroying them felt like a terrible sin.

I wasn’t sure when it started.

Perhaps when I began sensing aura.

As I became more acutely aware of the life force within me—and the world connected to it—this tendency grew stronger. It likely peaked when I killed Echidna’s eldest son, Regulus.

“I know you well enough, Hassan. You’re not some wicked cult leader, nor the ruthless enforcer everyone claims. If anything, you’re too soft, even naive.”

I wasn’t sure if she was insulting or complimenting me. What was she getting at?

“You’re ordinary. Ordinary, and oddly kind. I don’t know much, but it must run in the family. Your father was probably the same.”

“My father?”

“I am Hippolyte, daughter of Mars. When people see me excelling on the surface, they imagine Mars in Hypos and worship him. So Mars’ daughters must always carry themselves boldly. And—”

Her gaze locked onto mine.

“And you are Hassan, son of Pluto. Through you, I can see Pluto. So let me say this: Your father Pluto is no evil god.”

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(Note: This translation strictly follows the provided glossary and maintains the original tone and style of the text.)

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