A cave within a mountain, brightly lit by numerous lamps even during the day when the sun burns red, much like a night of revelry in a pleasure district.
It could make a good shelter for a lost hiker.
However, upon catching the unpleasant smell of alcohol and the intense odor of garbage spilling out from inside the cave,
even if a bear were chasing you from behind, entering this place would require serious resolve.
Especially so for Hera, the goddess of family, who once had an experience inside this very cave.
“DIoNYSUS! Won’t you come out?!”
Standing at the entrance, she called out to Dionysus, declaring that she would never enter this cave again.
But without any response, she was about to shout again, irritated by the silence,
when the all-too-familiar stench of alcohol wafted from behind her, turning her around instinctively.
There she saw Dionysus emerge, carrying on his shoulders a deer that had just been killed.
“DIONYSUS!”
“A surprise visit! How may I help you, Lady Hera? No prior notice, I see.”
Dionysus, who had just intended to celebrate his own private meat festival, felt his mood broken by the unexpected guest and answered curtly. Unlike his usual zigzagging drunken walk, his legs were unusually strong today.
Hera, who was inwardly startled to find Dionysus sober for once, showed no sign of it. With an annoyed flick of her hands, she berated him.
“Athena’s victory celebration is nearing and Metis’s restoration has been finalized in Olympus. What exactly have you done this entire time?”
“What… do you mean?”
“Good-for-nothing! I trusted you to handle this, but it seems you’ve done nothing, don’t you dare deny it!”
With that, Hera pulled out a scroll of parchment from her robes and threw it directly at his face.
Dionysus made no move to dodge it, letting it hit him squarely.
As it unfolded naturally on the ground, he read the content silently.
It dictated that the Golden Pen, which had yet to find its original owner, must be returned to Athena during the victory celebration, approved on the back of Athena’s strong lobbying and the recent successful completion of Ark’s fourth labor.
There were only three deities who supported the decision to restore Metis.
Hermes, Demeter, Hestia.
The original three neutrals had shifted their stance to support the restoration.
Hera was deeply shocked that her own sisters, Demeter and Hestia, turned against her.
Feeling more and more cornered, Hera now sought out Dionysus in desperation.
Even in such a precarious situation, Dionysus’s calm demeanor annoyed her again.
“Drunkard! What exactly have you been doing all this time?”
“Ah, Hera, your makeup is smearing. Don’t be so irritable—”
“SHUT UP!!”
The sharp command cut off his words, and the mandate of the Goddess of Family, Hera, echoed throughout the mountain.
This power was guaranteed by Hermes and Artemis.
On Mount Kaleos, even they, under a single command from Hera, were forced to their knees, faces pressed against the ground.
They had discarded the dignity and grace expected of gods and howled like beasts.
Hera’s mandate was an absolute command.
Even Dionysus, as a son of Zeus, could not avoid it.
“Yaaaaawnnnn~”
The birds of the mountain fled their nests in alarm at the sound of Hera’s command.
Yet, the one responsible, Dionysus, yawned broadly, scratched the back of his head, and continued strolling leisurely to the entrance of the cave, setting down the deer as if nothing had happened.
So how was Dionysus able to escape the curse of the mandate?
“Lady Hera, you know full well that your mandates don’t affect me, but you insist on trying anyway?”
“…Hmmph! I just wanted to confirm that your mind was clear.”
“They wouldn’t affect me even if I hadn’t been drinking. I am the god of ecstasy after all.”
“Tch! Madman.”
Amused at Dionysus’s nonchalant attitude, Hera turned her head, declaring that she didn’t want to deal with him.
Dionysus is the god of wine and festivals, but peering deeper into his nature, one finds that he is truly the god of maddening ecstasy.
Yes.
It wasn’t that Dionysus resisted or warded off Hera’s mandate—his strong will allowed him no such resistance.
Rather, his mind was disordered even when sober, and it refused to accept any mandate, much like how no words can penetrate the mind of a truly insane person.
“Lady Hera, don’t worry.”
Dionysus, having neatly braided the hair that had unraveled, pulled out a small flask of wine from his bag.
With the pop of the cork, a sweet sound and a subtle aroma of alcohol wafted toward him.
But to Hera, it was nothing but a repulsive smell, and she waved it off.
“Useless chatter. All hope is lost.”
“Lost? Metis hasn’t returned yet.”
“Are you making light of the decree after reading it? The restoration has already been decided!”
“But she isn’t here, in this present world.”
Hera frowned momentarily at Dionysus’s seemingly nonsensical response,
but then her eyes brightened as she realized his hidden meaning.
“There’s still… a chance?”
“Yes, the opportunity still exists.”
“What opportunity? How?”
“If Ark, the mortal, dies, all problems will be solved. Then Father Zeus will have a strong reason to delay handling this matter indefinitely.”
But Hera wasn’t immediately convinced.
She had tried killing Ark before.
She knew too well how Ark’s head was deeply aware of the nature of gods, and his tongue had a way of cleverly weaving arguments that could justify any actions.
“Dionysus, then place a curse on him, through your madness, one that would drive him to kill himself.”
“Tsk tsk… impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because of the fate tied to Ark’s labors, any direct curses against him cannot take effect. The other gods, overconfident in this, keep making the same mistake, always falling for Ark’s manipulative tongue.”
“Then?”
“The right order must be followed. Like when one doesn’t realize their clothes are getting wet in a drizzle, we must make sure the labors themselves do not directly harm Ark.”
Hera was struggling to keep up with what Dionysus was saying.
She had always thought half of his words were the ramblings of a madman,
but after some time, she often realized he had been right after all.
Could that be why?
Hera herself began to feel a strange sense of anticipation rising in her.
“Is there any way out? Athena’s Victory Festival is in a month.”
“Of course, we need to complete it before then. In that sense, it was wise of you to isolate Artemis’s city from the rest of the world with your orders.”
“Good to hear. But it’s barely scratching the surface.”
“Still, the citizens of the city are bound to be pretty annoyed by now.”
“It’s not enough to trigger anything significant.”
“Yes. They can tolerate some inconvenience, but accumulated grievances will eventually explode.”
Dionysus had an uncanny insight into human psychology.
If one’s regular pathway is blocked by a rock, a person might just grumble and choose another path.
But if that other path is also blocked?
Then they’ll smash the rock with a hammer.
“Will you create a cause for the people to rise up?”
“Yes. I’ll place a curse on all the alcohol in Luna. Every drop, whether produced or imported.”
Dionysus, filled with conviction, pulled a balloon from his bag and began to inflate it with a puff of breath through his lips.
The balloon, about to burst from just a little more air, grew bigger and bigger.
Having nimbly tied the balloon’s lip, Dionysus then pulled a needle out from his bag with one hand.
“Alcohol is both a pastime and a necessity for gods and mortals alike. Many make their living just through winemaking. What happens if one day all the alcohol tastes like water?”
“A commotion will start. Riots could break out.”
“Yes. And what will happen when we distribute a proclamation to massacre Ark during such chaos?”
“The citizens, despite their grievances, still hold a deep faith in Artemis and her illegitimate son. They won’t easily act.”
“Of course. That’s why we’ll just announce the killing of Ark. Then the citizens can convince themselves they are not betraying Artemis. We exploit that crack!”
He emphasized his words,
just as, with the needle in his left hand, he pierced the balloon forcefully, causing it to burst, scattering its remains everywhere.
Hera, looking down at the balloon pieces, began to see Ark in them.
“Ho ho ho ho ho! Dionysus, this plot of yours pleases me greatly.”
“Thank goodness it pleases you, Mother.”
“But can riots alone kill Ark? Surely, Artemis will interfere, and the revolt will be suppressed.”
“Yes, we cannot be sure Ark will die. Hence, we must set multiple traps, layer upon layer.”
“How?”
Usually repelled by Dionysus’s alcohol-induced aura and keeping at least three paces away,
Hera now came closer to him, deeply engrossed.
“Once the curse on the alcohol becomes known, it’s obvious they’ll come to me. That sly mortal will surely try to persuade me with his tongue. So, we set layered traps—”
“Right. That worm will come begging to have the curse lifted. Tell me, how do you plan the layering?”
Thinking of Ark, Hera ground her teeth.
Dionysus looked at her and grinned unpleasantly.
“We double the labors upon him.”
“Doubling, you say?”
“Yes. The labors will naturally bring him here.”
