Hogwarts: From Selling White Peppers to Becoming a God

Chapter 446 Epic

"Sing aloud, Goddess!"

"Sing of the wrath of Achilles, son of Peleus!"

"His rage brought about this disaster."

"It brought endless suffering to the Achaeans."

"Send the warriors' heroic souls into the underworld..."

In the southeastern Peloponnese region of Boeotia, in the magnificent stone palace of Thebes, a blind old man holds a worn-out harp and sings an ancient long poem in his not-so-pleasant voice.

A banquet was being held in the hall, where the King of Thebes and his children were celebrating their recent victory in the war against Attica.

The long table was laden with delicacies from all over the Mediterranean coast, and waiters carried earthenware jars filled with wine, constantly refilling the cups of the richly dressed nobles and priests.

The banquet had been going on for most of the day, and everyone was quite drunk. People were laughing vulgarly, behaving themselves in a dissolute and noisy manner.

In the arena, a young man dressed in black suddenly stood up from the table, gently pushed aside the two dazed and intoxicated girls, and slowly walked up to the blind singer.

Seeing the latter's chapped lips, he handed him a glass of wine. "Old man, have a drink to soothe your throat."

The music stopped, but the old man's empty eyes remained fixed on the front. "Thank you, kind sir."

He reached out, fumbled for the cup of wine, and carefully took a few sips. "Ah, Dionysus, great god of wine, thank you for your gift. This is Nectuar, which only gods can enjoy."

"It's just a glass of grape wine," Murphy smiled. "I really like your long poems; did you write them all yourself?"

"Of course not, my lord," the old man said humbly. "Most of my poems were learned from my teacher; I merely added to and modified some of them. And these poems were also learned by my teacher from his teacher's teacher; some of them have been passed down for hundreds of years."

"I see. I've heard of you, Homer. They say you traveled all over Greece, and some say you sang hymns to the gods on Mount Olympus. They say your eyes went blind because you looked directly at the gods. Is that true?"

Homer smiled gently and opened his cloudy, lifeless eyes. "I was born blind, sir. They say that only because I sang some songs that mentioned the feast on Mount Olympus."

"...Hephaestus scooped sweet Nectuals from the mixing jar and filled the goblets of the gods from left to right. The happy gods, seeing him bustling about in the palace, couldn't help but laugh heartily. They joyfully enjoyed the feast until sunset, when they had all eaten their fill, listening to the beautiful lyre played by Apollo and the enchanting songs of the talented goddesses..."

"The heavenly kingdom of the gods, a blessed land where divine children, kings, and heroes are invited, how could it invite an old and blind singer like me?"

“They will,” Murphy said. “Poetry and legend are the very foundation of their existence. I’m giving you a new long poem. If you can adapt it and spread it, you’ll surely have a place at the banquet on Mount Olympus.”

As he spoke, Murphy extended his finger and touched the old man's forehead, sending a scene from an opera into his mind.

In an instant, Homer saw a long river that ran through the entire continent of Europe, and the glittering magical gold at the bottom of the river. He saw the goddess who guarded the gold, and the Nibelung dwarf who became the king of the world with a ring made of gold.

Then, the Valhalla Temple rose into the clouds, and the Valkyrie Brunhilde rode between heaven and earth. She saw the hero Siegfried kill the dragon, bathe in its blood, awaken the sleeping Valkyrie, and fall in love with her, exchanging the Ring of the Nibelung as a token of their love.

Then, a grand tragedy began. The invincible hero finally died in the conspiracy, and accompanied by a mournful funeral march, the Valkyrie, filled with grief and indignation, walked into the flames.

"The ring's significance far surpasses the end of Valhalla, far surpasses the gods' reputation. Let me, this fortunate man, tell you that the ring testifies to Siegfried's love! Go to the gods and tell them about my ring; I will never relinquish my love, and they can never take it away, even if Valhalla's splendor is reduced to ruins!"

After the Valkyrie's tragic declaration, flames began to engulf the heavens and the earth, burning Valhalla, the abode of the gods, to ruins, and Ragnarok arrived.

Homer trembled, overwhelmed by the unparalleled epic and tears streamed down his face.

"My lord, who are you...?" Homer asked in a panic.

Both the magnificent epic and the method by which the other party transmitted it into his mind were incredibly incredible, and the ending of the story, in which the gods were burned to ashes, terrified him.

However, there was no answer.

The person appears to have already left.

The noise of the banquet suddenly surged up again, making Homer realize that the person who had spoken to him earlier, though very softly, could be heard clearly in this noisy environment, which already demonstrated the other person's extraordinary nature.

Perhaps, it was a god.

Who would that be?

Is she the embodiment of the Muse?

Or perhaps it was a messenger of Apollo?

The magnificent melody that resonated in his mind was something even Apollo would have found difficult to create.

If he is a god, what is his purpose?

What exactly is the purpose of entrusting a story about gods being destroyed by mortals to oneself?

But after a long silence, Homer stood up.

Regardless of who the other party is or what their purpose is.

Such a magnificent musical movement, such a grand epic, if he cannot pass it down, if he allows it to be lost to time, he will regret it for the rest of his life.

……

More than ten years later, when Murphy reappeared in Thebes, he did not hear any epic poems similar to the Ring of the Nibelung being sung.

After searching for several days, he finally found a niche tomb in a cemetery next to a dilapidated temple.

This is said to be the burial place of Homer.

A relief sculpture, rendered in rough strokes, depicts an old man playing a harp among the gods.

Murphy placed a jar of wine in front of the niche. "At least you got what you wanted, old man."

Just then, a bright light flashed behind Murphy, and a tall, handsome man appeared. He held a longbow, wore a crown woven from various branches, was shirtless, and carried a quiver. A radiant light, as intense as sunlight, emanated from the back of his head, obscuring his face and making it impossible to see clearly.

"Here lies the great Homer, the singer of the gods. The gods may have taken his voice, but they could not obscure the greatness he brought to the world. His unspeakable epic will surely make him immortal."

The man said.

As he spoke, the light behind his head faded considerably, revealing an exceptionally handsome face. He spoke in a beautiful, almost singing voice, "I am Apollo, my friend from another land. I have finally waited for you."

(End of this chapter)