Chapter 3
Rumble...
I've just about finished.
The Underworld, once an empty void, twisted and expanded according to my will, now almost unrecognizable from its previous state.
Reflecting that dark, hipster vibe—no, more like an Underworld aesthetic—there it stood before me, a fortress of steel, gleaming like the blackest of obsidian, crafted from the abundant metal flowing from the depths.
Is it really steel, though?
The metal infused with my power seemed unnaturally pale, exuding a strange, cold aura. The walls shimmered with an eerie gleam that made it obvious this was no ordinary metal.
Maybe I should call it an obsidian fortress.
Creeeak...
At a slight nod, the massive gates creaked open, though not without resistance.
Considering I just made it, why is it already so stiff? And the sound—could it get any more ghostly?
I wandered through the enormous citadel, making small adjustments here and there. Sand scattered across the ground, walls warped from miscalculations in power—details that needed fixing.
As I worked, an unexpected visitor arrived in the Underworld.
"Hades."
The one approaching with slow, heavy steps was a muscular god with a stern face and a single eye. A Cyclops.
He was one of the three brothers who forged weapons for me, Zeus, and Poseidon—Arges, the one associated with thunderbolts.
What brings him all the way to this dark realm?
"Looks like I found you, thanks to Demeter for the directions..."
The Cyclopes are children of Gaia, the Earth Goddess, and Uranus, the Sky God. In terms of divine lineage, they're higher than us.
But last I heard, the three brothers retired to live leisurely on an island. There's no reason for him to visit this gloomy place... unless he’s dead and come to the Underworld?
Oddly enough, despite being gods of considerable rank and power, the Cyclopes experience death differently from us. So it's possible the first resident of my realm might be one of them.
"Who killed you? Was it that brat Zeus?"
I was ready to start a brotherly war for the throne of the gods, but he chuckled and answered before I could.
"Not at all. We’re still alive. Zeus and Poseidon are building palaces, and we thought we’d pitch in a little."
Ah, the ever-generous Cyclopes, gods of service, giving all they have.
I silently worshipped him in my heart.
"But don’t get your hopes up. I’m no god of architecture."
The Cyclopes inherited a portion of their father Uranus’s power over the sky.
Thunder, lightning, and storms have nothing to do with forging, yet their skills are unparalleled...
As he wandered around the newly-built citadel, he offered some expert critique. With his advice, the fortress transformed swiftly.
"And while I appreciate you using the Kynee I made for you, you could at least take better care of it. It’s quite fond of cleanliness..."
He fiddled with the invisible helmet I’d hung in a corner—my Kynee, crafted by none other than Arges.
When I asked why he made an invisible helmet, his response was classic.
"I thought it suited your gloomy personality...Tsk. Are you even listening? It likes it when you stroke the top, from the crown to the bridge of the nose..."
Wait, this isn’t an ego sword—let alone an ego helmet! He’s the one who made it, so why is he talking like that? Maybe this is some bizarre blacksmith quirk I’ll never understand.
Now that I think about it, why did Zeus and Poseidon get weapons while I only got armor? I wouldn’t mind wielding a flashy weapon instead of this stealthy helmet...
"Just a helmet, you say?! Kynee, my masterpiece that can hide you from the entire world—what’s wrong with it?!"
Oops, did I say that out loud again?
I quickly calmed down the huffing Cyclops.
Of course, during the war, I felt the helmet’s power. Even my father, Cronus, couldn’t find me with it.
"Well, obviously! Do you know how much effort went into making that...?"
Still, I’d prefer a weapon.
"Now, now. You’re a king of the gods; stop whining. If I make you a weapon, I’ll have to make one for Zeus and Poseidon too!"
* * *
I had hoped to get a weapon out of this visit, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be. From his point of view, it wouldn’t be fair to make me a weapon without doing the same for my brothers.
After circling the Underworld a few times, Arges finally left, satisfied with the adjustments he had made. Despite claiming to be no god of architecture, he had completely revamped my citadel. Watching him leave, I clicked my tongue.
Styx, who had been standing beside me as we saw Arges off, whispered a question.
"Hades, do you covet Zeus’s thunderbolt or Poseidon’s trident?"
Of course I did. But there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Perhaps I could sneak off to that island where the Cyclopes live and ask for a weapon...
"If you sink a bronze sword into the Styx River and breathe your power into it, a suitable weapon might emerge. What do you think?"
I was surprised by the offer.
Would you really go that far? You're not even a blacksmith—why would you do this?
When I asked Styx, she turned her head away, almost bashfully.
"Would that... settle the debt?"
Oh, right. During the war, I did save her from being captured by a horde of Titans. I suppose she still feels indebted to me.
"Just give me a bronze sword. I’ll sink it in the Styx and bring it back once it's done."
I rummaged for the bronze sword I used to wield and handed it to her. With the sword in hand, she quickly dove into the river, vanishing from sight.
The Cyclopes hadn’t just forged thunderbolts, tridents, and helmets. They made countless weapons and armor for the gods, producing many ‘failures’.
None of us ever considered them failures, but the Cyclopes, with their critical eyes, would always point out the flaws.
"This seems like a fine weapon to me."
"Nonsense. It’s too weak to contain your divine powers. It’d shatter after just a few days in battle with Cronus’s sickle."
"And why is this shield considered a failure?"
"Try wearing it and falling from the heavens to earth. It’ll get scratched."
My father, Cronus, wields a sickle made of Adamas, the hardest material known, forged by our grandmother Gaia. That weapon is unmatched.
And yet, the Cyclopes managed to create three weapons that rival Cronus’s sickle. Their craftsmanship turned the tide of the war, leading to our victory. And the sword I just handed over to Styx was one of their so-called failures.
* * *
After many circuits of the sun by Helios’s chariot, Styx finally returned to the Underworld with my sword.
"It’s finished. Would you like to try it?"
The one-handed sword, now black as night to match the god of the Underworld, had absorbed my power and endured the depths of the Styx. It looked as though it had been reborn.
Without a crossguard, the blade extended straight from the handle, which was crafted from the sacred oak that grew near the peaks of Mount Olympus. As I ran my hand over the blade, it quivered, as if recognizing its master.
"My, it turned out better than expected."
The grip, perfectly balanced, fit my hand as if it had always been there.
Whisssh...
The blade sliced through the air as I swung it, feeling incredibly light yet solid. I decided to test it by striking my Kynee, lying on the ground. Sparks flew from the impact.
Clang!
"Hades! That precious helmet—why are you testing your sword on it?!"
But Kynee was the toughest item I owned. Where else could I test the sword’s strength?
"Haa… The gods of Olympus really are all touched in the head somewhere..."
Ignoring Styx’s muttering, I closely examined the blade.
No dents. No damage. Perfect condition. The connection between the blade and handle was flawless, and its divine energy permeated beautifully. How long would it hold up against the full power of a god?
As I prepared to test it further, Styx suddenly intervened.
"No! Don’t do that! You’ll break our baby!"
Baby?
"Ah?! I... I meant it the same way the Cyclopes call their masterpieces ‘babies’..."
"That’s perfect. I’ll name it Styx."
"W-What? You’re actually naming it after me...?"
Leaving the flustered goddess behind, I sheathed the sword at my side.
Alright, your name is now (The Real) Styx.
"But I’m Styx..."