Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [108]

The process of tempering the body with divine fire was an incredibly meticulous task. The sacred ointment had to be applied instantly; any delay, and a mortal’s fragile form would be reduced to ashes within the flames.

Suren knew that even if the ritual was interrupted, Hestia would likely find a way to save him. But how embarrassing would that be? He’d been the one to request this ritual, after all. Hestia had also informed him of the potential hazards and flaws of the divine fire.

Yet still, Suren had insisted.

A person has to take responsibility for their choices.

When you choose a path, you must walk it to the end.

“It’s bearable… less intense than forging a sword, really.”

Back then, he’d pushed himself to the point of shattering his very soul, giving his all. And now, he was still alive; that alone was something to be grateful for, right?

Clenching his teeth tight, Suren was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d let out a scream. So he remained silent. By the time the divine fire reached his jaw, he realized his teeth had shattered from the pressure.

Without the resolve to save the world, nor sufficient ambition or desire to carry him forward, what difference was there between “Kaelar the Saint” and “Suren the Mortal”?

Suren… hadn’t yet found his true heart.

Nor his desires.

The mortal body is truly fragile.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Pallas spoke softly, “Suren, you don’t need to worry anymore. It’s almost over. You’ve done exceptionally well. Just rest now…”

At that moment, Suren felt a burning sensation in his brain, as if it were being scorched. His last thought before losing consciousness was, “Will the head that grows back still be mine?”

Compared to Theseus’s Ship, it seemed “Suren’s Head” was an even better fit for that paradox.

---

“…An unfamiliar ceiling.”

Suren opened his eyes slowly, remembering that he’d passed out during the divine fire ritual.

Though he’d blacked out, the style of this place didn’t look like the Underworld. So, he’d succeeded, right?

Looking down, he realized that the rugged leather armor he’d worn was gone. In its place was a beautifully crafted robe, intricately designed and seamless.

“This tailoring… ten, no, twenty times better than Cynthia’s work!” Suren marveled. He’d thought Cynthia was already quite talented, able to turn scraps of beast hide into stylish, functional leather armor.

But faced with a true master’s craftsmanship, he understood that Cynthia’s skills were only entry-level. Pallas’s handiwork, however, was Greek craftsmanship at its finest.

“Well, of course. As Athena’s priestess, goddess of crafts and textiles, this level of skill is only natural.”

Suren had no reason to doubt it. He did, however, feel a bit uneasy about the golden clasp at the collar. Instinctively, he reached up to remove it.

Goodness, wearing a golden-clasped robe, a symbol of divine status? He was nowhere near qualified for such honors!

What if some petty god caught sight of it and took offense?

Just as he removed the clasp and pondered these thoughts, Pallas entered the room.

Glancing behind her, he confirmed it was just her alone.

Pallas smiled, her eyes narrowing with amusement as she asked, “My lovely Suren, were you hoping to see Hestia?”

“Of course!” Suren met her gaze openly. “Pallas, naturally I wanted to thank Hestia in person.”

“Oh?”

Pallas’s expression shifted to that of a playful cat. Tilting her head, she asked in an innocently casual yet obviously loaded tone, “And what about me? Surely you think I helped you the most?”

“Uh…”

Suren felt a chill at the nape of his neck. Women—no matter the age—were so hard to handle.

Suren decided to throw caution to the wind, meeting her eyes with a slightly wounded look that struck just the right note of sincerity. “Pallas… do we really need words like ‘thank you’ between us?”

Too perfect, he thought.

Though he knew it was a little manipulative, it was simply the best use of his “resources.”

But he really had no choice. If he’d fallen into Pallas’s endless loop of self-justifications, they’d be debating who to thank first and how to thank them for hours.

If he’d let her gain the upper hand, who knew how the playful young woman before him would spin her language traps to tease him next?

By age three, Suren had already learned that even someone as innocent as Cynthia—a sweet, open-hearted girl—had her own little pranks, frequently tricking him for fun. So when it came to a sly young woman like Pallas… he needed to be on guard.

These women, always after him—he couldn’t afford to let them take advantage.

With this strategy, Suren went for the counterattack.

It worked beautifully; Pallas was visibly charmed by his tea artistry. However, she quickly regained her composure, and as a being of wisdom, she swiftly shifted the topic.

“Hestia has already left.”

Turning away to avoid the boy’s dangerously disarming face, Pallas said in a calm tone, “While you were being reforged, Hestia returned to her cozy little nook.”

“I don’t have the kind of influence it takes to summon Hestia, who hasn’t been among mortals in centuries.”

Her tone remained calm, though there was a hint of something strange. “So, if you’re truly set on thanking your ‘Hestia,’ you’ll need to lower yourself to go visit her at her temple.”

“Well, never mind then. I’ll wait until we meet again,” Suren said, stretching with a yawn. He’d initially wanted to thank Hestia, but after telling Pallas “gratitude would be awkward between friends,” it would be hypocritical to go running off to Hestia with a thousand words of thanks.

As if Hestia—one of the great goddesses—needed his gratitude.

Besides, he suspected Hestia had overheard their conversation here, so going to her now would just be awkward.

Pallas really was trouble; every sentence she spoke seemed to hide a trap. Yet, with his clear heart, Suren didn’t sense any hostility from her. It didn’t feel like she was actively trying to set him up...

But still, Suren couldn’t shake the feeling that Pallas seemed intent on isolating him socially, as though she wanted his connections with other goddesses and priests to be kept minimal.

It was as if she wanted him to be close only to her…

“Maybe it’s just me overthinking things…” he muttered inwardly. After all, why would Pallas have any reason to undermine him like that?

Pallas-Athena’s gaze held a glint of admiration, her mind filling with praise: “Courage, resolve, willpower, soul, kindness, wisdom… everything about you is flawless, a never-ending trove of wonders…”

“Suren, you are indeed a hero blessed by the heavens!”

“That idiot Artemis—how could she have possibly raised such a perfect mortal?”

“Hmph, she just got lucky. This heaven-gifted hero happened to fall within her domain. Had he been born in Athens, he would have been my most devoted son!”

Suren rubbed his forehead. “Pallas, let’s not get sidetracked. Now that I’ve survived the divine fire, what’s next?”

Pallas nodded. “The next step, of course, is to learn some essential combat skills.”

“Oh, I get it!” Suren said, waving his hand. “Being good at fighting will help in courtship, right? Makes finding true love easier?”

“It’s more than just that.” Pallas maintained a straight face. “My lovely Suren, with your beauty, you won’t only attract women. Some men might also be drawn to you…”

“Wait, what?”

Suren’s stomach dropped as he remembered where he was—Athens, the grand capital of “philosophy.”

The godly era of Greece was far too dangerous for a weak and helpless Suren like himself.

Learning self-defense was critical. At the very least, he’d need the skills of Chiron or Heracles to feel safe.

His urgency mounting, Suren declared, “I’m ready to start training right now! I’ll train thirty hours a day if I need to! Call me Suren Hanma if you want!”

Motivation is the best teacher.

And as the goddess of wisdom, Athena was very adept at stirring a person’s enthusiasm for learning.

When Suren said he’d “never set foot outside” without proper training, a strange thrill passed through Athena, and she replied seriously, “You’re a hero chosen by Athena. If common mortals could best you, wouldn’t that reflect poorly on Athena’s judgment?”

“Uh…” Suren blinked, interpreting her words a little too creatively. “What kind of punishment would Lady Athena give me?”

Pallas was about to explain that she’d be there every step of the way to ensure he became the greatest hero Greece had ever seen. But seeing the curious look on his face, she felt a mischievous urge…

Why not tease the beautiful boy?

With an impish smile, Pallas replied, “Oh, nothing too terrible. Perhaps she’d turn you into a monstrous creature and have you steal Hera’s golden apples for Aphrodite…”

“Pallas-sensei, when does the special training start?” Suren’s eyes were full of determination. “I can train thirty hours a day—just call me Suren Hanma!”

---

As one of the Twelve Olympian Gods, Athena, goddess of wisdom, war, and victory, represented righteous war.

After all, when victory is on your side, how could it not be just?

Meanwhile, Ares—the god of war who cared only about fighting but rarely winning—stood for unrighteous war.

Well, it’s only fitting if you can’t win against anyone.

Beyond her primary domains of wisdom, warfare, and victory, Athena also held a wide variety of other, peculiar responsibilities and skills: arts, weaving, painting, gardening, craftsmanship, agriculture, animal husbandry, navigation, military strategy…

And Athena’s strength was also unparalleled among the gods. Once, in a quarrel with Ares, this goddess hurled Sicily itself at him, sending Ares crawling across the ground.

When Typhon, the King of All Beasts and Father of Monsters, attacked Mount Olympus, the gods were terrified. Following the advice of Pan, the gods each transformed into different animals and fled.

Hera became a white cow, Apollo an eagle, Hermes a crane, Ares a fish, Artemis a cat, Dionysus a goat, Heracles a fawn, Hephaestus a bull… each god took on a different form.

Even Pan himself transformed into the hybrid of goat and fish that would become the origin of Capricorn.

Amid the gods’ panicked escape, only Zeus and Athena stood firm, choosing to face Typhon head-on.

Zeus, as the King of the Gods, had no choice—Typhon was there for his throne. Athena, however, stood her ground, armed with her own courage and might to fight the King of Monsters.

As the goddess who represented righteous war and victorious battle, Athena’s martial prowess had surpassed even the divine, reaching its absolute peak.

In the Throne of Heroes, the highest possible martial skill rating is the A+++ of Li Shuwen’s Chinese martial arts. But if Athena’s combat skill were to be ranked, it would certainly exceed that, measured at an incomprehensible EX.

A true mastery that transcends divine limits.

Suren had no idea that the seemingly playful and cheerful young girl before him was actually Athena herself…

But he was getting his ass kicked.

He’d assumed that even in his new body, he could at least rely on his previous skills as a baseline—surely at a minimum, he could hit A-rank level?

Even if he couldn’t defeat Athena’s priestess, Pallas, who’d claimed to be stronger than Chiron, he shouldn’t be getting crushed, right? A decent back-and-forth should be possible?

In reality, it was nothing of the sort.

Suren’s technique was solid—he could read his opponent’s openings, synchronize his breathing and footwork, and combine them with precise strikes. Most opponents would be hard-pressed to match his prowess.

But against Pallas, Suren felt entirely stifled. Every time he attempted a move, she disrupted him with countless techniques, turning his attacks against him.

And her strength wasn’t even greater than his; she really seemed like an ordinary girl. But somehow, he couldn’t even fully extend his arm without feeling resistance.

Because whenever he attempted a move, Pallas would make him pay a more painful price than any hit he could land.

Such was the power of martial skills that had transcended the divine—no need to focus on exploiting weaknesses; to Pallas, Suren might as well have been a child who knew nothing of combat.

“Now, do you see what it really means to be able to fight?” Pallas said, looking at the drenched Suren. She swallowed, pressing her lips together and adding, “You still have a long way to go with your self-defense skills.”

“…Hah…hah…”

Suren, gasping for breath and trembling all over, felt a profound sense of enlightenment. He’d thought he was already one of the best fighters among mortals. Now, it was as if he’d glimpsed a whole new world.

As he regained his breath and his rationality returned, he gave Pallas a suspicious look. “Hang on, Pallas, this level of skill… it must be unique in Greece, right?”

“I remember you said you were better than Chiron, and he’s known as the ‘Teacher of Heroes.’ So, you must be really strong, right?”

“…”

A flicker of frustration crossed Pallas’s eyes; she hadn’t expected Suren to piece it together so quickly. She replied smoothly, “Surpassing Chiron isn’t all that difficult. Anyone blessed by a major deity could achieve it.”

Like you, she thought to herself, whom I, Pallas Athena, have chosen. One day, your skills will surely surpass even Chiron’s!

“Ah, I see.” Satisfied, Suren let go of his doubts.

But—

Chiron was, in fact, the son of the god Cronus and the nymph Philyra. Though he possessed a centaur’s body, he was a gentle sage among his violent, bloodthirsty kin.

Strictly speaking, Chiron was also a god and, in terms of seniority, even Athena’s uncle.

However, Chiron had neither divine duties nor powers befitting a Titan, leaving him in an awkward position in this divine age of Greece—stronger than human heroes but weaker than gods, akin to a demigod. He was slightly weaker than the mightiest of demigods, Heracles.

But as one of the most revered Olympians, Athena had every reason to look down on Chiron.

Suren resumed the grueling training Pallas put him through, pushing himself tirelessly. Given his respect for Greek philosophy, he threw himself into the training wholeheartedly, working without rest.

Of course, a diligent teacher like Pallas wouldn’t let him strain himself to death on muscle work alone; practical sparring was essential, as repetitive punches and forms would yield little improvement.

“Well… that’s enough Pankration training for now.”

Pallas studied Suren’s bruised form with satisfaction. Despite the bruises, his breathing was steady, and he was healing quickly—a testament to his fire-tempered, nearly indestructible body.

“Ah?” Suren’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Does this mean I’ve graduated?”

“Not a chance! You’re nowhere near that yet,” Pallas laughed. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll move on to wrestling. Along with grappling and running, wrestling is another essential skill for demonstrating a man’s appeal.”

The Greeks loved wrestling and running. Every year during the games, a group of well-built, muscular priests would cover themselves in oil and scented herbs to showcase their strength in front of the entire city.

Once the games concluded, special attendants would even collect the sweat and oils left by these athletes…

The Greeks viewed wrestling and running as the ultimate displays of masculine allure.

“Wrestling, huh…”

Suren glanced at Pallas’s beautiful face, falling deep in thought.

Wrestling…

Didn’t that mean body contact, skin-to-skin?

“Can I decline, Pallas?” Suren asked, smiling weakly, though he didn’t explain further.

“Of course not. Wrestling is a critical skill. And besides grappling, you’ll need to practice running as well; both will help you on your journey to find true love!”

At her words, Suren’s face grew serious. He wasn’t naive—quite the opposite. He was highly self-aware.

No woman could ignore the pull of his divine visage, his mien of the gods. Pallas’s initial fondness for him was likely not insubstantial. With daily interactions and this kind of close contact, Pallas was sure to fall under his spell.

Such intimate techniques should be passed down among men or among women.

If Pallas were an ordinary person, perhaps it would be fine. But she was Athena’s priestess. Athena, as the goddess of unmarried maidens and virgins, could hardly condone her priestess losing her purity.

If Athena grew angry, Pallas would likely be transformed into a monster for the heroes she guided to vanquish.

Suren wasn’t the kind of man to sacrifice everything for a fleeting moment of pleasure. He had to take responsibility not just for himself, but for others.

“Pallas, do you understand what you’re doing?”

Taking a deep breath, Suren looked at her with resolve. “You may be clever and calculating, but you’re still a young girl. It’s normal for you to be drawn to my appearance.”

“You may not realize it, but I have to look out for you.”

“I’m not going to continue learning with you, Pallas.” Suren exhaled, having reached a decision. “You’re right about all of this, but I can find someone else to learn from. I won’t let you harm yourself out of stubbornness.”

He gave a final, firm nod.

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

"..."

Pallas Athena gazed at Suren in shock. As the goddess of wisdom, she could hear the subtext in his words.

Watching his resolute stance, Athena felt at a loss for words.

She should be angry at him right now.

Yet, from her chest to her cheeks, she only felt an unexpected softness, making anger impossible.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she found herself asking, “Suren, have you… never felt anything for me?”

“...To be honest, Pallas, I do hold you in high regard.”

Suren spoke quietly. “But precisely because I care about you, I have to distance myself. I can’t stand by and watch you fall into ruin... If you’re truly the priestess of Athena, surely you understand the temperament of the gods.”

Who wouldn’t feel something for a beautiful girl who’d been nothing but kind?

Who could overlook a caring older sister figure, watching over him with gentle attentiveness?

Precisely because Suren felt this warmth toward Pallas, because he cherished her, he knew he had to keep his distance. He couldn’t allow her to act on any unwise impulse that might destroy her life.

With his decision made, he turned away to leave. Athena realized then that he was serious, and his decision was final—nothing could change it.

If she truly were a mere priestess of Athena, there’d be no way to keep him here.

Knowing this, Athena didn’t hesitate. “Suren, turn back. Look at me and tell me who you see.”

Decisive. Utterly resolute.

It was precisely this trait that set Athena apart from others.

Artemis, for example, though secretly harboring her feelings, had hesitated for years to reveal her identity to him.

Even on the night Suren had quietly crept away, when her emotions swelled most powerfully, she’d forced herself to feign sleep, unwilling to act.

But Athena… Athena was different.

Her voice still held the youthful, vibrant quality of a girl—clear and sweet, no older than eighteen by sound alone. Yet her words carried an authority that brooked no denial, stately and irrefutable.

The tone hadn’t changed, only the pitch and intonation; yet it was unmistakably different.

Suren found himself unable to resist. This was the command of a god to a mortal, compelling him to turn back.

Before him now stood not the golden-haired girl from before…

A wreath of olive branches rested upon her head, her golden visage radiant and resplendent, with hair that glowed faintly—befitting a goddess known for her beautiful hair.

Her skin was luminous, her dress ornate and exquisitely embroidered, rather than the armor-like robes one might expect for battle.

She had her famous, bright eyes, a face shaped like a classic oval, with delicate, finely-formed lips. Perched on her shoulder was an owl, its piercing gaze filled with divine wisdom—an unmistakable symbol of the goddess’s sagacity.

The goddess before him bore a striking resemblance to the girl known as Pallas, yet subtle details had been altered to mask her true identity.

Those modifications may have hidden her divine features, but her beauty remained undeniable. As the goddess of art, Athena understood the power of crafted allure, and she was a master sculptor of her own appearance.

However, it was not the alteration in her appearance that hid her divinity most effectively; rather, it was her intentional restraint of the holy radiance she naturally exuded.

The instant Suren felt that awe-inspiring power, compelling him to tremble and bow, he knew her identity.

“The goddess of wisdom, war, and victory… Athena…”

Suren fell silent, his gaze resting on Pallas—no, on Pallas Athena herself—as he gave a small, bitter smile. “Pallas Athena… That’s why the name seemed so familiar.”

“So, you were a god this whole time—one of the Twelve Olympians of Olympus.”

With his hand over his heart, he was about to bow when Athena gently held him back, looking into his beautiful yet troubled eyes. “Ah, Suren... this is precisely why I hesitated to reveal myself to you.”

“…” Suren stayed silent. He couldn’t guess at her thoughts, so he took the safest course and said nothing.

Truthfully, his mind was a mess. He hadn’t meant to disrupt Athena’s little “game,” but now that he had, he was unsure what this goddess thought of him.

Athena gazed upon Suren, her golden eyes flickering with an unmistakable glint of satisfaction. But her divine light was so intense that Suren couldn’t see the depths of her gaze.

Athena had never met anyone like him. Suren was reasoned, flawless, respectful of women and of everyone he met, upright and noble—a perfect bridge between mortals and gods. He was like the prophet and fire-bearer Prometheus, a true conduit of the gods’ intentions to humankind.

Any other Greek hero in his position, faced with a pure, kind-hearted girl who’d defy her goddess’s wrath to be with him, wouldn’t think twice. They’d seize the chance, perhaps even defile the sacred temple in their conquest.

Most would take such an encounter as proof of their charm, declaring their success to anyone who’d listen, and certainly wouldn’t care about the girl’s future.

And as for Athena’s wrath? Whatever fate might befall a priestess in the aftermath of her defilement would be of no concern to the so-called hero.

But Suren was different—a truly kind-hearted soul.

Which only made Athena value him all the more.

Born from the faith of humanity, gods were bound by divine love toward them, bearing both the honor and responsibility of guiding and protecting humanity.

Yet gods, unlike mortals, were rarely capable of deep empathy, and few could bridge that gap like Prometheus had. Now, in Suren, Athena recognized that same bridge—the perfect link between god and mortal.

“Have you forgotten your promise to me, Suren?” Athena’s voice was soft.

“…How could I?” Suren sighed, leaning back against a column. “Alright, Lady Athena. Since it’s your divine will, I will comply with your command.”

Inwardly, Athena sighed. She realized now that they would never quite return to the relaxed atmosphere they’d had before.

Poor Suren still harbored his fair share of biases toward the gods, viewing them as powerful, vindictive, yet capricious beings who could not be offended.

How else could he have grown so comfortable with Hestia?

Athena, ever the popular goddess, could never understand that it was precisely Hestia’s reserved nature that had put Suren at ease. In his eyes, a quiet, reclusive deity like her simply couldn’t be a threat.

But these were minor matters; as the goddess of wisdom, Athena had no doubt she could find a solution to ease this tension over time.

[Age 16: Three Years of Training Under the Goddess Athena]

[In your first year, Lady Athena, now fully revealed, brought you to an island for special training.]

[Every day, you practiced the martial art of Pankration, along with long-distance running and wrestling. However, as a goddess, Athena had no intention of wrestling you herself. Instead, she commanded you to defeat the island’s “Monkey King”—a divine beast blessed with natural wrestling prowess, a massive and holy being.]

[The godly monkey was five meters tall, its towering frame alone enough to inspire dread. More importantly, it was every bit as intelligent as any human. With every challenge, you had to survive not only the Monkey King but also the onslaught of all the island’s monkeys in righteous fury.]

[Thus, your first year passed, caught between the goddess’s training and the relentless pummeling of monkey justice.]

[Age 17: With another year of intense training, your strength and technique grew significantly, yet you became only more humble.]

[You’re certain that wretched monkey’s wrestling skills are beyond A+++, because it can throw you so hard you’re left staring at the sky.]

[Still, compared to those first hopeless days, you’re stronger than ever, and you can even fight back.]

[Age 18: Athena has stopped overseeing your training personally. She tells you that your Pankration skills are sufficiently developed, but still, you can’t quite overcome the Monkey King and its righteous horde.]

[According to Lady Athena, you’ll be free to leave once you defeat this holy beast in a wrestling match.]

[However, Athena withheld one important detail: a major event involving the gods had occurred this year.]

[At Calydon, King Oeneus had neglected to honor Artemis, goddess of the moon and the hunt, during the harvest festival. Already in a foul mood, the goddess grew furious and sent a monstrous boar to Calydon.]

[This monstrous boar was a nightmarish creature, wreaking havoc across the kingdom’s farmland, devouring everything in its path. Calydon’s citizens are in dire straits, for each day this boar devours thousands of livestock, representing the livelihood of dozens of farmers.]

[At his wit’s end, King Oeneus has called upon the heroes of Greece to save his people…]

“Finally… finally took down this damn monkey!”

Suren stood atop the hulking monkey’s body, breathless but victorious. After hundreds of throws, each one draining his strength, he’d finally overcome the creature with EX-level wrestling skills.

Behind him lay an endless expanse of unconscious monkeys, each one a testament to his hard-earned victories.

At last, he’d passed Athena’s trial!

The Monkey King stirred, eyes opening as it wiped the foam from its mouth. Without a word, it pointed to an object behind its throne before turning away, a defeated expression on its face.

Suren walked around the throne, pushing through vines, shrubs, and overgrowth until he reached…

An airplane?

Suren blinked, rubbing his eyes. No, he hadn’t mistaken it—this was most certainly an aircraft!

The entire machine gleamed with golden radiance, as if it were constructed entirely from pure gold. It shone with the divine luster of the age of gods, appearing as though crafted by skilled hands to capture and amplify light. The entire thing was utterly magnificent.

Suren glanced it over, but found no fuel tank—he had no idea how it might even be powered.

No, he was getting ahead of himself. In this ancient age, a device like this was already miraculous… but how could it even exist?

Could it be…

Was it possible that the technological sophistication of the divine age was far beyond human understanding?

He tried to open the cockpit, only to realize there wasn’t one. After a moment of inspection, he realized:

This godly aircraft required him to stand on it, channeling his own mana as its fuel source.

“Is this some kind of prototype of Gil’s?”

Suren pondered. If the Indian pantheon could have the Vimana and the Sumerians their Ma’anna, then why couldn’t the Greeks have their own golden chariot?

“So, this is my reward for completing the trial…”

Rubbing his chin, he thought aloud, “What name should I give this thing?”

---

T/N: hehe gil mention, also HANMA? and now MONKEYS?