The God of Underworld-Chapter 82 - 36: The Architect of Heroes

High above the world, beyond the clouds and the shifting currents of mortal time, stood Mount Olympus—radiant and eternal.

Its marbled halls shimmered under the celestial sun, kissed by golden winds that never stopped blowing.

Between the high pillars of its temples, divine laughter echoed.

Wine flowed in fountains, and songs of excess and celebration filled the air. But amidst the revelry of gods, there was one place of stillness.

A chamber of thought. A balcony of silence.

There, away from the others, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, stood alone.

Her silver robe billowed lightly in the mountain breeze, but her eyes—sharp, gleaming with restrained excitement and fascination—were fixed on the world below.

On the burning earth.

On the chaos of mortals.

On the war.

Her vision pierced the veil of clouds, descending past the skies to the world of men, where blades clashed and banners burned.

She saw the smoldering village.

She saw the bloodshed.

She saw the Herion army, emerging from the fog of ash like a tide of iron and discipline.

And at the center of it all—

Kaerion.

The general of Herios, a man wrapped in steel, his heart beating with unwavering courage.

She watched as he rode into the mass of zealots, not hesitating for a breath, cleaving through the chaos with courage more divine than many gods she knew.

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know why, but this display of resolve and strength, it moved her.

No, thrilled her.

She took a step closer to the edge of the balcony, her fingers curling around the rail of enchanted marble.

Her heart, which has been cold and quiet since her birth, started racing.

It was a foreign, alien sensation.

Something she had never known.

Excitement.

She gasped softly, her pale lips parting as another wave of emotion surged through her.

Kaerion was outnumbered twenty to one, and yet... he did not yield. He did not falter. Instead, he carved a path through enemies as if fate bent to his will.

A mortal... doing what should be impossible.

Her body shuddered.

"Fascinating..." she whispered to no one.

Not even the birth of a star had stirred her.

Not the rise of civilizations nor the songs sung in her name.

But this...watching someone rise from the pit of mortality to grasp something eternal—this gave her something she had never felt.

Obsession.

Mortals had always been beneath the interest of Olympus. They were like insects; flitting, short-lived, fragile.

But as Athena watched Kaerion carve his way through hopeless odds, shouting not in fear but in fury, she realized.

’These insects... could burn like stars.’

"What did Hades call them?" she whispered to herself, eyes fixated on the spectacle. "Ah, yes... Heroes."

She repeated the word, tasting it like honey on her tongue.

Heroes.

Men and women who defied fate, who fought even when death seemed certain. Mortals who rise beyond what they were born as, who made even the gods turn their heads.

A name Hades creatwd in honor of Herios, the King of Herion, and Lord of Humanity.

Kaerion was one of them.

And Athena wanted more.

"I want to see more..." she muttered.

"More Kaerions. More Herios. More warriors who defy destiny. More souls who shine brighter than gods. Mortals who... overshadow all others."

A smile—no, a grin—stretched across her usually reserved face. Her lips trembled with the intensity of it. Her cheeks flushed. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

She was panting now.

This wasn’t just intrigue. It was addiction.

Her hands trembled with possibilities.

Her breaths came quicker. Her pupils widened. She leaned over the edge of her divine balcony as if trying to get closer to the action below.

’Go,’ she silently willed the soldiers of Herion. ’Stand. Fight. Rise.’

She wanted to see them bleed and not fall.

She wanted to see them weep and not break.

She wanted to see them do the impossible.

She wanted to forge them in fire, in blood, in pain—and see what came out.

And in that moment, a seed was planted in her heart.

Something ancient. Something divine. Something she had never known before, not even the day she was born, leaping fully grown from Zeus’ head, fully armored and wise.

A sense of purpose.

As her siblings partied, drank, or lusted away their eternal lives, Athena had always been the one watching from afar.

She was different, even from the start.

No lust. No greed. No desire for destruction or revelry.

Only reason and thought.

And yet now this chaos of human will stirred something she never thought she’d feel.

Her grin widened, feral and radiant.

"They shine," she whispered, a gleam in her eyes. "They shine brighter than stars."

She can see their souls. Normally dull, burn brighter than the sun. She felt like she would go blind peering deep into their souls.

She wanted them.

She didn’t want to rule them. She didn’t want to use them as pawns in some divine war. She didn’t even want them to worship her.

But she wanted to watch them become more.

More than their mortal lives could ever imagine. More than any gods could even dream of.

And so she began to imagine.

She imagined great trials—dungeons of illusion and madness, sacred beasts hidden across the world, swords lodged in stone, cities cursed by ancient magic, riddles left unsolved for centuries.

She would scatter trials across the earth, and those who rose to meet them would become her champions.

Not because they asked her for help.

But because they refused to kneel.

Because they refused to die quietly.

Her pulse thundered. Yes. This would be her gift to the world—not power, not conquest, but glory.

Eternal, burning, unforgettable glory.

She paced now, whispering to herself, "I will give them the stage. The world. The threat. The impossible odds. And those who rise and overcome them... will become legends."

Her thoughts turned to the scrolls she would write. The statues she would carve. The legends she would preserve for eternity.

These mortqls, these shining sparks in the dark... they deserved to be remembered. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

She waved her hand, and in the divine ether, golden ink formed and traced into an ever-growing scroll.

A record. A tale yet to be written. A place to record their names.

A place where no name would be forgotten.

Herios would be the first.

She would ensure that a thousand years from now, the name of that man would be spoken with awe by mortals and gods alike.

She would guide none directly, but all silently.

She would nudge fate.

She would scatter signs.

She would awaken ancient ruins.

She would whisper into the ears of madmen and prophets alike.

She would ignite the flame of myth in a world that had grown cold with tyranny and dogma.

And from now until the stars fell, she would watch—for the rise of every new flame.

Her grin widened as she watched Kaerion’s blade lift again.

As she watched a man, drenched in blood, raise his banner even while wounded.

As she watched a single soldier scream defiance into the face of an overwhelming horde.

This was glory.

This...is a hero.

And as the sun set over the battlefield, casting long shadows over the carnage, Athena’s eyes burned with the light of destiny.

From this day on, the world would change.

Because Athena had chosen her path.

Not as a goddess of wisdom.

Not just of war.

But as the Architect of Heroes.

"Oh, what a glorious age this will be," she murmured, and closed her eyes, basking in the firelight of the battlefield below.

The Age of Heroes had begun. And Athena, the ever-watchful, ever-thinking goddess... would not miss a second of it.

"...For now, let’s start with this... The Epic of Herios, King of Humanity."