Myth: The Ruler of Spirituality

Chapter 447 - 120: The Curse_3

After this, Demophon’s eldest brother, Tripdolimos, was once again sent to the abode of the goddess by Clytius. However, this time, when they arrived, no one dared to lift their heads and look directly at Demeter; they all gazed at the ground, displaying their humility to the deity walking among them in the Mortal Realm.

That day, the king thought he would once again receive news of his eldest son’s death, and Tripdolimos shared this belief. Yet, when faced with the choice given by his father, he still chose to come. Unexpectedly, Demeter did not go back on her word. She kept her promise and granted the young child the glory closest to that of a god.

At this place where the former king had once resided, the goddess imparted to Tripdolimos the secrets of agriculture, which were both the accumulation and summary of the past generations of humans, as well as the processes deduced from results by Demeter herself.

This knowledge included not only the growth of grains and the methods of cultivation, but even spanned the changing of celestial patterns and geology, breeding and selection of grain varieties, and the laws of climate among other crystallizations of wisdom.

This knowledge was complex and profound, and much of it was understood in its effects but not in its causes. Yet the vague explanations by the goddess were inevitably misinterpreted by mortals.

Everyone was immersed in joy, and even the king put aside his resentment while he reminisced about his youngest child. After all, things were good now, and rather than holding a grudge against an invincible enemy for a lifetime, it was better to temporarily let go.

It was a reluctant decision, the wisdom of the weak seeking survival. In any case, the events of that night seemed to have passed just like that. No one in the palace spoke of it, and the common folk outside were even less likely to know what had happened. No one spoke of the prince who died young, as if he had never existed.

The people simply sang praises of the goddess’s greatness and enjoyed the long-awaited harvest.

Only Metanira was not like this.

That night, Demeter’s aloof pronouncement still echoed in the queen’s dreams, and the manner of her young son’s death was vivid in her mind. In Metanira’s heart, there was no letting go, only a mortal’s curse upon a deity.

Unfortunately, in this world, a curse without power is nothing at all.