(Greek Mythology) The Abyss
Chapter 71
"Are you done with your work?" Tartarus asked Hades, whom he hadn't seen for a while.
Hades nodded, looking somewhat listless. Being overwhelmed by paperwork was a feeling even for a god.
After the Battle of Typhon, Zeus continued his father's glorious tradition, annihilating all of humanity. In this respect, Zeus was more astute than Cronus. The battle with Typhon had a wide-ranging impact; many humans had already died, so a few more deaths were insignificant. Therefore, Zeus didn't incur the same public wrath as Cronus.
However, whether Zeus was astute or not made no difference to the Underworld. The workload would increase regardless, so the gods of the underworld, who had only recently had a respite, began a new round of busy work, with Hades, the king of the underworld, bearing the brunt.
"So, can't you just finish everything at once? You barely sent those humans to reincarnate, and then you unleashed a flood that brought them all back to life, even adding more as a bonus! So you think you can just run wild because you're not busy? —by the collectively berserk gods of the underworld
An exquisite tea set was laid out on the table. Tartarus's movements were fluid and elegant, the water flowing gently into the teacup, the steam carrying the aroma rising and blurring his vision.
He poured two cups, handing one to Hades. The pale green tea, with tea leaves bobbing up and down, was rather interesting to watch.
From this perspective, Tartarus felt he should thank those transmigrators; at least they popularized things like tea and Go, preventing him from feeling too out of place.
Especially that transmigrator who possessed a spatial ability and maxed out tea-growing skills. Tartarus loved tea, and his tea-brewing skills were top-notch, but growing tea… it was obvious Tartarus couldn't possibly know such a thing.
Actually, Tartarus had always been unhappy about transmigrating into Greek mythology. He wanted to go to the primordial world; the style of the Greek mythological world was too vibrant, and the behavior of the beings, represented by the Greek gods, was too unrestrained. His Majesty Tartarus felt he couldn't handle it.
Stop. Let's look on the bright side. Greek mythology wasn't without its advantages; at least the safety level was far higher than in the primordial world. Even in the fiercest wars of the gods, only other beings died. The defeated gods, though imprisoned in Tartarus, at least didn't die.
In the primordial world, the initial calamity of the dragon and phoenix, the great calamity of the Lich King… the deaths of gods were all planned out. In comparison, Greek mythology was incredibly peaceful. As long as one didn't care about principles and lowered their standards, one could generally manage to survive there.
Therefore, it's not without reason that the Greek gods became increasingly ineffective. Without pressure, there's no motivation; without a survival crisis, they only cared about enjoyment. Whatever strength they possessed at birth, they remained the same for many years later. It's no wonder they became ineffective. In the primordial world, various calamities came wave after wave, and powerful beings died one after another. Naturally, the primordial beings would cultivate desperately.
Tartarus, holding his teacup, was lost in thought. Hades, however, watched Tartarus. Millions of years of accumulated experience, years of seclusion in the abyss, and withdrawal from the world—Tartarus possessed an indescribable tranquility that calmed the hearts of those who looked at him, gradually dispelling the slight restlessness caused by days of official duties.
"What are you looking at?" Tartarus asked, noticing Hades' gaze. Was there something on his face?
"Nothing," Hades replied, turning his gaze to the outside of the pavilion.
This was a valley in the abyss. Amidst the biting cold of ice and snow, large clusters of flames, some deep red, some golden, burned, seemingly burning away the exuberance of life. Every moment, flames dimmed and extinguished, and every moment, new flames were born, struggling and flickering in the ice and snow. Life and death cycled endlessly, vividly depicted within this small space.
But upon closer inspection, it became clear that they were not flames at all, but rather crystalline flowers, their surfaces covered in a layer of flame. Their roots were snow-white, almost blending into the ice and snow. The stems transitioned from white to colorless and transparent from bottom to top, while the flowers, like the flames, were varying shades of red and golden, deepening from the edges of the petals towards the stamens—a dazzling display of vibrant colors. "What's the name of this flower?"
"It doesn't have a name. Just pick one." Tartarus casually plucked a flower, his black robes and unparalleled elegance eclipsing even the dazzling flames swaying amidst the snow-covered mountains behind him.
"Here." Tartarus tossed the flower to Hades.
Hades instinctively reached out to catch it, instantly feeling a searing, slightly painful heat from the point of contact with the flames, nearly causing him to drop the flower.
Hades applied a layer of divine power to his skin to insulate against the flames. His expression remained unchanged, showing no reaction to Tartarus's deliberate lack of warning. Tartarus had always had a wicked sense of humor; he was used to it, or perhaps all gods were.
"What's the use of this flower?" Hades asked. A flower that could grow in the deepest, coldest part of the abyss couldn't be just for decoration, could it? (In a sense, Your Majesty Hades, you've hit the nail on the head.)
"...Relatively...resilient." Tartarus looked at the flower in Hades' hand, speaking hesitantly.
Well, he really didn't know what use this flower was. Most plants only had medicinal value, and a few special ones could grant some kind of special status effect. But while it might be useful to others, it was practically useless to Tartarus. Wasn't it just for ornamental purposes?
Resilient? What kind of use was that? Hades remained silent, speechless.
"It can also be planted in harsh environments to beautify the landscape." Tartarus believed that if they could grow well here, they could certainly withstand the environments of other parts of Hell.
There's a reason why the Underworld isn't favored by the outer gods. Normal plants simply can't survive here, and the native plants of the Underworld grow under extremely harsh conditions, either in the hottest or coldest places, or in the most suitable climates—all are peculiarities. Therefore, most of the Underworld is incredibly desolate.
"A harsh environment? The River Styx?" When Hades heard "harsh environment," his first thought was the River Styx, the only way to enter the Underworld.
The River Styx's waters are extremely cold; any living being that comes into contact with it is corroded. Otherwise, Charon, the ferryman of the Styx, wouldn't exist to guide souls across. Therefore, the places the Styx flows through are practically barren.
Hearing Hades's words, and looking at the flickering flames on the petals, Tartarus's thoughts unconsciously drifted to a strange place.
Is this some kind of Greek mythological version of the Path of Fire? Although it's not a spider lily, this flower with real flames is more fitting for the name "Path of Fire."
Thinking about it this way, it seems quite interesting, especially if a transmigrator knows.
Hey! Your Majesty Tartarus, you should stop now! First the eighteen levels of hell, then the Path of Fire—are you determined to plagiarize the entire Eastern Hell? Why not just add the Bridge of Helplessness and the Stone of Three Lives as well? Chapter 71