Chapter 3: The Slaughterhouse of Olympus

Mount Olympus, Hall of the Gods.

The corpses of true sea monsters lay everywhere like mountains. Most conspicuous among them was an old monster with a crown atop his head and a long blue beard.

The tang of ozone mixed with spilled wine and the stench of death. Somewhere, a harp string snapped, the discordant note echoing through the carnage. Marble floors were streaked with red, and the grand hall—once a place of revelry and judgment—now resembled a slaughterhouse after a tornado. The old monster’s crown had rolled to the foot of Jupiter’s throne, glinting with each pulse of lightning.

Upon the mountain-sized corpse, countless towering figures stood together, their terrifying divine might enough to make all beings tremble.

They cast shadows that stretched to the far walls, their eyes cold and bright as stadium lights on game night. The silence was broken only by the low hum of godly power, vibrating through the air like the bass at a rock concert.

"Hahaha, splendid! This hunt has truly brought a great haul! That Atlantic worm even dared to challenge Father God—he really courted death!"

Just by standing there, Apollo shone like a blazing sun illuminating all the heavens, laughing recklessly, his eyes brimming with pride.

His voice rang out with all the smugness of a champion quarterback after a blowout. Every gesture oozed arrogance, the swagger of a golden child who'd never lost a fight.

In this battle, he had personally torn apart more than one true sea monster and drunk their blood.

He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his white tunic, the stain spreading like a badge of honor. He tossed an empty goblet aside, the clang echoing down the marble halls.

"Indeed. We only hunt once every thousand years. That old beast didn't come to greet us—fine. But after we slew a few true monsters in his Atlantic, he dared come out and lecture us, even threatening us? Truly ridiculous!"

Apollo’s laugh was sharp, echoing off the stone like a frat boy at a bonfire, half-daring someone to challenge him. The other gods lounged on ornate chairs, feet propped up, as if this massacre were a casual afterparty.

"Does he really think this era still belongs to those ancient Atlantic gods?"

Ares, the god of war, downed his divine whiskey, eyes full of contempt.

He slammed the glass on the table, the sound punctuating his disdain. His laughter was bitter, the kind you’d hear from a prizefighter mocking a washed-up rival.

Even now, he could recall the old monster's unyielding gaze at the moment of death. The more the monster refused to submit, the more exhilarated he felt.

Just thinking of how Jupiter had ordered him to personally sever the king's head at the end made Ares tremble with excitement.

What an honor this was!

The Leviathan King of the Four Oceans, now one of his trophies.

He pictured the moment over and over—a god’s version of spiking the ball in the end zone, claiming victory in front of a silent crowd.

"Next time, perhaps we could hunt in Sierra Ridge. They say the phoenix is the symbol of auspiciousness for the Atlantic pantheon—it would make a fine addition to my underworld."

Eyes narrowing, Hades, King of the Underworld, gazed at the true monster's body, a flash of greed crossing his face.

He licked his lips, the hunger in his gaze unmasked. A heavy gold ring twisted on his finger as he plotted the next conquest, his voice low and eager.

"Hahaha, of course. When the time comes, I would gladly serve as vanguard."

The gods chuckled, clinking goblets in a parody of brotherhood. Even here, ambition was never far from the surface.

"Vanguard? I think you've got your eye on those mountain nymphs of Sierra Ridge."

A low snicker swept through the crowd. Some gods elbowed Hades, others raised eyebrows, all reveling in the crude banter of victors.

"They say the Queen of the West has a human head and leopard body. When the time comes, I'll capture her and offer her to Father God..."

As Hades spoke, the gods all began chiming in, laughing uproariously, as if a trip to Sierra Ridge was no more than an after-dinner stroll.

The bravado filled the hall, their laughter echoing like the raucous cheers at a championship parade, unconcerned by the blood drying on the marble.

"Enough. This was not my wish. If not for this old monster's repeated offenses, as God-King, I would have spared him. Yet he insisted on pestering us—he brought death upon himself."

Seated upon his divine throne, Jupiter's eyes could not conceal his pride, though he still maintained the dignity of a god-king.

His fingers drummed the armrest—a gesture half bored, half imperial. The room stilled, the other gods pausing their revelry to let the king’s words weigh heavy in the air.

If truth be told, he hadn't intended to kill the Atlantic Leviathan King at first—he merely wanted to slay a few true monsters as a warning to the Atlantic gods, to spread his faith.

But the old king fought him to the death like a madman, so killing him was only natural.

True monsters were one of the totems of the Atlantic pantheon. Now that he had wiped out a quarter of them, things would go even smoother from here.

As for retaliation from the Atlantic gods? Laughable!

Those Atlantic gods were scattered like sand, each holding their own domain, and had not walked the mortal world for ages. The world had long since changed.

Otherwise, how could he have gone to the Atlantic to hunt?

His logic was cold, pragmatic—the kind of realpolitik that shaped empires and toppled dynasties. To him, the Atlantic gods were yesterday’s news, their power a shadow at best.

"Hahaha! Father God is merciful—a toast to Father God!"

"To Father God!"

"To Father God!"

Hearing Jupiter's words, the gods all rose in unison, raising their divine wine and laughing heartily.

They clinked their goblets high, the crystal ringing like church bells at Christmas Eve, their voices rising in a drunken chorus of triumph.

At that instant, a thunderous crash erupted.

Boom!

It was as if the world had split open, startling all the gods.

The ground shook, glasses toppled, and for a moment, even the gods looked uncertain. Stormlight flickered through shattered windows as the hall’s magic barrier fizzled out with a sickening screech.

From the infinite heights above, a sky-supporting pillar swept aside the multicolored clouds, shattered the divine barrier of the gods' hall, and hurled down a battered figure.

The pillar landed with a shockwave that sent tapestries fluttering. All eyes turned to the broken body at its center, blood streaming onto the marble floor.

"Hercules! Who did this?"

Seeing clearly the figure who had been smashed nearly beyond recognition, Ares, god of war, shot to his feet, eyes full of disbelief.

The horror on his face was genuine—a warrior recognizing the fall of a peer. Whispers snaked through the hall: Hercules was the strongman, the unbreakable line. If he fell, who could stand?

Hercules was a mighty god!

As the one who guarded the barrier of Mount Olympus year-round, his power was second only to the main gods, yet now he could not withstand a single blow?

Was this some kind of joke?

Even the bravest gods looked uncertain, the weight of their own mortality pressing in. The party atmosphere evaporated, replaced by the scent of fear.

Step.

Step. Step.

Above the heavens, the dust gradually settled, and a figure holding the Golden Staff upside down walked down slowly, as if heaven and earth resonated with him. His eyes blazed with fire, killing intent soaring to the ninth heaven.

He moved with the confidence of a legend walking back into the world after a long exile. The staff shone gold in the half-light, and every footfall echoed with the promise of retribution.

"Old Leviathan King, I, Old Sam, have come to take you home."

"Those who block me—die."

The declaration rang out in every corner of Olympus. For a moment, the gods remembered why mortals told stories about Sam the Sage. This was no myth. This was vengeance incarnate.