9 GOD OF THE ROADS

He was looking at a handsome guy in the mirror.

There was no other word to describe himself. He was an illustrator and had an aesthetic sense.

'If I looked like that in my world, my life would be different! I would have made some money out of it, believe me!'

Glax had the appearance of a Greek statue, but in flesh and blood. His body was athletic and proportionate, even though he was not tall or had prominent muscles. There were no soft or fluffy parts in his belly, thighs, arms or back, as in his other life.

He was the image of a rockstar with wavy dark brown hair to the shoulders, big green and inquisitive eyes, and a mysterious and troubled gleam in his eyes, in a sense.

The scar just above the left cheekbone marked his otherwise attractive face, with letters that said exactly what Rasmus had told him: SON OF A DEAD.

As he read those words, he realized it sounded absurdly disgusting. His transmigration had at least given him the knowledge of the language. So he understood that, even worse than if his mother had been raped by twenty drunken sailors and he was the result, that was worse.

It was implied that his mother had committed a repulsive act of her own free will. It was as shocking as if it resulted from zoophilia. If that were possible.

His jaw tightened when he realized this, and he put on the leather mask again. He thought he had to find out who had done this, and take revenge.

Ah yes. Rasmus had a suspect. Glax's stepmother.

Lying on the couch and looking out the window at the sky, he thought he must make some sense of his presence there, in that place. He didn't understand the huge headless statues.

In fact, he had minimal knowledge of Greek-Roman mythology to be a game illustrator. He didn't know who the Ascended Gods were, or the Old Invisible God. But he was familiar with 'Stygia'.

That word had a dark connotation, and it was the name of that land. But wasn't that term related to a River of the Underworld? The river that souls had to cross?

He sighed, restless, but his mind didn't help at that moment. The bath, the snack, and the calm, peaceful sky before his eyes were having an effect on his exhausted body.

Fighting sleep, as he didn't want to lose his box from sight until the ceremony, he tried to get up. But it was as if a heavy blanket had been placed over him. So comfortable... So irresistible...

Matt knew he was dreaming.

Were these Glax's memories?

He could smell the earth and the moss beneath him, as his blood drained from a hole in his flesh. Looking up through damp lashes, he saw the leaves of the trees swaying, indifferent to his condition.

Glax knew he was dying, abandoned and alone in that forest at the base of the mountain.

The warmth of his blood was comforting. The cold and inhospitable forest was his enemy.

There was no use shouting. Nobody would listen.

Glax thought he should ask the gods for mercy, but he knew he couldn't ask the Sun or the Moon for anything unless he saw them. And he couldn't see the sky through the treetops.

There were the nameless gods. Some of them would hear him. Perhaps he could cry out for help. He was only 12 and did not want to die.

There was a lot of anger in his chest, and a desire for revenge. He would become a ghost on that mountain.

They ambushed him, and even though he was skilled enough to escape, they mortally wound him.

He knew who had done this. He knew how much he was hated. And how much he was feared. But now, he was not afraid, just angry.

"Tsk tsk… You are choking. What do you mean?" Someone stopped just behind his head, and asked mockingly.

Glax was strikingly aware of the surroundings, perhaps because of the pain. Why didn't he hear the man coming?

Not only did he not feel the earth shake under his head with the man's steps. The leaves had not rustled under the newcomer's feet.

In addition, strange electricity ran through his body, a suspicion that left him alert. The stranger was no ordinary mortal.

"How ... to claim help from a god, if they have no name?" he struggled to speak. His saliva tasted like blood, and when he spoke he coughed. His whole body ached, his tunic got wet with the splash of more blood.

The stranger shrugged. "We have names. But you don't remember anymore." He walked around the boy. "If I hadn't arrived quickly... You would have an ignoble death, oh boy..."

Glax nodded, following him with his eyes. He was a young man with blond hair framing his face; a tall, slim figure in a strange, ancient outfit. When the god realized he was observed, he winked.

"Kid, you have a unique chance. I would never meddle in your death, and in fact you are one of my worst alternatives ... Young and weak, and obviously not very smart. You got caught so easily! You need to do something about it in the future!"

"Future?" Glax laughed, although he was terrified.

"Yea. Future. We have a lot in common, you and me. So I know we will get along ... Today I will help you. And you will repay me in a while. Do we have a deal?"

'And do I have another choice ...?' Glax thought. "We have a deal, unknown god."

"I am the god of the roads. And now that you know me, make offerings on my altars, and I will reward you."

The god placed an icy canteen on his lips, and Glax sipped the bitter liquid. If that would bring him life and the opportunity to change his fate...

He woke up to someone calling his name. It was time for the ceremony.

Without time to absorb the strange dream about Glax and the god of the roads, as he called himself, the Glax now had no choice but to dress and receive his crown.

Contrary to what he imagined, his crown wasn't made with laurel, but yew, as he discovered, and it itched in his head.

He joined the other six men and the entire court that accompanied them now.

Women in long black dresses now assisted the pointed bearded men. The ladies wore white masks with smiling faces that were actually scary.

Rasmus tried to talk to him, but a Psssh! shut them up. Apparently they must follow the script or suffer the wrath of the gods and their earthly helpers!

The group arrived in the main hall, where the columns allowed the sunset light to enter the temple. Torches already burned, and incense scented the air, making Glax's eyes burn, and his head hurt. He was a little sensitive to strong smell.

Imitating the others, Glax placed his box at his feet, and stopped as if he were ready for a military inspection, quite upright, and looking at the distant horizon.

The people present were away, watching them with curiosity. Glax guessed they were the city's elite, because of their luxurious clothes and adornments.

The ceremony followed an intriguing and beautiful liturgy.

The seven men positioned themselves facing the west and the main entrance. Glax's eyes wandered to the figures represented in the mosaics at his feet. He saw a grand battle between giants and heroes, but there were no faces, again.

Thus, he lost part of the recited blablabla, and only paid attention when a blue-bearded man whose clothes had more golden details than the others, asked,

"Six women await this year's Armoric Games winners so that the leaders of the Echelians continue producing the greatest warriors of Stygia. He who does not feel appropriate for such a fate, leave now."

Was it his cue to escape this unusual destiny?