13 OLD FORGOTTEN STATUE

As soon as Glax saw Chriseis enter the circular building, he left the path to the temple and headed for a small adjoining ruin.

There were few columns and a part of the vault of the small temple, which only housed an abandoned and broken statue. Covered in slime and blackened, his face, as expected, was meticulously destroyed, but his arms were also missing.

But Glax recognized the outfit he saw in his dreams.

That was the God of the Roads. He had no doubts.

It hadn't just been a dream, after all.

'What could happen if I followed his instructions? He asked me to contact him once in a while, when I found his temple... '

Glax had just taken part in a ritual in honor of the Ascended Ones, and the offerings seemed quite expensive. While watching the ceremony, it did not occur to him that the Ascended Gods, or Ascended Titans as they also called them, really existed in the way the 'road god' appeared in his dream, interfering so directly.

He was an old-fashioned god, apparently.

Glax took the obsidian spearhead, hoping the fact it was a prize would make the object a good offering. Placing the item on the stone at the foot of the statue, he murmured,

"Well, buddy. I don't know how to do this. But I wanna thank you for saving Glax that time. He certainly didn't finish what he had to do, so I'm taking care of the matter from now on. As soon as I know what it is, of course."

"I'm touched. About you dedicating your victory to me, I say. "

Glax looked around, and at the statue. But of course, it wasn't the statue that was talking to him. He couldn't see where the voice was coming from, even using the torch to find its source.

"Don't waste your time. I am happy that you remember our agreement. "

"Erm ... You know I'm not him, don't you?" Glax took a chance.

"Who said you aren't?"

Glax swallowed the next words. The god had a young and slightly mocking voice, but added, "It doesn't matter who you think you were, but what you will do with the future. Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know where I am."

"Ah," the god sighed, bored. "These are things you can change on your own."

In a way, the god's words made Glax realize he must be more assertive. As with any fictional transmigration, he had no choice but to move on.

"System?"

"No, thank you. We are all the work of chaos."

"No, I… Am I asking, about the system? Uh?" If the god was a system, he wanted to know.

"What are you talking about?" The god really didn't seem to understand. "Please don't ask questions like 'Why do I exist?' 'Who am I?' 'Where did I come from and where am I going?' These answers are not a matter for the gods. Because… The answers would not be satisfactory, anyway."

"Good, I guess. I hope I have been respectful enough."

"Relatively. In particular, I have no appreciation for exaggerated apple polishing. Dedicating your victory to me, invigorates me. So I won't forget the promise I made to you, either."

"To Glax, actually"

"Which is the same thing." The god laughed cheerfully. "I found an old thing that I wanted to give you. Accept it as a wedding gift. Don't take it the second hand."

Glax looked and saw that, in the place where he had deposited the arrowhead, there was a leather bag, like that of the messengers. There was something inside her.

"What is it?" Glax asked, bending down to pick it up. He discovered a gun inside the bag.

This was easy to deduce for anyone who had already seen a modern firearm, even if he wasn't facing anything like it.

Upon touching the firearm, Glax again had the feeling of being able to understand the mechanism inside and out.

He had in his hands a far-fetched prototype of a hand-held mortar or grenade rifle, capable of launching a grenade with a certain precision. Its design was closer to the first firearms, with a curved wooden and ivory handle adorned, a large metal cylinder, but it had a trigger - immediately he understood the doglock ignition mechanism - and even a flash suppressor.

Its ingenious system and streaked interior allowed it to fire a special grenade with a certain precision. The firing system didn't need to be switched on before being inserted into the gun, ensuring some security... but not much. Still, for an archaic weapon, it seemed infinitely superior to the damage of a spear, arrow, or even a ballista.

There was a single projectile which, although a little rusty, was still functional... or seemed to be. The amount of explosive in the projectile could do considerable damage.

The most interesting thing is that Glax had no idea how he knew all of this. He never liked engineering or weapons. He always liked art. But he knew he could improve the model... if he had the necessary tools.

"What am I supposed to do with this, and just a projectile?"

"Oh, my man. Not many are left who know how to use this. But I suppose you can."

"Probably everyone who tried lost their arm or their lives," said Glax.

"Good guess, actually!"

"...!" Glax had sincerely expected the god to deny his theory, not the other way around!

"As you well know, an arm is replaceable. An ordinary warrior is replaceable. A groom is replaceable. But there is something that is not replaceable. Worlds are traversed behind what is not easily found. Just don't let them know ahead of time what you have in your head, Glax..."

The voice seemed to move away, while Glax had the distinct impression of having felt the wind shift very close to him.

Glax held his breath, assessing what had just happened. The god spoke as if there was a hidden purpose in his situation ...

'Wouldn't it be easier if I was given a clear and objective mission?!'

At the same time, he blamed himself for this simplistic and limiting thinking. And for the ridicule of wanting a system manipulating him, so that he didn't have to think for himself, just follow orders. Exist as in a video game, based on missions and rewards.

There was freedom in not having to think for yourself, and just obeying. He wouldn't have to take responsibility.

But as the god had reminded him, his purpose in the world was something he himself would decide. Regardless of the plans or expectations of others - people or gods.

He looked at the building where the pythoness was to foresee the future, and snorted with disdain.

Now he knew that, regardless of any predetermined prophecies or events, he was the protagonist and he could change everything.

The building that housed the pythoness temple was hot and humid, and smelled of fart, burning herbs, and cooked meat. Vapors rose from the floor and the visitor had to wear wooden clogs to walk on the hot slates. He already felt sweat running down his forehead and upper lip, and he would have preferred to turn around a thousand times and get out of that dark, disgusting place.

'This woman must be high with that weird vapor on her head for so long,' he thought, as a young girl led him down the stairs. Below the outer dome, they descended a corridor carved in the stone, lit by torches. The light of the flames flickered with greenish luminosity, creating an even more eerie atmosphere. He heard sounds that sounded like strange whispers, while the fog formed strange shapes ahead.

'Illusionism tricks!' he concluded.

Finally, they reached a larger cave. He stopped beside Chriseis, who was watching closely what was happening to the priestess.

The natural cave had a central crater, where the priestess was, inaccessible to them. The woman was on a high stilt, amid the vapors rising from the gaps below her.

Covered in fine gauze from head to toe, stuck to her body due to moisture, the prophetess looked like part of a horror tale, wrapped in greenish mist.

At that moment she danced blindly over the fragile stilts, leaving Glax unnerved. It looked like she was going to trip in that long gauze and fall at any moment.

"Has she said anything yet?" He whispered to Chriseis. She shook her head, holding her breath.

"YOU!" The pythoness screamed, pointing her finger in his direction.