As someone with no proper background in this world, the only legitimate identity Night might actually have was that of an unremarkable Trojan soldier.
Fabricating a named, recognized identity from the land of Greece was no easy task.
But the Argo was a loophole.
Even the driver currently steering the carriage for him had absolutely no doubt about his identity as a hero's descendant.
After all, no normal person would spend that much money just to pick an attendant purely for the sake of manufacturing the image of a hero's descendant.
What a waste of time, throwing money away for no reason?
And in ancient Greece, an era not yet polluted by the information explosion of later generations, people were fairly simple-minded and had no concept of anything like manufactured hype.
This method of deception, even in the modern era, would have been quite explosive and easy to fall for.
Ancient Greeks, straightforward as they were, stood even less of a chance.
And at this moment, this shameless outsider, wearing the name of a Greek hero's descendant, was chatting casually back and forth with the driver, recounting the story of his grandfather,
A man named Kratos Lista...and his heroic tale.
Oh? You say you have never heard of any legend bearing that hero's name?
Then you must simply be ill-informed.
He had a very detailed and captivating epic right here to support the claim.
He casually wove together hero stories from various other mythological traditions, including things like the Nibelungenlied, into a brand new legend.
If he felt like it, he could improvise an entire epic of several hundred thousand words on the spot.
And at the end of the story, Night thoughtfully added that it was perfectly normal the driver had not heard of it, since his grandfather's adventures mainly took place on the many wondrous islands across the sea.
Places like Iceland, where the Valkyrie Brunhilde was imprisoned, or the dragon's lair hiding endless uncountable treasure.
All of this left the driver's heart pounding with excitement and awe, his eyes filled with reverence, before he finally spoke up.
"Please forgive me; it seems I truly am ill-informed, my lord.
Your grandfather was quite a remarkable hero.
Just the brief glimpse of those legends you described sounded breathtaking, no less than the story of any great hero.
He must have been a warrior every bit as mighty as the great lord Heracles!"
...
Night smiled and said nothing in response, only watching the driver quietly.
Until the driver started to feel he must have said something wrong, that the question was too presumptuous, and that look, like staring at something that could not quite be placed, was exactly right.
That feeling was spot on!
It was not that Night did not know how to answer.
He simply did not deign to answer.
Great deeds and achievements needed no proof by their very nature.
Their power lay in their existence alone.
That Griffith was even willing to spend precious time telling him a story about his great-grandfather was already a privilege.
He ought to be grateful for that.
The lowly likes of him had no business asking for more.
And at that moment Night felt not the slightest bit of panic.
He was utterly calm, without even a flicker of self-awareness that he was deceiving anyone.
After all, the stories he told were a mashup of myths from other traditions.
In other universes, every single one of them had a real original counterpart.
Why would he be afraid of calling them true stories?
When even the deceiver himself believed in the existence of such a hero, they must be right!
After all, you had to deceive yourself before you could deceive others.
One's own attitude was what determined how credible other people found their words.
If they told a story while nervous and flustered, they might as well not bother lying at all.
Anyone could see through their unease.
But the degree had to be controlled.
Say too much and mistakes multiplied.
Stop at just the right moment, then leave the rest for ordinary people to imagine and fill in themselves.
Such good material for conversation; there was no way the driver would not bring up the story of Kratos when carrying passengers in the future.
As more and more people heard this incomplete tale, someone would inevitably be unable to resist rounding it out, trying to restore the full version.
By the time four or five different versions emerged, no one would be able to tell what was true and what was false.
But through the inertia of assumption, the one thing people would no longer doubt was that this hero actually existed.
They would only argue over which version of the epic was the correct one, fighting until their heads cracked open—well...not quite that extreme, but by the time a fierce debate broke out, his purpose would already be achieved.
Just like how the Trojan War was said to have started over Helen, but once the fighting began, no one cared about Helen anymore.
Whether she was rescued or not no longer mattered.
What mattered was who would win in the end.
And once an epic spread and developed over time, whether it was true no longer mattered either.
People would spontaneously argue over whose version held the authentic lineage.
Perhaps years down the line, an actual Kratos version might even emerge out of nowhere.
Just like the driver's question just now was wonderfully inspired.
You say this hero was strong?
As strong as the great hero Heracles?
Nigh thought to himself.
'It was not a question of strong or not strong.
Just the name Kratos alone, if it truly appeared in this universe, would make every Greek god wet themselves.
That name was synonymous with Ragnarok itself, the man who slaughtered his way through Greece, through Norse mythology, carved through every pantheon across the western continent, and reduced entire mythologies to nothing but a name.'
Just thinking about it was enough to make the mind reel and the scalp tingle.
Placed in an era like this where gods walked everywhere, it would be an absolute obliteration, like dropping the apex predator of the food chain into a pen of lambs waiting for slaughter.
Very soon, the carriage rolled back into the royal city.
In the end, as if in passing and with casual generosity, Night even mentioned that regarding the adventure story about his grandfather he told earlier, if anyone else happened to ask, the driver was free to share it.
There was no need to hide it.
It was not some shameful story that needed to be specially concealed.
It had simply happened in a place too remote for many people to know about.
The driver had no suspicions whatsoever.
After all, Greece was enormous, and the sea was dotted with islands everywhere.
Who could say there was not some remarkable place out there, like Iceland and other islands out there in existence?
Among the many islands recorded during the Argo's voyage, were there not also many wondrous and terrifying places?
The world was too vast for anyone to have seen everything.
Just like how Agamemnon did not even know the kingdom of a Heracles descendant existed and ended up attacking the wrong place while looking for Troy.
Those wondrous islands must surely be hidden deep in some far-flung corner of the Aegean Sea.
The driver actually also wanted to ask about the location of the island with the dragon's lair full of endless gold.
Even though he knew perfectly well he had no ability to take anything from a dragon, human curiosity and the desire to explore were bottomless.
But whenever this issue came up, Night said nothing.
Just a smiling face and a cold, indifferent gaze like staring at a fool.
The driver would immediately pull back and feel even more reverence while inwardly singing his praises.
Again he was looked down upon!
That look was so compelling!
Lord Griffith truly had such refinement and depth.
He ignored his humble request again and still did not even open his mouth to scold him for his greed.
Of course.
How could such a dangerous location be revealed to the public?
He must have said nothing in order to protect that wealth from falling into the hands of evil people and to stop those who overestimated themselves from going to challenge the dragon and losing their lives.
Such compassion.
The driver: I am moved to tears!!
.
.
.
(End of the Chapter)