Greek World, Mount Pelion, somewhere in a river valley.
A man with golden hair and emerald eyes—his upper body a handsome, gentle human, his lower half a slender, chestnut-brown horse—knelt on the grassy slope outside a cave.
Thump, thump, thump, thump...
As the centaur Divine Spirit rhythmically brought the pestle down in the mortar, the crisp sound of grinding herbs drifted into the wide, cool cavern behind him.
Amid the rustling within, a black-haired, blood-red-eyed youth—dragged here by the centaur over ten days ago for treatment—pulled away the leaf shading his face from the light. He yawned and rose from the stone bed.
"You're awake? Drink this medicine first."
Hearing the faint noise, the centaur Divine Spirit trotted to the bedside and offered a bowl of thick, dark-green liquid.
"Teacher Horse, I think I'm feeling much better now. This isn't necessary."
The pungent smell turned Samael's face a shade greener. Nausea surged, and he gave an awkward laugh as he tried to decline.
"The divine power within you is mixed and turbulent. Your wounds may look healed, but they've left many hidden injuries."
"So it's best to use the medicine to repeatedly cleanse and straighten your meridians. That way you won't be left with lingering aftereffects."
The centaur healer advised gently, then paused.
"Also, my name is Chiron..."
"Alright then, Teacher Horse..."
Seeing there was no refusing, Samael blinked, muttered under his breath, then accepted the stone bowl. Pinching his nose, he resigned himself and drained the bitter, sour, rancid brew in one gulp.
Ugh, my name is... forget it...
Chiron took back the empty bowl and, helplessly shaking his head at the freshly bestowed title, left a few sweet-and-tart wild fruits wrapped in leaves to clear the bitterness from the patient's mouth before trotting off.
Samael leaned against the bedhead, cupped a rolled leaf, and tossed the fruit inside into his mouth, chewing with clear satisfaction.
After unwinding for a bit, the ancient serpent picked up the last unripe fruit, about the size of a winter jujube. As it spun at his fingertips, a gold-black aura surged and spread.
In an instant the green fruit withered and rotted. One turn later, it weathered into ash, sifting down from between his long, pale fingers.
Hmm, the power to shatter time... Looks like, on top of poison and fate, my divine power has picked up another troublesome attribute.
Samael clapped his hands and nodded, satisfied, his gratitude for the centaur healer outside growing deeper still.
The centaur sage Chiron was a full Divine Spirit, born to the Titan god Kronos and the island goddess Philyra. Because Kronos had united with Philyra in the form of a horse, Chiron was born a centaur.
His mother Philyra, repulsed by his strange appearance, refused to nurse him and eventually became a bodhi tree. Even so, the tree's blossoms could be used as medicine, and its bark was made into divination tablets—a species brimming with goodwill toward the world.
Though he lacked parental love, Chiron never wallowed in self-pity or set himself against the world. He studied hard and grew into a Sage.
Grown, Chiron mastered a wealth of knowledge. Thanks to his steady temperament and deft teaching, he educated countless future heroes of Greece. Heracles, Achilles, Asclepius (later deified as the god of medicine), and Castor (who became part of the constellation Gemini) were among his students. Jason, captain of the Argo and the one who won over Medea, was also his pupil—truly a teacher with disciples everywhere.
Generally speaking, centaurs were not only exceptional hunters—pairing their equine lower bodies with superb archery—but also had a savage side, prone to plundering all manner of goods. Chiron alone stood out with the image of a "Sage"; his warm nature was unique among the centaurs.
So Samael was truly lucky to meet such a pure good soul in the chaotic Age of Gods. Over the past dozen days, under Chiron's careful care, the toxins clogging his body were slowly purged, and the hidden injuries left by force-digesting immense divine power mostly healed. That kind of favor was a huge debt.
And not only was the son a good man—his cheap old dad, the Titan god Kronos, was no slouch either. This god of Creation and Destruction in time and space sparked a divine war, led his underlings to the Oceanus, bundled them up like takeout, and even handed out weapons for free.
Chiron the Sage, his son, then brought an overstuffed Samael back to the cave for treatment—unknowingly delivering a full-service package. Even the Serpent of Original Sin, whose moral restraints had grown increasingly thin, felt a faint pang of guilt and couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Good people! A whole family of good people!
Samael mentally slapped a golden label on the centaur sage outside the cave, deciding that, no matter what, he'd bail him out at a critical moment. After all, even the "good person card" back in his peaceful previous life had soured; in this chaotic world, good people rarely met good ends.
As far as he knew, one day in the future, while settling a dispute among the centaurs, Chiron—the consummate good man—would be struck by a poisoned arrow from who-knows-where. Because of his immortality, he'd have to endure the pain without end.
Only when the uncontentious centaur Sage became Sagittarius, joined Olympus to ornament the heavens with divine authority, and returned his immortality to the gods would he finally be freed.
And the one who loosed that poisoned arrow was none other than his prized disciple, the mighty hero Heracles. It had all begun when Heracles clashed with the centaurs over a cask of wine brewed by Dionysus.
Hot-tempered, the hero chased down and thrashed the centaurs who'd angered him. One arrow shot at them grazed an unlucky centaur's arm and, by misfortune, struck Chiron in the knee.
Beyond Heracles and the centaurs, another participant in this tragedy was the venom on the arrowhead—smeared from the Hydra, the nine-headed serpent slain by the hero.
Samael raised a hand to rub his chin, gaze drifting to the centaur sage wandering the valley to gather herbs, and the corners of his mouth lifted.
Education knows no class. A student is a student, whoever he is.
Teacher Horse, how about I introduce you to a few pupils?
Either way, as long as it saves your life, it counts as paying my debt, right?
The ancient serpent, turning over a wicked plan, smiled brighter and brighter.
Stheno, Euryale, and that swarm of troublemakers—your good days are numbered!
Samael gave a soft hum. A faint gray-black glow rose on his palm. After checking his condition once more, he nodded in satisfaction.
Not bad. At the peak of a Greater God's power, he could faintly sense the subtle traces of a Main God's authority beginning to crystallize. With the blessing of Kronos's Scythe, the divine power within him—bearing the triple attributes of fate, time, and poison—gave him the capital to challenge even higher-tier gods.
Honestly, the biggest thanks still went to that Tablet of Destinies delivered by his old pal Marduk. Without that handy treasure to hide the aura of destiny, given his stunt of snatching food from the jaws of the Oceanus, he'd have been hacked to pieces long ago.