I Became a Slave to a Mythical Shepherd

Episode 46. of each other

The man Priamus was far from simple.

If at all he eats a loaf of bread, he will not eat it unless it has raisins or lentils in it.

So, if you feel only the simple wheat carbohydrate taste that is bland when you first chew it and sweet when you chew it for a long time,

he couldn’t eat

It wasn’t just boring, it felt miserable.

His life has always pursued complexity and subtlety.

If I had to point out the starting point of that eccentricity, it would have been the moment of ruin that I do not even want to think about, the moment when my hometown and family were all trampled on by Hercules and my sister was sold as the enemy’s wife.

At that time, the scenery he saw was very simple, and it was clear ruin and death.

The smell of burning flesh, the sound of bugs boiling in a pool of blood, the sight of an orphaned baby suckling from beneath one’s feet, all of which were not too difficult to understand.

The horizon of the blessed Ilios (Ίλιος, nickname for Troy), which was complicatedly connected with castles, mansions, temples, and palaces, instantly flattened into an empty horizon.

Shouts, whispers, and chatter that had been followed by countless languages and intonations were reduced to a single noise, a bloody scream.

Simplicity to him was death,

was barbaric,

It was a memory of loss.

Parents, siblings, relatives, home, neighbors, subordinates, superiors, wealth, honor, reason to live, etc.

When he had nothing, his world became very simple.

And beside him were thousands who had been thrown into an equally simplified life.

People’s lives are simplified when a country is weak, poor, miserable, and barbaric.

To the point where he would kill and bake his own children for one night’s worth of food.

However, only when a country is strong, wealthy, prosperous, and its civilization is high, then people begin to do acts close to thinking. Enjoy social life, do politics, enjoy friendship and love.

his duty is,

his wish is

It was to keep his world always complicated.

It took a very, very long time for the screams that filled the fields to be rebuilt into the clamor of a dozen or so languages throughout the author.

Palaces arose again, and so did laws and customs and decency and civilization. All of them were the result of the sweat and blood of a man named Priam.

And into the peaceful and beautiful complexity to which he had devoted his life,

A very fatal long needle stabbed.

Checking the party of Anchises coming in from beyond the gates, Priam groaned and spoke the fatal name.

“···Paris.”

A child is coming.

***

For a very long time my wish was simple.

To keep my little world simple.

Seoul was a city where 10 million people lived.

If you write it concisely in Korean, it may not be realistic, but 10 million is 10,000,000.

seven zeros.

All the citizens of Seoul will have to wait until the end of the universe to shake hands with each other.

So many people bumped into each other on the subway, collided with each other at universities and companies, and bumped into each other at crosswalks and on the shoulder of the road.

The noise didn’t stop even for a day. Repeatedly pushing and pushing each other.

I was a person who tried to hold on by pushing someone out of it, and despite that, I was a person who was pushed out in the end.

I tried to appeal to a strange ecologist poet who lives hidden in a corner of the village to give a lecture, but eventually went to the goal.

And what was left of me was not as bad as I thought.

The life of a slave was simple.

Even with everything I own, it’s not as versatile as the smartphone I once held in one hand, but it’s still worth living for.

After herding the sheep on the stretched horizon, hanging out with Ino, taking a nap, and hanging out with the villagers, the day was over.

I had no obligation to struggle to maintain this day.

However, I was certain that this day would continue tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and 10 years from now.

I believed the peace of this little world would last until I died.

Until he met Hephaestus.

Until we face the goddesses of destiny.

Until the owner of the golden apple is decided.

Until I knew the secret of my birth and the other world that lurked behind my life.

Anyway, now I am here.

Following the path that fate led, I eventually turned around and returned to the place where I was born.

In the distance, the ornately decorated marble pillar building was probably a palace.

There it is.

“Priamus…”

A skein of complicated fate intervening in my simple life.

***

Priam pondered all night about how to face his son.

Remaining alone in the audience room where the moonlight bounced off the pillars and the floor and faded, he received a bow from the imaginary Anchises and Aeneas and talked with them to practice the next day’s meeting.

“My king, I have returned from my trip to Antandros as per your command. It was a beautiful, warm, civilized city with both people and culture.”

“okay···.”

Answering the words of Anchises, which sounded like hallucinations in his ears and echoed only in his imagination, Priam turned around.

The shy kid, my cousin’s son, looks at me for a moment with a diffident look, then bows.

I motion the child to stop bowing and hold him by the shoulder.

“I hope that your journey so far has made you a stronger man. You are the man who will one day succeed your wonderful father as the master of Dardanos.”

Aeneas hesitates, then whispers ‘thank you’ and lowers his eyes.

The two of them chatted about this and that, chatting, and poking around about how the animals and plants in the far south differed from those in the north.

After some time, moving on to a more important story, he has a rather serious conversation with Anchises about how the nearby allied cities are moving.

Then, at the gate of the audience room, there is a knocking again.

As if he had finally remembered Anchises, he bowed again with an awkward smile.

– “Master, there is someone I can introduce you to.”

Priam is nervous to know who the ‘person to introduce’ is.

the door opens,

And his hair goes white

“···sh*t.”

Think again.

I face my son again, my son whom I miss and fear.

The son I abandoned, the son I had to kill but couldn’t bring myself to kill, the son I had to keep a warrior I cherished for fear of getting hurt or torn somewhere.

Will my son resent me? will you hate Or will you understand?

The imaginable number of cases extends infinitely, and the tree it draws is again complicated and entangled, eventually tying his arms and legs like vines.

What should be the first word to say to your son, to Paris?

What political implications, what emotional attitudes should be put into words?

where do you stand? What facial expression should I make? What posture and hand gestures should you have?

With the formality of treating a vassal, as if treating a member of the royal family? Or like a slave or a traitor?

None of the ceremonies and etiquettes he had carefully mastered throughout his life were out of place in the present circumstances.

In the discipline of the palace, so detailed and meticulous, Paris did not belong anywhere.

Priam suffered and agonized, like a traveler left alone in the desert.

In the midst of such anguish, the dawn had broken in the distance, and now the sun was gradually rising overhead.

There was no more time left to think.

***

It is said that he is meeting his biological father, but in fact, there is no inspiration at all.

If I add my father in my previous life and my adoptive father, the shepherd who raised me, I’m already tied with Yeo-po in terms of the number of fathers.

Of course, I didn’t refund, exchange, or return the father who was before that like Lupo.

It is said that you do not feel even one-third of the emotions that others feel.

Besides, how many moments in my life will I have with my biological father? 1 percent? 0.1 percent? We could have been together for a day or two, at most a week or ten days, but I can’t remember all of them.

The human named Priamus, the son of Laomedon, whom I am going to meet now, is the king of Troy before being my real father.

No feelings for me…

f*ck.

can there be no

-“Goodbye.”

The pitiful expression he made when he decided to hand over his child to slavery buzzes in his head and won’t let go.

-‘Summon my second prince Paris ‘immediately’ to the court of Troy.’

He couldn’t kill me, so he decided to let me go for the rest of his life instead, and he called me again.

For what?

To finish what I couldn’t do when I was born?

So, to kill me?

In fact, that might be highly probable.

It may be best for him to deal with the prince who seems to be rebelling in the region and restore peace to the kingdom.

‘…But, if that’s the case, I could have given orders to Governor Nikis, right?’

If you’re worried that Theo, who has been defending me with false reports, has already been captured by me, then you can just order the governor to kill me.

Is the governor also suspicious? Then he would have ordered Anchises to kill me long ago.

No, no.

If you think about it, you might be tempted by the iron manufacturing technology that is more advanced than the Hittites.

How could I not be greedy? It is an important strategic resource at this time and a technology that can mass-produce precious metals.

It could be that they summoned me to the capital to retrieve it.

To torture me mercilessly, then squeeze all the information out and kill me.

Well, the prophecy will somehow come true after that.

Apollo and Poseidon were angry with Laomedon for not paying them enough wages to build the walls, and destroyed Troy together with Hercules.

Just like that time, if Hephaestus, who loves me, Hermes, who helps me for some reason, or Aphrodite, whom I chose as the most beautiful goddess, punish Troia, its destruction will be imminent.

Such a conclusion may be drawn.

But maybe

‘Maybe he really wants to meet me.’

I want to see my son.

Since I couldn’t confirm it, couldn’t Anchises have returned home with such difficulty without being able to treat me as either a sinner or a formal prince?

That’s why everyone treats me vaguely. I can’t decide on a course in this ambiguous situation, and I’m still remaining ambiguous.

My head is dizzy, but during the journey of the past few days, there has been no breakthrough to cool it.

Now, with no way to escape, I was walking straight toward the palace where my real father lived.

***

What should I do?

***

What is your father thinking?

***

What will my son Paris think of me?

***

Is the way to walk into this palace now the way to be taken to the slaughterhouse?

***

Will leaving my son alive, or even bringing him to the capital to face me face to face, will spell ruin?

***

When I meet my father

***

When I meet my son

***

What should I do?

***

What to do?

***

Soon the palace approaches in front of me. It is a palace lavishly decorated with marble and miscellaneous dyes and precious metals.

***

The eunuchs open the door and come in and tell me. It is said that Anchises and his party crossed the threshold of the palace.

***

Among these many rooms, there must be one where I was born.

***

Among those many corridors, there must be the one that sent the child away from the capital.

***

Servants come out and lead Anchises and Aeneas to different rooms.

Wash me with clear water and change me into nice clothes.

***

The eunuchs and other attendants give me the scepter and lead me to the throne.

I sit down slowly, adopting the most regal and dignified posture and expression I can assume.

***

When I came out, the other two had taken off their dirty travel clothes and scrubbed their dirty faces.

God’s lover, God’s son, and God’s beloved boy walk side by side like this.

***

Slowly, the sound of many people’s footsteps approached from afar.

The lord of Dardanos and the holy heir born of him and Aphrodite… and my son are walking.

***

The head gets more and more complicated.

***

I can’t think of anything.

***

I am out of breath.

***

even when sitting still.

***

Suddenly something boils in my chest.

***

The lump of emotion, which was like crying, like joy or rage, was barely pressed down the neck.

***

I stand at the door of the audience room.

***

The child stood at the door of the audience room.

***

The servant pushed the door,

***

As the scenery beyond the door gradually came into view,

***

Four eyes meet each other.

…

Many people surround each other,

Countless days followed from the day we first met.

Still, we were able to recognize each other.

We knew each other’s names.