Fangs?

Clo had imagined the so-called Holy Meal to be some kind of extremely solemn ritual, consisting of the kind of nectar and ambrosia she had read about in ancient books and novels. It felt like something that would be incredible to consume but was fundamentally unrealistic.

However, upon seeing the food, she subconsciously assumed it would be tasteless. In her impression, during the early stages of human civilization, most food was simply roasted over a fire or boiled in water—generally flavorless and often carrying a lingering scent of blood, perhaps at most seasoned with a bit of coarse salt.

But to her surprise, the flavors were exceptionally good. There were many roasting techniques she had never seen before, and the rich tastes were so varied that she never grew tired of sampling them.

“It is unexpectedly delicious... Speaking of which, since this is a Holy Meal, does eating it grant some kind of blessing?” Clo whispered softly to herself. She glanced at the male gods sitting not far away; they were eating meat heartily and chatting amongst themselves, with a few occasionally moving around to clink glasses and drink wine brewed using ancient methods.

Wine brewed this way offered a much richer complexity of flavor. The ancient methods relied on the natural yeast found on the grape skins, making the fermentation process extremely slow. However, during this time, complex aromas were produced, unlike the standardized fruitiness of commercial yeast from Clo’s own era.

Still, the flavor was wilder and the texture rougher. For Clo, who wasn't even a fan of craft beer, the freshly squeezed juice was much more to her taste.

“In the eyes of people from your era, do we gods seem like some kind of primitive creatures?” Metis asked with a slight smile.

“No, no... it is not like that... I just subconsciously viewed this era as the earliest dawn of human civilization...” Clo waved her hands, feeling a bit of lingering fear. After all, if her thoughts were truly interpreted that way, it would be considered an act of blasphemy in front of a large group of gods.

“In truth, aside from magic, we have many unique crafts of our own. But based on your reaction, it seems very little has been passed down. It is a bit of a pity,” Metis sighed softly.

“As the deity of ‘wisdom,’ it must be extremely regrettable to see things you cherish more than your own life vanish along with you.” Astarte smiled gently, refilling Clo’s nearly empty glass with juice.

“You... you are too kind...”

“However, as the deity of prosperity, watching past glory fade is also a regret.” Astarte let out a small sigh and shared a look with Metis; both seemed to read the other’s thoughts in their eyes.

“But... if only that were truly the case.” Metis gave a smile of resignation as she took a small sip of wine. She crossed her legs, revealing her bare feet. They looked delicate and clean, with nails of a healthy pink hue, quite different from the descriptions Clo remembered from her books.

Perhaps to distinguish the characteristics of different gods, the books she remembered noted that the gods had different colored nails. She glanced at Jormungandr’s nails; they were black, which matched her impression.

It seemed to be a matter of personal habit or natural factors...

“What do you mean by that?”

“If humans truly viewed us as primitive creatures of an ancient era, it would mean they did not fanatically worship us as they do now. That would be a good thing.” Metis’s feet swung back and forth, the golden rings around her ankles shimmering with a faint light. She also wore several golden rings on her white toes.

“If there were no such fanatical faith, our traces in this world would vanish very quickly. If that were the case, it would likely be much easier for Little Meng to clean things up later.” Metis rested her face in her hand, looking into Clo’s eyes. Clo’s gaze flickered; in that moment, she knew the goddess before her likely knew everything.

“So... faith never truly disappeared, did it?” Metis sighed. “The things we most wanted to be passed down were destroyed in the end, while the things we most wanted destroyed have managed to survive. Is this... a joke of fate?”

Clo didn't know what to say. She watched the gods at the head table raise their glasses, and the gods nearby began to toast one another in small groups. Clo didn't dare be disrespectful; she held her glass with both hands and participated solemnly, using the toasting etiquette she was familiar with.

“Chronos definitely had her reasons for sending you here. She even chose to leave a step early for your sake. She... ended her own time... as a way to evade fate.” Metis drank the wine in her glass and toasted Jormungandr beside her.

The cup in Jormungandr’s hand, which appeared to be entwined by a giant serpent, caught Clo’s attention for a moment. She felt as though she had seen Li Yue use that item before...

“I do not know her specific plans; she has always been a far-sighted goddess... But I think if I take you to see her, you will have your answer.” Metis toasted Clo, and Astarte did the same. They held their glasses in their most comfortable, natural ways, making Clo appear somewhat awkward by comparison.

She felt an inexplicable surge of nervousness.

She remembered the vassals chosen by the gods in her own era... what those gods wanted was to... occupy their bodies to complete a divine descent... Although only ‘Redemption’ had truly succeeded in a meaningful sense over all these years...

Clo didn't want to be the second, yet it seemed she had no choice but to go.

Could they... truly be trusted?