Chapter 1: The Blessing of 996

If someone had told Lorne a month ago that “996” was a blessing bestowed by one’s company,

as a beast-of-burden office worker he would have nodded along—“yes, yes, of course”—while continuing to work overtime to hit deadlines, all the while mentally engaging in some decidedly non‑platonic athletic activities with the balding boss’s immediate female relatives, fervently hoping to add a few more pages to their household registry.

And yet, at this very moment, Lorne realized that his so‑called “blessing” really had arrived.

It was just that the delivery method felt… rather underworld-adjacent.

Inside a baby cradle made of purple sandalwood, Lorne stared at his own chubby little hands, pressed lightly against his soft chest, and let out a helpless sigh.

Sudden cardiac death caused by arrhythmia—no way around it. A veteran killer of overworked employees. Several nearby office buildings had already “been visited”; it wasn’t exactly unprecedented.

What he hadn’t expected was that this year’s performance quota from the underworld would land squarely on his head.

Damn it—couldn’t you have let me last a few more days? I was about to get my perfect-attendance year‑end bonus!

Lorne clenched his tiny fists in the cradle, resentment filling his heart.

But soon after, as he looked around at the furnishings, the gloom that had weighed on him for over a month lightened considerably.

A pristine white marble palace rose in stately elegance. The surrounding walls were carved with exquisitely detailed patterns and dynamic reliefs of figures. The clay vases on the table were rough in craftsmanship, yet inlaid with massive gemstones. The cups and plates were lavish gold and silverware. Even the baby cradle itself was adorned with crystal wind chimes.

It seemed that, as compensation for his premature shutdown in his previous life, he had successfully switched classes—from mule and kneeling grunt to Roman aristocrat—born straight into a private seaside villa.

Lorne stretched his stubby arms, gripping the edge of the cradle and poking his head out, his unusually intelligent eyes gazing toward the lush green lawn outside the window.

Several maidservants dressed in linen gowns were carefully surrounding a beautiful young woman of similar age, cradling her like the moon among stars.

Her rose‑tinted face radiated youthful vitality. Her clear eyes brimmed with innocent naivety. Her smooth neck and chest exuded temptation, and though she wore a white, elegant, cinched outer garment, it could not conceal the wildness in her bones.

Under the servants’ anxious gazes, the radiant girl ran barefoot across the grassy hill. At times, she hummed along to the pleasant tune of an old shepherd’s double flute from the woods; at other times, she danced at the edge of a perilous cliff, stretching her body before the roaring waves crashing below…

No one would ever guess that this was a woman barely a month postpartum.

“Your Highness, please slow down! Please, slow down, Your Highness—”

After repeated pleading, the beautiful princess finally relented and strolled through the garden instead, opting for safer postnatal recovery activities.

Such as placing ivy wreaths atop one another’s heads, or—when the wide‑horned cattle from the pasture let out their calls—playfully imitating the lowing in response, breaking into light, giggling laughter together.

Looks like I got myself a pretty high‑maintenance mom this time around.

Clinging to the cradle, Lorne muttered a few internal complaints before shifting his gaze outward.

This was a verdant hill, the western side facing the sea. The azure surface rose and fell like slabs of emerald. To the east lay a city—stone buildings of varying heights lining the horizon with an ancient charm. In the distance, several crude sailboats were docked at the harbor.

Clearly, the world Lorne now inhabited was not the era he knew.

Judging by the architectural style and environmental features, it appeared to be an ancient society in the style of classical Greece.

Thank goodness I rolled a good spawn point. If I’d still had to live as a beast of burden… surviving in a feudal age would’ve been even worse.

Whoosh—

The damp sea breeze swept aside the delicate gauze curtains, carrying with it a faint, briny scent into the room.

“Hehe, so my little lion is awake.”

A graceful figure stepped lightly toward the cradle, lifting the tiny figure clinging to its edge and holding him gently against her chest. She paced the room slowly, the wildness of youth washed from her smiling face, replaced with the distinct tenderness of motherhood.

The baby, teased affectionately, struggled to poke his head out of the maternal embrace, his bright eyes brimming with deep melancholy.

Being reborn into good circumstances was one thing. The most troublesome issue, however, was that inside this infant’s body lived the soul of a grown man.

Facing a “mother” who had been younger than him in his previous life felt… profoundly awkward.

Fortunately, the postnatal exertion had drained much of her energy. Their brief mother‑child interaction soon ended. Lorne was placed back into the cradle, while the beautiful princess sat by the window, gazing dreamily at the sky.

It seemed she was waiting for something.

Boom!

Thunder roared as violent winds churned over the sea. Dense storm clouds blanketed the sky, oppressive rumbles echoing from the low‑hanging mass as the entire hill grew dim.

Was it about to rain?

Lorne yawned from the cradle, drowsy.

But the princess by the window leapt up excitedly. Joy shone brightly in her amber eyes. She hurriedly retouched her appearance and dashed toward the corridor.

At the same moment, a robust figure appeared at the doorway, smiling as he opened his arms and caught the rushing girl in a tight embrace.

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she looked up, eyes overflowing with admiration and delight.

“Lord Kronides—you’ve finally come!”

Oh. So that’s what my bargain‑bin dad is called.

Eavesdropping from the edge of the cradle, Lorne frowned slightly as he looked at the “father” making his first appearance since his birth, a strange sense of unease rising in his heart.

Kronides?

That name felt oddly familiar… like he’d heard it somewhere before.

“I’m sorry, Semele, my love. There have been too many trivial matters of late. The moment my journey ended, I thought only of coming to see you.”

In the corridor, the handsome silver‑haired youth with starlike eyes spoke sweet words while recounting amusing tales from his travels.

The masculine charm radiating from his every gesture utterly ensnared the lovestruck princess. She leaned weakly against his chest, her gaze burning ever brighter with affection, her lovely face flushed like a blooming rose.

Watching through the gauze window as the pair gazed at one another as if no one else existed, Lorne’s expression froze in disbelief.

Wait—no way. Seriously?

Everyone knew that for a servant to call their master by name was, in any era, a grave breach of etiquette.

And given that his birth had seemingly been deliberately concealed, with no visitors to the castle over the past month, today was effectively the first time Lorne learned his mother’s full name.

At the same time, corresponding information surfaced in his mind.

Semele—daughter of Cadmus, founder of Thebes, and Harmonia, goddess of harmony; descendant of Ares, god of war…

As fragments of textual memory surged within him, Lorne finally recalled the origin of the name “Kronides.”

Kronides—meaning “Son of Cronus,” the alias used by Zeus, King of the Gods, during his mortal affairs.

So that’s the disguise of Olympus’s humanoid seed‑spreader. No wonder it felt familiar…

As an aside, in his previous life, Lorne had worked at a game company that specialized in titles based on global heroic epics and mythological legends.

As an award‑winning employee, his grasp of mythology was naturally solid.

And now, having identified his parents’ illustrious identities, Lorne stared at his own tiny hands in shock.

If the names were correct… then wasn’t he the legendary Dionysus?

—the one cursed by Hera, driven mad for half his life, yet who would one day miraculously replace Hestia, goddess of the hearth, and become one of the Twelve Olympians: the god of wine?

The absurd thought lasted only a moment before Lorne shook his head in doubt.

Something was clearly wrong.

According to Hesiod’s Theogony and other Greek myths, Zeus’s affair with the Theban princess Semele was discovered by his lawful wife, Hera.

Consumed by jealousy, Hera disguised herself as one of Semele’s relatives and coaxed her into demanding that Zeus reveal his true divine form as proof of his love. Unable to refuse, Zeus manifested his godhood—and Semele was burned to death by lightning and flame.

At the time, Semele was already pregnant. Zeus salvaged the premature infant, sewing him into his own thigh until full term. Because Zeus walked with a limp during that time, the child was named Dionysus—“Zeus of the Lame Leg.”

In short, Dionysus was born after Semele’s death.

So… was my memory wrong?

Or were the names just coincidences?

Unable to resolve the contradiction, Lorne began to doubt his own judgment.

At that moment, under Semele’s affectionate devotion, the silver‑haired “Kronides” lifted his delicate lover in his arms and stepped into the great hall.

Then he halted, frowning as he looked toward the cradle.

“Oh! I was so happy to see you that I forgot to tell you—the baby’s already been born.”

Snapping back to her senses, Semele flushed, quickly slipping from his arms and pulling him toward the cradle, eager to show off.

“Look—his eyes and hair look just like yours!”

But the silver‑haired youth did not respond. He simply stood there, staring intently at the new life in the cradle.

“Aren’t you happy?”

The unexpected silence made the princess turn back in confusion.

“How could I not be? It’s just… such a sudden surprise.”

He recovered, smiling warmly, though a trace of doubt flickered in his eyes.

“Didn’t the doctor say there were still a few months left?”

“Yes—it was much earlier than expected. But he was very well‑behaved. He didn’t make me suffer too much.”

She nodded, nestling sweetly against his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Lorne watched his “parents” flirt shamelessly before him, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Right. So it is that.

So it’s premature birth, and that’s on me, huh?

With confirmation in hand, Lorne’s tiny mind felt like it had been stuffed with tangled yarn.

Never won even a five‑cent prize in a lottery before—and now this reincarnation went straight for the jackpot.

Not only ancient Greek divine royalty, but also a future candidate for the Twelve Olympians.

Of course, ascending successfully and living peacefully would still depend on whether the so‑called “mistress slayer” and “bastard nemesis,” Queen Hera, allowed it.

After all, the number of mistresses and illegitimate children—directly or indirectly—killed by her could easily fill three mahjong tables.

Still, no panic. As long as teammates don’t throw, this is still playable.

Lorne glanced at his clearly love‑brained princess of a mother and muttered inwardly.

Please, for the love of everything, don’t let Hera talk you into demanding Zeus’s true form.

And just in case—if it really comes to that—I’ll use every ounce of strength I have to stop you.

Once we survive Hera’s pursuit, the hard days are over.

As he schemed, Lorne stole another glance at the legendary god‑king Zeus, feeling conflicted.

Should I start building rapport with my bargain‑bin dad early?

Stick close to him and even Hera won’t dare touch me—straight into easy mode.

The more he thought about it, the more tempting it became. His gaze drifted unconsciously toward Zeus’s… most legendary thigh.

“This period must have been hard on you, my dear.”

At the same time, the god‑king in the guise of Kronides seemed to recover from the shock of fatherhood, forcing a smile onto his previously tense face. His gentle voice whispered into his lover’s ear.

“By the way, my dear—this time, upon returning from my journey, I’ve prepared the most magnificent gift for you, as proof of our love.”

The lovestruck princess’s eyes lit up.

“Really? Where is it?!”

Zeus stroked her hair indulgently, his voice exceptionally soft.

“Close your eyes first.”

She nodded and shut her eyes, her cheeks flushing with anticipation.

Boom—

Thunder tore through the sky. Outside the window, storm clouds boiled as a flash of light illuminated the world.

Beside the face turned away from the princess, the handsome profile hardened into cold iron under the lightning’s glare.

From the cradle, Lorne—still calculating how to grit his teeth and cling to that thigh—caught a glimpse and froze.

Strange… why does this bargain‑bin dad feel—

Crack!

In an instant, a chain of explosive roars erupted. Dozens of bolts of lightning plunged from the sky, piercing the roof and pouring down upon the two tightly embracing figures.

The beautiful, fragile girl melted in an instant—like ice beneath a blazing sun.

Thunder continued to rage. Scorching flames burst and spread, bearing witness to a love as brilliant as light and fire.

Everything collapsed. Everything dissolved.

Crack!

The towering palace was torn in two and collapsed with a thunderous roar. The hill itself gave way, dragging the palace’s remains into the raging sea below.

The purple sandalwood cradle carrying new life fell with the ruins and stones, plunging into the freezing, bone‑piercing waves.

There was no time to react.

The world in Lorne’s eyes dissolved into cold darkness, a surge of bitter rage filling his tiny chest.

NMD. WSM.

Boom—!

At the lightning‑lit cliffside, the silver‑haired figure paused, gazing at several pieces of purple sandalwood bobbing amid the foam. His brow furrowed as he stepped forward.

“Buzz—buzz—buzz—”

At the same time, several star‑like flames rose into the night sky, outlining a colossal mountain peak above the clouds.

Someone had lit the sacred fire?

Zeus seemed to realize something. His expression stiffened. He instinctively withdrew his step, his imposing figure vanishing as the lightning faded.

(End of Chapter)