Maybe he’s trying to make something impressive with the remaining grapes.

 

After all, just because grapes taste sweet doesn’t mean they can only be used for dessert.

 

Scylla crept quietly around to the back of the cabin, her heart full of anticipation—only to freeze mid-step as a sweet yet sharply fermenting aroma hit her nose.

 

Langsion, sensing someone’s presence, turned his head. 

 

Scylla, who had meant to peek secretly, didn’t have time to hide and ended up fully exposed in his line of sight. 

 

Upon seeing her, Langsion shook his head as if to say, “I can’t deal with you.”

 

“I told you it’s a secret until it’s finished.”

 

“How amazing could it possibly be?”

 

Scylla, dying of curiosity about what he was making, spoke words that didn’t match the excitement bursting inside her. 

 

The eager look on her face subtly shifted.

 

“But you right now…”

 

Scylla stared at the scene before her, slightly dumbfounded. Langsion was standing inside a round oak barrel. His pants were rolled up to his thighs, and even in the shade of the trees, his pale legs stood out strikingly.

 

Scylla stepped a little closer—close enough to see properly inside the barrel. 

 

There were the grapes she had been searching for so eagerly.

 

Completely crushed.

 

“…What are you doing?”

 

“I’m making wine.”

 

“You said you were going to make something special for me…”

 

Is it alcohol?

 

Scylla swallowed the rest of her sentence. 

 

Hearing her suddenly deflated voice and sensing the awkward atmosphere, Langsion looked puzzled.

 

“This isn’t what you were expecting?”

 

“Expecting? Hardly.”

 

She denied it, but her face very clearly said otherwise.

 

Langsion quickly picked up on the fact that she was deeply disappointed by the situation. 

 

Scylla muttered something under her breath. Her voice was so tiny he could barely catch it, but he just managed to make out one phrase and raised an eyebrow.

 

“A waste, you said?”

 

“…”

 

“Master.”

 

“…”

 

“Don’t tell me you hate alcohol? Even wine?”

 

“I thought wine wasn’t considered alcohol?”

 

This was the first time anyone had ever rejected his wine, so Langsion fell silent.

 

He was the god of wine. When it came to grapes and wine, his pride was immense. 

 

Seeing Scylla’s face collapse as if the world had ended the moment she confirmed he was making wine drew a crack across that pride.

 

How could someone smell this elegant, deep fragrance… and still react like this?

 

The past month flashed through his mind—the time he’d spent obtaining grape seeds from a merchant, coaxing them to sprout, and using even his faint divine power to grow the vines into something impressive. 

 

It had been countless repetitions of the same tasks over an uncountable number of hours, yet he never once felt bored. 

 

If anything, he had looked forward to it.

 

Scylla had devoured every dish he presented with genuine delight. 

 

What kind of reaction would she show when she tasted his masterpiece, this wine? 

 

With that curiosity burning as intensely as the moment he first cultivated those grapes, he had poured just as much care and effort into every step.

 

“The remaining grapes…”

 

Langsion shook his head coolly.

 

“There aren’t any.”

 

Scylla’s expression crumpled completely. 

 

Even Langsion’s confidence took visible scratches, one after another. He forced his twitching, spasming eyebrows upward and manufactured a smile.

 

“It’ll taste incredible once it’s finished.”

 

“Forget it. I’m fine, so you drink as much as you want.”

 

“Just one sip. Try it.”

 

“No thanks.”

 

Her retreating figure staggered away, shoulders slumped in a way that was completely unlike her usual self. 

 

The corner of Langsion’s mouth twisted.

 

He already knew she had been looking forward to whatever he would make with the grapes. 

 

And he had been absolutely certain he could meet—and exceed—that expectation perfectly.

 

‘Master has to drink this.’

 

A strange, subtle smile soon crept onto his expression. He hadn’t made the wine purely for its flavor.

 

The wine he brewed carried his divine power within it. 

 

Even though it was alcohol, it was good for the body. It couldn’t compare to ambrosia, but it could extend one’s lifespan.

 

For Langsion, who had recently become keenly attentive to Scylla’s health, turning grapes into wine had felt like the most natural choice in the world. 

 

And the taste went without saying—his wine carried a heavenly flavor that had driven countless lovesick souls to obsession.

 

Moreover, in this moment when neither ambrosia nor nectar could be obtained, wine was the only means he had to let her live even a little longer. 

 

To him, today might pass like the blink of an eye, but to Scylla, it was one precious remaining page in a life that was already running short. 

 

He was not the goddess of fate; he had no way of knowing exactly how much time she had left.

 

And also…

 

The wine he brewed carried enchantment within it.

 

Langsion imagined grabbing Scylla as she turned away and pouring the wine straight into her mouth.

 

“What am I going to do?”

 

Sure, there might be people who don’t like alcohol, but it’s hard to find a Greek who doesn’t like wine.

 

His master really wasn’t one to make things easy.

 

Times like this make him think the mad ones are so much simpler. The Maenads would keep drinking until he told them to stop—even if their stomachs burst.

 

Well, that’s exactly what makes them boring, though.

 

💫

 

How could he get Scylla to drink the wine?

 

That had become Langsion’s latest obsession.

 

His wine was something even humans, nymphs, and gods alike coveted as something truly precious. 

 

If she just tasted it once, surely her mind would change—but her stubbornness was something else.

Every meal, the wine came up alongside the food, and every time, she coldly ignored it.

 

Even when Langsion drank it ostentatiously in front of her, or tried to tempt her with his eyes, saying, “It’s delicious,” it had zero effect.

 

“You really won’t try it? The aroma is this sweet.”

 

“Keep pushing it is starting to annoy me. Did you put poison in it or something?”

 

Scylla glared at the wine. It was a rather sharp suspicion.

 

Dionysus’s wine. This drink, whose very name carried value, had heavenly taste and health benefits, but it held one additional effect.

 

Anyone who drank it inevitably came to feel goodwill and affection toward the one who made it.

 

That was precisely why Dionysus’s followers swarmed across all of Greece.

 

It was also why Athens had once fiercely insisted that the spread of wine across Greece had to be stopped.

 

Langsion gently swirled the cup. The deep fragrance of the wine wafted out. Watching her closely, he took a slow sip. 

 

Their eyes met, and he gave her a soft, smiling look.

 

“What a shame.”

 

How could he get her to drink this? 

 

Oblivious to the scheming hidden behind his expression, Scylla launched into another unnecessary lecture about how alcohol was bad for your health.

 

She didn’t need to give that long speech—his eyes could see it all clearly anyway: she simply hated alcohol.

 

“Maybe you made a mistake in the past?”

 

“What kind of mistake?”

 

“Like, getting blackout drunk and throwing up everywhere? Or confessing to a guy you liked while wasted?”

 

His voice was thick with mischief, but Scylla just snorted. She showed no sign of rising to even such light provocation.

 

Langsion finished off the rest of the wine cleanly. 

 

The sweet-bitter aroma filled his mouth completely. She would definitely like it too. 

 

And she’d get addicted to this taste. 

 

Every time she drank it, the affection toward him that would quietly build up—he was intensely curious what kind of fruit that would bear.

 

💫

 

An opportunity to get Scylla to drink alcohol arrived much sooner than expected. Though it came in a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

 

It was the day Scylla said she wanted to gather herbs, and they left the cabin together. 

 

The day before, while picking wild basil leaves on the mountain, Langsion had happened to discover a flower giving off a faint violet hue.

 

It was saffron.