GRP Chapter 11

She thought she would be torn to pieces at any moment. He possessed a savagery that even mindless rampaging monsters rarely achieved. Yet despite that bared-teeth quality, the man simply sat there, motionless, holding her gaze.

She couldn't run. His massive body remained still, but those ash-gray eyes held all that drifting violence in their sharpness. It felt like watching a whirlpool churning violently beneath a calm surface. The moment she turned her back, he would rip out her throat. If she looked away, she would certainly die. Mariaeks's survival instincts had always served her well.

But she couldn't just keep staring at him forever. However frozen this moment felt, time was definitely passing. Soon the man's thoughts, paralyzed by the sudden situation, would start moving again. The difference in their strength was obvious. Mariaeks believed the only reason he wasn't attacking immediately was because he was still assessing the situation. She had to move before he reached his conclusion. With retreat cut off, there was only one direction to go.

Watching the man's movements and eyes, Mariaeks stepped toward him. Her options would change depending on his reaction. But no matter how close she came, the man didn't react at all, just sat there quietly.

Mariaeks thought that perhaps even this powerful hero might be trapped within the normal framework of humanity. Which is to say, no matter how strong, humans were still human. Just as Rhaevydie had told her.

She had seen strong humans cling to very weak gods. The hierarchy came not from power but from species difference. Mariaeks knew well that most humans regarded gods as far superior beings. If the man couldn't oppose her for that reason, perhaps showing a more "godlike" appearance would be better. A godlike appearance. She had at least a vague understanding of what that meant.

So Mariaeks forced her tension-stiffened body to move, bringing the dagger to the man's throat. Only when she saw him smile did she realize her judgment had been wrong.

'Pretty eyes.'

Those sweet words had come from a man with a dagger already buried in his chest. The sensation of slicing through tightly condensed muscle, piercing bone, reaching his violently beating heart—it still lingered in Mariaeks's hand. The stinging smell of blood, the hot sticky liquid wetting her hands, even the face of the man smiling with smoothly curved lips. That composed expression, as if he'd stabbed someone else's heart rather than his own. The memory ended there.

When she came to her senses, yesterday's man was lying in the same bed with her. Mariaeks looked at the man with his eyes closed. Far from appearing hurt, he looked healthier than yesterday. The image of him bleeding felt like a dream.

Even frost giants over several thousand years old died when their cores shattered, and gods usually died when their hearts were torn. Even mindless monsters feared death. But the man hadn't died, and hadn't been afraid. Could such a being really be called human?

Mariaeks shook off her complicated thoughts. Dim dawn light illuminated the room. When day broke, humans would wake and move about. The time to rescue Ulli and Baen was shrinking moment by moment even now.

She squirmed to unwrap the blanket wound tightly around her body, then looked up at a presence she felt. Her breath stopped. Her gaze collided with the man's at close range. How long had his eyes been open? There was no trace of fatigue in his pupils.

'He wasn't sleeping.'

Gray eyes within straight-lined lids watched Mariaeks. The man's eyes, faintly melted with dawn's color, resembled fog on a rainy day, or a well-honed blade. Mariaeks's toes curled at the chill that naturally arose. The fortunate thing was that his gaze lacked yesterday's sharp killing intent.

The man slowly raised his upper body. The sheet slid down along his sculpted abs. Supporting himself with one arm, he sat loosely and looked down at her. He seemed to be observing in earnest now. Mariaeks couldn't move at all, like a beast caught in a trap.

"Hmm..."

He exhaled and grasped Mariaeks's slender throat. Though he held it encircling rather than pressing hard, her complexion turned deathly pale.

"What really is this..."

She felt none of yesterday's savage energy, yet couldn't relax at all. The man seemed like someone who could break another's neck without showing any killing intent. His hand was large and strong. Hot and hard. Mariaeks thought the man was holding not a hand but a weapon against her throat. Her body stiffened with tension.

"What are you?"

The words that had only circled around her until now aimed precisely at Mariaeks this time. She swallowed to wet her throat, already parched from shallow, rapid breathing.

What am I? Mariaeks rejected negative modifiers like "half-formed" that immediately came to mind, struggling to think of a plausible introduction. She thought if she seemed like a great and noble god, he wouldn't easily harm her.

God of Heimdrykze, she who makes flowers bloom, great and beautiful and merciful god of the northern spirits.

Mariaeks deliberated. Which "me" would feel most noble and high? To find the answer, she looked into the man's eyes. Mariaeks usually read others' emotions and thoughts well. It was a particular intuition only the weak could develop. But in the man's eyes, nothing reflected. In those blade-like gray eyes, only Mariaeks herself was visible—nothing else.

More time passed. Mariaeks mistook the anxiety tightening around her throat for the man's hand gripping harder. The answer burst out unconsciously, unable to bear that pressure.

"...Mariaeks."

Even she hadn't expected that answer. Surely he hadn't asked just to learn her name. While Mariaeks slowly regulated her breathing, something flickered in the man's eyes that had felt metallic and emotionless throughout. Watching her with a strange gaze, he raised an eyebrow and smiled lightly.

"I see. Mariaeks..."

Mariaeks stared at him blankly. The name "Mariaeks" coming from a stranger's mouth felt incredibly unfamiliar.

Few called her by name. The god who had called her name most often had been asleep for over a hundred years now, and Rhaevydie, whom she occasionally met, only called her "half-formed" or "you." Ulli and Baen, who were always with her, went without saying. To them she was a great god. How could they dare speak a noble god's name? So their form of address had long been fixed as "Master." Though they sometimes mixed in "most beautiful and great Master in the world."

After more than a hundred years passed this way, just when even the existence of her name was becoming hazy—this man called her "Mariaeks." Mariaeks had never expected the day would come when a human spoke her name.

But this wasn't the only unpredictable thing. From the moment she crossed that frozen river, she could no longer know even her own fate an inch ahead. It wasn't the small temple where she repeated the same routine at the same time.

What's going to happen now? Will this human eventually kill me? Mariaeks couldn't even guess the form the coming misfortune would take.

They looked at each other, each for their own reasons, without uttering another word. Time passed. The faint darkness painted on the man's face gradually lifted. The sun was rising. The start of a day that she'd always greeted in her small room was coming here too.

For a moment, Mariaeks forgot the man's intense presence and turned her head. Sunlight blazed intensely beneath her lashes. Mariaeks quickly closed her eyes and opened them again. A morning she'd never seen before was there. Beyond the window, snow-covered mountain ranges shining brilliant white greeted the morning quietly.

"Good morning, Samthyeon."

Garthe entered and offered a morning greeting. Samthyeon dribbled the rich tea in his mouth straight back into his cup.

"How slovenly."

Both the words delivered with a smiling face and the handkerchief were revolting. Frowning, Samthyeon glanced at Garthe and wiped his mouth briskly with his sleeve. The handkerchief that failed its purpose naturally returned to Garthe's embrace.

Samthyeon looked Garthe up and down. His condition had never been good normally, but today he seemed strange in a slightly different direction. Even while clearly seeing that suspicious gaze sweep over him, Garthe sat in someone else's chair, poured someone else's tea into someone else's new teacup, and drank it. Samthyeon's eyes narrowed at the leisurely, composed appearance.

The curse coiled inside Garthe was extremely vicious. From the moment it manifested until now, it had grown without ever letting go for a single moment. The curse's growth had no limit and didn't know how to age. The curse's mere existence filling his entire body was burdensome enough, but it sometimes woke to rage savagely. Like poisonous fangs biting here and there inside him, it delivered even more lethal pain.

Yesterday had been such a day. When the irregular cycle—lasting as short as two or three days, as long as ten days—came around, Garthe prevented anyone from approaching the building where he stayed. With even the smile that had hidden his sensitive and violent temperament gone, Garthe was no different from a mindless monster. Whatever annoyed him, he cut, killed, smashed, and burned.

So this was strange. Just yesterday, Samthyeon had felt Garthe's divine power fluctuating unstably. Now, barely a dozen hours later, Garthe was savoring tea with a leisurely face that suited the warm morning sunlight.