GRP Chapter 12

"You call this tea?"

It was an unusual occurrence. Samthyeon surmised that this was why Garthe had sought out his room so early in the morning. He pressed his fingers to Garthe's forehead and wrist to check his temperature and pulse as the man drank. His temperature was lower than usual, and his pulse was close to normal. In truth, you could tell just from the smooth, healthy look of his face.

"How is the pain?"

"Almost none."

"When you say 'almost none'—"

"Like when it first appeared. That level."

Seeing the faint relief spreading across Samthyeon's face, Garthe smiled with quiet significance.

"That you worried this much... I'm touched."

Samthyeon screwed up his brow and the bridge of his nose. He never just let him feel relieved cleanly. That insufferable...

Samthyeon pushed his relief and his irritation to one side and set his mind to work. As far as he knew, there had been a few times before when Garthe's curse had eased as significantly as this.

"Is this the fourth time?"

"So it is."

The first was when he came face to face with the sacred tree—the Mother Tree. The second was when he met the god of the wide plains of Chura. The third was when he met the sea god of Lannae Island. And now.

The common thread among the great tree, the great land turtle, and the great jellyfish was unmistakable: they were ancient gods, born in the era when the two primordial deities died and the world and all life were created. From that time until now, they had guarded the world each within their own domains, across thousands of years.

With each of the three ancient gods Garthe encountered, the curse was beaten back a notch. It never held beyond half a year before returning to its original state, but it gave Garthe—who had suffered for so long—at least a brief space to breathe.

Not every ancient god had suppressed Garthe's curse, of course. But Samthyeon believed the means to undo it must lie within that primordial power. That was why he wished to study Heimdrykze, where the breath of ancient times was still preserved intact.

"Who did you meet last night?"

"Quick on the uptake, as always."

"If I'd missed this, I might as well close up shop."

Garthe gave a brief account of what had happened. With each sentence added, Samthyeon's brow drew tighter.

"She climbed in through the window? Insane..."

'She wants to die. Obviously.'

"She held a dagger to you—is that what you're saying? Thoroughly, completely insane..."

Samthyeon carefully committed to memory the information Garthe was describing about this 'god.' Weak to a degree that was difficult to believe for a god of Heimdrykze. She appeared to have broken in to rescue the northern spirits held underground. The moment he made contact with her, the curse subsided. Toward morning the pain had returned, but upon contact again, his condition had improved.

Samthyeon pressed his fingers to his brow and spent several minutes in thought. His deeply furrowed brows laid bare the tangle of his thoughts. Decades of researching gods and Heimdrykze, and still he could not get a grasp on it.

"Just what is that god, exactly?"

"Mariaeks."

"...You don't think I was asking what her name was." A pause. "I didn't realize you had such a talent for it. You've only just met her and you already know her name."

"That's how it is."

Garthe lowered his gaze, and the corner of his mouth rose. It was the look of someone recalling something.

"Over ten years since Lannae Island..."

He looked deep into his teacup as if a giant jellyfish might be inside it.

"This might finally be the last chance, Samthyeon."

Among the ruins discovered across the world, some bore carved scenes from the Ancient Divine Age: giant gods striding across mountaintops; a god with two heads, each seeing past or future separately; walking trees and stone that prophesied weather; shadows possessed of their own will; a great bird sleeping within clouds. Beings who exhaled winds that swept impurity away, who peeled off scales from themselves one by one to create lesser gods, who split the earth and divided the sea—beings of such power—had largely vanished from the present age. Outside of Heimdrykze, the ancient gods remaining in this vast world could be counted on two hands, and barely at that. Some scholars were already proclaiming the end of the Divine Age.

The very reason Garthe had decided to reclaim Olgidphaenn was connected to all this. The encounter with the ancient sea god "Moonwave of the Deep Sea" in the deep trench near Lannae Island had led Garthe and Samthyeon to the conjecture that the curse's root lay in antiquity. But ancient gods were no longer easy to find anywhere on the continent. And so they had come to Olgidphaenn, neighbor to Heimdrykze—the primordial sanctuary, the land where the spirits of gods were said to sleep. Hoping this would be the last stop.

And so, by chance—or perhaps by something closer to inevitability—the curse had quieted again. Heimdrykze was land that humans did not set foot in, uncharted and unknown. What mysteries and ancient power might lie buried beyond it, what further opportunities it might yet offer—that was something no one could say. But he had to keep in mind that this unexpected windfall that had come flying in through the window might be the last chance of all.

"Their bond is so poignant—so tender—that she would come herself to save them. Use the spirits to apply some pressure and bring her around."

Samthyeon nodded.

"But where is Mariaeks now?"

"In my room."

"Without a guard?"

"I knocked her out before I left. She shouldn't wake for half a day, I'd think."

"......"

"I did hold back."

A beat.

"That's rather the fault of whoever turned out weaker than I expected, isn't it."

He was a genuinely terrible human being. Samthyeon shook his head and began searching through the records he'd compiled on the curse over the years. He was running through what he needed to learn from Mariaeks when he turned his head back toward Garthe. Garthe had finished the last of his now-cold tea and was stretching, arms extended. He didn't look particularly good-humored, but he wasn't particularly on edge, either. Ordinary. Calm. It was as if Samthyeon were glimpsing what Garthe's everyday life would look like without the shackle of the curse.

Samthyeon's hand—reaching toward a particular book—paused briefly in midair. This book was the result of painstaking effort devoted to killing Garthe. It existed for one purpose: to kill Garthe. But if the curse could be broken—if that was truly possible—would there be any reason for him to die anymore?

Whether or not he had seen the moment's hesitation cross Samthyeon's face, Garthe said, as if letting the words fall carelessly:

"If there's a way to live to be found through Mariaeks, there's a way to die as well."

Samthyeon exhaled slowly and took out the thick, heavy book, holding it to his chest.

The back of her neck ached.

This kind of physical pain had been long unfamiliar. Mariaeks lay there and groaned steadily, helplessly, against the unaccustomed discomfort. She knew an effective method for times like this: curl up and wait. When time passed, the pain would eventually subside. Mariaeks wriggled herself into a ball.

"Now that it's come to this, I suppose I might feel a little guilty..."

Her consciousness—foggy and blurred as though mist had settled over it—snapped awake in an instant. Mariaeks's eyes flew open. A soft bed with no sagging anywhere. A warm blanket with elegant embroidery. A stark space without a single painting on the wall. Mariaeks understood this was not her shrine, and jolted upright.

"Good evening, Mariaeks."

Garthe had his back against the headboard, legs crossed, and delivered the greeting with complete ease.

"Nice evening, isn't it?"

'Evening...?' Mariaeks's gaze went to the window. Outside, dark night had settled. The last thing she remembered was the sight of those austere, snow-crowned peaks catching the first light of sun. She had closed her eyes and opened them again, and morning had become night.

Mariaeks looked at Garthe again with some effort. He had a book resting on his knee. Calm eyes set within a sharp gaze. The corners of his mouth raised in an ambiguous curve that might have been a smile. A face from which it was difficult to read any emotion. He had worn a similar expression yesterday—even with a dagger embedded in his heart.

At that moment, someone knocked at the door.

"It's Samthyeon. I'm coming in."

A slender man with light greenish-brown hair entered the room. Remarkably, this person was also not an "ordinary human." He couldn't compare to Garthe, but he too possessed quite strong and clear divine power. Mariaeks tightened her hands into fists beneath the blanket. She couldn't guarantee escape as it was—and now there was one more person she couldn't afford to ignore.

Mariaeks and Samthyeon's eyes met squarely. He stopped short, door handle still in his grip, and went still. The gaze directed at her—unblinking—felt slightly burdensome. Samthyeon broke the frozen moment with an awkward ahem.

"Ah, I apologize. It's my first time seeing a living god of Heimdrykze this close..."

Mariaeks seized on the crucial point in those words precisely. 'His first time seeing a living god of Heimdrykze this close? Then the dead gods of Heimdrykze—'

"Shall we get to the point."

Before Mariaeks could finish the thought, Samthyeon dragged a chair to the edge of the bed and sat down directly facing her.

"Good evening, Lady Mariaeks."

Samthyeon offered the greeting with genuine courtesy. Mariaeks was quite taken aback to hear a name she knew well spoken by an unknown human. She had received a greeting, so she supposed she ought to return it.

"...Right."

Samthyeon smiled, brows drawn slightly together. It was an odd expression.

"I am the three-thousandth forest spirit, born of the blood of both the spirits of Ultera's Forest and of humankind, and High Priest of the Thul'Mhoriae Alliance—Aeoroës Iera Aera Iliowe Molhon."

Mariaeks stared at him in silence. At Aeoroës — Iera — Aera — Ili —

"You can simply call me Samthyeon."

Mariaeks nodded.

"I am deeply sorry to receive someone so esteemed in a place as humble as this. How are you feeling?"

The hands Mariaeks had been clutching the blanket with loosened slightly. In her estimation, the spirit-blooded human appeared, at the very least, considerably less fierce than the hero currently paging through a book on the other side of the room.

Translator Note: Samcheon is three-thousand in Korean.