GRP Chapter 19

Not a single one of them had succeeded. Without exception, every last one had been overwhelmed by Garthe's murderous intent and ended up snot-nosed and bawling, crawling out on all fours. That they were women was what kept it at that level. When someone who had doubted Garthe's preferences shoved the continent's most handsome man into his bedchamber, the continent's most handsome man fainted on the spot and was carried out by servants—whites of his eyes showing, drooling down his chin.

Garthe had lived longer than others, and in that time, he had encountered thousands of gods and thousands of monsters—beings that, whether called "gods" for possessing strength superior to humans and other races, were invariably mysterious and beautiful, whatever form they took; for beauty had the power to entrance others in and of itself, and even with armor called the rarest treasure of the age protecting the body, one would eventually end up on one's knees.

You cannot armor the soul. It was a powerful force that burrowed into the most vulnerable part. Garthe knew well what lengths humans went to when entranced by that force. Therefore, to Garthe, beauty was nothing more than a weapon.

It didn't work on him. But an opponent carrying a weapon was reason enough to be bothered by that weapon's existence. His continued distaste for the being called Mariaeks, his desire to eliminate her—that was surely an expression of this. Along with the fact that she was a god of Heimdrykze, her outer shell was excessively beautiful.

Garthe swept the hair stuck to the woman's cheek away with the back of his hand. The agonizing curse subsided each time he made contact with her. The condensed emotion boiling deep inside his soul—that, too, subsided. It was a sensation of peace he had not felt once in his entire life.

This was quite remarkable...

The crease between his brows deepened. He twisted his mouth into something that was not quite a smile. His hand fell slowly away from the woman's cheek. The gaze that had been fixed as if nailed in place pulled away from Mariaeks.

The bathtub had gone past cooling to cold. A suitable temperature for washing away the heat that had built up considerably.

Knock, knock. At the sound of someone knocking on the door, Mariaeks blearily opened her eyes. Her body ached and the fatigue had not lifted; rising was not easy. The aftereffects of holding herself rigid and tense for several days were only now making themselves known. With a man who scattered killing intent all day long right beside her, what chance had her body had of holding up.

"......"

Her round eyes rolled around the room. By the feel of presences, it seemed there was no one here—but it was best to be careful, just in case. Mariaeks rose quietly and looked slowly around her. Fortunately, Garthe was nowhere to be seen. She breathed a sigh of relief and patted her chest.

At that moment, an unfamiliar texture caught at her fingertips. What is this. She was wearing clothes she had never seen before.

The tunic hung so loosely that one shoulder was entirely exposed. The sleeves had been rolled up so many times they had grown thick and heavy. It was a garment made for someone much larger than herself. The instant she realized this, Garthe's scent wafted sharply from the fabric. A faintly scorched smell and a bitter, herbal smell.

Mariaeks was absently fingering the hem when her gaze was stolen by her own thigh where it showed below the tunic. A bandage had been wound around the spot where she had been injured yesterday. She froze with her eyes open. A deep sigh could not escape and instead echoed somewhere deep in her chest, circling like something looking for a way out.

Mariaeks desperately wished that she herself had bandaged the wound and had asked Garthe to borrow the clothes. But her memory cut off at sitting in the bathtub.

As if in a trance, she felt along her neck. Remarkably, it was properly attached. That violent human hero Garthe had let her live. It was a very fortunate thing—but the human called Garthe had become even harder to understand.

'What kind of thoughts could even move through a creature like that? That man.'

Knock, knock.

The sound of knocking broke through her thoughts again. Mariaeks opened the door with cautious hands. A man black from head to toe was standing there quietly. A fragment of the man's introduction surfaced in her memory. I'm Oze, from Jimna'an, the cave of the black underworld god.

"Good morning."

It was a morning greeting from someone other than Ullri and Baen. A strange feeling came over her, and Mariaeks couldn't answer right away. She was about to nod belatedly, but then thought that a nod was not an appropriate response for someone whose eyes were closed. The dilemma of how exactly to return the greeting stretched on. In the meantime, Oze held out what he was carrying. Fresh clothes and shoes. Mariaeks stroked the soft fabric with her hand and stole a glance at the face of the man with closed eyes.

"Good morning."

It was a little late, but she felt she should return the greeting. Fortunately—whether her effort had made some difference—Oze smiled broadly. Mariaeks changed her clothes with a somewhat lighter feeling and came out.

All the while following Oze as he led the way, Mariaeks's attention and hands kept finding their way back to the white fur on the cloak. It had a slightly different feel from what she had touched yesterday. Too distracting.

"Oze."

"Yes?"

"This—do you know what animal's fur this is?"

He fingered it for a moment.

"Rabbit, I think."

Good. It was softer than yesterday's, and she had been thinking of Ullri and Baen a little more because of it.

"Fox fur is nicer, honestly—only, foxes can't be hunted in our Olgidphaenn, you see. Our Anir gave the command: foxes must not be caught. If someone's caught doing it, it's summary execution."

He really seemed quite fond of summary execution, that human. Mariaeks's wariness rose another level.

"Rabbit, wolf, sable, bear—even humans, depending on the circumstances. But foxes—not a single hair to be touched, he said. Absolutely not."

He really seemed like a completely mad human. Humans could be killed, but for some reason foxes were off-limits.

'Now that I think about it...'

The emblem on the fortress had a fox on it as well. Could it be connected to that.

"Why?"

"Mm. That I couldn't really say, either." A pause. "Perhaps he's fond of foxes?"

Mariaeks tried to imagine a scene of Garthe liking and cherishing foxes, but ultimately failed. It was far too wildly incongruous.

In the midst of these trivial thoughts, they arrived at Samthyeon's room. As if his role had been only to guide the way, Oze waved his hand in wide circles and departed.

"Welcome, Lady Mariaeks. Did you rest peacefully last night?"

"Peacefully..."

Mariaeks turned the word over. Coerced into a contract under threat from Garthe. Made a spectacle before humans. Nearly eaten by a mutant mermaid queen who had barged in without invitation. Then the human killing tool Garthe—treating her wound, changing her clothes—

A shadow passed over her face.

"So you rested peacefully. I'm relieved."

Anyone could see that wasn't such an expression. Samthyeon didn't seem like a man who took much interest in others. Though it might be that he knew perfectly well and simply couldn't be bothered to follow up.

One wall of Samthyeon's room was packed solidly with drawers of varying sizes, and opposite it, shelves lined with books and bundled papers ran in rows. Unlike the dim interior of Garthe's room, Samthyeon's space was unusually bright. Mariaeks's gaze went to the large window. Sunlight poured through it and settled softly on Samthyeon's shoulders. Come to think of it, he had said he carried the blood of forest spirits. He seemed to like sunlight. Like how Ullri and Baen liked snow.

Samthyeon, who had been busily rummaging through books and papers, only finally sat down across from her after considerable time.

"I apologize for making you wait. Shall we begin then."

The moment his brown eyes met hers, a faint, tickling nervousness spread from somewhere near her heart. The research was about to begin. She didn't know exactly how it would proceed, but the process of investigating the god of Heimdrykze felt weighty in a way that stood apart from ordinary things. She also couldn't overlook the question of whether she was even capable of satisfying his desire to understand Heimdrykze's god.

"How old are you?"

"......"

Mariaeks's mouth opened slightly, then closed. This, at least, was a question she could answer.

"I've passed a hundred years."

"A hundred years..."

Samthyeon rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. He appeared to be turning something over carefully. Then he fixed his gaze on her again with a skeptical look.

"How meaningless time must be to a great god. Might it not be that considerably more years have passed than you think, without your being aware of it?"

The tone carried conviction that she must be considerably older than a hundred.

"Precisely—159 years."

"...I see."

His lips pressed together in dissatisfaction, chin creasing, as he wrote something on the paper.

⌜Name: Mariaeks Age: 159 years(?)⌟

Two items that seemed strangely pointless had been recorded. What was research, exactly. Mariaeks turned the definition of the word over from the beginning again.

"Might you be able to tell me which god you were born from?"

With the exception of spirits that arose naturally, all living beings had ancient gods as their ancestors—gods created by the creator god's omnipotent power. In the present day, power had fragmented into the millions to match the flood of numbers, and these beings were no longer what could be called 'gods.' But Heimdrykze was a different matter. Even under the same sky, time in Heimdrykze and time on the continent could not be said to flow identically.

In other words: even a young god of 159 years could potentially be a being derived directly from an ancient god's lineage. This was precisely what Samthyeon wanted to ask. It might not be Mariaeks who was special, but her parent god.

Mariaeks, who had been meeting Samthyeon's gaze, looked down in a way that seemed slightly unnatural. It was a difficult question.

"I have no memories from when I was young, so I couldn't say."

Hm. A lie. Samthyeon's quick perception arrived at that conclusion and he nodded. There was a way to press her and extract it regardless, but the important thing was the lie itself. The identity of her parent god, or the reason it had to be hidden—one of the two would hold what made the god called 'Mariaeks' special.

Scratch scratch—Samthyeon's hand moved again.

⌜Parental relations: unknown⌟