GRP Chapter 24

Their eyes met. The moment Garthe's eyebrow furrowed minutely, fierce energy suddenly surged. It was killing intent thick enough to make sturdy warriors stumble backward. Mariaeks trembled finely, unable to breathe properly. Garthe, who had been looking at Mariaeks with cold eyes, turned on his heel at some point. Then he disappeared past the castle gate without looking back once.

The moment Mariaeks, her strength drained, nearly collapsed backward, Oze appeared swiftly and supported her back.

"Oh my, are you all right?"

Oze tried to offer comfort.

"The Anir is always more sensitive than usual right after combat..."

A short breath burst from Mariaeks's mouth. Really, this time she'd thought she would die. She'd felt deeper fear than that night when she'd stabbed the man with a dagger. Though their eyes had merely met, Garthe had shown greater hostility than when his heart had been pierced.

The breath that leaked rapidly from Mariaeks's mouth melted into the air. She shrank and trembled, then raised her head at the chilly wind that cooled the cold sweat beading on her forehead. Only the pitch-black night with no trace of the light powder from before reflected in her eyes.

The underground chamber where criminals were confined was much colder than outside. Ryaia, the eldest of the Paldoa sisters, shivered with a brrr. Because beings called heroes who transcended humanity weren't greatly affected by their surroundings, she'd never caught even a common cold wearing only a light tunic and robe. So why was it this cold? Wondering, Ryaia soon realized.

Ah, I see. This wasn't cold—it was the atmosphere the space created. A dim, cramped space lit by only a few candles. Tools of unknown purpose hanging here and there on the walls and an unpleasant smell of blood seeping deeply among the cold air particles. Perfect. Perfectly the epitome of an "underground torture chamber."

On top of that, Garthe sitting in a chair with his legs crossed made the temperature here drop even lower. When you placed someone who'd look savage even in a bright flower garden in a space like this, the combination of space and person was utterly destructive.

The criminal, his limbs bound with special shackles and handcuffs, kept making his teeth clack-clack as they struck together. Though no one had kindly told him what this place was for or what would happen to him, he seemed to have figured everything out on his own. Even a human who'd become strong by obtaining a god's power seemed to have no way to block the chill starting to seep deep into his bones.

Well, looking into those eyes...

The criminal was facing Garthe head-on. It would be more merciful to drop him in the middle of Heimdrykze.

Ryaia tried imagining continuing to stare at Garthe's eyes and shuddered. Let's not commit crimes. At least not in Olgidphaenn. If you didn't want to be trapped in silence for thirty minutes while making eye contact with the lord of this land!

Moreover, Garthe's mood seemed particularly bad today. Though his face was similar to usual, the energy was different.

Sharp and dangerous things always lay at the foundation of his emotions. Because of his position as hero, people tended to accept Garthe's peculiar disposition as something that must be special because he's a special person. But people who'd dealt with Garthe for a long time thought, removing the prejudice of "hero," that the Anir's personality was honestly rather dog-like.

Ryaia had seen Garthe's mood improve very minutely exactly three times. A very special occasion that happened maybe once every dozen years or so. So the current aura ready to grab someone wasn't unusual, but today was somehow different. He was more heavily sunken and more sharply edged than in all the years she'd known him. Who knew what had happened during the subjugation mission he'd left for alone.

Garthe took a pipe from his breast and put it in his mouth. A flame that jumped up from his palm tinged the end red. A familiar scent began to spread. It was something Garthe always carried with him. A potent herb that crushed a person's mind.

Garthe ran his tongue over the mucous membranes inside his mouth. The deeply steeped smoke stimulated his nerves with a prickling sensation. The moment he felt a bitterly bitter taste stinging to his tongue tip, even before the effects appeared, the sharp pain subsided like a conditioned reflex. He'd been bound and conditioned over several years. His body remembered the slight peace that would come after the disgustingly unpleasant bitter taste.

Garthe deeply inhaled the smoke. Deeply so it spread to every corner of his body. The hazy smoke rushed even into his head that felt filled with sharp thorns. Soon came the sensation of stickily melting his nerves. It forcibly relaxed his body and dulled thought and sensation.

Converting to numbers, it had the effect of reducing pain from a hundred to about seventy, but it had the disadvantage of necessarily bringing unpleasant emotions. But the situation wasn't one to complain about side effects of that degree. His condition was a mess from being separated from Mariaeks for several days.

Garthe, who suddenly thought of Mariaeks, smiled coldly. Ryaia and Samthyeon moved their legs bit by bit to get a couple steps farther from Garthe. They'd never seen anything good from going near him when he had that face. The only fortunate thing that meant they didn't have to rush out of the room was that an appropriate target for venting was right before their eyes.

"L-look... I'll tell you everything. Just spare my life..."

The appropriate target stimulated Garthe at the appropriate time. Keeping his mouth shut would have helped extend his lifespan. If you're stupid, you should at least be perceptive. Samthyeon sighed inwardly.

Garthe, who had exhaled smoke at length, rose heavily from his seat. The man who'd been huge even sitting looked mountain-sized once standing. The regressor kneeling trembled with a shudder.

"First... shall we exchange a light greeting?"

Garthe reached through the iron bars. The regressor's face was lightly caught in his large grip.

"Hello."

Dark red flames rippled between his fingers. Tsssss, the smell of burning flesh came.

"GYAAAAAAAH!"

Screams continued echoing through the underground chamber.

The man didn't last long. Ryaia, who'd been frowning at the smell of burning flesh, spat out a word irritably.

"Pretty weak."

"I wonder. He lasted longer than I thought."

Samthyeon answered her words without interest.

"He even regenerated once in the middle."

The omitted word "for someone like him" was heard.

"Must have gotten something from eating the god."

"Thanks to that, he suffered longer. Do they call that a reward these days?"

At Ryaia's disgusted words, Garthe let out a short laugh.

"Why, wasn't that what you wanted? A life a little stronger, living a little longer, suffering a little longer."

Such a stupid sight, crawling into a pit of fire by themselves. He could only laugh.

Regressors referred to all beings who desired regression to the past. Coveting the divinity of the past known to have been one fragment, they tried to gather the scattered fragments by consuming other beings' power. It was to regress to powerful beings of the past. In their goal of becoming more perfect beings—"gods"—there was no great conviction or anything like that.

Becoming strong, living eternally, wanting to become a hero whose name spreads widely across the continent. Specifically, like "Hero Garthe." Shaking such name and fame, earning money, possessing land, sharing rapturous love with the continent's greatest beauty. Desires that were modest if modest and grandiose if grandiose.

"How shall we dispose of him?"

"Better to gift him the eternal life he wanted."

Olgidphaenn was a name encompassing not just Fox's Den Fortress but all frozen regions adjacent to the divine territory. This vast and barren land held many things. Dozens of villages, hundreds of fortresses, thousands of humans, tens of thousands of corpses.

This cold land had originally been the gods' domain. Long ago, humans and various races had lived together harmoniously, but a god who descended from Heimdrykze brought harsh winter to the area now called Olgidphaenn. It was the "Great Disaster" incident that occurred 135 years ago.

That incident swept up and froze all plants, animals, humans, and large and small life forms in winter. What came to possess the whitened land that had grown quiet were monsters and gods who could live even in that extreme cold. Olgidphaenn, like Heimdrykze across the river, was not a domain humans dared approach. Until Garthe subjugated it.

A dozen years had passed since then. People dispatched from the Thul'Mhoriae Alliance and those who came here seeking hope or desire rebuilt the ruined kingdom and villages into fortresses and began properly establishing their forces, but they couldn't completely erase the Great Disaster's traces. The tens of thousands of corpses still being discovered were exactly that.

The man's corpse just created would also become one of them. Since Garthe had said to gift him eternal life, he'd be discarded in the desolate land where criminals' corpses gathered. If lucky, he'd be eaten by monsters, or else like other corpses, he'd remain frozen in that spot even after a hundred years, even after a thousand years.

Garthe shook off the ash onto the corpse with a tap-tap and stood up.

"Thul'mhoriae."

Having gifted the last warmth, he left.

"The Bountiful Moss," the tavern boasting the finest culinary skill in the fortress, was packed full today. The situation was such that some were even stacking oak barrels and food crates from the warehouse to use as substitute chairs due to lack of seating. The reason was that famous figures of Fox's Den Fortress—warriors under Hero Garthe—had swarmed in noisily. The free mercenaries and criminals who'd secured spots earlier eventually had to vacate their seats, unable to withstand their momentum.