GRP Chapter 32

"Is it a familiar face?"

Garthe picked up the bird head from Mariaeks's knee and asked. The bird head let out a pitiful greeeak.

"...No."

Why ask, for every monster and god encountered, whether it was a familiar face? If it was familiar, did he intend to spare it? But he killed first and asked afterward—what that sequence served, she could not determine.

Mariaeks washed away the strange feeling stirred by the man's tears with the bloody commotion.

Garthe threw the bird head out the window. Then he picked up the blanket and scrubbed the blood from Mariaeks's face with brisk, rough strokes—the movement of someone washing a window or a floor. Mariaeks's brow narrowed.

When the blanket swept away, Garthe's face was nearby in the morning light. Mariaeks was reasonably quick at reading others' moods. To that sense of hers, today's Garthe was slightly different from the day before. The same sharp face as always, but the impression had shifted somehow. Slightly rounded, one might say. She had no way of knowing when he might turn again and radiate killing intent, but something about him fit ordinary greetings naturally.

"Good morning, isn't it?"

The man smiled, lifting the corners of his mouth slightly. Mariaeks took in the blood spattered on his face, the monster's body writhing in the wall, and the pungent smell of blood, and opened her mouth awkwardly.

"...Good, morning."

Mariaeks's cheeks had taken on a healthy flush. A week of meals provided faithfully, morning, noon, and evening. The first two days had been a thick, rich stew, but from the third day onward the stew had acquired additions—ground meat and bread crumbs kneaded and boiled into balls. And today there had even been soft, warm bread alongside. The texture of it, as soft as tender flesh, still had Mariaeks somewhat dazed.

A large hand appeared. Mariaeks opened her mouth without thinking. A candy slipped in. It was a familiar process by now. After meals, one candy. The sweetness Garthe gave her had caught her off guard every time, despite a full week of repetition.

Her ears twitched, without fail. Garthe watched her private joy for a moment. Her eyes were turned elsewhere with studied indifference, as though the business were beneath her notice—but her ears were entirely honest.

"Shall we head out soon."

He said it casually. The tension the sweetness had eased snapped taut in an instant. Her body gave a small startled jerk, hair rising along it.

'Finally?'

Was today the day she would learn why that ferocious human with his hidden nature had kept bringing meals so faithfully?

Mariaeks's eyes lit up. Garthe had known she was an imperfect god and had not killed her. He had simply kept bringing meals that grew more elaborate by the day. Without knowing his intention, even if her body was at ease, her mind could not follow. Garthe was definitely not keeping her alive out of sympathy or mercy. It could be for research, or there could be another reason, but neither was certain. Either way, having survived this far by luck, she had to do her best to prove her usefulness. Research or anything else—she planned to do whatever was asked. But contrary to those motivated thoughts, Mariaeks had been unable to meet anyone except Garthe for an entire week.

Oze, who had knocked on the door every morning, had completely stopped coming since that day. So had Samthyeon. Since no one opened the door from outside, she had no choice but to remain quietly in the room. The suffocating time passed with only the two of them. The bruise marks on her throat faded. Her body, which had ached from the long starvation, improved.

And so today, for the first time in a week, Garthe had said 'Shall we head out soon.' Various futures spread in Mariaeks's mind. But she had no ability to see the future as certain gods did, and all of them were vain imaginings. She suppressed her anxious thoughts and rose from her seat.

It was a day too warm and clear to be meeting a postponed death. Snow lay generously on the ground as always, but from a sky without a single cloud, sunlight sparkled and poured.

While Mariaeks breathed outdoor air for the first time in a long while and looked up at the sky, Garthe had already walked far ahead. She hurried after him. The night's heavy snowfall kept catching at her feet. Struggling and straining to keep pace, her body lurched to one side. Her foot caught on a stone hidden beneath the snow and she pitched headlong into it. Only then did the man's footsteps stop. Even sprawled on the ground, Mariaeks could feel Garthe's gaze on her.

He caught her collar and lifted her effortlessly. Her body floated. She brushed the snow from her face and glanced at him. His face was expressionless—no sneer, no irritation. But his patience was not long. When Mariaeks fell a second time, Garthe's brow furrowed. The previously flat corners of his mouth had drifted upward slightly.

"Such hard work, serving distinguished guests."

Garthe tucked Mariaeks under his arm and started walking. The same treatment Ryaia had given her. At least those times had been better. The terror of flying through the sky was indescribable, but it was still preferable to being carried across a street in open view under everyone's gaze.

As they moved through the fortress, familiar faces came into view. Mariaeks made eye contact with Salenoke—the man who had delivered the long speech about Garthe's achievements at the same table in The Bountiful Moss. Salenoke's eyes went wide. He broke into a broad grin, winked, and gave a thumbs-up.

'What...'

What was that supposed to mean? She didn't understand it, but it made her mood strangely sour. And so Mariaeks arrived at the destination, carried under Garthe's arm, receiving Oze's casual greeting and the watching eyes of fortress warriors who whispered among themselves.

It was a place she had passed by before. A building that looked solid enough that a boulder flying into it would shatter on the stone rather than the other way around. Mariaeks didn't know it, but the large emblem hanging at the arched entrance made it possible to infer the building was a temple. In front of the entrance, people had gathered in numbers—arrivals from other regions who had come to Olgidphaenn now that the roads had opened after the conquest of Jüllaphan.

The temple was a religious organization of the Thul'Mhoriae Alliance. Each region had anywhere from one to dozens of them, and their function overlapped to some degree with that of the regional Anirs who maintained each territory. Because of this, temples and regional Anirs sometimes found themselves in conflict. Olgidphaenn was a special case.

The Thul'Mhoriae Alliance had actively supported Garthe's campaign to conquer Olgidphaenn. Restoring the frontline that faced the divine realm was a task the Alliance's present situation made necessary. Garthe had set foot in Olgidphaenn for his own reasons rather than at the Alliance's request, but their purposes had, by some alignment of circumstance, come to the same point. Olgidphaenn naturally became Garthe's—the greatest meritorious person's—but with the Alliance's support and requests of the kind that cannot be made without tears on both sides, the construction of the fortress and the founding of public institutions had proceeded without significant restriction, and the territory settled into a form that was, in practice, close to semi-national. Thanks to this, the temple's role had also expanded considerably.

The land was geographically important, and vast enough that managing all of Olgidphaenn with Garthe's people alone hit its limits—all the more so given that the person bearing the title of Anir showed not the slightest interest in governance. Without any intention of looking at a single document, Garthe had delegated regional governance entirely to the temple. He had made thorough use of state support according to his own preferences.

Because of this, Samthyeon, the temple head, and the priests under him were spending every day like a week, the dark of long sleepless nights worn below their eyes, pressing to keep Heimdrykze research and the roughly-running Olgidphaenn moving forward with fewer errors.

"Excuse me, I'd like to see the Anir of Olgidphaenn!"

"Here as well! Anir Yagin has sent a letter along with supplies to Olgidphaenn!"

"I am a retainer of Anir Rem. Anir Rem has come to speak with the Anir of Olgidphaenn! When might we expect an audience?"

Every manner of riffraff were swarming to meet 'the Anir of Olgidphaenn,' adding to a situation that was already more than enough. Mariaeks's gaze drifted toward 'the Anir of Olgidphaenn' the humans were clamoring for. Garthe, apparently accustomed to this kind of thing, pulled his hood up over his head without any sign of surprise.

In his place, priests in long white hoods—hollow-eyed and gaunt after three straight nights without sleep—answered the visitors' questions with indifferent yet courteous tones.

"If you fill out the visitor log and provide the support items list and the contribution amount, we'll be sure to confirm and pass it along."

"I need to deliver it in person! When exactly can we expect an audience?"

"The Anir's audience is not under the temple's jurisdiction. Please inquire with the castle's manager."

"What does that mean? I asked the castle's manager and they told me to inquire with the temple!"

"When the Anir of Olgidphaenn is in the fortress, it falls under the castle's jurisdiction. The staff member must have been mistaken. Please inquire again."

"The Anir of Olgidphaenn was said to be absent!"

"There must have been a communication error. We at the temple are unfortunately unable to be of further assistance."

"W-wait a moment!"

"From eleven to three is lunch break. Please visit later."

"Damn it all—, if you open at nine and close at five, why is the lunch break so long!"

"The temple is a national institution. If you have any inconveniences, please direct your inquiry to the Alliance."

The large priests shooed the visitors away with indifferent yet pleasant tones, then erected a sign:

⌜Lunch break. Please visit after three o'clock. Rest in the gods' embrace.⌟

"Blasted—! Damned Olgidphaenn—!"

The people who had gathered spat curses. After huffing and fuming at length that every visit to Olgidphaenn inflamed an old grievance that took three months to die down, they eventually found no solution and dispersed.