GRP Chapter 7

Thanks to the quiet commotion, the castle also noticed Garthe's return and came out to welcome him.

"Anir? You're alive. I thought you'd died somewhere..."

Samthyeon, noticeably gaunt after just a year, glared at Garthe. Resentment boiled intensely in his eyes—why didn't the master stay home instead of wandering about making him suffer.

"Samthyeon? Good Lord, I almost didn't recognize you. Why have you aged so much?"

Samthyeon's face twisted. Hearing this from Garthe, whose skin was as firm and glossy as always without a single wrinkle, struck hard. In truth, Garthe had lived twice as many years as Samthyeon, but the difference in divine power hadn't let time flow fairly between them.

Watching Samthyeon suppress his anger, Garthe slowly turned his gaze. Toward the walls.

"What happened to the walls this time?"

"Nothing major. Seems there was some conflict among the frost giants in Heimdrykze. Ice chunks presumed to be fingers flew over—one hit the walls, one hit the streets."

"Oh dear."

"Fifteen departed for the gods' embrace..."

"How terrible..."

"The Abundant Moss Tavern narrowly escaped and is unharmed."

News that the castle's only decent eatery had avoided disaster. Garthe's eyes narrowed as he smiled.

"Excellent."

The two who'd exchanged brief small talk moved locations. Where Samthyeon led Garthe was the castle basement. Descending the stairs, Garthe discovered ice crystals packed densely on the walls like frost. As they descended, the temperature dropped...

He felt cold energy raging from deep below the basement.

"Didn't I tell you to watch the house properly?"

"You never said that."

"Really?"

When Garthe let it go easily, Samthyeon sighed in irritation.

The basement they reached was also covered entirely in white ice crystals on all sides. It looked like a prison made of ice. Garthe's gaze turned toward the bars. Two white wolves showed their teeth and growled. Each time the wolves thrashed, thick collars engraved with ancient script flashed. A device developed by the Thul'Mhoriae Alliance to suppress divine power. These weren't ordinary wolves. You could tell just from the basement's condition.

Their size and appearance matched typical wolves. But their fur shone silver, and their eyes were as vivid blue as clear lakes. Northern spirits. Northern spirits taking various forms—rabbits, foxes, wolves, yaks—all shared the same traits of silver fur and blue eyes.

Recently, nonsense had been spreading across the continent that eating a spirit's heart granted eternal life or strengthened divine power. More precisely, it was 'gods and spirits' hearts' that were targeted, but naturally spirits suffered more damage than gods. Spirits were pure beings made of divine power but weren't as strong as gods. For that reason, peaceful spirits had recently been murdered here and there. The Thul'Mhoriae Alliance warned against the 'regressors' who believed such nonsense and announced they'd be severely punished upon discovery.

"Samthyeon."

"No."

"Did you change careers while I was away?"

"You still have that habit of not listening."

Samthyeon refuted flatly at the meaningless accusation and continued.

"There have been several theft incidents in the castle recently."

Meat stored for winter vanished. Several bottles of the most expensive wine disappeared. Dried herbs vanished without a trace. Precious cordyceps that grew only in the west were taken in bulk. Similar reports and complaints poured in like rain.

While such incidents weren't completely absent in a place where various humans gathered, they rarely occurred so simultaneously. Especially the herbalist who lost his cordyceps reddened his eyes and declared his intent to hire mercenaries to definitely kill the thief. The massive investment bore fruit. They didn't kill him, but they got a lead.

'If your tail's too long, you get caught!'

Surprisingly, the thief really did have a tail. A fluffy tail that glimmered faintly in dark night! Those living in Olgidphaenn couldn't fail to know what that meant. The thief's identity—northern spirits.

Once beings from Heimdrykze were involved, it was no longer a private matter. This was why Samthyeon, entrusted with all authority by Olgidphaenn and Foxden Castle's master Garthe, had stepped in.

Looking at the food items taken so far, they had quite refined tastes. Samthyeon prepared various foodstuffs that might suit the thieving spirits' preferences in several castle storehouses. There was no need to wait many days. That very day, two spirits walked right into the trap. One held a golden carp from the south in its mouth, the other held herbs said to revive even the dead.

"Should I laugh?"

"I wasn't exactly joking."

Though he said that, Samthyeon had let out a bitter laugh after catching the spirits. How absurd it was. Worldly spirits with an uncanny eye for valuable things...

"Anyway, I was wondering what to do..."

Samthyeon approached the bars. When one wolf bared its teeth and threw itself against the bars, the ancient script carved there flashed light and repelled the wolf. The wolf tumbled head over heels, then bared its teeth again and rumbled in its throat.

"They're weak. Still young, it seems."

Northern spirits were exceptionally stronger than spirits anywhere on the continent. If fully grown, the collars would have shattered, the bars wouldn't have survived either. No, they never would have dared capture them alive—likely they'd have been killed on the spot.

"What would be best?"

Since Olgidphaenn's master had returned, he should make the decision. Garthe crossed his arms and looked at the two spirited spirits gnawing the bars with their teeth, glaring. His gaze reached the bowls crushed beneath thick front paws and the chunks of meat scattered on the floor.

Spirits, like gods, were beings who could survive without eating. Some individuals did eat occasionally, but that only happened when they'd degenerated from being true spirits over generations. Whether beings who couldn't form their bodies purely from divine power could even be called 'spirits' was questionable in the first place.

The divine realm Heimdrykze was a place where gods preserving primordial power exactly as thousands of years ago could be found more commonly than roadside pebbles. Spirits born in such Heimdrykze were perfect beings like the gods there. Perfect meant without flaw. Having no deficiency, there was no need to fill anything. Appetites and other survival desires were merely the shabby circumstances of lesser life forms.

Samthyeon knew this fact, but seeing spirits holding golden carp, reindeer meat, cordyceps more expensive than gold, and precious medicinal herbs in their mouths had apparently confused him. Judging by how he'd even put in meat for them to eat.

Of course, they proved they were spirits by not touching the meat. Though a week had passed since capture and they hadn't drunk even a sip of water, they still thrashed about like freshly caught fish.

Since it didn't seem like crime from necessity, perhaps he should just take it as spirits' amusement? Maybe they wanted to see humans troubled? That would make some sense.

Garthe, watching the spirits closely, suddenly frowned. Pain had struck abruptly. Garthe pressed against the frozen stone wall. Thick veins rose on his neck. Bloodlust spread roughly with divine power. The spirits leaped back and watched them warily from shadowed corners, eyes gleaming.

Garthe drew a deep breath, then slowly released it. With one breath, bloodlust and divine power settled quietly. Having exhaled only white breath, he bared his teeth in a savage smile.

"Since it's not urgent, let's postpone this matter."

Samthyeon changed his words from when he'd just dragged newly-arrived Garthe here.

"You must have accumulated travel fatigue. You should rest well today."

A voice feigning composure rang like tinnitus from somewhere distant. Garthe moved heavy steps, wearing a dark smile.

Pheeeew!

A whistle split the dawn air. Dawn patrol members along the river rushed over with weapons following the sound. The one who'd blown the wooden pipe was a young warrior who'd come out with his father. Thanks to good eyes, he spotted traces even in dawn's pale light.

The warriors' expressions hardened as they looked where the boy pointed. Footprints crossing the river remained carved without being erased even by falling snow. Though the traces were small like a child's or woman's, they were wary because the footprints began from across the river in the divine realm Heimdrykze.

Now when corpses from the catastrophe a hundred thirty-five years ago were being discovered throughout Olgidphaenn, that meaning was greater than what met the eye.

A messenger bird took flight carrying a letter painted with red dye.

The strongest, most beautiful, most noble, most magnificent ruler of Heimdrykze had once declared:

'Down there are only worthless insects that would die at my single gesture. Weak to the core, unable to survive without parasitizing something. Their only redeeming feature is their horrific reproduction rate.'

Her every word was the most sacred revelation to her, laws that must absolutely be obeyed. Following the laws and performing arduous devotions would eventually lead to understanding truth. Mariaeks had grasped what those words truly meant: 'Therefore, don't associate with such worthless, filthy insects.'

Mariaeks looked up at the towering walls that rose like frost giants. Borrowing the absolute one's expression, this could be called something like an insect nest. Precisely—where humans lived.