Chapter 13

Mariax recalled Three Thousandth’s earlier question: “How are you feeling?” Almost unconsciously, she rubbed the back of her neck. Why did it hurt? It felt like she had been struck. Her last memory was of watching the morning sun—but after that, everything was a blank. Did something happen?

“I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Three Thousandth responded as though she had actually said something, skillfully interpreting silence as consent. While Mariax was still puzzling over this, Three Thousandth continued speaking, “Before I explain our fortress’ stance, I have a question for you, my lady. Did you ever express intent to visit our fortress, or make an appointment in advance?”

Express intent? Make an appointment? Was it really that simple? Mariax felt overwhelmed, as though all her pain and effort—climbing that frozen wall while her limbs nearly fell off in the cold—were being dismissed out of hand.

“Did you?” Three Thousandth repeated his question. 

Mariax forced open her throat, dry from tension. “No.”

“I see. Then is it fair to interpret your act of trespassing into the fortress, threatening Commander Gart, the Anir of Olkiedpan, with a terrifying dagger, declaring your intent to kill him, and ultimately attempting to stab him in the heart—not as a simple miscommunication, but as a hostile and aggressive act?”

Mariax froze, her expression blank. Threats, attempted murder, miscommunication, hostility, aggression? Even though she understood the words, hearing them all together made her head swim.

Wait, stabbing the heart…

Wasn’t that man the one who made her do it? Yes, the hand holding the dagger was hers—but by any rational measure, it was essentially self-inflicted by Gart himself.

“No, that was…” She tried to object, to lighten the heavy accusations even a little, but Three Thousandth gave her no room.

“You might think it’s just one human life—but he is not ‘just one human.’ The Anir’s well-being affects hundreds, thousands—tens of thousands of people who live under his protection. This is a matter of utmost seriousness to us. So I ask again: what brought you to our fortress?”

Despite saying things like “hostile act” and “serious incident,” Three Thousandth’s tone never rose. If anything, he just looked a bit irritable, more tired than angry. He spoke with calm, bureaucratic precision, intent on confirming only the facts. Mariax shrank back. It was a different kind of discomfort than facing someone openly furious.

“I heard you were holding some spirits captive.”

“You can rest assured. We haven’t so much as laid a finger on them.” Even as he answered, Three Thousandth stirred her guilt.

“They’re precious to me. Give them back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Three Thousandth responded quickly, as if he had been waiting for her to say that. “Those two spirits have been regularly stealing supplies from the humans here. You may not realize this, my lady, but the food we need to survive the winter is worth more than money. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Mariax sighed inwardly. She had once asked them where they got the ingredients, and they had told her: “The lowly humans offer tribute willingly at the altar, in awe of your beauty and greatness, Mistress.” But when Mariax wandered the borderlands in search of Ulri and Ba’en, she never found such an altar. They had claimed it was built of gold and marble, the size of a frost giant’s fist—something that would be hard to miss. But she never saw it. Meaning: there was no altar, and no tribute.

Recalling the warm meals that arrived every morning without fail, she realized Three Thousandth had spoken the truth. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to blame the spirits for what they had done. She knew they had done it for her sake.

“Do you know why the spirits were stealing human food? Was it at your command, Lady Mariax?”

Mariax hesitated. Needing food meant her body couldn’t sustain itself on divine power alone. No weak god in Heimdrix, no newborn spirit, not even the half-divine born with human blood, needed to eat. Some lived on breath alone. The fact that she required sustenance was a long-held shame.

But it wasn’t embarrassment that held her back from answering. It was something else. All life, when faced with a weaker being, had a natural instinct to press down. Mariax was certain Three Thousandth treated her with some level of respect because he believed she was a god of Heimdrix, despite her being an intruder.

If it became known that Ulri and Ba’en had stolen out of necessity—and that their goddess had such a flawed, incomplete body—Mariax was certain their attitudes would change. And she could already guess how. That change always followed the same pattern.

So she said nothing, lips pressed tightly shut. 

Sensing her silence, Three Thousandth let the question drop and continued, “This is human land, Lady Mariax, not divine territory. In Olkiedpan, we abide by the laws of Olkiedpan. According to the ruling of Anir Gart…” His gaze shifted to the side. 

Mariax followed his line of sight—and saw Gart, smiling like a villain.

“Summary execution.”

Before she could even process the words, her chest was flooded with unfamiliar emotions. Anger. Sorrow. Shock. Frustration. None of those labels fit. She was simply overwhelmed.

Mariax pushed aside the confusion to focus on what she could do. The conclusion came quickly: nothing. There was nothing she could do. So she just sat there. Why had she crossed the river in the first place? The courage she’d mustered then now felt like it had been shredded under the man’s gaze, ground to dust.

Mariax looked at the human hero. Despite toying with a life as if it were nothing, his face showed no guilt, awkwardness, or even petty satisfaction. He acted as if it truly didn’t matter. And perhaps it didn’t—to him. He was someone for whom deciding life and death was natural, even expected. Because he had the power. She felt that no sword, no amount of pain, could leave so much as a scratch on Gart. Like the other gods of Heimdrix, he seemed whole and flawless. Even his cold, superior gaze bore that same perfection.

“Lady Mariax, the Anir was only joking.”

“Joking?” Gart murmured as if genuinely puzzled. Three Thousandth, covering his mouth slightly, whispered a discreet “Shut up” toward him, then turned back to Mariax and continued.

“He’s quite the prankster.”

“You’re the first person to say that to me,” Gart muttered.

But Three Thousandth remained impassive, as if simply doing his duty. The only one being tossed around by this situation was Mariax.

“Regardless of the reason, since losses were incurred on our side, we can’t simply hand the spirits back.”

If she could, Mariax would’ve vomited up everything she had eaten just to return it. But the food was already part of her blood and flesh.

“Then I’ll repay the loss.”

“That’s… complicated. It wasn’t just once—it happened multiple times. And we suspect there are more cases we don’t even know about. Estimating the scale is difficult. Plus, we have to consider emotional damages suffered by the Anir, who now needs rest due to your intrusion. Calculating appropriate compensation is… problematic. And even if we set an amount, both parties would likely dispute the figure.”

The more Three Thousandth spoke in that careful, roundabout way, the more severe the situation felt. Mariax twisted the blanket in frustration. Catching the gesture, Three Thousandth adjusted his weary expression to something more composed. Even his voice brightened, if only a little.

“So, we’ve come up with an alternative. Here in Olkiedpan, we research Heimdrix and the many gods who dwell upon it. But as you know, my lady, Heimdrix is too dangerous for an ordinary human to even set foot in.”

Mariax nodded slightly in agreement.

“But since you’ve come to us, as if by fate, a new path has opened. If you assist with our research, we will return the spirits to you.”

“Assist?”

“All we ask is that you allow us to observe you. Occasionally answer some questions. If you cooperate fully, our research will proceed faster. We estimate six months at the earliest, a year at the latest.”

Mariax blinked. Six months at best, a year at worst. That might have sounded short to another god—but to her, it felt impossibly long. Not because she disliked humans or felt uneasy in a foreign land.

“Sweet Mariax, you won’t leave me, will you?”

Ever since hearing those words, Mariax hadn’t so much as stepped outside her small temple, let alone crossed the border river of Heimdrix.