Chapter 18

Oze, who had been writhing in pain from the mermaid’s scream, staggered to his feet, still with his eyes closed. Given that he had sensed the attack first and reacted most sensitively to the mermaid’s song, it seemed his hearing was exceptionally sharp.

“Doesn’t seem like there are any more.”

Snow mermaids were a species that traveled in groups. Spotting one usually meant a dozen or more nearby. And if it was a queen leading them, that went doubly so—this situation was highly unusual.

People gathered around the corpse of the snow mermaid. At the center of the crowd crouched Gart and Three Thousandth, who were rummaging through the body without hesitation.

“That jewel in her chest… definitely a queen.”

“We’ve had a very honored guest.” Gart lifted one of the arms protruding from the mermaid’s shoulder blades. “I doubt that’s just for decoration. A reverser, maybe?”

“She’s larger than average, clearly deformed, and unusually aggressive for a snow mermaid… Highly likely.”

On one side, calm discussions continued; on the other, drinks were quietly sipped. The peaceful atmosphere made the earlier battle feel almost like a dream.

Gart rose from his seat and sat on the edge of the table, scanning the mess the intruder had left behind with sharp eyes. Mariax, still standing awkwardly alone, caught his gaze.

“Mariax.”

A cold voice shattered her dazed thoughts. The light returned to her eyes. Compared to the dead mermaid, the living Gart was far more threatening—more terrifying. Suppressing her trembling with steady steps, she walked toward him. As she stood before him, his eyes dropped to the spot where the mermaid’s tongue had passed.

Gart’s rough, long hand grabbed her chin. Just as she flinched from the strength, his face moved in—right up to hers. He stared at her pale cheek for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. His warm breath brushed her skin, and then, his hot tongue.

Mariax blinked, frozen. Yes, he had just licked the wound on her cheek—completely out of nowhere. His prominent throat bobbed visibly. Gulp. Mission accomplished, his hand released her chin without a second

“…”

Dozens of eyes darted back and forth between Mariax and Gart. He smacked his lips a few times, as if unaware of their attention.

“Tastes like blood.”

The one who’d beheaded the mermaid, Salenoch, responded, sounding mildly incredulous, “Well, it wouldn’t taste like wine, would it…?”

The banquet was ended early. With the appearance of a reverser, a prohibition on alcohol was declared. The humans who had their drinks taken away wept openly. Only Three Thousandth looked pleased, having acquired the mermaid queen’s corpse. Leaving the chaos behind, Mariax followed Gart out of the hall.

***

A wooden bathtub had been prepared in the room. Warm steam rose from the water, clearly meant for Gart—yet he merely sat on the sofa, uninterested. After a long silence, his bored voice broke the air. 

“Don’t tell me I’m supposed to wash you myself?” 

Reclined on the sofa, he jerked his chin toward the tub. That tone and gesture—yeah, he wanted her to bathe.

It was the most welcome thing he’d said since they met. The new white cloak, the shoes he had personally helped her put on—everything was now filthy with food, blood, and bodily fluids. Her body had been drenched in cold sweat over and over again, only to dry uncomfortably.

Mariax slowly removed the cloak and let it drop to the floor. Then she undressed—shoes, foot wrappings, and her loose tunic. The cold air clung tightly to her bare skin, making her shiver.

She felt his gaze. When she turned toward it, she saw Gart watching her with a rare, unfamiliar expression. His usually straight eyebrows were slightly twisted, and the faint smirk he always wore was half-gone. The unfamiliarity of it made her tense. After a moment, he erased the look with a cool smile.

“Didn’t know the privacy screen was just for decoration.”

His tone was reproachful. Mariax hesitated, then picked up some clothes from the floor and hung them on the screen. Gart raised an eyebrow. That didn’t seem to be enough, so she neatly placed her leather shoes as well and glanced his way—but he had already lost interest and turned back to his book. Truly fickle.

“Just bathe already.”

Mariax stepped behind the screen and into the tub. Though the room was cold, the inside was pleasantly warm. Once she confirmed Gart couldn’t see her, she silently scooped water into her mouth. After drinking around eight times, her thirst was finally quenched. The snow mermaid attack had been startling, but it had given her a chance to drink water. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Good and bad things always came together, after all. She submerged her face and drank deeply until her stomach was full.

Just as the sloshing sensation started to feel unpleasant, Mariax lowered herself into the bath. The warm water melted her tension like magic. Ulri and Ba’en occasionally prepared baths for her, but they were never this warm. In Heimdrix, firewood was scarce—so bathwater was usually lukewarm at best, or just cold enough not to freeze.

She sank in until the water reached just under her nose. Heat spread through her whole body, and she let out an involuntary sigh. Suddenly, a stinging sensation brushed her skin. Looking beneath the surface, she saw blood spreading from a wound. She scrubbed vigorously at the spot the mermaid had licked. She still felt that sticky, slimy sensation crawling up her leg. Her trembling hand kept scrubbing and scrubbing.

Outside the window, the blizzard howled. Mariax recalled the mermaid’s face—how it had ignored everyone else and lunged solely at her. If it had just been bloodlust, it would’ve been easier to understand. But what filled its song and gaze was something closer to frenzied desire. The mermaid had wanted her. Even as it licked her blood, it had trembled in ecstasy, as if it had forgotten pain and death.

What on earth…

What was that? What happened? Why her blood?

A drop of water rolled down from her forehead and settled on the wound on her cheek. The sting made her touch it gently. Her fingers came away with a faint trace of blood. She licked it off without thinking.

Tastes like blood.

Of course. It’s not like it would taste like wine.

Though she had been born and raised in Heimdrix, the place most creatures feared, she had rarely faced such danger. She’d always lived under the protection of the greatest, strongest being. The worst she’d encountered were Lawidy’s cruelty, avalanches, extreme cold, snowstorms, and hunger.

Maybe it was that sheltered life—she hadn’t expected the world outside Heimdrix to be this dangerous. She’d already nearly died several times. Once by the mermaid. Several times by Gart. And it hadn’t even been two full days. How was she supposed to survive an entire year like this?

Mariax thought of the old, small shrine. The safest place in the world. Eternal and unchanging. She longed to return. Hugging her knees, she buried her head.

Meanwhile, Gart, reading a book that was just boring enough to be bearable, lifted his head.

…It’s been quite a while.

The woman who had gone to bathe was oddly quiet. The screen wasn’t even letting off steam anymore. More time had passed than he’d realized.

“Mariax?”

No answer. She usually just nodded or shook her head—but even the sound of water splashing was absent. That was strange.

Gart set the book down and stood. There was no need to go behind the screen. Thanks to his height, he could see over it easily once he stood. His brow furrowed. With a short sigh, he strode past the screen.

Drip. Drip.

A weary sound echoed. It came from the woman in the tub, arms wrapped around her knees, head slumped low.

She had fallen asleep.

Should I just leave her like that?

The first plan that came to mind was quickly scrapped. He too was still covered in the aftermath of battle. He couldn’t clean up unless he got her out first.

“Such high maintenance…”

Not that I’m the nurturing type.

Rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, Gart scooped up the sleeping Mariax in his arms. Her small head bumped lightly against his chest. Haaa… A steady, peaceful breath echoed from her. Even as he wiped her body and laid her in bed, she showed no sign of waking. At this point, it wasn’t sleep—it was more like unconsciousness. How such a soft, weak goddess had survived Heimdrix was beyond comprehension.

Her pale naked body glowed gently in the candlelight, like fresh snow reflecting moonlight.

Gart had long been a hero known across the continent. As with many strong and famous men, he had received countless temptations. He’d met over a hundred women called “the most beautiful on the continent.” Funny how that title kept multiplying.

Some came adorned in glittering gold and jewels; others in nothing but their natural beauty. Silky, full bodies, hair as smooth as velvet, dewy eyes, lips as plump as ripe fruit, and fragrances that stirred all the senses—no man could resist such temptation.