Chapter 6

Ulri and Ba’en wore identical expressions on their identical faces. It was as if the sky had fallen. The twins, trying hard to wipe the despair off their faces, exchanged glances. They were sharing thoughts. Mariax calmly waited for an answer.

“We spilled a bit while cooking. It was Ulri’s fault.”

“No, it was Ba’en’s. That’s why there’s a little less today.”

“Is that so?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then why did you only use reindeer meat?”

The twins exchanged glances again. This time, they stared at each other for quite a while. Eventually, they raised their chins in confidence and replied, “We forgot to go get the other ingredients.”

Ulri and Ba’en made a trip down the mountain once a month to gather food for Mariax. Since nothing could be found within Heimdrix, they had to cross the frozen river marking the boundary of the divine realm. Mariax knew well that the land beyond was just as barren, buried in endless snow. It was a mystery how they always returned with such plentiful provisions.

When Mariax once voiced her curiosity, the twins had simply shrugged, saying, “To worship the beauty and greatness of our mistress, humans come from distant lands and build altars at the base of Heimdrix’s mountains, offering tributes willingly.”

It didn’t sound quite right, but what could she do if they insisted? Whenever Mariax said, “I’m always grateful,” the twins would glare sharply and reply, “A great god doesn’t express thanks.” Ever since meeting them, Mariax had come to learn how many things a “great god” apparently wasn’t allowed to do.

“We just bring it back. It’s not really a hassle,” they used to say, and Mariax could still hear their voices clearly. But time must have passed after all.

“It’s getting tiresome doing it every time. We’ll go tomorrow or something…” Ulri and Ba’en answered with a slightly sulky tone. 

Was this their late adolescence? Mariax felt deeply uneasy.

The adolescent wolves didn’t even go out to play in the heavy snowfall around midday. The change bothered Mariax enough that she couldn’t concentrate on her evening reading. And strangely, even after nightfall, the ground didn’t rumble.

Everything about the day had gone awry. The only consolation was that it was finally drawing to a close. Mariax closed her eyes and imagined the Mariax of tomorrow—living the same day she had for the past hundred years. It seemed a bit dull, but not so bad.

I hope tomorrow comes quickly.

It was nearly dawn by the time she finally fell asleep.

A fierce wind rattled the window, and Mariax opened her eyes faintly. Rattle, rattle. The window shook again. As her dazed mind cleared, she sensed something was wrong.

She rushed to the window, brushed away the snow piled on the sill, and flung it open. Cold air immediately engulfed her. Without even blinking, as if frozen, she stared at the sky dyed in sunset colors.

Mariax stepped out of her room. She didn’t even think to close the window behind her. She checked every familiar place: the cracked hallways, the rundown storage room, the shabby kitchen, the prayer room filled with odds and ends, and the clearing outside the temple. But the two spirits were nowhere to be found.

A great god does not go looking for servants first. Just call our names and we’ll come running, Mistress. Ulri and Ba’en’s lively voices echoed in her memory. Through the cloud of her white breath, Mariax called out, “Ulri, Ba’en.”

There was no reply.

Mariax squatted down in front of the temple doors to wait. Maybe they had gone to retrieve offerings. She looked up at the sky, watching the sun fade away. But even as night fell and the familiar sound of frost giants’ footsteps echoed, Ulri and Ba’en did not return.

Not the next day, nor the day after.

***

The land where the world-ending “Void” was sealed—Heimdrix. Perhaps Heimdrix was called a divine realm not because “a great god lives there,” but because “only a great god can survive there.” That was the joke some humans told.

Heimdrix was home to beings far stronger than the gods humans worshipped on the continent. The presence of savage beasts and powerful gods made the place unapproachable, and the brutal cold only added to the impossibility. No humans, no animals, not even a single weed could be found. The lack of food alone made it fundamentally uninhabitable for ordinary life.

Olkiedpan bordered the divine realm, separated only by a river. The cold didn’t magically turn warm after crossing the river, and the fierce monsters certainly weren’t afraid to cross the ice. In other words, Olkiedpan was no different from the divine realm. But unlike Heimdrix, it didn’t bear the name of a sacred domain, and so its true nature stood out even more clearly—it was simply a dead land, unfit for life.

135 years ago, a “god” from Heimdrix descended upon Olkiedpan. Though it was just a river crossed, history books described it with grandeur—“a divine descent” or “a god came down to the human world.” That was the scale of the event that unfolded. For reasons unknown, the god had grown angry. As a result, all the lands facing Heimdrix and all life that dwelled upon them were instantly frozen and perished. It was a cataclysm that claimed tens of thousands of lives.

135 years later, Olkiedpan still had not recovered. The frozen land remained trapped in perpetual winter. Corpses from that time were still occasionally discovered. The unchanging landscape, the devastating event—these were what had earned Olkiedpan its name as a land of death.

Its dangers were known even on distant islands across the sea. Not just reasoning beings, but even instinct-driven animals refused to set foot in Olkiedpan. Yet recently, a flicker of human warmth had begun to spread in the long-forgotten land. It started with the brave steps of a hero, and others quickly followed.

Those who believed only gods born in the divine realm Heimdrix were true gods and wished to serve them, clerics from the Allied Forces of Thul’mor seeking divine secrets, mercenaries and young heroes hoping to make a name by slaying monsters, and criminals with no place in the safe, sunny parts of the world—all these people gathered. In short—

On one side, fanatics worshiping powerful gods.

“O great god! Destroy these worthless humans and lead us to the land of salvation!”

On another, weary Thul’mor clerics exhausted by harsh borderland research.

“Ugh, I really do want to wipe out these worthless humans…”

“Yeah… I want to go to the land of salvation too…”

In the back alleys, rough-looking gangs with eyepatches and foul tempers.

“Hey! You bump into someone, you apologize! Ever heard of an apology? It’s round, shiny, and golden?”

On the streets, naive young heroes filled with justice mingled poorly with everyone else.

“My heart burning with justice and love has brought my feet to this place! So this is Olkiedpan? The beginning of my legend? I feel good about this somehow!”

It was, as always, a total mess.

“Seriously… what a mess…”

Gart’s subordinate voiced exactly what Gart himself was feeling.

“This place is like a goddamn awful home,” another subordinate muttered their honest thoughts without thinking. 

“Home,” they said. It was a strangely fitting expression. Though Gart had spent far more time wandering the continent, the fact that he always returned here must have made it feel like home—to his subordinates, and to Gart himself.

Gart lifted his head and gazed at the high, solid gray fortress walls. The large and small scars carved all over them testified to Olkiedpan’s harsh history—damage caused by the transcendent beings born from the forbidden divine realm of Heimdrix. Below the walls, shards and large chunks of ice were scattered. Dozens of workers shouted in rough voices as they repaired the wall. A lot must’ve happened while he was away.

Gart resumed walking. Divine power welled up from deep within his body and rippled outward. His black hair scattered like flames in the cold northern wind. The street fighters stopped mid-brawl, holding their breath as they turned to look at him.

People bowed before heroes not just because they saved many lives or achieved praise-worthy deeds.

Heroes, unlike ordinary humans, wielded great power and supernatural abilities. And those powers were all rooted in divine energy—the essence of life itself. Heroes who could rival transcendent beings were infused with divine power like gods themselves. Even if they were human, their presence alone evoked awe like that felt before a vast sea, a raging storm, or a snow-capped mountain.

Gart was one of the most renowned among them, a hero possessing divine strength rare even in recorded history. Every step he took radiated the weight of a giant. In this lawless land where any sin could be buried beneath white snow, the law itself had returned. Fanatics slunk into the shadows, mercenaries quietly returned stolen wallets to their owners. No triumphant procession or blaring trumpet announced it, but everyone knew—

The master of Olkiedpan had returned.