I Became a Head Priest (3)
"So just offer me some food as tribute."
"Then I'll make you my real priest."
The hand that had been turning the tteokgalbi went still. He couldn't help sinking into thought — and, as one might expect, it was the optimistic kind.
That's tempting.
The deliberation was brief. Impersonating a priest had been a problem he'd been chewing on ever since he'd fallen into this world. If a few meals could put the matter to rest, there was no reason to refuse.
"Then shall we begin with a contract? Are you able to sign a written agreement?"
"Huh?"
"You're unfamiliar with contracts?"
"Uh... I know what they are, but usually a goddess and her priest aren't in that kind of cold, paperwork-y relationship, are they?"
"I take it you simply haven't had the experience yet. Making promises without a contract is how one ends up badly burned."
"I'm fourteen hundred years old, though...?"
The goddess sounded thoroughly incredulous.
"So. Can you sign, or affix a seal?"
"No..."
"Then we have no choice. There's no recording device either, so a verbal contract it is."
"Okay..."
It was a thoroughly unenthusiastic answer, but he had her agreement, at least.
"But I'm not a demon or anything. Do we really need a contract?"
"And what reason is there not to have one?"
He soothed the still-skeptical goddess along and laid out the terms.
Party A shall be Iris, Goddess of Flowers.
Party B shall be Plawi, priest of the Flower Goddess.
Party B shall offer three meals a day to Party A as tribute. The value of each tribute shall be measured against Party B's ordinary meals, at a minimum of half a copper piece per serving.
Should circumstances prevent an offering, postponement is permitted. Each postponed offering shall, however, be added to the value of the next tribute.
In exchange, Party A pledges to grant Party B the official standing of a true priest.
He recited the terms once more in his head, then nodded.
"Not bad at all."
"Half a copper seems way too little, though..."
"It isn't takeout. If I'm cooking it myself, that's more than generous."
"Hing."
A sulky little voice drifted over. He cut it off without mercy.
"If you are a goddess, kindly speak like an adult."
"That was a hing."
"?"
He finished tidying the remaining clauses, then at last gave voice to the part that actually mattered.
"Then I believe it's time you delivered on the compensation you mentioned."
"Huh?"
"You did say you would make me a real priest."
"Hehehe..."
What came back was not an answer but a loose, careless little laugh. He frowned at a reaction that felt, somehow, deeply ominous. And the reply that followed was of a kind he had not imagined even once.
"The thing is... you're already my priest."
"...Come again?"
"When you first started pretending to be my priest, I saw my chance and snatched you right up! When you used your power, didn't it smell like flowers and everything? But you never noticed at all, and I was so frustrated I could scream!"
It was an exceedingly absurd answer.
"...Might I ask since when, exactly?"
"Umm, the day after you got here?"
"..."
At the goddess's reply, he stood for a long moment with the spatula still in his hand, unable to produce a single word. Then, before long, he finished taking stock of his present situation.
I've been had.
It rather seemed he had walked into a fraudulent contract. He had let his guard down, of all things, because of that childish voice.
"When you put it like that, I sound like some kind of evil goddess..."
She grumbled as if she had read his mind, but he did not hear a word of it. He only came back to himself after a long breath and a deliberate effort to let it go.
"Then why tell me only now?"
He pressed her a little shortly, a touch of real irritation in his voice. If he had known sooner, he would never have had to suffer through any of it, and nothing kind wanted to come out of his mouth. But the goddess's next answer left him with nothing to say.
"Well, you've never actually prayed to me..."
"..."
"I wanted to talk to you this whole time, you know. The only reason I could even reach you today is because I barely managed it through my statue as a medium."
In the end, it had been his own fault. Looking back, he had no rebuttal.
I suppose this is what they call reaping what you sow.
A hollow feeling was just beginning to settle over him when the goddess, growing impatient, spoke up again.
"But, um, isn't the meat done by now?"
"..."
At her words, he looked down. He had, in fact, completely taken his attention off the pan while they hashed out the contract. He lifted the lid, and a rush of hot steam unfurled with it, carrying a rich, sweet smell of grilled meat. It had gone a little further than he wanted — overcooked, but not disastrously so.
I nearly burned it.
He lifted a patty of tteokgalbi onto a plate.
"Give it! Give it already!"
She was pestering him like a child. He sighed.
"And how, exactly, am I meant to deliver it to you?"
He had, naturally, never offered tribute to a goddess in his life. The gallery had never once described the proper method either, so his knowledge on the subject was a perfect blank.
Do I just burn it, then?
He dimly recalled something from Greek myth about burning offerings in a fire, but he had no confidence it applied here. In the end he waited for the goddess to answer — and what reached him was nothing like what he had expected.
"Nom nom..."
The sound of someone eating. He glanced at the plate, wondering if she had somehow taken it in the interval, but the food sat there, astonishingly intact.
"That was so good! Same again next time!"
...I have no idea how that works, but maybe just intending to offer it is enough.
He let out a breath of relief.
Then I won't need to cook a separate portion. That's convenient.
"Okay, same time tomorrow!"
With a voice steeped in satisfaction, the goddess's presence faded. The flower scent that had filled the room thinned by degrees as well.
"Hah..."
I'm already exhausted.
It felt uncannily like managing the young daughter of some impossibly distant superior. He shook his head and gathered up the food. She would be waiting by now.
Sure enough, Priest Malza was already seated neatly at the table.
"It smells so good!"
The moment the dishes appeared, her eyes lit up.
"Have you been waiting long?"
"Just a little?"
That was what she said, but her gaze showed no intention of leaving the tteokgalbi.
She would be hungry around now, I suppose.
He set a plate in front of her without delay. The expectant look on Priest Malza's face shifted, suddenly puzzled — she had noticed the plate he set down for himself.
"Huh? But Priest Plawi, you're not having any meat? If there isn't enough, we can share!"
I keep having to say the same thing today.
In Priest Malza's case it was genuine curiosity, he was sure. He still found it tiresome.
"...I simply don't eat meat. My digestion has weakened, so it doesn't sit well with me."
Fortunately, she did not press any further.
"My grandmother used to say the same thing. Once you get old everything sits heavy, so eat plenty while you're young."
"That may be the finest advice I have ever heard."
"Hehe."
If only to close that noisy little mouth, he folded his hands. Priest Malza hurriedly shut her eyes and folded hers as well.
A pre-meal prayer. Of course, this time too it was nothing but a performance.
"...We thank you for granting us the nourishment to unfurl our buds and sink our roots this day as well."
"Yeah! Eat up!"
"Khack—"
It had only been for show, and yet an answer came back. He startled so badly he coughed. Across the table, Priest Malza had heard nothing at all; she sat with her eyes closed in an expression of perfect piety.
So only I can hear her.
The hypothesis that he might simply be hallucinating briefly resurfaced, if only a little.
"...Let us eat."
"Yes!"
Priest Malza bit into the tteokgalbi as if she had been waiting her whole life for it.
"This! This is amazing!"
"I'm glad it suits your taste."
"It's really, really good!"
Emphasizing it twice like that, she probably wasn't being polite.
"If it isn't enough, do say so."
"Yes!"
Perhaps it was the Korean in him. Watching a child eat well lifted his mood whether he wanted it to or not.
"Then I'll do the dishes!"
The instant the meal was over, before he could even answer, Priest Malza scooped up the empty plates and went. He watched her retreating back with a helpless little laugh.
Well. Dishes, at least, I can leave to her.
It wasn't cooking, so he returned to his room with a clear conscience. And then, as was his usual routine, he opened the gallery.
Maybe I should study a little.
He was just about to resume a course of religious study he had never asked to take, when a title caught his eye among posts climbing the board unusually fast.
[Photo]
[Photo]
[Photo]
That's the announced route for Her Holiness the Saintess.
If you live in one of these cities, start prepping the flower petals to throw when she passes through.
She's covering quite a bit of ground.
True to the word pilgrimage, she seemed to be passing through a string of cities. The comment section was no quieter.
Up to that point, it was all ordinary enough. The problem was what came after.
The finger that had been scrolling without thinking came to a stop.
He read the comments, then scrolled carefully back up and checked the pilgrimage route one more time. And there, among the names, was one he knew very well.
Millers.
The city he had settled in, no less.
"..."
What a nuisance.
That was the whole of his reaction. She was a saintess, yes — but a saintess of a neighboring faith, not of his own.
How naive that thought was, he would come to understand soon enough.
Really, truly soon enough.
BANG BANG BANG—!
A frantic knocking filled the room.
"Father! Father!"
"..."
He opened the door on a voice he knew well, and found the lord standing outside. There was no trace of the man's usual composure. He had run so hard that sweat stood on his forehead, and the moment the door opened he clung to Plawi like some hapless cartoon protagonist throwing himself at a certain blue robotic raccoon and begging for a miracle.