Winter-Ascend (3)
A form more massive than anyone else in the square strode out of the bonfire.
As the ethereal shape passed through the surrounding tables, it gradually took on a clear outline and transformed into the figure of a colossal warrior.
The light snow that had just begun to fall melted without a trace the moment it touched him.
To the ears of the spectators, the nobles, the priests, and every offerer present, only the clash of weapons could be heard.
Yet a voice was ringing out inside every heart.
Without regard for rank or station, everyone erupted in cheers.
Even the nobles who normally clung to their dignity joined in the moment Alfred rose from his seat, clapping and shouting for joy; soon the whole square was roaring with them.
Iona, who had been standing on the platform, hurried down and bowed with measured, respectful care—slow enough to be proper, yet not so slow as to seem reluctant.
"Ascended One… I am glad it pleases you."
A festival for the gods.
A day to celebrate a deity's achievements.
Ordinarily the chosen offerings would simply have vanished in a pillar of light.
Yet, as someone had just cheered, the god himself had descended.
Right here, among them.
"Ascended One, we can wait for you anytime."
"…I am a servant of the Lady of Winter."
Iona deftly changed the subject, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
Fortunately for him, the warrior had not been expecting an answer.
When the god began grumbling that he never should have given in to that damn wife's coaxing, every soul in the square broke out in a cold sweat at once.
After all, the one the great God of War Tutatis was calling "that damn wife" was none other than Skadi, Goddess of Winter.
Husbands in particular steeled their hearts. One careless flicker of sympathy and they would be guilty of blasphemy on the spot.
Of course, it was absolutely not because they were afraid of the wives sitting right beside them.
"But how can a mere mortal sit higher than a god?"
Alfred and those seated at the high table awkwardly sat back down.
It felt blasphemous, yet the god himself—no, the god in question—had told them to sit, so…
Karem, who until a moment ago had been so overawed by the casual divine presence that he could scarcely breathe, gradually recovered his composure.
They said the brain freezes when it meets information it cannot process. Karem now understood that saying perfectly.
Every time the immense, inexplicable being spoke, the sound of clashing arms rang in his ears, and somehow his heart simply understood the words.
Honestly, though, what the god was saying was a little… deflating.
Of course that was exactly why the paralysis wore off so quickly.
Still, the solemn majesty one expected of a deity was nowhere to be found.
Listening to him talk, he was nothing more than an easygoing warrior through and through.
After soaking the entire audience in cold sweat by declaring that his wife had been the sweetest thing before marriage and a completely different person afterward, the God of War finally changed the subject with a look of satisfaction.
"Ah… is that so? Then perhaps the priests might—"
"Pardon?"
Tutatis surveyed the square. When the crowd cheered, he nodded in satisfaction, then strode toward the tables around the bonfire, leaving afterimages in his wake, and began examining every offering with thorough care.
Watching him, Karem felt a strange lack of reality.
In his previous life, people who believed in gods numbered in the hundreds of millions, yet Karem himself had been a lifelong non-believer.
More precisely, he had accepted that gods probably existed.
He simply had never worshipped any of them.
After all, Earth was a place where every bizarre thing imaginable happened; claiming there were no gods at all had always seemed harder to believe.
He had just never seen one with his own eyes, so he had never been certain.
Here, though, it was different.
Beasts and monsters that should not exist by his old world's standards roamed freely. People hunted them and were hunted in turn. There were those who pursued magic, and those who believed in gods and borrowed their power.
And now Karem was finally looking at a god.
"Every offering here belongs to you."
Even while calling it a hard choice, the way he circled the tables and inspected each offering one by one was a sight painfully familiar to Karem.
It was exactly like a middle-aged man who had completely lost his mind with joy while browsing a game shop or model-kit store—or an ajumma doing window-shopping in a department store.
While Karem unilaterally built a small sense of kinship, the God of War who had personally descended for the festival continued his shopping.
The people who had been cheering at first now watched with a mixture of tension and anticipation, wondering which offering the god would choose.
If mere onlookers felt that way, the offerers themselves were trembling, joy and horror, anxiety and hope all colliding inside them.
Karem, however… felt remarkably at ease.
As expected of the God of War. He'll pick a weapon.
Just as he thought, Tutatis admired offerings of every size and kind.
He even showed interest in Jigmeser's pudding and Karem's porchetta, yet in the end he lingered longest over the weapons, true to his nature.
Jigmeser shared much the same feeling as Karem.
To think he would actually descend in person… I'm truly moved. Still, I've already achieved my goal, so it doesn't matter either way.
Karem was simply relieved he had not been struck by divine punishment.
Jigmeser was content that he had at least redirected Alicia's attention for the moment.
Every other offerer, however, was desperately hoping their own sacrifice would be chosen.
Then Tutatis, having finished his inspection, stopped walking and reached out.
A clean, solid body fixed as though biting into a haft engraved with unknown characters, and a blade that flared outward like a fan into a razor edge.
It was an axe.
A single-edged two-handed axe no ordinary man could swing with one hand.
Yet in Tutatis's enormous grip, the proportions made it look like a one-handed weapon.
"Does the axe please you?"
Tutatis turned his gaze upon one of the offerers: an elderly human man whose skin was unusually dark.
As if he had known the maker at a glance, though no one had spoken a name.
Those who had been jealous a moment earlier found their envy turning to admiration the instant they looked at the old man.
The blacksmith's skin was a deep, weathered brown, scorched by fire like ancient wood. Calluses on both hands looked almost like stone. Every line of his body spoke of long years of labor. He was the very image of a blacksmith made flesh.
The offerers, who had been so focused on the sacrifices that they had overlooked him, now felt genuine respect rise unbidden—regardless of race—for a craftsman who had reached the pinnacle of his art.
Tutatis bellowed.
"M-my humble name is Gopain."
The God of War casually slung the axe over his shoulder and made the proclamation.
The old blacksmith Gopain bowed his head deeply, face shining with emotion.
A god would remember his name.
It was the highest, most glorious honor a craftsman could ever receive.
"God of War, thank you!"
The old man who had just had his entire life acknowledged by a god collapsed as if his strength had left him and began to sob into the ground.
To be recognized by a god.
People already wept with joy merely for placing in some local contest; to receive direct praise from a deity himself…
Karem could not even begin to imagine how overwhelming that must feel.
Yet it was happening right in front of him—something that belonged only in the myths and legends of his previous life.
"Whew."
Karem let out a quiet sigh of relief.
At least no lightning bolt of divine wrath had fallen for insufficient sincerity.
Which meant his own skill was not so lacking after all.
He had known Catherine's earlier warning was half in jest.
But that also meant the other half was truth.
When Karem had looked into it, he had found actual cases of both recommenders and offerers who had been struck by divine punishment for presenting offerings that failed to meet the standard.
If magic existed, then heaven's punishment existed too.
Only now could Karem finally unclench the heart that had been simmering and shriveling with anxiety ever since.
Still testing the axe with light swings, Tutatis suddenly stretched a hand toward the tables around the bonfire and snapped his fingers.
Every offering burst into flame at once.
Turning back toward the blazing bonfire, Tutatis stopped mid-step and tilted his head.
The sudden halt of a god who had been about to leave contented made Iona—already old and with his heart racing from the divine presence—tense up, but he quickly steadied his thumping chest.
"Is something troubling you?"
In the blink of an eye Tutatis spun around, passed the offerers and the crowd, and stood directly before the high table.
The sudden approach of a god made everyone at the high seats jump.
Godwin in particular nearly had a heart attack.
In the space of a single blink the warrior-god who had been far away was suddenly right in front of them; shock was only natural. Still, Godwin somehow managed to squeeze out a voice and answer the god's question.
"Y-yessss. My Lord. If you desire it, I would gladly offer it, if I may be permitted to offe—"
Still, permission had been given, so Tutatis accepted. He opened the large bowl sitting to Godwin's right, dipped a finger into the Maoines, tasted it, then turned his head and looked straight at Karem.
Suddenly finding himself locked in a god's gaze, Karem froze solid.
Tutatis, however, merely raised one eyebrow in an expression that said, Not bad.
Then, still holding the bowl of Maoines, he walked straight into the bonfire and vanished.
The moment the god disappeared, the bonfire—though plenty of wood still remained—belched a final plume of smoke and went out completely.
"For Tutatis!!!"
"Good heavens… to think I would see the God of War with my own eyes in this lifetime!"
"Oh, darling, I can die without regret now!"
The crowd erupted in one great roar of joy.
After hundreds of years, the incarnation of the God of War had appeared at the Winter-Ascend.
While that overwhelming fact set the square to cheering, several people at the high table were staring with wide eyes.
Specifically, certain people among those who had just seen the god up close.
More specifically, everyone who knew who had made the Maoines—led by Godwin—plus Catherine and Mary, all slowly lowered their gazes beneath the high seats.
Hmm. The number of eyes on me just went up. This feels ominous.
At the end of every one of those stares stood a thoroughly flustered Karem.