A New Strange Feeling
After losing all motivation, I had slipped out of Demia’s temple and locked myself away in the underground library. It was the most comfortable spot on the entire Mount of Light.
Monsters are weak to holy power.
Everyone knows that.
So how did creatures that looked like the sons of gods manage to live inside a holy sanctuary?
After days of poring over every relevant book, the answers only grew more infuriating. I still had no answers, only fresh questions.
The strangest part of it all was this:
Our grandmother, Madeline Confino, was an archmage from a thousand years ago.
A genius who lit up the world with her name. She slew a dragon for the very first time at twenty-four—an achievement no human had ever managed.
Dragons were artificial beings created by gods, meant to control humanity.
They demanded sacrifices from us and, like natural disasters, sometimes turned entire villages into ash or razed kingdoms in a single rage.
When Madeline killed her first dragon, she became a hero and was granted nobility. But then she vanished, leaving the family to her younger brother.
From one angle it was a triumphant story of a mage defeating a divine creation. From another…
What made dragons different from monsters anyway?
Maybe my modern brain, still stained with those old habits, was making me see monsters the same way I once saw dragons.
Monsters were created outside natural evolution, drawing their life force from something supernatural.
By evening I reheated the stew I had cooked that morning, tore black bread, and asked Demian about it.
He was a high-ranking mage. No matter how young or old, his skill was legendary. Talking to him would cause me no shortage of headaches.
“What’s the difference between dragons and monsters?”
“Arian!”
Before Demian could even answer, a shriek erupted from Pythia.
The girl who had once been the most gentle thing imaginable—always ready to give even her last petal to a flower—had actually gone red with anger.
There had been a similar incident once before.
When I had casually mentioned my “demonic taste in women,” Pythia had snapped at me.
“A temple servant must never speak words like that. If you truly wish to make such jokes, restrain yourself. You must train yourself more harshly.”
Her expression now was almost identical.
Back then I had thought, She’s the saintess, so she can be forgiven. Now…
“You dare compare the creations of the gods to mere monsters?”
Her face looked so sharp it felt unreal.
“Y-yes, forgive me, Saintess.”
I stood there, still holding my unfinished dinner, hands clasped tightly, head bowed in apology. I could feel Pythia’s surprise.
“I-it’s fine. Don’t do it again. Eat quickly.”
Some invisible unease prickled at my skin. How could Pythia scold me like this over nothing?
I spoke crudely by nature. My mother had always lectured me twice or three times a day about showing the refined dignity befitting a marquis’s daughter.
Twelve years here, and I was still the same unpolished woman I had been back in Korea at twenty-three—half my life spent living in this world and still failing to adapt.
I could act elegant when I needed to, but grace simply refused to stick to me.
Honestly, I was living far more freely in Danier Castle than here, yet Pythia had once called me beautiful again and again. Now she was punishing me for a single careless slip.
Something felt very off.
I picked up my own portion, chewing loudly while my mind raced. Something was clearly bothering Pythia.
The moment that thought formed, the hated word “divorced woman” flashed before my eyes.
Ah, I had been trying to forget it.
“So what if she’s a divorced woman?” I muttered to myself. “She’s not the kind who would shame the king, and a woman this helpless in survival skills couldn’t possibly force me to become her hostage on this freezing mountain.”
“Arian.”
A mushroom drifted toward my bowl. Pythia was carefully placing a large one into it.
As someone who loved eating, she was swallowing tears while serving me.
I looked at her and she said softly,
“Eat a lot. You worked hard today.”
Demia’s high priest had glared at Pythia with pure disdain, calling her a “white-faced cheat.”
Yet I could not bring myself to hate her.
I had never met a person so filled with kindness and virtue in all my life.
Standing beside her, the poison in my own heart seemed to leach away, little by little.
I did not believe in gods, but Pythia carried the title of saintess so perfectly…
That was when a vague unease brushed past my mind—too fast to grasp, yet unmistakably present.
I pulled the mushroom back from my plate and pushed the entire portion into Pythia’s bowl instead.
Every time I did so, she stared at me in helpless confusion.
“Please eat, Saintess. I’m fine.”
I left the hut the moment the words left my mouth.
The instant I stepped outside, the merciless cold wind slammed into me.
Normally I would have cursed and rushed back in, but today I simply crouched beneath the eaves and kept thinking.
Pythia Morihan.
The pride of the late king. Beautiful and brilliant.
Of course she had been born with the destiny of becoming queen, and everyone had simply accepted her radiant life.
Then Gerka chose her as saintess, and suddenly she was reduced to begging black bread on this mountain.
I burst back into the hut and stood before Gerka’s statue.
I had to ask.
‘What is the standard for becoming a saintess?’
{As long as I like you, you’ll become one.}
‘But why is there only one saintess?’
{It costs too much holy power to create one. It’s more efficient to make something else.}
‘Then why was it Pythia Morihan?’
{Of course.}
Gerka answered in his usual lazy, theatrical tone, as if bored.
{The most valuable being in the world gets to share in my glory.}
He said it in exactly the same tone when he declared that her perfect life had been ruined.
I stared at the tiny statue, speechless for the first time in a long while.
Finally I managed a single, strangled word.
“Truly… a god.”
A wrathful god.
After that, everything became impulsive.
I ran straight to Demia’s temple and demanded to open the door without a second thought.
Apparently no one in the temple staff still had the impression that I was unknown.
Ah, the hypocrites. They stared at me with disgust, but I didn’t care.
The moment I met eyes with the senior priest who had once shown me the food store, I spoke quickly.
“His Holiness the Saintess has instructed me to apologize to you for treating the high priest of this temple with disrespect. She has also ordered me to ask Demia for forgiveness frequently. Since I am the only disciple of our temple, the nights here are quiet. May I come at any time?”
“What the hell— you little—”
The words were already bubbling up from the junior priests.
But the senior priest roared in fury,
“How dare you speak such words in the presence of the Mother Earth!”
and the whole lot fell silent.
I simply stared at him.
After a long sigh he said,
“It is possible, but you must receive permission from the Saintess before entering the temple. As you know, she retired early today….”
Actually, she had collapsed. I had thought she was merely resting after losing her temper, but the sight of the food store made me realize she had been worried the temple servants would starve because she couldn’t defend herself.
“The courtyard will do.”
The senior priest stared at me. He offered a kind smile.
“It must be cold.”
“It’s fine. I’m here to pray to the gods. I can endure the cold.”
The senior priest simply watched me in silence. Finally he murmured,
“You truly mean it….”
and turned his palm upward, pointing at the statue. Permission had been granted.
{Hello, my child.}
Demia spoke to me in a bright, excited tone. I walked slowly toward the statue, organizing my thoughts.
I must not fall into the gods’ “character templates.”
Gerka had shown his slothful side, and I had even felt a flicker of human sympathy for him.
But what kind of being was he really? Just one who could shove Pythia’s perfect life into a pit because she was the most valuable in the world?
Dragons were the same. According to history, they had done nothing but evil to humans.
How many humans had perished in the ancient era because of them? How much treasure had they looted? Had not whole villages, even entire kingdoms, been destroyed by their rage?
Why did the gods create such beings and send them to our world?
What kind of existence were gods? For what purpose?
I couldn’t say. But one truth was certain: they were not beings who only wished to save humanity.
I was proof of that. I had only opened the garden gate by accident.
Yet they had kidnapped me, declared my soul now belonged here, and forced a revelation upon me—finish what they wanted, or become an immortal slave.
{Hello.}
I knelt in the snow, head bowed as if praying.
The hood of my robe had slipped forward, hiding my entire face.
{So you have decided to come to me?}
{That is impossible. Demia-sama said my mother would understand, but that was a lie. So no.}
{Then why are you here?}
Demia’s tone cooled.
{I cannot leave Gerka’s temple. But if you tell me what Demia-sama desires, I will find a way to fulfill it.}
What was the purpose of gods?
{You wouldn’t be saying this with sincere devotion, would you?}
{No. I have no such devotion. But I am an ordinary human. And as you said, Gerka-sama seems rather powerless. Here, even monsters have become priests and serve you… I’m sorry. “Monsters” is too human-centered, isn’t it? What word should I use for those poor apprentices?}
{Creatures, child.}
Ah, creatures.
The creations of the gods. So,
{Just like dragons?}