⁜ Episode 3. Count Hamilcar
What does it mean to be human?
More precisely—when can you call something “human”?
When it can speak? When it can express thought in language? When it can use the toilet on its own? Or from the very moment it’s born?
Until I was about three, I wasn’t sure I counted as “human.” Living entirely at the mercy of others was sheer torment. The more bits of autonomy I clawed back, the more relief I felt—and the greedier I became.
And here in District 14, children under three weren’t really considered human at all. Even my cold-hearted mother had thrown me a first-birthday feast, but my oh-so-loving father in District 14 hadn’t bothered.
But when I turned three, he held a party for me.
To be precise, he held a party under the pretense of my birthday.
“Blessings upon the Chamberlain’s daughter.”
The king raised his cup, and every noble followed, toasting blessings upon me.
The sight of adults using a three-year-old’s birthday as an excuse to drink was absurd. Still, I smiled sweetly. Here, being cute and docile was always profitable—that much was obvious.
“She’s too cute. I can’t help but give her a gift.”
“Such a precious thing. May she always remember my kindness with this brooch.”
I’d already figured out that the gifts and allowances I got today would be my personal property. Oh really? Then I’d better milk this.
So I unleashed every ounce of adorable I had. Every “cute kid” move I’d ever seen on YouTube—I did them all. Puss-in-Boots big eyes, proper little bows with tiny hands, even flowery compliments in the local tongue.
Like: “My lady’s eyes look as if stars were set in them.”
I was three. No one doubted my sincerity. The ladies beamed and showered me with gifts.
Then—
“Oh dear, yet another prostitute he’s dragged in.”
The women’s voices sharpened. Sitting primly beside my mother, I sneaked a glance at the supposed “prostitute.”
Of course, a good child never gawks at “adult conversations.”
“Maybe it’s true the countess killed herself.”
“I wouldn’t want him either—barbarian.”
“No shame whatsoever. Bringing a different woman every time his wife’s barely cold.”
“And this time he’s brought his son too. Appalling.”
So the venom wasn’t aimed at the woman—it was at the man.
Right then, a huge man strode into the hall, armored and splattered with blood and dust, trailed by a slim woman and a boy my age.
His blank face, his reeking aura of blood—it made my skin crawl.
“Count, late again!”
The king laughed as he scolded, his voice sharp beneath the mirth.
The count bowed lightly.
“I was delayed by monsters on the way to the young lady’s party. Fear not. I, Hamilcar, have safeguarded Your Majesty’s lands.”
…Excuse me? Who?
I clapped a hand over my mouth and mouthed silently:
‘What was the first decree again?’
Back when I couldn’t even speak, I’d discovered that simply moving my lips—without sound—was enough for the “Program” (my pet name for those rude floating letters) to recognize my intent and answer.
Sure enough, the text shimmered back:
[ The first decree of Gerka, God of Wisdom and Knowledge: Before the age of twenty, you must marry Count Hamilcar. ]
Even when the king jabbed him—“You’re good with the sword, better with words, better even than loyalty”—the count’s expression didn’t change a hair.
“Wait—Count Hamilcar is older than my father. And I’m supposed to marry him? Gerka, are you insane?”
No, no. Think.
I turned my eyes to the boy at his side. Honestly—the most handsome child I’d ever seen.
Sure, handsome kids usually go downhill later. But even if he did, better him than an old man who reeked of blood.
“Right. Gerka must mean that boy. Not the scary serial-killer-looking dad.”
No way the gods expected me to marry that guy. Right?
By twelve, Hamilcar was still going strong. That was when doubt began to creep in.
Could it be… that Gerka really did mean the father?
The thought of that cold face, that blood-stained armor, sent shivers down my spine. Marry him? I couldn’t even imagine holding his hand.
At three, I hadn’t fully grasped this world. But by twelve, I had. And this world was a cesspit.
Here, fifteen-year-old girls married men in their fifties. Medieval, sure. Korea had child brides too, once.
Still—magic existed here. Magic. If they had sorcery, couldn’t they update their social norms too?
Anyway, I was twelve. Young, but not too young. By fifteen, I’d be marriageable age. In this world, fifteen or sixteen was adulthood. Adults had duties. Like… population growth.
Naturally, I tried negotiating with the Program. Could I swap decrees? Do the second one first? Skip the fee altogether?
The answers were chilling:
[ Your soul must serve the ten gods of District 14 until they are satisfied. ]
So the same gods who thought a newborn should marry a creepy old count.
What did they even want?
[ Unknown. But whatever a god commands, you cannot refuse. ]
Were there other souls in service?
[ Yes. ]
And how many had finished?
[ 0%. ]
“…So basically, an eternal slave contract.”
Forget skipping the fee. I had no choice. Complete the decrees, or suffer forever. Which meant—I had to marry Count Hamilcar.
Great. No pressure.
First step: make contact with Hamilcar.
Which meant traveling to his lands.
Problem: I was twelve. Even in modern times, a twelve-year-old girl can’t travel alone. Here, in this medieval world? A noble girl? Impossible.
So—I needed another way.
I scoured Father’s library, desperate for anything about Hamilcar’s territory. Luckily, my loving father let me touch his books.
I powdered my hands with lavender to keep the vellum safe, turning pages carefully—until finally, jackpot.
Hamilcar’s domain lay at the eastern edge, bordering the Amain Empire. At that border rose the “Mountain of Light,” a range of snowy peaks, over fifteen summits above 2,000 meters spread across thirty kilometers.
One peak, called the “Majestic Hall,” bore a legend: the gods, split in factions, fought a battle and ended it there with a truce.
Clearly propaganda. But it meant great temples had been built there—including one dedicated to my least favorite deity: Gerka.
And here, noble girls were encouraged to study at temples for a few years before marriage.
A Gerka temple was top-tier. Hard to enter, sure—but as the Chamberlain’s daughter, my admission would be guaranteed.
Perfect. I’d enroll at Gerka’s temple in Hamilcar’s lands, train as a shrine maiden, and use the chance to find my way close to him.
Brilliant plan.
Except…
My “brilliant” plan slammed into a massive obstacle right at the first step.
