🔊 TTS Settings
⁜ Episode 8. A Secret Suddenly Appears
“Wh-who are you?”
The moment the hut door opened, I was startled. From the shabby, crumbling house, a wave of warmth rushed out.
Warm? In the middle of this blizzard? From such a tiny hut? Impossible. This had to be—
“Magic…”
One of the knights muttered behind me.
Yes, it was magic. A spell to block the cold, another to generate warmth. Gentle, meticulous enchantments. Exactly the kind of care a princess and saintess deserved.
And the woman who emerged was equally striking—graceful, beautiful, with an aura that screamed born noble.
If she wasn’t the Pythia, then I must be a peasant’s daughter.
I pushed past the others, threw back my hood, and bowed according to court etiquette.
“Arienne of House Danier greets the High Priestess.”
“Ah, the steward’s daughter. You resemble your mother.”
…Excuse me?
My face froze. In my house, being told you resemble Mother is not a compliment. Did she mean I look terrifying? Like someone who could mince souls into ground meat with words?
I stared at her, flustered. She smiled gently.
“Louise is truly a beauty.”
“…Ah. Thank you, High Priestess.”
Beauty…?
Yes, Mother was beautiful. And I suppose I did inherit that.
But for some reason, I had never once thought of her as “beautiful.” Neither had my brothers. The only people who ever called her lovely were my father and grandfather. Not even my grandmother said such things.
This woman was only the third person. I couldn’t help but warm to her. How could I dislike someone who saw only the good in my mother?
And though she must be of my mother’s age, she still radiated freshness, a sense of being untouched by the mortal world.
“Oh my, I’ve kept you standing in the cold. Please, all of you, come inside.”
We entered gratefully. But the two guides refused, stepping back.
Why again?
Ah. Now I understood why Paul had looked at me with that “I thought you’d be a regular, but you’re just passing through” expression. He must’ve decided that entering such a poor temple meant I’d be of little use.
But why wouldn’t the guides come in? Even peasants shouldn’t be left in this storm. I could order them, but their refusal was absolute. Forcing them seemed wrong.
So the door shut, leaving them outside, while my knights and I entered the “temple.”
And then I was shocked.
…There was nothing inside.
The High Priestess’s “come in” was literal.
I had imagined being served tea. Something cool, befitting the sacred image of a temple. Perhaps a discussion about life as her disciple.
Instead: nothing. No tea, no food, nothing. I wondered how the Pythia even survived here.
She led us to a tiny statue—Gerka, but a household-sized idol. Barely palm-sized, yet enshrined within this ruin of a once-grand hall.
We knelt and offered respect. How could anyone dare stand before a god’s image? Even I, the lone atheist of the 21st century, knew these gods were real.
And then I heard it.
{This is Gerka.}
A hallucination?
{I realize… I may have given you a rather troublesome oracle.}
Definitely a hallucination.
‘Troublesome’? You’re a god, not my lazy coworker.
{To ease the task, I shall grant you one ability. Anything within my domain of wisdom and knowledge. Speak now.}
Oh. Not a hallucination. My lips moved silently.
‘Do I really have to decide right now? I’d like to think carefully—’
{Now. Immediately.}
‘Teleportation?’
{I am the god of wisdom and knowledge.}
‘Duplicating money?’
{Do you truly think that relates to wisdom and knowledge? One more foolish request, and the offer is withdrawn.}
…This sounded less like a god and more like a boss scolding an intern.
So what could a god of wisdom actually give? Prophecy? No, that belonged to another god.
I racked my brain until it hit me—thanks only to reading way too many webnovels back in Korea.
‘Then… grant me the ability to see Status. The most detailed version possible.’
I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, my vision blurred, then slowly cleared.
And there she was—the Pythia, holding a chipped bowl, smiling shyly as our eyes met.
“Gerka is pleased with your devotion.”
Then she extended the bowl.
I froze.
…She was collecting donations.
The princess, saintess, and high priestess of Gerka was shaking me down for offerings. With a chipped bowl, after making me kneel before a palm-sized idol.
Wasn’t this just robbery?
I glanced back instinctively. Ah. Now I knew why the guides hadn’t entered. They were already aware the saintess was, essentially, a holy mugger.
But I couldn’t get angry. Not because she was a princess, nor because I needed her support. No—the look on her face was utterly pure. No greed. To her, this was simply natural, the only way to survive atop this snowbound peak.
I couldn’t blame her. I could only blame the father and brother who exiled her here.
So I placed three gold coins into the bowl.
“Oh my,” she murmured in genuine surprise.
It was a large sum, yes, but still—she had once been a princess. To be so astonished over three gold…
As she stared blankly at the coins, I invoked my new ability.
‘Reveal to me the body, soul, life, and fate of Pythia.’
And then—letters and fragments of information swirled before my eyes.
[ Saintess Pythia ]
Clusters of glowing words floated, some grouped, others scattered.
[ 44 years old, Female, Divorced, High Priestess of the “Great Hall of Gerka,” Saintess ]
[ Likes sweet foods, dislikes bitter foods, wants to try smoking, most in tune with Gerka’s wavelength. ]
[ Possesses prophetic ability. ]
I froze. My eyes locked onto one word.
…Did I just read—?
I checked again.
[ 44 years old, Female, Divorced, High Priestess… ]
Divorced? The princess, the saintess—divorced?
Impossible. If she had ever been married, I would have known. She was chosen young as Gerka’s servant. And priests could never marry…
Unless—unless she had married in secret. And then separated.
I checked once more. It didn’t say widow. It said divorced.
“No way…” I whispered without realizing it.
This wasn’t the kind of secret I had asked for.
I only wanted to know small things—her likes, her lacks, things I could use to curry favor.
But why… why did I stumble upon a secret like a nuclear bomb?
