⁜ Episode 9. What a Temple Visitor Must Do
The knights had left.
Of course they had. The “young lady” they were escorting had arrived at her destination.
Now, they would return to the Danior estate and report to my father that I had safely reached the temple.
As loyal knights of my father, they didn’t even glance back. They went straight down the mountain with the guides, fully aware that there was nothing up here worth lingering over.
So ruthless.
“May you all catch frostbite before ten li, you rotten men.”
For a moment, I was tempted to share the secret I’d just uncovered—let them all taste the hell I now foresaw. But merciful as I am, I held back.
Not because I feared being executed for slandering the crown before I even completed the first decree. No, no. Of course not.
“Lady Danior, to think you’d come all the way to this remote temple for lessons… you truly are devout.”
Pythia took my hand, beaming.
I tried not to grimace at the sight of this so-called saintess, who was about as devout as a stray cat.
Still, the die was cast. I’d crossed the Rubicon. Now it was a race against time.
Within three years, I had to rise here—become someone of importance in Hamilcar, and seize the position of countess.
But first things first.
“This place is filthier than a pigsty. Time to clean it up.”
“Since I’ve come today, may I suggest something, Temple Head?”
“Oh, of course. Do you… perhaps have a dish you’d like? I’m not very good at cooking, but I can manage grilling meat…”
Pythia glanced at my luggage with a bashful grin. Meat, really?
“Where the gods dwell must be kept pure. Let’s clean, Temple Head.”
The smile slid right off her face as she tried to edge away.
But I tightened my grip on her hand and leaned closer.
“You’ll help me clean, won’t you?”
Her lips quivered. “But the weather is so cold…”
“Feels like spring to me.”
“But, but the blizzard outside! To carry things back and forth we’d have to—what if we catch a sickness? I can’t use healing, if I fall ill I could die—”
“That’s why you’ll stay indoors. You clean inside, I’ll handle the outside.”
After all, I had Balmido’s blessing. I wouldn’t fall ill or get frostbite. Just… be cold.
Pythia didn’t know that, of course, so she panicked. But I coaxed, argued, nagged—reminded her that priests should keep both body and soul spotless, that serving the gods in filth was disgraceful, and so on.
How had she lived here nearly her whole life and done nothing? A “temple head” unable to even keep a shrine from rotting?
“Temple head, my foot. From now on, I’m running this place.”
With no proper tools, I made do: tied my night scarf around a stick to make a duster.
“Now, Temple Head—dust every surface. Top, side, bottom. Don’t miss a speck.”
The look in her eyes clearly said: Is this girl insane?
Oh, she would learn.
One of my hardest adjustments after being reborn here was the lack of taste and hygiene.
Food had no flavor. Hygiene, nonexistent. People rarely washed. And when they did, they polluted the same river they drank from.
So, back in Danior castle, I’d changed everything—by sheer manipulation. Pretended I was sick until I got my way. Convinced Mother Louise to bathe. Soon she saw her health improve, and before long the whole castle was sparkling compared to the rest of the kingdom.
I had already gaslit an entire castle into cleanliness. Pythia was no match.
Sure enough, within days she was dutifully scrubbing alongside me. Whether out of conviction or just exhaustion from my nagging, who cared.
After a week together, one fine warm day, I dragged her outside for a walk.
Clutching my hand tightly, bundled in too many layers, she whispered with a small smile:
“You’re like a daughter to me.”
Daughter? After one week? This woman must have been crushingly lonely.
“Me too,” I lied sweetly. Though really, you act like a ten-year-old who needs constant supervision.
She tripped so often I had no choice but to hold her hand like a child.
Miracle she isn’t dead yet.
How had she survived in this wilderness, with nothing but stale black bread?
I resolved to get her walking more, to keep her fragile muscles from wasting entirely.
Then, as if on cue, a figure appeared in the distance. A man, poorly equipped, dressed in summer clothes. Only the rare mild weather of today had allowed him to reach this height.
“E-excuse me! Are you the priests of Gerka’s temple?”
“That’s right,” I answered.
“I’m a scholar. I heard a four-hundred-year-old relic of Gerka was unearthed… I hoped there might be records here…”
Of course, there weren’t. But he didn’t know that.
“Gerka himself has guided you here. Come, offer your devotion.” Pythia beamed, leading him in.
Poor fool. He didn’t see the tragedy in his immediate future.
Before Pythia’s chipped offering bowl, the visitor looked aghast. He seemed ready to protest at this daylight robbery, but one glance at who she was—the king’s saintess, sister of Hamilcar’s lion—silenced him.
In this land, she was untouchable. Safer to pay and leave.
With a clink, he tossed in three bronze coins.
Pythia smiled, as if to say, “That’s more than enough.”
But I… I had standards.
“Three bronze? That’s all Gerka is worth to you? Even here, in his holy shrine, such insult… this disciple weeps!”
And I did—covering my face, making my shoulders shake.
The scholar panicked. Pythia fluttered beside me, “Oh no, don’t cry, Arian! Three bronze is fine, really…”
At once, I dropped to my knees with a sob.
“Gerka, it is too tragic…!”
Still, the tears wouldn’t come. I tried to force sadness, thought of every depressing documentary I’d ever seen in Korea. Nothing.
Then I imagined going home to Mother, empty-handed because I’d failed to secure Pythia’s sponsorship. That did it. A single tear rolled down.
One tear. Perfect.
Pythia rounded on the scholar with blazing eyes: You made my disciple cry.
What a fool. Too kind, too gullible. Exactly as I needed.
The scholar stammered, “N-no, that wasn’t it—I didn’t mean to offend—I-I don’t have much money, but would, would provisions work instead?”
At once, I sprang up. Food! Yes!
“The altar is for sacrifices. Offerings of food are most fitting.”
Flustered, he dug out bread, cheese… still I covered my face and sighed. He paled, then dumped his entire pack before us.
Excellent. He’d live. But lighter.
That evening, I cooked. Of course Pythia couldn’t. She’d survived here alone all this time, yet hadn’t learned even that.
Luckily, I had. Both in Korea and here. Someone had to salvage flavor from this flavorless land.
The scholar tasted it and blinked. “You… cook well. Didn’t expect that.”
“Picky eater since birth,” I said smoothly.
He understood. A highborn child was supposed to be picky. And a priestess-in-training? Better not question it.
He ducked his head and ate in silence.
Meanwhile Pythia sighed dreamily, “Arian, you’re perfect. Everything you do is wonderful.”
“It’s nothing, Temple Head. I’ll strive to please you again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, I thought, we’ll try that cheese. And maybe—
I should design a proper system for extracting offerings from future visitors.
