SS 17📍

⁜ Chapter 17. She Makes Him Forget His Original Sin

The moment I woke up, I kicked the sheets.

Memories flashed like a lantern slide: me hiding behind Damien, clutching his robe, crying, thanking him for believing me.

If I’d had superhuman strength, I wouldn’t just have kicked the sheets—I would have ripped them apart.

I went out of my room, opened the window, and looked outside.

It was still dark, but it had to be dawn. Once the sun rose, the whole world would already be bustling.

When I first arrived here as a baby, I couldn’t adjust. But twelve years in, I’d gotten used to it.

Even if I’d almost been killed by a monster, even if I’d just created the greatest humiliation in my thirty-five years (23 in Korea + 12 here), that was all yesterday.

Today, like some housewife of decades, I had to worry about breakfast.

But wait. After all that mess yesterday, I hadn’t even managed to get any groceries, had I?

So what the hell are we going to eat today?

I cooked something at dawn after much thought. But really, there wasn’t much left. No eggs, no meat, no bread—

Oh wait, there was black bread. But you can’t just eat that rock-hard thing plain. Right, a stew. The eternal meal of peasants: black bread and stew.

And I’d bet anything that Pythia had never managed to cook stew. With those clumsy hands? Impossible.

When I first came to the Hamilcar domain, I’d thought the Gerka Temple was a grand place. So I’d brought fine ingredients.

If I’d known the true state of this temple, I’d have stocked up on ordinary food instead… well, no, let’s be real, I wouldn’t have come at all.

But here I was, forced to make stew out of rare mushrooms and dried fish. Like making soup with caviar.

Still, what choice did I have? We needed to eat. And today, above all—

“I will bleed the Demia Temple dry. Even if the sky collapses. This is survival.”

So I threw in the fish, the mushrooms, everything. Eat well, move well. Today was the big day.

The Day. The day itself. I hadn’t felt this adrenaline rush since the college entrance exams.

…So why was our resident warrior just poking at his black bread?

Was he exhausted from yesterday?

I thought back. He’d been powerful, yes, but honestly, it hadn’t looked like a hard fight. More like pressing an ant with his finger.

Still, he probably was a mage. Summoning ice spears and such. Maybe mages looked fine but got worn out after? Maybe that explained his lack of appetite.

“Are you tired?”

He only shook his head, eyes fixed on the bread.

Was he angry with me? Refusing to eat my food?

I mentally rewound. Did I do something wrong yesterday? …Plenty, apparently. Talked down to him. Dragged him into a fight with a monster. Dismissed him a few times. Accused a priest of being a monster without solid proof—though I’d been right. Yeah. Lots of reasons to be mad.

Normally I’d just snap, “Fine, don’t eat then!” But not today.

So I leaned down, trying to catch his averted eyes, and said carefully:

“Sorry for talking down to you. But you’ve been talking down to me too, you know. Our ranks aren’t that far apart. I’m Arian Danier. You saw me at the Summer Palace, remember?”

Maybe he didn’t. Who remembers a three-year-old’s face?

Damien Hamilcar was so strikingly beautiful that even his family name came second to his face.

And yet, even I hadn’t recognized him at first. Kids’ faces change so quickly.

So of course he wouldn’t recognize me either.

But humans are like that—when someone recognizes you, you don’t want to admit you didn’t recognize them.

And sure enough, he looked at me with complicated eyes.

“…I remember.”

“We didn’t get to greet each other back then. Should we now? I’m Arian Danier. Thanks for coming that time.”

“I was only there for the joust. Why are you thanking me? You hardly even showed up.”

Wait—what?

“You… were at the joust?”

That was two years ago. I’d been ten.

And in this medieval world, ten wasn’t considered a child anymore. Not really.

Poor kids had to pull their weight by then. Nobles gave them until fifteen or so, but still.

My mother had said it was fine if I went to watch, but my father and brothers had refused.

A ten-year-old girl at a joust? Too scandalous.

So I hadn’t gone.

But Damien… he had.

“Wait. You actually participated?”

“No, my knight did.”

Of course. Nobles often sent their knights to compete in their stead.

“Good. If you’d gone yourself, that would’ve been bad.”

Because the winner that year had been my little brother, David.

“If I’d gone, it wouldn’t have been bad for me. It would’ve been bad for my opponent.”

…Yeah, sure, kid.

“You were ten.”

“I’m twelve now. And I was strong even then.”

This brat lit up anytime fighting was mentioned.

But fine. I was thirty-five inside. He was twelve. I had to be the adult.

“Right, you’re strong. And I’m doomed.”

I sighed and tried to leave. But Damien grabbed my arm.

“Why…? Why doomed?”

“I was thinking of going to the Demia Temple—with you.”

“With me?”

“The priest there was a monster. I was going to confront them, demand food. We’re out of supplies.”

I jerked my chin toward Pythia. She was sulking, muttering: “Even with Arian here, I’m still stuck eating black bread…”

Damien frowned. “Can’t we just get food from the village? I’ll fetch it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can!”

“How?”

He grinned.

“I’m a Hamilcar. Everything on this land belongs to my family.”

What utter nonsense. Easy for him to say. For me, that meant no trust, no trade.

“That’s exactly why you can’t.”

I must’ve had “idiot” written on my face.

“Hey!” he barked, offended.

But I wasn’t intimidated. I had two brothers—David alone was scarier than him.

I sighed. “So what do we do? Maybe rob another temple? But the Demia Temple attacked me first, so it’s the best target…”

“Life is hard. Nothing ever works out,” I muttered.

I tried to move past him again, but he seized my arm.

“Then let’s just go to Demia Temple. What’s the problem?”

“You’re not well. I’m not dragging a sick kid into a raid.”

“I am well.”

“No, you’re not. Look at how you’re eating.”

Something in him seemed to snap.

He ripped apart his bread, shoved it into the stew, stirred, and gulped it down.

Then he jumped up, shouting:

“Let’s go. Right now!”

I gave him a flat side-eye.

“What, only you get to eat? I haven’t had a bite, and the High Priest is still eating.”

He froze, realization dawning, and then sheepishly sat back down.