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⁜ Episode 21. Piece of Cake, Isn’t It?
‘I need a strong backing. To fulfill the Ten Revelations, the more power I can wield, the better. So, Lord Demia, grant me what you desire to see fulfilled, and in order to achieve it, bestow upon me just one small ability.’
At my words, Demia asked slyly,
{Anything at all?}
Why on earth did beings like this—slippery, petulant, stingy with information—count as gods?
What made them so different from humans? That they had “transcendent” powers?
But magicians also had transcendent powers. Stronger, perhaps. Yet they didn’t embody some universal essence the way gods supposedly did.
Damn devils, the lot of them.
I snorted inwardly but kept my tone outwardly mild.
‘I will accomplish anything.’
{Then—}
‘But.’
Oh no you don’t.
‘Great power requires great responsibility.’
Ah, thank you, Spidey.
‘And great goals demand great abilities. Gerca gave me power to fulfill the Revelation. Surely, Lord Demia, you too will grant me something fitting for that task. And then I shall surely succeed.’
What? You want to play “how much” with me?
Like in that old drama where the man asked, How much?
I was born after that show aired—I only know it as a meme. But if someone asked me that now?
I’d itemize it down to the last won. With fees included.
Demia fell silent. So even gods had limits. He was clearly racking his brain, forced to pay out something if I demanded it.
While he brooded, I organized my own thoughts.
What ability should I ask for?
When I first received a blessing, two things became clear:
-
A god can only grant powers within their domain.
-
If I phrase the request in modern language and pad it with broad definitions, I can milk more out of it.
Demia was the god of earth and plenty. So… what would be best?
Soil, harvest, crops, plants… Something that could solve the temple’s food shortage and serve a broader use.
Wait. Our temple? No—Demia’s temples too were in a mess. Not just here. Food shortages everywhere.
Think carefully.
The “Grand Halls” had drawbacks: they were hard to reach. But advantages too: they were old, prestigious temples. In these days when religion was waning, those who came were the devout, but in high society, temples still mattered for morality.
Therefore—
{I want a Harvest Festival.}
The Harvest Festival—an offering to Demia. Two hundred years ago, before it was struck from national ceremonies for being “unfair,” kings themselves had offered it: thanks for the year’s harvest, prayers for the next.
After its abolition, some lords had maintained it locally, but after two centuries it had become nothing more than a relic.
Yes, Demia’s temples might long for it, but the cost was immense. Festivals required not just money but official holidays for serfs—something only lords could declare.
Harvest Festival, huh.
If I became Countess Hamilcar, I could make it happen easily. Really, even my mother could authorize it, if I pitched it right.
‘If Lord Demia desires it, it shall be done. Only…’
If Demia had a throat, I would’ve heard him swallow right then.
‘I will need a subspace.’
Time to settle accounts.
So Gerca really was the smart god.
Talking with Demia made it clear. Wow. He really doesn’t get it.
‘Once more—I said, subspace.’
{Why is it called “subspace”?}
Hell if I know. In every web novel I read, it was always called “subspace.” Why? No clue. But when you don’t know?
‘Because I said so.’
In Korea, you’re practically born holding a pair of invisible flippers, right? I decided to just bluff it out.
{Because… you said so?}
Demia sounded dumbfounded. I ignored it. Not important.
‘Anyway, I need subspace.
First: it’s a realm that doesn’t exist in reality. My own land, domain, earth, house, warehouse, space.
Second: it exists nowhere, and only I can grant entry.
Third: I can access it from anywhere at will.
Fourth: everything inside remains in its original state.
That’s what it is.’
Piece of cake, isn’t it?
Demia was speechless for a while before stammering,
{You… want that? Do you even think that’s possible?}
‘Oh dear. Forgive me.’
I pressed my palms together, smiling innocently.
‘It’s just that Lord Gerca, who first granted me power, made me forget myself.’
Up until now, I had never once attached an honorific “Lord” to Gerca before Demia.
And the moment I did? I felt Demia bristle.
Strange, isn’t it? Even without seeing expressions or hearing tone, humans sense discomfort. Online too—someone just saying “Yeah” in chat could feel hostile.
With gods, it was the same.
After a pause, Demia muttered,
{So if I make this subspace, you’ll revive the Harvest Festival?}
‘No, Lord Demia. The subspace is necessary in order to revive it.’
{Well then, if you need it, I must grant it. To our daughter, of course.}
I smirked inwardly. Demia seemed to catch it.
{Since I’ve granted your wish, you’ll now attend a Harvest Festival led by the king each year.}
…What?
I cut in quickly.
‘That won’t be possible this year or next. As you know, I’m twelve. To petition the king, I’ll need a title, which requires marriage first. I’ll handle that first.’
Demia clicked his tongue, as if I were making excuses.
{At twelve, the temple already permits marriage. Wed anyone, and the king will hear you. Why drag it out? A snake dwells in your belly, child.}
So that was his real face. The smooth “our daughter” act was gone.
Forcing debts, twisting words—a scammer that could make Satan weep.
‘If I wed just anyone, I can’t petition the king. It may take time, but time matters only to mortals like me. To a mighty god like you, it’s but the blink of an eye. Isn’t that so?’
{Our daughter is clever indeed. A mind too bright to be wasted on old gods like Gerca. Remember—if you wish, the earth shall embrace you at any time.}
Yeah, right.
Still, I forced a gentle smile. After all, I’d gotten my subspace. Not a bad trade.
When my talk with Demia ended and I stood to leave—
“Oh, priest?”
A senior priest of Demia’s temple was standing behind me. My heart lurched.
Why was he lurking in the dark at this hour?
“You must be tired, standing so long.”
But no, I’d been bargaining with Demia for more than just a minute or two. Poor man—what a hassle to have a guest kneeling forever before your god’s statue.
“It is no hardship to stand before the god I serve.”
Even so, his unease showed plain as day. He sighed, turned his head, and looked toward the sky.
The sky?
I thought he might deliver some poetic line about the stars.
Instead, as sleet began to fall like salt, I saw it—
Damien. Floating in midair.
“…Why is he up there?”
Damien stretched out his hand, as he had when summoning his spear to slay the monster. His voice boomed, echoing through the Grand Hall as if the temple itself resonated with him.
Bring forth the Saint’s disciple at once.
Thunderous. Not human. Divine.
And then—
If there is the slightest harm to her body, in the name of Hamilcar I will hold this temple accountable.
Damien’s black hair whipped wildly, his body sparking with crackling blue electricity.
Majestic, terrifying… but all I could think of was how he looked like a high school detective shouting, “In the name of my grandfather!”
A little embarrassing, honestly.
“…Is that the young lord of Hamilcar?”
The senior priest was still asking calmly, though his eyes said, He’s with you, right?
“Yes. He’s staying at our temple. He and our High Priestess are very close—like mother and son, though not by blood.”
Hey, if Damien was outing himself, I might as well squeeze what advantage I could. I exaggerated their bond shamelessly.
After all, in Korea, the restaurant owner is “Mother” and every woman over thirty is “Auntie.” Families are what you make of them.
“I see… that is Hamilcar’s heir, then.”
The priest’s gaze was rapt, as if enchanted by Damien’s display—despite the fact that Damien was basically threatening to raze the temple.
Something was off. I felt it earlier too, though I only now realized it.
When had this sense of wrongness begun?
{At twelve, the temple permits marriage. Wed anyone, and why wait?}
Ah. That was it.
Why had Demia said that? It made no sense. It was like when some apathetic kid in school judged someone else’s life without a shred of respect or grasp of reality.
No interest in others’ lives. No respect. Just arbitrary pronouncements.
A god, talking like that.
I almost had it. The thought was about to click when—
“Disciple!”
The other priests, huddled like penguins for warmth, called to me with voices full of reproach.
Ah. I snapped back to myself—
Damien’s crackling aura was turning into bolts of lightning.
“Damien!”
I screamed.
