I hold back constantly, all the time, in every moment, and that means I am also holding back my defenses.

Even something that would not have drawn blood from me when I was just a normal god-touched individual would now definitely cut me in two now.

My body is not as tough when I am not actively channeling my power. My reflexes are not as sharp.

My regeneration feels like it’s sometimes slower.

My danger bells are dulled too.

Or, more accurately, they have not been working at all.

They have been silent for days now, completely absent, as if my brain has simply given up on alerting me to threats because it has become so convinced that there are none.

I almost made Sara splatter the other day.

The low sense that I probably will not die no matter what I do has made me careless.

And I forgot that Sara was not like that.

Argh, I have got to get my act together.

Nevertheless, I have left the murderous young lady called Nyx to the others to look after.

When I thought about it more calmly, away from the heat of battle and the rush of adrenaline, Nyx DOES look a lot like Rahab.

They have the same dark hair with those subtle violet undertones that catch the light in strange ways.

The same yellow eyes and the same pale skin that looks almost like polished marble. The same strange and unsettling beauty that draws you in even as it makes you uneasy.

To be honest, I did not think much of Daitentamono and Tentamono when I was fighting them.

I was too caught up in the moment and excited to show Tensei that I was kinda awesome and capable.

I wanted to prove myself and impress him.

Though, that plan failed completely.

If anything, his opinion of me has plummeted since that fight. He looks at me way differently now.

And seriously, if it was not Rahab and Nyx, the gods might actually send the Baba Yaga in a black suit—you know, a Wick of the fantasy realm, an ultimate assassin who never fails and never shows mercy—to eliminate me for that stunt I pulled.

And I got lucky that the enemies turned out to be my new pets instead of vengeful spirits seeking retribution.

Better keep that in mind for the future. Better think about what I will do if and when that day comes:

Will I fight back and risk getting even more assassins sent after me, or will I humbly accept my punishment and hope that the gods are feeling merciful?

I really am guilty here, though.

Well, as a great man once said: "Leave tomorrow’s problem for tomorrow!"

And I have been trying very hard to live by that philosophy these past few days, especially with everything that has been piling up around me like a mountain of unfinished business and unanswered questions.

But... there is one problem that I simply cannot put off any longer, one issue that has been gnawing at the back of my mind ever since that confrontation in the village square, and I have finally decided to face it head-on.

For now, I want to speak with Marina.

After what she uttered days back—that small, quiet, but incredibly damning word that slipped out of her mouth during the initial Rahab situation—she has been deliberately avoiding me.

And doing so with the kind of precision that tells me she knows exactly what she is doing and does not want to be confronted.

Every time I enter a room, she finds an excuse to leave. Every time I approach her, she suddenly has urgent business elsewhere.

If I try to catch her eye, she looks away as if she has not seen me at all.

Which means she probably was referring to me when she said "disgusting."

Ouch.

That word has been echoing in my head for days now, replaying over and over like a broken record, and I cannot shake the feeling that it was aimed directly at me.

At my choices, or at the way I so casually accepted Rahab’s offer to become my pet, the way I let that pale woman wrap herself around me and call me Master without so much as a moment of hesitation or doubt.

Perhaps, Marina did not approve.

So now I am walking through the "tree street" on the vined bridge that connects the many tree houses scattered throughout Verdant Spire like a network of wooden nests suspended in the canopy.

The bridge sways slightly beneath my feet as I move, the thick vines creaking and groaning with each step, the wooden planks worn smooth by centuries of bare feet and sandals.

Below me, the ground is a distant carpet of green and brown, dotted with the occasional flash of color from a flowering bush or the movement of some small creature going about its daily business.

The tree houses themselves are a marvel of Amazonian craftsmanship—each one built into the trunk or branches of one of the massive trees that dominate this forest, connected by bridges, walkways and rope ladders that weave through the canopy like a spider’s web made of wood, fiber and living vine.

Some are small and simple, barely more than a single room with a thatched roof.

Others are grand and sprawling, with multiple levels, terraces, and balconies that overlook the forest below.

They are all beautiful in their own way, each one reflecting the personality and taste of the woman who lives there.

...Including Marina’s house.

It is just adjacent to Martha’s room, which I find interesting considering how different the two women are.

Martha is loud, boisterous and full of energy, while Marina is quiet, composed and utterly unreadable.

They have been neighbors for a while, but I still cannot imagine what they talk about when they are alone together.

Until a short while after my first appearance in Verdant Spire, Martha, Lulu, Heka, and Tamar used to live together in the royal palace as a single household.

They shared space, meals and duties, functioning as a unit with their queen mother.

Something tells me they wanted to eat me up privately, which prompted their departure and their decision to seek out their own homes away from the prying eyes of the palace.

Just speculation, though.

It could also be that they felt it was finally time to leave their mother’s nest after, what, several centuries of living in the palace?

However, as I reach the dried-looking, vined pathway that leads directly to Marina’s door, I feel a sudden wave of nervousness wash over me.

My palms grow slightly damp. My heart beats a little faster than it should. My feet slow down almost of their own accord, as if they are trying to delay the inevitable confrontation that awaits me on the other side of that door.

I take a deep breath and force myself to keep moving.

By the way, basically every Amazon has—