Chapter 42

Until his condition fully recovered, he should not return to the Abyssal Realm. And so Woojin continued his leisurely life as a patient.

Being confined to the frontier city was stifling… but not particularly boring. He needed time to sort through the chaotic thoughts boiling inside his head.

With nothing better to do, Woojin wandered through the city, repeatedly turning over the foreign energy lingering in his mind.

Then, almost on impulse, he entered a tavern.

“One bottle of mugwort distilled liquor, please.”

Ordering alcohol as a patient was hardly advisable, but for today he chose not to worry about such things.

Pop!

The cork came free with a light sound. He poured the liquor into a glass. Made with added mugwort, it carried a pale green hue.

Woojin took a sip.

“…Ugh. Strong.”

His brow furrowed instinctively. The alcohol content was extremely high, and the sharp herbal scent struck his throat like a blow.

A type of strong liquor he had never tasted before.

As he drank it… Enoch’s memories seemed to grow more vivid. It felt as though the experiences he had indirectly lived through in the dream were merging with reality.

“You do not entrust promising work to someone who is not promising.”

Those words suddenly echoed in his ears—the priest of the Order Alliance speaking to Enoch.

They were not wrong.

If the field researcher of the Abyssal Realm had truly been a position of great potential and prestige… it would never have been given to a failure like Enoch in the first place.

Enoch had no choice but to remain in the Abyssal Realm. There was no one willing to take over his duties, and even if he returned to the Mage Tower now, there would be no place for him.

A task someone had to do, yet everyone avoided. Enoch had been shackled to that role for years.

And then Daisy appeared.

The witch lured Enoch with sweet whispers. She soothed his wounded heart until the naïve mage could not help but lean on her emotionally.

Falling for the scheme, Enoch handed over all the knowledge in his mind.

After extracting all the information she needed, the witch decided there was no further reason to associate with him. To eliminate any possible loose ends, she attempted to assassinate him, but—

Unlike the two sons of the Golden Maggot, Enoch did not die when the black potion entered his eye.

The baptism of an Outer God.

When the black potion touched one’s eye, one glimpsed the world of the Outer Gods. Only those chosen survived. The rest became aberrations.

A mage who had lacked talent his entire life. Enoch received the baptism and became a priest of the Dark Side.

The capricious Nine Roses.

To see the rose nebula meant he had been chosen by the Nine Roses.

The Nine Roses possessed immense power and influence, yet were so unpredictable that even other dark priests avoided them. Those who received their baptism were exceedingly rare.

“Enoch… you are truly special. You were destined to become a general who leads the army of God…”

The witch had whispered those words as she took his hand. After that, Enoch hid himself away in a cave, avoiding the eyes of others. He personally hatched the spider demon’s egg sacs and rose as their ruling master.

“When the foretold day comes, you and your army will judge the world.”

Wait until the Day of Judgment.

With those final words, the witch departed. Left alone, Enoch guarded the rift core, enduring patiently as he awaited the day he and his proud army would march into the outside world.

“…To believe such nonsense.”

Woojin muttered and sighed. A general leading God’s army. As if he would fall for such sugar-coated lies.

Spiders were static creatures.

Lifelong weavers and keepers of webs. Using such demonic beasts for offensive purposes was inefficient. The moment they left their webs, their effectiveness dropped sharply.

And if Enoch had truly been so important, why abandon him in such a place? This was a prime target for the Order Alliance.

In short, the role Enoch had been given was—

A disposable pawn meant to stall for time.

Someone had to delay the Order Alliance from destroying the rift core. A task that had to be done, yet one everyone avoided.

In the end, Enoch’s position had merely changed… but he had lived the same kind of life as before.

A fool.

Knowing the full story left a bitter taste.

Woojin scratched the back of his neck and checked the remaining liquor in the bottle. Just enough for one final glass.

Pour—

He filled a fresh, unused glass and placed it on the empty seat across from him, as though someone were sitting there.

It was a form of remembrance he had learned from the mercenaries.

“If you get another life… try to do better.”

Muttering that, Woojin clinked his own glass against the unattended one. The two glasses tapped softly, sending faint ripples across the surface of the liquor.

After draining his drink, he stepped outside. His thoughts had more or less settled.

I should walk a bit before heading back.

If his assigned caretaker found out he had been drinking, he would surely hear a lecture.

His face showed no flush, but the strong liquor had left its scent clinging to him. To air it out, Woojin walked against the wind.

While strolling…

His gaze paused in the distance.

…The expeditionary forces are training.

Far off lay the training grounds. Soldiers with sandbags tied to their ankles were jogging along the perimeter, while armored knights sparred at the center.

Woojin observed the weapons in the knights’ hands. Blunted practice swords.

Using safe weapons to prevent injuries during sparring.

A reasonable decision.

Though wearing armor meant they would not be severely injured even with live blades, a broken sword could still ricochet and strike someone nearby.

The expedition had only just begun. There was still a long road ahead. If someone were injured during training and forced to withdraw, it would be a serious loss.

…Yet the sparring taking place made the use of blunted swords seem almost meaningless.

Clang, crack, clang!

Steel struck against steel in relentless bursts. The paladins exchanged blows without pause. Whenever even the slightest opening appeared, they lashed out instantly, striking some part of their opponent’s body.

If they fight that brutally, even practice swords are dangerous.

It almost seemed as though they used blunted weapons precisely so they could attack each other at full force. The intensity of the sparring was savage.

Perhaps that’s only natural for those who worship the War God.

The Fourth Expeditionary Force was composed of followers of the War God Morian. According to Bow, it was the Order Alliance’s most formidable martial sect. To live up to the name of the War God, that level of effort was likely expected.

They had failed to subdue the spider cave only because of its peculiar environment. In a straightforward clash of arms, the expeditionary force might have struggled—but would likely have prevailed in the end.

“Let’s get a closer look.”

It was hard to simply walk past. The fiercer the sparring, the more captivating it was to watch.

Woojin began looking for someone in particular.

Where is Albert?

The Red Hornet, Albert.

He had heard that Albert’s swordsmanship was exceptional even within the Order Alliance. Since he was already here, Woojin intended to see it for himself.

He scanned the area. It did not take long for his gaze to settle on his target.

A red-haired knight in the distance. For some reason, Albert was sparring without his helmet. Woojin soon realized why.

…There’s no contest at all.

Even from their stances alone, the gap was obvious.

Albert stood with his left fist tucked behind his back as though at ease. In his right hand, he held a rapier pointed directly at his opponent’s chest.

He did not move. It seemed he was waiting for the other man to attack first.

The hesitant knight suddenly lunged forward, raising his sword for a powerful swing—

Thud!

Before the blade could even descend properly, Albert’s rapier shot forward and struck the knight square in the chest. Though hit, the knight refused to retreat and completed his swing.

But his determination proved futile. Albert deflected the incoming blade effortlessly. In the next instant, the rapier darted forward again, striking the knight’s chest once, then twice more. The man was given no time to recover his stance.

The blunted tip could not pierce deeply, but the force behind each thrust drove the knight backward in staggering steps.

Crash!

After repeated blows, the paladin finally fell onto the training ground.

“Run five more laps.”

Albert spoke indifferently. Without protest, the knight rose and began jogging along the perimeter with the soldiers. Wearing full armor, it was no easy task.

Another paladin stepped forward to challenge Albert. Yet before the first knight even completed a single lap, the second challenger was likewise sent running.

It’s almost embarrassing to call this sparring.

The scene resembled someone poking a fleeing larva with a stick. One side was being struck unilaterally.

The sight left a strong impression. Woojin stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Should I learn swordsmanship?

But the thought did not linger long. Learning yet another skill felt meaningless.

Even if I learn many things superficially, it won’t help.

Recently, Woojin had acquired various techniques—magic and mana arts among them. Yet none were powerful enough in practice to make a decisive difference.

Abilities only shine after years of refinement. Without accumulating experience and forging one’s own mental image, training remained hollow. Dabbling in swordsmanship now would bring little real benefit.

Those knights getting beaten by Albert have likely trained for years, and still look like that.

Even if he began learning now, it would be difficult to bring about meaningful change.

In that sense, if he wanted to grow stronger…

Rather than imitating others, he needed to confront his own identity.

Claire refined her magic within the Mage Tower. Bow honed his martial path through meditation. Albert tempered his blade through sparring.

Woojin was no different. To gain greater strength, he had to pursue what defined him.

And that identity was, naturally—

“Hunting.”

Hunting the formidable foes of the Abyssal Realm, inheriting the power and abilities they carried.

Woojin slowly opened his palm.

Fwoosh—

A crimson flame flickered to life above it. The fire was noticeably larger than before.

After devouring the inner core Enoch had carried, Woojin’s mastery of magic had improved visibly. It felt more natural, stronger, easier to summon.

From this, he realized something.

If I inherit memories, I can also claim the mental image that person forged in life.

Humans accumulate memories through experience, and from those memories shape their unique inner vision.

To inherit another’s memories meant it was possible to inherit part of that inner vision as well.

In other words, if he hunted humans who carried inner cores—dark priests—he could obtain even more diverse powers.

What he needed to do was clear.

Witch-hunting.

He had to find his prey.