Chapter 15

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 15

Chapter Title: Group Project Nightmare

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Time flowed on and on, and it had been a long while since I'd fully adapted to this second life that I stumbled into by chance.

"Anyone know the legal reasoning behind the clause that gives legitimacy to duels between martial artists? Hmm... Kim Hoon, why don't you give it a shot?"

"Kim Hoon! Can you tell me the mixing ratios for the Kyunghyang Pill?"

Thanks to the memories from my past ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life, I'd been putting on a pretty solid performance in class. The looks from my classmates—who'd initially stared at me like I was some rock that rolled in from who-knows-where—had gradually started to change.

Once school life settled into a routine, time began to fly by even faster than before.

Around the time the cherry blossoms that had bloomed one spring day, brightening the campus scenery, began to fall, the students grew busy preparing for midterms.

Due to the nature of Hanmu Academy's internal assessments—which included a mix of note-taking, theory, practicals, and presentations—the students split into two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠camps after school: the self-study types holing up in the reading room all day, and the study group folks who teamed up with like-minded friends.

Truth be told, I'm the type who prefers studying theory subjects alone.

But there's no way to handle practical subject group projects while stuck in a reading room.

Lee Soo-young's Practical Martial Arts class also had midterms and finals.

The rule that beating her yourself would net top marks was probably something she set thinking her own win rate was near zero, so in a way, it made sense.

To prepare for the upcoming midterm, I created a group chat.

At least Veronica Lionheart bothered to reply. Looked like our chat in front of the nurse's office last time, plus the occasional greetings since, had paid off.

Park Jong-myeong seemed reliable enough—low presence, but no rough edges.

That left Baek Chan as the worry...

'Guess we'll see how it goes.'

And so time passed to the following Wednesday.

Sure enough, the thing I'd dreaded happened.

Of the training room I'd gone to the trouble of booking, only Veronica Lionheart and Park Jong-myeong showed up.

I clutched my throbbing head and asked,

"Where the hell did that Baek Chan idiot go?"

"How the hell should I know? Dumbass punk."

The nightmare I'd feared ever since hearing "group project" had exploded.

Come to think of it, maybe it was naive to assume these ego-stuffed geniuses would just follow my lead without complaint.

'At least this one showed up.'

I thought as I eyed the blonde girl lounging with her legs propped up. Was this small mercy enough...?

"Whatever, go check his house or something."

Veronica Lionheart muttered indifferently while scrolling through her Instagram feed, lollipop stick in her mouth.

"Baek Chan's house...? You know where it is?"

"Duh, idiot. I get party invites from his dad at year-end. Don't you do parties with your friends?"

Parties... The word felt utterly foreign to me, who'd only ever been to the monthly group birthday bashes at the orphanage.

At my words, Veronica Lionheart's face twisted, her lips mumbling.

"Th, this. Fucking... chew... fu, fu... fuck..."

She seemed to have something to say, but it was stuck in her throat.

But I'd already learned she sometimes acted weird mid-conversation.

I ignored her as she mumbled on before suddenly yelling "fucking bitch—!" and stroked my chin thoughtfully.

Barging into a chaebol chairman's house just for a group project.

'Is this really the rational move?'

I pondered deeply, then shouted,

"Let's go right now!"

"Grab my waist and you're dead, you fucking mutt."

Veronica Lionheart's motorcycle sped down the road with me clinging to the back seat.

Thirty minutes later, our group—including Park Jong-myeong, who'd tailed us by taxi—arrived in front of a grand mansion in the upscale Hannam-dong neighborhood.

In a dim cavern lit only by the faint glow of night pearls,

the silhouettes of nine apostles sat around a round table set up in the Divine Cult's Third Diocese headquarters.

Among them, a woman draped in a pitch-black robe spoke in a coquettish voice.

"A divine artifact goes missing...? So the whole Third Diocese gets butchered and the branches hanged, and that's still not enough for this huge screw-up? Care to explain, Third Apostle?"

The man called the Third Apostle gritted his teeth beneath his deeply hooded robe.

This was essentially an inquiry hearing. He, an apostle ruling one of the Divine Cult's most prestigious dioceses, now had to prove his innocence before his peers—a trial, no less.

Two months ago, the cult's divine artifact he'd been guarding had vanished. Theft was impossible. It was an item he'd never let leave his side, even in sleep—not for an Extreme Demon master like him.

No room for excuses like "my incompetent underlings slacked off."

He had no idea how to defend himself. How do you explain the whereabouts of something you don't know when, how, or why disappeared?

"Fifth Apostle. Enough. This isn't a place for grilling him."

The First Apostle—de facto leader of the apostles—spoke up to rein in the Fifth.

"But I do wonder. I hear the artifact went missing about two months ago. Why reveal such a critical fact only now?"

"...As its guardian, I tried handling it myself first. No other motives... I swear."

"Hmph."

The First Apostle's piercing gaze made the Third Apostle tremble, bowing his head deeper.

The suffocating silence was broken by the flippant voice of a handsome man opposite the Third Apostle.

"Haha, do we really need to bicker like this among ourselves? Oh, pardon me. May I ask if it's permissible to inquire whether I may even speak?"

"You may speak, Fourth Apostle."

"Let's calmly recap. The Return Bead in the Third Apostle's keeping vanished. If it were any other item, we might hypothesize he moronically dropped it somewhere... but our cult's Return Bead, like Shaolin's Jade Buddha Scepter, always returns to its owner. For it to suddenly slip from its 'former' owner, the Third Apostle? The conclusion's obvious, no?"

Clap! The Fourth Apostle smacked his palms together, grinning as he narrowed his eyes slyly.

"Someone with an even stronger claim appeared and took the Return Bead... Wouldn't that be the logical assumption?"

Murmurs spread among the nine apostles. The First Apostle raised a hand again and asked,

"Any among the faithful suspected of absorbing the Return Bead?"

"......None in the Third Diocese. The investigation's complete."

"If ownership passed to someone outside the faithful... that's gravely serious. It could shake the cult's very foundation—not just our immediate plans."

"Even so, an apostle loses a divine artifact's ownership to some random scum? The Founder said when five humans gather, one must be trash. How much more in a horde of Demon Cultists too many to count with both hands!"

"Haha. A demon surpassing our cult apostles in legitimacy? Who could it be? Too many suspects. Nazi remnants fled to South America, fundamentalists holed up in Xinjiang valleys... Maybe even Adélie penguins corrupted by the Fear Demon Emperor's corpse miasma!"

The Sixth Apostle tsked at the Third, while the Fourth Apostle chuckled nonsense, but the First ignored them and continued.

"Fortunately, the divine artifacts bearing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Founder's spirit aren't just the one Return Bead. As of now, we lift the seals on the Infinite Hell held by the Second Apostle and my Retroactive Chaos. If the plan succeeds, the Return Bead's ownership will naturally revert to the Divine Cult."

The First Apostle addressed those around the table.

"We'll accelerate the plan. In a fortnight at this hour, apostles strike Heavenly Martial Academy, West Point, and Korean Martial Arts Genius Academy simultaneously to secure the 'vessels'."

"Understood!"

The Fourth Apostle saluted playfully. The others nodded quietly.

"Third Apostle. Whatever the cause, the Return Bead's loss is undeniably your negligence. Don't squander this chance to atone and cleanse your sin."

With those ominous words echoing in the cavern, the eight apostles save the Third vanished.

The formation projecting Doppelgängers—making it seem the cult's worldwide diocesan heads gathered—deactivated.

"...Damn it all."

The Third Apostle clenched his fist, veins bulging in his eyes.

If the artifact for spirit descent had been Infinite Hell or Retroactive Chaos instead of Return Bead... as the plan's top contributor, surpassing the First for next cult leader wouldn't have been impossible.

But the Return Bead was already gone. As the First said, seizing the chance to correct his mistake trumped future ambitions.

'Not yet... not over yet.'

For the Demon God's descent, two things were needed.

First, a cult divine artifact holding the Founder's spirit. Second, a 'vessel' to contain the summoned god via that artifact.

A talented boy or girl's body: vast yet unfilled upper dantian, fit for a demonic god.

'Even without the artifact, if the Demon God descends into the vessel I secure... my vow won't be a pipe dream!'

Blood dripped from his clenched fist.

Of the world's three great martial academies targeted in a fortnight, Korean Martial Arts Genius Academy was his assignment.

He must secure the finest vessel there.

He summoned a subordinate bowing at his side and commanded,

"Contact the Sword Demon—that swordsman—and request cooperation. Tell him we'll match his fee."

"The Sword Demon... sir?"

The subordinate flinched and asked back.

The Third Apostle spat out his recent humiliation like chewed gristle.

"We'll muster maximum force. No variables tolerated."

Even borrowing the hand of that mad swordsman publicly vowing to kill the God of War and Wind Duke.