Fear Not
The woman kept enduring, ceaselessly, endlessly. Even before being trapped in the hellish True Truth Village—a place worse than hell itself—she had been doing it since the age of memory. Enduring was what she did best. And the second best thing? Pretending to have no thoughts at all.
Becoming a "white doll"—drug-addled, devoid of any will of her own, simply moved like a puppet by whoever pulled the strings.
"Our pretty young lady. There's something very important today, so you have to behave nicely, okay? No talking at all? The higher-ups will handle the important stuff. Got it?"
The woman had a long list of things she wanted to do to this new "caretaker" of hers. So many that she had to catalog them in her mind separately.
"Ha... what a shame... seriously, so pretty... too bad to give you away to some guy..."
She wanted to hack apart with a knife the face of the man who grabbed her hand with his sweaty palm and rubbed it against her plump cheek.
"So pretty. Way too pretty, our lady..."
She wanted to gouge out the eyes of the man who flicked out his plaque-covered tongue and leered at her face like he was licking it.
"Just a little taste... really, just a little..."
She wanted to pour boiling molten metal into the mouth and nose gasping with ragged breaths.
Under the pretense of fixing her clothes, he groped her body here and there, squeezing her breasts, waist, and hips before letting go—she wanted to chop off those hands with shears.
'I want to kill him... I want to kill him!'
During her time in True Truth Village, murderous rage toward everyone there surged wildly in her heart. If possible, she wanted to lock all the doors, set fire to every visible corner, and burn alive the higher-ups, preachers, and followers.
But knowing it was impossible to enact or succeed, she could only endure, pretending to be an idiot.
If she had power, she would have carried out every fantasy. And laughed, clutching her belly, amid their screams...
Of course, she knew she wasn't sane for constantly imagining such things—and she knew why she'd become this way.
'The time I've endured so far... the drugs I had to swallow...'
Strange herbs. Strange drugs. Long-term ingestion left her perpetually dazed, dizzy, unable to do anything without help. Embarrassingly, she often soiled her clothes.
'Not a pretty kind of madness.'
The madwomen in dramas or books—all so prettily insane, singing anywhere with a smile, dancing in the rain, causing chaos, but never soiling themselves. Fake ones, showing only enchanting beauty despite madness.
"Heh heh. Our lady. So pretty. Pretty."
As part of escaping this fucked-up situation, the woman fled into other thoughts. Dramas or books she'd seen before. Or good past experiences. Like the moment she regained sanity after reducing drug intake.
'For that, I'm grateful—even to those shameful, humiliating moments.'
Each time she soiled her clothes, they'd change her, wash her, diaper her, spray perfume to mask odors, air out the room. Repeating this several times a day led to complaints among caretakers, and eventually a decision from above.
Thanks to that, daily herb and drug amounts decreased. With tolerance built from prior intake, she could now play the madwoman while sane.
'Fucking bastards...'
In her mind, she killed people dozens, hundreds of times. The True Truth Church higher-ups—her caretakers—and those who sold her here—
"Alright! Now stay put? We'll head out as soon as the call comes."
The man glanced around, then smacked his thick lips onto her forehead like an octopus sucker, pulling away with a pop.
"This much should be fine... heh heh. Won't leave a mark."
Wiping the saliva from her forehead with his hand, the grinning man left the room.
"—!!!???"
Minutes after the door closed, she grabbed a cushion, buried her face in it, and screamed.
She wanted to scrub her forehead until skin peeled, but this uselessly white, fragile skin would leave traces.
'I'll kill him. I'll kill him. When the chance comes, I'll definitely kill him!'
Grinding her teeth and seething, she soon clasped her hands and took deep breaths.
'Don't have a fit. Don't have a fit. Can't have a fit. They'll drug me more.'
She couldn't let them discover she was sane, no longer controlled. She hated losing her will again. So she prayed desperately.
'High One. Please, hear my prayer. Please.'
Of course, she knew how absurd her prayers were. She'd seen enough in True Truth Village—self-harm while praying, torture while praying.
If a true god existed—one hoping people live kindly, avoiding harm to others and self—They wouldn't allow this...
Yet she couldn't abandon the "faith" that had taken root in her heart.
Praying, she mocked, pitied, grew irritated and angry at herself. Her broken mind forged this flimsy faith and wouldn't let go. Occasional visions were hallucinations from her shattered head. Clasping hands, seeking the High One—meaningless struggles. Pathetic that she couldn't stop.
"Hic... hu-hu-hup..."
Finally, she burst into tears. Knowing makeup would smear, but too heartbroken and sad to hold back. Shoulders shaking, she sobbed and sniffed.
Whoosh—
"...?"
A warm breeze blew from somewhere. Lukewarm and humid like breath—not unpleasant, but soft like a spring zephyr caressing her skin. Stroking, comforting. Her tears stopped.
Raising her head, she gazed around entranced.
Something's here...? For real?
She'd never felt anything so intensely. Her head knew it was illusion, but somehow—this felt real.
Gazing earnestly everywhere, her eyes fixed on one spot and widened hugely.
There—light.
At first, like a star twinkling in the not-yet-dark night sky. But as her gaze reached it—as if waiting—it grew.
Soon, it shone like a small sun. A miniature sun floating in midair. Tendrils of light shimmered around it, gentle hues spreading languidly, leisurely. Swaying like the world's slowest dance. Light scattered, gathered, scattered again with the motion.
What is that...?
Staring blankly at the light's dance, she soon gazed reverently and slowly knelt.
What this meant, she didn't know. But—
So beautiful!
Never had she seen anything so beautiful, special, holy in her life.
Maybe... a response to my prayers all this time...?
At that hopeful thought, a beam shot straight from the small sun toward her. Soft yet resolute, steadily closing distance, stopping right before her eyes.
"Ah...?"
Staring dazedly at the beam, she cautiously extended her hand.
Her fingertips touched the light—
"Fear not."
"...?!!"
A clear, pure voice echoed in her mind.
* * *
I'd told Gwangjeong and Sujeong, who'd suffered in True Truth Village, to rest before returning to work, but their enthusiasm was off the charts. Eager to try the method I'd taught, they buzzed with energy.
Well, it wasn't something they hated, so fine. Hopefully resolved with Plan 1. Plan 2 would mean more hardship for them.
That mad place had a woman with her own faith. Surrounded by crazies, no one to confide in honestly. Isolated, fighting alone—plus forced drugs beyond her control...
Plan 1 suited her: the "Fear Not" operation. Confuse with light scattering, then show the form created by combining their powers. No need for clear shape—vague was better. Key: make her believe the High One finally answered her prayers, a being to rely on.
Gwangjeong and Sujeong laughed, agreeing. Wasn't it truly the High One responding as she wished? That's why they called me that...
Hmm. Anyway.
Why did Seomho Group call True Truth Church? Likely Jeong Kyung-rok's sudden blindness. After the eldest, now the second son—grasping at straws for help? Contacting post-incident implies prior acquaintance...
Answers soon if we recruit her well.
For now, my tasks. I gathered all low-grade mixtures into a ball in my right hand, inner core shell in left, and approached the chest.
This mess wasn't safe outside—lest Mom, Bin-i, or Lee Pil-nyeo touch it. Experiments inside the chest wouldn't affect outside.
The shell? For gifts to Mom and Bin-i: integrated forge artifacts. No harm preparing for contingencies—or counterattacks. Even greed-blinded foes learn after a harsh lesson: "Don't touch that one."
Bonus: check if Earth Spirit's friend recovered. Questions aplenty.
Click.
No greeting voice or hand from the chest gap this time. Busy, huh. With Earth Spirit, more work probably. Massive farming?
Inside, familiar buoyancy, then the village appeared.
And—
「Eeeer~ lassi~ gu~ yeeoong~ cha~ heave-ho~」
Atop a high platform, Earth Spirit reared on hind legs, front paws raised triumphantly, singing a lively tune while dancing merrily.
Didn't know it had moves like that. Below, death spirits gathered chattering. Some swayed shoulders, others jumped up mimicking. Beaming, joyful. Felt like a national singing contest—performer dancing onstage, audience joining in.
Whatever. Glad they're enjoying. This space should be like that: the child's wish—no more sadness, pure joy.
【What are you doing?】
Approaching, death spirits flustered, bowing and parting. No need.
「Mm! This is! The dance of recovery and growth!」
【Hoo?】
「For my friend! And other friends!」
Earth Spirit grinned broadly, dancing harder. Other friends, huh.
【Made new friends, I see.】
「Yes! Great! New friends! So grateful for the chance! Busy now! Will repay later!」
【Original friend improved?】
「No more eating whiskers!」
Ah. Still not ready for answers then. Nodded acknowledgment and turned—
Ah. Benefactor. You've come.
The child smiled brightly, standing there. Rushed from work? Dirt on cheek, hoe in hand.
That dance. Thought it odd at first, but it works. Ailing ones are regaining energy.
Hoo.
What's that in your hand?
Child tilted head at my hands.
【One to dispose of. One for family gifts.】
Dispose?
Pointed at my left.
You're disposing of that? But it looks good.
Left was inner core shell? Shook head, raised right.
【No. This one. Dangerous outside, experimenting here.】
Uh... sorry, Benefactor?
Child blinked, tilted again.
Right hand has the disposable? But I see nothing.
Nothing? Glanced—
Eh? Mixture ball gone. Didn't drop it coming.
Where? Looked around—ah.
Right hand had Heavenly Wood. I did nothing, so it did. But why eat this worthless mixture? Trash compared to past intakes.
Staring piercingly at palm, wondering why—
Prick.
Tiny thorn-sting pain. One blink—
Oh?
On my right palm: regurgitated the mixture ball I brought. Appearance same, but energy transformed. Suspicious aura vanished clean; now emanating—