Chapter 110
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Clash
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The priestess found the whole situation utterly bewildering.
It was only natural. She'd thought she'd been suddenly stabbed and killed by a blade out of nowhere, only to open her eyes and find everything but herself dead.
It felt like life and death had flipped upside down. Was this really reality? Hard to believe.
...
That was probably why she kept getting dizzy.
'Dizzy.'
The priestess blinked.
She'd endured several overwhelming ordeals and lost a ton of blood, leaving her body in ruins. She felt like she might pass out again any second, but she pushed through.
Did he notice?
The man sitting beside her suddenly handed over a chunk of meat. A slice of inner core carved with a machete. The priestess took it reflexively.
She stared at the piece in her hand. Once part of an outer god. It looked just like freshly butchered pork.
'Eating this is blasphemy.'
She should refuse. Steel resolve in place, the priestess cautiously parted her lips.
"Um..."
The man whipped his head around.
What she faced were gray scales blanketing the skin around his eyes. His crimson pupils sparked like they trapped lightning within.
A glare fiercer than the hydra's. Terrified, the priestess bit back her words.
"...Ah, nothing. Never mind..."
That man scared her more than blasphemy. Survive first, deal with the rest later.
The priestess hurriedly lifted her butterfly mask and shoved the core into her mouth. Chomp, chomp. The dark cultist frantically worked her jaw, devouring the outer god's inner core.
Woojin watched, a touch puzzled.
'Cold out?'
Why was she shivering so hard?
He'd light a campfire after polishing off the core. With that in mind, Woojin sliced off another hunk.
'Wish the wolves were here.'
There was so much core that Rex and the pack would have gorged themselves. Stuffing it down like food torture was a shame all around.
Woojin stared blankly at the core. He'd eaten steadily for ages, yet half remained.
"...How do I deal with all this?"
The musing slipped out.
Casual words for Woojin, but the priestess's heart plummeted.
'He's testing my value.'
She had to come up with something. The priestess racked her brain to meet the order just given.
Fortunately, she had a lifetime of dark cultist know-how to draw from.
"Um... how about using those...?"
She gestured somewhere. Woojin followed her finger and turned.
There, empty glass bottles scattered across the dirt floor. Potion vials the dark cultists had used earlier to treat their bishop.
Woojin caught on quick.
"Squeeze the core's blood into those bottles and carry them around?"
"Yes, exactly."
The priestess bobbed her head eagerly. Plausible idea. But not without issues.
"Even sealed tight, won't the core's energy leak out over time?"
If the energy drained, carrying them would be pointless. She jumped to elaborate.
"I can use preservation magic."
"You can?"
"Yes. Learned it—lots of practical uses."
A high-rank, finicky incantation.
A spell Woojin had once tried learning but quickly abandoned. Yet this diligent priestess had somehow mastered it.
'Smart keeping her alive.'
Woojin felt quietly pleased. Finally, an end to this endless feast.
"Good. Bottle up the rest."
"I-I'll wash them!"
Unprompted, the priestess scrambled up, scooped the bottles, and bolted for the lakeshore.
Woojin watched, perplexed. She was weirdly eager, like a fresh recruit reporting to base.
"What's her deal?"
He muttered to the squirrel. It replied with a tiny burp.
"Burp."
"...You can stop eating now."
Stuffed to bursting, the squirrel had ballooned like a soccer ball.
They squeezed the hydra core dry into glass bottles. Thirty in total. Midway through, potion vials ran out, so they used every bottle handy.
Labor-intensive work, but worth it.
This blood wasn't just an inner core granting immense power to drinkers—it was a potion potent enough to revive the gravely wounded.
'Keep eight as first aid. The rest go to the wolves and orc tribe.'
So many bottles meant emptying his pack and ditching all his gear. Plenty of valuables among them, but no regrets.
Woojin carefully stowed the bottles in his travel bag, wedging soft fur pelts in every gap to prevent breakage.
'Good... all set.'
He shouldered the bag. The squirrel hopped aboard, claimed a spot on top, and curled up.
Soon lost to deep slumber. Food coma from overeating.
'Got bolder.'
Once shy, now the squirrel napped comfortably at his side.
Departure prep complete.
"Lead the way."
"...Where to?"
The priestess asked back. Woojin shot her an obvious look.
"Dark cultists' base. You promised I'd meet Him in person."
Him.
The being who encompassed every dark cultist. Time to see that smug bastard's face.
The priestess spoke cautiously.
"That... might be tough."
"Why?"
"The outer god that ruled these mountains is dead. He must have noticed by now."
Surely on guard against Woojin.
His eyes were everywhere. Omniscient from his seat, seeing all. The holy prophet always watched over them.
Thus, the faithful were summoned by Him to paradise beyond the mountains. So believed the dark cultists.
Woojin snorted.
"What is he, Santa Claus?"
"...Who's that?"
"Invincible superhuman."
If he could deliver gifts to kids worldwide in one night, he'd fit the bill.
Anyway...
"Came all this way—worth a shot. Show me the path."
"...Understood."
Pressed again, she guided without further delay.
Silent trekking got lonely. Heading endlessly beyond the mountains, Woojin suddenly tried small talk.
"What's your name?"
"I don't have one."
Like follower No. 308 and the rest, numbered. Butterfly Mask had none.
Woojin voiced his doubt.
"You're a bishop. No name?"
"Yes. None of us do. Not even Him."
The dark cultists' leader was "Him" because he had no name.
The priestess continued.
"Do you name your socks?"
"No... not usually."
"Same idea. We exist to revere and serve the outer god from beyond the gate. Names are pointless."
To better fulfill their role as tools. Dark cultists hid behind masks and robes, living nameless lives.
No exceptions, even for high priests. Thus, they called their leader simply "Him."
Woojin cocked his head. Tough policy to grasp, honestly.
"Sorry, but... can't relate. Inconvenient and inefficient. Can't tell each other apart, so infiltrators blend right in."
Take his own case.
Slip into the city casual, eat, sleep, live it up. Assassinate the bishop on a whim, trash the place, and bail.
The priestess pondered, then replied.
"If a tool breaks, slot in a replacement. Even if I die, plenty can take my place."
That's why the grand priest assassinated the bishop without hesitation. Followers panicked briefly but obeyed.
Natural principle for dark cultists.
"...Not my style. Make a temporary name for now."
"Understood."
She went quiet after that. First time naming herself—clearly stumped.
Woojin sank into thought too.
'What to name the squirrel.'
Still undecided.
No name clicked, so he'd procrastinated daily until now. Hardly in a position to judge "Him."
"...Um..."
The priestess piped up.
"What."
"How do you even make a name? First time—not used to it."
"Not easy."
It's a word defining a being, after all.
"Let's brainstorm together."
Two naming projects now.
Woojin's head doubled in complexity. His idea, though—had to swallow the hassle.
Crossing the mountains, Woojin and the priestess faced several perils.
"Drake's sleeping."
She whispered. Woojin peeked over the rock to scout the foe.
A red lizard evoking carnivorous dinosaurs. Bigger and bulkier than the nagas' mounts. Crimson flames jetted from its nostrils with every breath.
Luckily sprawled out snoring. Path blocked.
"Better go around."
"Need to?"
"Yes. Drakes are extremely danger—"
Before she finished, Woojin shrugged off his bag and handed it over.
"Hold this."
"What're you—"
As always, she'd see soon enough.
Woojin drew his machete and advanced. Light steps like a cat stalking prey. Distance closed fast.
Now beside its head. Still deep in snores.
Crunch—
Weight Enhancement Technique surged through both hands. Heavier heft. He swung the machete with full might.
Shwick!
The drake plunged into eternal sleep.
Blood pooled thick on the ground. Woojin split its chest and yanked out the core. Size of two watermelons mashed together.
The priestess blinked at it.
'...Drakes this easy to hunt?'
She'd gauged his power from the hydra corpse, but witnessing it firsthand hit different.
A blasphemous thought flickered through her mind.
'If this man met Him... what then?'
Short time with Jin, but she'd easily seen this man held views diametrically opposed to Him.
Perfectly mirrored opposites. Yet they shared one trait.
'Power beyond human limits.'
Two mutually repelling beings clashing—who'd remain?
As the priestess pondered...
"Dinner's served."
Woojin dropped the drake core. Huge reptilian prize. Barely cleared one, now another.
"Haa..."
"Squeak..."
Priestess and squirrel sighed in perfect sync.
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