Chapter 42
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 042
Chapter Title: Identity
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He shouldn't head into the Demonic Realm until his body had fully recovered. And so, Woojin continued his leisurely days as a patient.
Being cooped up in the pioneer city felt stifling, but... it wasn't particularly boring. He needed the time to sort through the swirling mess of thoughts in his head anyway.
Woojin wandered aimlessly through the city's streets, mulling over the foreign memories lodged in his mind.
...And then, on a whim, he stepped into a tavern.
"One bottle of mugwort distillate, please."
He ordered a drink on impulse. It wasn't the smartest thing for a patient to do, but today, he decided not to sweat the details.
Pop!
A cheerful cork popped free from the bottle. He poured the liquor into a glass. Infused with mugwort, it shimmered with a pale green hue.
Woojin took a sip.
'Whoa... that's potent.'
His brow furrowed involuntarily. The alcohol's high proof hit hard, and the intense herbal spice scorched his throat like a punch.
A type of strong liquor he'd never tried before.
As he drank it... Enoch's memories somehow felt more vivid. Like the experiences he'd only glimpsed in dreams were merging with reality.
'...Entrusting a promising task to someone unpromising is simply unacceptable.'
The words echoed faintly in his ears. Something a Church Alliance priest had once said to Enoch.
It wasn't wrong.
If the role of field researcher in the Demonic Realm had been a high-potential, promising job... it never would have gone to a dropout like Enoch in the first place.
Enoch had no choice but to stay in the Demonic Realm. No one wanted to take over his duties, and even if he returned to the Mage Tower now, there'd be no place for him.
A job someone had to do, but everyone avoided. Enoch had spent long years suffering, trapped in that role.
'Then Daisy appeared.'
The witch seduced him with sweet whispers, soothing his wounded heart until the naive Enoch had nowhere else to lean emotionally.
Fallen for her ploy, Enoch handed over every scrap of knowledge in his head.
Once she'd extracted all the intel she wanted, the witch saw no reason to keep company with him any longer. To eliminate any potential loose ends, she tried to assassinate him... but...
'...Unlike the Golden Beetle's two sons, Enoch didn't die even when the black potion splashed into his eyes.'
The Outer God's baptism.
Black potion in the eyes lets you glimpse the Outer God's realm. Survive only if chosen; otherwise, you become an Abomination.
A mage who'd lived his whole life without talent. Enoch received the Outer God's baptism and became a Dark Cultist.
'The capricious Nine Roses.'
Seeing the Rose Constellation meant he'd been chosen by the Nine Roses.
The Nine Roses wielded immense power and influence, with unpredictable temperaments even other Dark Cultists shunned. Recipients of their baptism were exceedingly rare.
'Enoch... you're truly special. Destined to become a general leading the gods' army...'
The witch whispered as much while taking his hand, leading him into hiding in a cave. He hatched spider beast eggs himself, rising as their overlord.
'When the foretold day arrives, you'll conquer the world with that army.'
Wait until Judgment Day.
With those final words, the witch vanished. Left alone, Enoch guarded the rift core through years of endurance. Awaiting the day he'd march on the outside world with his proud army...
"...To think he bought into that nonsense."
Woojin muttered with a sigh. A general leading the gods' army? To fall for such sugary lies.
Spiders were sedentary creatures.
Web-builders obsessed solely with spinning and maintaining their nests. Using them for offense was inefficient—they lost their worth the moment they left the web.
And if Enoch had truly been important, why leave him in such a spot? This place was a prime target for the Church Alliance.
In short, Enoch's role was...
'A sacrificial pawn to buy time.'
Delay the Church Alliance from destroying the rift core. A job someone had to do, but everyone avoided.
Enoch had merely changed locations... but he'd been doing the same thankless work all along.
'What a fool.'
Knowing the truth left a sour taste.
Woojin scratched his nape roughly, then checked the mugwort distillate left in the bottle. Just enough for one more glass.
Glug—
He poured the remainder into a fresh glass and set it across the empty table. As if someone sat opposite him.
A memorial ritual he'd picked up from the mercenaries.
"If you get another shot at life... do better."
Woojin murmured and toasted the empty glass. The two glasses clinked, rippling the liquor surfaces.
He downed his drink and stepped outside. His thoughts felt sorted now.
'Guess I'll walk it off before heading back.'
If his caretakers caught wind he'd been drinking, he'd get an earful for sure.
No flush on his face, but the potent liquor had seeped into his clothes' scent. To air it out, Woojin strolled into the breeze.
During his walk...
Woojin's gaze lingered on one spot.
'...The expeditionary force is training.'
The training grounds in the distance.
Soldiers with sandbags on their ankles jogged the track. In the center, armored knights sparred fiercely.
He observed their wooden swords. Blunted blades.
'Using safe weapons to avoid injuries during sparring.'
Sensible choice.
Armor protected them, so real swords wouldn't cause major harm, but a snapped blade could ricochet and wound someone.
The expedition was just getting started. With a long road ahead, losing trainees to injury would be a huge setback.
...Yet the actual sparring was brutal enough to make the wooden swords seem pointless.
Clang, clack, clang!
Metal clashed relentlessly, echoing sharply. Holy Knights striking without pause. They pounced on any opening, slamming their blades into foes' bodies.
'Fighting that savagely, wooden swords are just as risky.'
Maybe they used them precisely to go all-out. The Holy Knights' spars were ferocious.
'Makes sense, as devotees of the War God.'
The 4th Expeditionary Force consisted of War God Morian's followers. Per Bow, the most martially elite church. To live up to the War God's name, that level of effort was necessary.
The spider cave's terrain had prevented extermination, but in open force-on-force combat, Woojin figured the force would prevail after some struggle.
'Let's get a closer look.'
Hard to just pass by. The intensity made it entertaining.
Right away, he sought one person.
'Where's Alber?'
Red Wasp, Alber.
Word was Alber's swordsmanship stood out even among the Church Alliance. Now that he was here, Woojin wanted a glimpse.
He scanned around. Soon, his eyes locked on the target.
The red-haired knight standing afar. For some reason, Alber sparred helmetless. Woojin quickly understood why.
'...No contest at all.'
Even his stance screamed superiority.
Left fist tucked behind his back like a salute. His rapier in right hand aimed at his opponent's chest.
No movement. Waiting for the attack, it seemed.
The hesitant knight charged suddenly, swinging hard... but...
Thwack!
Before the swing fully committed, Alber's extended rapier smacked the knight's chest hard. The knight pressed on despite the hit.
Undeterred, Alber easily parried the incoming blade.
His rapier thrust again, pounding the chest twice more. No time to recover stance.
Blunted tip prevented piercing damage, but the forceful impacts staggered the knight repeatedly.
Thud!
The battered Holy Knight finally crashed butt-first to the ground.
"Run five more laps."
Alber said flatly. Without protest, the knight headed to the track, joining the soldiers. Tough in full armor.
Another Holy Knight challenged next... but before the first could finish a lap, the downed one was already jogging too.
'Not even worthy of calling a spar.'
Like prodding a fleeing caterpillar with a stick. One-sided beatings made it look that way.
The sight was striking enough that Woojin rubbed his chin, pondering.
'Maybe I should learn swordsmanship.'
But the thought didn't last. Picking up more skills felt pointless.
'...Mastering a bunch superficially won't help.'
Woojin had recently learned various techniques. Magic, Mana Arts. None packed meaningful punch in real combat.
True skill shines after long honing. Without vast experience and built imagery, it's meaningless. Surface-level swordplay wouldn't help much.
'Even those knights Alber's thrashing have trained for years.'
Starting now wouldn't bring real change.
In that sense, to gain greater power...
Instead of mimicking others, he needed to reflect on his own identity.
Like Claire honing magic at the Mage Tower, Bow gaining martial insight through meditation, or Alber refining his swordplay via spars.
Woojin was the same. To grow stronger, pursue his own identity.
And that identity was, naturally...
'Hunting.'
Hunt Demonic Realm powerhouses, inherit their strength and abilities.
Woojin casually opened his palm.
Whoosh—
Crimson flames flickered to life, larger than before.
After devouring Enoch's inner core. Woojin's magic had noticeably improved. More familiar, stronger, usable more often.
This led to one realization.
'Inherit memories, and I can claim their lifetime-built imagery as my own.'
Humans accumulate memories through experience, forging unique imagery from them.
Thus, inheriting another's memories... means potentially taking some of their imagery too.
In other words, hunt humans with inner cores. Dark Cultists. Gain diverse powers. Woojin's path was clear.
'Witch hunts.'
Find those prey.