Checks and Balances (1)

Yeonok-dong, Seoul. The construction site of the Providence Central Temple.

Pradeep, who had come from Sri Lanka, was in his third year working as a migrant construction worker here. No matter how much of a foreign laborer he was, there was no way he couldn't tell what kind of building they were putting up. At first he'd assumed it was some theme park, but one look at how the locals behaved made it clear that wasn't it.

"As Providence wills, all things follow Providence."

"Ahhh! Just look at this Status Window!"

"Oh! Weaver Mother!"

A religious group. In other words, a cult. The kind of organization you'd occasionally run across in a country like South Korea — a nation of religious freedom where conflict between faiths was remarkably rare.

Pradeep was a Buddhist, so at first he'd disliked the site. It had made him uneasy. But he hadn't had a choice. In a construction downturn like this one, work like this wasn't easy to come by.

So Pradeep and his fellow workers toiled on in silence, and half a year slipped by like that.

Ring!

Checking the Cleric Raising app, Pradeep broke into a satisfied smile. He'd installed it out of simple curiosity at first, but these days more than half the workers on this construction site were playing it too. The other half consisted mostly of people who'd never been interested, plus a small handful who just didn't see what the fun was.

'Karma. That's why.'

As for the latter group, Pradeep knew exactly why. His co-workers who played Cleric Raising alongside him knew it too, but they never let it show. They simply carried out their daily quests, quietly chatting with Love in their native tongues.

As a Buddhist, Pradeep found the Providence Church's doctrines and practice system familiar, and they suited his tastes.

'The daily quests are rather clever, too. If they'd been do this, do that, everyone would have quit on the spot.'

Construction work was hard enough and demanding enough as it was. The daily quests were tailored to the actual circumstances of the laborers on site. Mostly they were "don't do this, don't do that" rather than "do this, do that," which made them far more manageable than he'd expected.

'When I sent Mother the Holy Water last time, she was so happy — said it worked wonders.'

Pradeep's face softened into happiness as he thought of his family back home.

'If I get Holy Water this time too, I'll send it to my little sister. She's getting married soon — it would make the perfect wedding gift.'

If Lee Seop could have seen him just then, he would have smiled with genuine delight. Pradeep was precisely that most precious of things — an ordinary believer who acknowledged the Providence Church while dutifully keeping up his daily quests.

"Kaargh! Ptui!"

Just then, as Pradeep was rising from his break, he caught sight of a group of men. Half a dozen or so gangsters, their bodies crawling with repulsive tattoos. They were one of the crews that had been turning up all over the Yeonok-dong construction site lately.

'Here we go again?'

Three years — a short career, if you could call it that, but Pradeep had seen men like these at construction sites out in the provinces more than a few times.

'Foolish, pitiful lumps of karma.'

Pradeep clicked his tongue inwardly and focused on his work. He didn't spare them so much as a glance.

Paolo's first masterpiece was complete. Ah — a correction is in order. Paolo himself was a Pardoner, bound to Creation Points. Because of that, he'd had to produce various small holy statuettes along the way, so calling the thing before his eyes his "first work" wasn't quite accurate.

'This is the first Holy Relic!'

It should properly be called his first Holy Relic, not his first work.

"Ahhh... Weaver Mother!"

"Good heavens! It looks as if it might come to life at any moment!"

"As Providence wills, all things follow Providence."

Holy Relic statuettes had been rare even in his past life. Even I, with my experience with Holy Relics (from that past life), found myself staring for a moment with my mouth hanging open — so the Provians around me needed no mention at all.

"Paolo."

"Yes, Firstborn Son."

Having completed the Holy Relic, Paolo had apparently attained some small enlightenment in the sudden surge of his Creation Points — there was a light of transcendence in his eyes.

"You've worked hard. Sincerely."

"As Providence wills, all things follow Providence."

"Indeed. As Providence wills. Rest for a while and digest the enlightenment you've gained."

"Thank you for your consideration, Firstborn Son."

After offering Paolo that light praise, I returned to contemplating the Holy Relic statuette before me. A beautiful, mature, merciful woman. If there was any difference from the painting of my mother hanging in my studio apartment, it was the clothing. This marble statue was dressed in a fantasy-style gown, modeled on the memories of my past life.

Her face was different too — or rather, her aura was. Her smile, calling to mind both the Maitreya Bodhisattva in contemplation and the Mona Lisa by turns, was boundless in its benevolence.

Thanks to the Holy Relic's passive effect, my Cleric capacity had grown by 50, and my B-Class job capacity by 20. By now, the cap on Stigmata grants based on total believer count had become all but meaningless.

'Ugh...'

I gave the believer count one more look — a number I'd half given up on by now — then calmed my cluttered heart with the Holy Relic statuette once more. The plan was to keep it strictly guarded here, and once the Central Temple was completed, to place it resplendently at the temple's very heart.

Reluctantly tearing myself away from the Weaver Mother's statuette — one I could gaze at a hundred times without tiring — I left Paolo's workshop in Yeonok-dong.

Stepping outside, the panorama of the prospective Holy Land spread out before me: demolition and construction, destruction and creation, all unfolding at once.

"Your next appointment is the healing, Firstborn Son."

"Ah, yes — Yoobin, was it? The one suffering from blood cancer?"

"That is correct."

"What a remarkable child, enduring such a vicious illness in that tiny body. Let's hurry. A few minutes may be nothing to us, but to the child and the child's parents, how long must they feel?"

It wasn't that we had no car, but the neighborhood was so congested with construction and demolition that walking was faster. There was also the matter of being able to meet people's eyes up close and exchange brief greetings — no small thing, that. For reasons like these, I made a habit of traveling on foot in a neighborhood like Yeonok-dong.

I was striding briskly toward the place where the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠child and the child's parents were waiting when — thud, thud, thud — a crowd of some fifty rough-looking men came into view up ahead, blocking the road. It being summer, a few of them wore short-sleeved designer tees and fluorescent track pants, and tattoos showed on their bare skin.

"Ah. Those would be the ones?"

Seeing them, I asked Hong Dong-soo, who was at my side. I'd already received a report on them not long ago.

"They are, Firstborn Son."

"Mostly young, I see."

"MZ-generation gangsters, by the look of them."

"Interesting. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was under the impression that young gangsters these days piled up their karma in reading rooms, phishing scams, crypto, and online casinos."

After all, the established gangsters with real seniority had backed off from the Yeonok-dong redevelopment once they learned that the National Assembly Speaker and the very highest ranks of the police were tied into it. In other words, the boys who'd shown up here were ambiguous nobodies without a single high-placed connection.

"A pup that's never seen a tiger doesn't know to fear one. They are at the age of thinking they're the center of the universe — and the ones who travel in packs like that are doubly so."

Hong Dong-soo's gaze as he regarded the MZ gangsters blocking our path carried a contempt as cold as one might show to filth.

'Every last one of them has high karma. How much sin can a person that young have accumulated?'

Not quite to Hong Dong-soo's degree, but I wasn't looking on them fondly either. The crowd was mostly men in their twenties and thirties, and their karma averaged somewhere between 60 and 70.

"A pity, but I'd say they're beyond saving."

"Agreed. Garbage, the lot of them."

"And yet our Mother will embrace even them."

"In hell, perhaps."

That brief exchange passed between me and Hong Dong-soo.

"Please have the Providence Network handle it."

"Thank you for entrusting it to us."

Their intentions were obvious. Business rights, protection money, sexual tribute — something along those lines, no doubt.

"Hey. I'm Kim Dae-young, boss of the Makyeong Gang."

"Yes, I see. I'm Lee Seop."

"I know."

"Is that so. And what brings you here?"

"We got some business we'd like to have a serious little chat about."

"Of course. However, I have something urgent to attend to — would you kindly wait a moment?"

"What, you planning to run? Or go crying to the cops?"

"Hardly. As it happens, we were in need of some outsourcing."

"Whoo-ee! Well, ain't that something — we were made for each other!"

If I'd had time to spare, I might have invested more of it in dealing with these men. Some of them might even have class-transitioned into Paladins or Dark Priests. But not now. There were people waiting for me with aching hearts, and I had no intention of making them wait even longer because of these lumps of karma.

"Fine. I'll let it slide on account of my good first impression of you. Thirty minutes! Go even one minute over, and we'll all have ourselves a very tiresome time. Understood?"

"Of course. Please follow Elder Hong here and wait in that open lot. I'll finish quickly and join you."

"Good. Lead the way."

"Elder Hong, these are valued guests. Please take good care of them."

"As Providence wills. This way, gentlemen."

"Huh. Seems like we can talk business after all. Let's go, boys."

I tossed the gangsters to Elder Hong Dong-soo on a convenient pretext, and went on my way.

Hong Dong-soo did not escort the Makyeong Gang alone. Monk Cho Yong-guk — a sitting NIS agent and a Provian besides — accompanied him.

The Makyeong Gang, fifty strong, showed not the slightest wariness toward the two combat priests. Unrestrained insolence oozed from them as they sauntered along, dripping it at every step.

So they arrived at the open lot — the very ground where the first Day of Proof had been held the previous year, and where all manner of services and Providence Church events had been held since. And there, in that sacred space, the roughnecks gathered.

"Ah~! The boss paid us a visit at this goddamn place, and you ain't even offering us a drink?"

The moment they reached the lot, the fifty gangsters began spewing every threat they could muster.

"Quite the display of nerve."

Hong Dong-soo smiled, cold and thin. Cho Yong-guk, who had by now taken up position behind the gangster pack, wore much the same expression.

"What? Has the old man lost his mind? What did you just say?"

"Did you forget your cult leader told us to take good care of you? Dementia setting in, huh? Huh!?"

Hong Dong-soo paid those adorable, insignificant threats no mind whatsoever, and opened his Status Window instead.

Proof of the Mother Weaver shone upon his Status Window Idol. Having class-transitioned from Cleric to Monk, he had become a true superhuman. Thanks to his common skills, he could wield the Cleric's abilities while also commanding the Monk's superhuman combat skills.

Cho Yong-guk, standing opposite Hong Dong-soo, activated his own Body Reinforcement skill — at the very same moment.

Crack!

The two figures vanished at a speed too fast for the eye to follow.

"Wh-what the—!?"

"Huh...?"

THUD! CRASH! BAM!

The open lot filled not with the sound of men being beaten, but of things detonating and being blown apart.

"Hold on— what is— gahk!"

"What the—?! What's— kuaaagh!"

"Don't come over! Don't come over here! AAAAGH!"

In truth, before the gangsters could mount anything resembling a response, their organs had ruptured, their limbs had been shattered, their jaws broken, their faces caved in. It was so swift, so devastating, that they couldn't even manage to flee.

Ten minutes later, it was all over.

"Uuuuurgh!"

"Kkeuk... kuh..."

"Hnngh... hnnk..."

"M-mom... Mom..."

"Hiik! HIIIICK!"

Moans, screams, and wails of every description rode the breeze and brushed past the ears of the two Provian combat priests.

"Firstborn Son, it is finished."

Hong Dong-soo, his mission complete, phoned in his report to Lee Seop.

"Yes. We didn't kill them. We merely made them into bedridden wrecks so they can never play at gangster again."

Hong Dong-soo's breathing remained perfectly calm throughout the call.

"Hard work, you call it? It was so beneath mention that even the word feels wasted. Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yes... yes, yes... Understood. Thank you. That is an excellent decision."

Finishing his call with Lee Seop, Hong Dong-soo immediately dialed someone else.

"Dae-hoon, did you look into it? Yes, the Makyeong Gang boys. Total membership is ninety-eight, you say?"

As he spoke with Kim Dae-hoon, Hong Dong-soo turned his gaze.

"There are exactly fifty of them here!"

Cho Yong-guk, herding the wrecked gangsters into one pile, shouted.

"Yong-guk, if any of them die, the police can't cover it. Use Heal on the critical ones."

"Understood, Elder."

The sprawled gangsters, having just witnessed transcendent violence, now completely lost their minds at the sight of Heal unfolding from Cho Yong-guk's hands.

"Fifty here, I say. And by the way — you can tell just how much evil these bastards have been up to, because even the Heal's effect is getting diminished."

Looking on the gangsters as one looks at insects, Hong Dong-soo continued his call with Kim Dae-hoon.

"Have you located the Makyeong Gang's remaining members? What? Not just the Makyeong Gang — other gangs were gunning for us too?"

A flicker of killing intent passed through Hong Dong-soo's eyes mid-call.

"Good timing. As it happens, the Firstborn Son has just granted us permission to carry out the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Mother's violence in her stead."

Cho Yong-guk, administering emergency treatment to the collapsed gangsters, also caught wind of the call and let his own killing intent flare. Several gangsters caught it head-on and promptly foamed at the mouth, fainting on the spot.

"Right. Let's go have ourselves a drink."