Shill Suspicions

"……This is real?"

The horrifying blood-red vision that had unfolded before my eyes last night.

The stampede disaster in which the crowd stands collapsed, hundreds of people came pouring down, and the knight with the black hair was crushed beneath them all.

So it hadn't been a mere hallucination. It was a future that would truly come to pass.

'I can see the future now?'

An old memory surfaced — something my grandmother used to say, which I'd always brushed off.

I was destined to become a baksu.

Back then, it had sounded like pure fantasy. Unrealistic nonsense.

But now, it didn't feel unrealistic anymore.

For starters, this was a fantasy world, and I'd just gained the ability to see the future.

"...So I've basically received a spirit possession, huh."

Even someone as ignorant about shamanism as me knew the basics.

When an ordinary person received a divine calling, they gained the power to wield a god's abilities — but in exchange, they could never return to their old, ordinary life.

Come to think of it, I'd already crossed a river there was no turning back from.

"The worst... no, I guess it's not the worst, actually."

Frankly speaking.

On this insane mountain peak, the only way for me to survive was farming Merit through gallery posting. Nothing else.

So in a situation like this, gaining any ability at all meant one thing: I had to put it to use, if only to stay alive.

Besides, I'd been isekai'd into the body of a priest who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠served a god in the first place...

"Haah."

I slumped my chin into my hand, staring blankly.

In this fantasy world, shrines and temples were places that gave something directly to worshippers who offered tribute.

Some dispensed holy water imbued with divine power that healed wounds.

Temples serving the god of war applied buffs that enhanced physical abilities.

Of course, among them were temples that offered nothing but hope — pray to us and you'll land a good government position, pray to us and you'll go somewhere nice when you die.

And naturally, there were temples that did prophecy and astrology readings too.

"Those ones were pretty scammy, to be honest."

Divine power did actually exist in this world, but most of those places just threw out vague, cold-reading guesses and sold people empty illusions and pipe dreams.

I'd always assumed all prophecy fell into that category.

But.

'The vision that bloomed right before my eyes — that was unmistakably real.'

Divine power, magic, whatever — this was on a whole different level.

Accurate. Detailed. Prophecy.

And that meant it was guaranteed to make money.

This was a golden opportunity for a shrine without a single believer to take flight.

Just look at the Black-Haired Knight.

She was practically ready to die on command if I told her to.

Suppressing my excitement, I read the rest of her post.

"Three million krone……!"

When that money was laid on the shrine's altar, the system automatically converted it — and 300 Merit came flowing straight to me.

"Three hundred Merit means... how many batteries is that?"

Enough to buy three low-grade mana batteries at once.

That was a full three months of life extension.

Money I'd normally have to bust my ass for a month straight — baiting trolls on a 24-hour major gallery, taking verbal abuse, getting blocked over and over — just to barely scrape together. And it had come rolling in all at once.

"Wow... the prophecy specs are actually insane."

It was the moment the compass of my past self — the me who had thrashed and raged against becoming a shaman — began to waver.

Not bad. No, this was amazing.

If it meant surviving, I'd gladly become an otherworldly luxury-grade male shaman.

I was wearing a contented smile as I read the final lines of the post — and then my gaze froze.

"...Huh?"

A review?

The review board?

My prophecy — from the admin of a nameless, abandoned shrine — was about to be posted on the Unified Shrine Review Board, where the worshippers of the entire empire gathered?

I frantically clicked the link the Black-Haired Knight had left behind.

The moment the page loaded, one post burning at the very top of the real-time best list caught my eye.

The view count was already exploding upward.

I swallowed hard and clicked the post.

There it was — the Black-Haired Knight's vivid account of what had happened at the Sword Dance Festival.

The grand Sword Dance Festival hosted by the Northern Grand Duke of the empire.

Tens of thousands of spectators had flooded into the arena like clouds from the early morning hours.

But standing in the waiting room, Freya, the second daughter of House Blackwood, was pale as death.

— Do not go to the Sword Dance Festival.

— The weight of the spectators who've come to watch you will bring down the crowd stands.

The warning left by the nameless priest she'd encountered last night.

That bone-chilling text would not leave her mind.

"Whew……"

Freya moistened her dry lips and looked up at the wooden stands in the arena's upper tier, just beyond the waiting room.

People were packed in so tightly there wasn't an inch of space to stand.

It looked sturdy enough — or was it just her imagination that those old wooden pillars seemed somehow precarious?

Unable to hold back, she approached a festival staff member passing nearby.

"Excuse me — the railings up there. People are crowded in like that, and frankly they don't look safe. Is that really all right?"

The staff member answered with a friendly laugh.

"Ahaha, don't worry yourself, Sir Knight. This festival is held every year. It's built to be extremely sturdy — there's absolutely no chance of it collapsing."

"Still, couldn't you double-check? You never know."

When Freya pressed the point, a flicker of irritation crossed the man's face.

Wearing his annoyance plainly, he trudged off toward the stands.

Then he smacked the wooden railing a few times with his rough hands and muttered, just barely loud enough to be heard.

"Tch. Does she think she's some big-deal championship favorite? There are famous names here, and she's making a fuss over nothing……"

With a knight's sharpened hearing, Freya caught every mocking syllable, not a single word lost.

'That bastard, I swear……'

She wanted to grab the man by the collar on the spot, but she forced her fist to stay clenched at her side.

He wasn't wrong, after all.

However prestigious House Blackwood might be, this year's festival was a colossal competition attended by the empire's most elite dignitaries and order commanders.

Throwing the family name around and causing a scene here was simply not an option.

The staff member knocked on the railing a couple more times perfunctorily, then came back and said dismissively,

"Confirmed. Very sturdy. So don't worry about it and go prepare for your match."

Freya bit her lip and nodded.

But the unease gnawing at her chest would not fade.

"Still, at least warn people not to lean on the railings too much—"

"Ah... you do it yourself."

With those parting words, the staff member was gone.

Freya suppressed her anger, agonized for a moment — and then made her decision.

She walked straight to the registration desk.

"……I'm withdrawing my registration."

"I'm sorry — you're forfeiting? Why on earth?"

"If I die, that's one thing. It's better than people dying because of me."

The officials looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

But Freya was resolute.

When she declared her withdrawal and left the waiting room, the knight from the rival house who would take her place in the bracket sneered and taunted her.

"So the second daughter of Blackwood chickens out and folds her tail. What a waste of the family name. Sit back and watch, then — watch my magnificent sword dance!"

Freya gave no answer. She only offered a faint smile and withdrew to the far outer edge of the crowd stands.

And a short while later.

"WAAAAAAAH!!"

As the knight who'd taken her place strode into the center of the arena, showing off his resplendent armor, the spectators surged toward the front railings all at once, desperate to see him more closely.

In an instant.

— CRACK! BOOOM!

A horrific sound of splitting wood.

Hundreds of wooden supports snapped simultaneously.

The railings of the packed upper-tier stands came crashing straight down.

"AAAAAH—!"

"HELP!"

A massive cloud of dust erupted skyward, and razor-sharp debris along with human bodies rained down over the arena like a downpour — onto the very waiting bench where Freya should have been standing.

"……!"

Freya froze in place.

Goosebumps erupted across her entire body, and with trembling hands she clapped them over her mouth.

The frantic shouts of guards rushing to manage the disaster rang out around her.

"Get the healing priests out here now! Thankfully there were no reserves waiting below so nobody seems to have been crushed to death, but... God, if the crowd had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even a little bigger, or anyone had been standing underneath — they'd all be dead!"

"That was a close one. Pure luck, pure luck!"

Luck?

No.

This was not luck.

'His... the nameless priest's prophecy……'

What if she hadn't bent her stubbornness — what if she'd been standing on that bench?

She would have been buried under hundreds of falling spectators and splintered wooden pillars, coughing up blood in agony as she died.

Staring at the carnage unfolding before her eyes, Freya felt cold sweat trickling down her spine.

...And that's how it ends: "That was it. A true divine revelation, accurate down to the very last detail. Once again, my deepest and most boundless gratitude to the nameless priest who saved my life!"

So concluded the Black-Haired Knight's post.

I swallowed hard as I stared at the screen.

"It was real……"

But my astonishment at my foresight actually working lasted only a moment.

Beneath the post, dozens of comments were regenerating in real time, going absolutely feral.

The reactions split into roughly three camps.

Comments worrying about her — she was a big-name figure, after all.

And comments asking for the source.

And it was the third camp — the ones accusing it all of being an astroturf shill job — whose momentum was starting to swell.

Just as the fabrication theory was solidifying into the mainstream narrative —

The Black-Haired Knight, apparently furious down to the tips of her hair, jumped into the fray herself with direct replies.

Reading that comment, the Black-Haired Knight apparently lost all reason and completely redlined.

"Pfft!"

Reading that comment, I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Seriously, who's this blunt with people?

Getting into a keyboard battle online and then straight-up challenging the guy to a real-life duel? What are you, a warrior race?

But her opponent was an anonymous troll with nothing to lose.

He just kept mocking her to the bitter end, needling away.

And then the Black-Haired Knight delivered her final blow.

"Wh-Whoa?! Hey, wait a second!"

I desperately reached out my hands.

But before I could even finish panicking, the admin system screen floating in midair before me began flashing wildly, alarms shrieking.

"Wh-What the hell! What is going on?!"

Into a dead, power-cut gallery that hadn't seen so much as a fly buzz through in three years, the traffic of a major community began pouring in like a waterfall.

For the first time in my life here, people were flooding in — I barely had a moment to gape in shock before they started spamming the gallery.

In an instant, the board was turning into a complete war zone of trolls, mockery, and suspicion.

But then.

As I was staring blankly at the dozens of trash posts regenerating one after another —

The moment one particular title caught my eye,

Suddenly, just like last night, my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠skull began to split apart with a sickening lurch.

"Ngh……!"

The metallic tang of blood shot up into my nose, and my vision began flooding dark red once more.

Against my will, a single post title bored into my retina, forcing a vision of fate upon me.