Chapter 7
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Seeing Stones as Gold (3)
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“Have you heard of the Secret Shadow Divine Thief, Tiger Phantom?”
The reason I knew where the Philosopher's Stone was hidden was because I had created that character's backstory in the novel Diamond Fist King.
A legendary figure said to be the god of thievery, capable of concealing even shadows, who wandered the world in the illusory form of a tiger.
“...First I've heard of it. Someone from the East?”
“Yeah. Put simply, he's the world's greatest thief. There's a secret cave where that bastard hides his stolen loot.”
I figured that in any wuxia tale, the Divine Thief was a staple character who just had to show up, so I added him to my novel.
I asked Wolfram for the map, then tapped my finger on a mountain range to the east.
“Right here. Midway up this range..., there's a cave hidden behind a waterfall. If you walk along the ceiling, another chamber opens up.”
“That's like a total treasure vault!”
Wolfram clapped her palms together and beamed. I nodded as I watched her.
The Divine Thief's secret cave was packed with all sorts of spirit elixirs and martial arts manuals, not to mention exotic beasts and treasures from the Western regions.
'I chewed through every elixir there that was supposed to help with the Nine Yin Absolute Veins.'
I smirked bitterly as memories of the past flooded back.
Even after gobbling down all those common wuxia cure-alls, my body showed no real signs of recovery.
No matter how much I ate, it only improved my condition slightly—it was never a fundamental fix.
“Earlier, when you examined my body, you said my veins weren't clogged with ice shards but something else, right?”
“Huh? Yeah. How should I put it... like a substance that doesn't belong to this world? It's weird even hearing myself say it!”
I swept a hand over my face as I looked at Wolfram. If even a renowned alchemist and mage like her couldn't identify what was blocking my body...
“...No chance it's from another realm?”
That was the only possibility left.
I suspected it was tied to the Outer Gods from the setting in Possessed into an Idle Game.
After all, my Saintess Azazel Blackheart—who was like a third daughter to me—had made a pact with them and fallen into depravity.
“Come on, no way. You mean those Outer Gods that are just rumors? If so, I'd have been dead by your hand ages ago.”
“......”
She was spot on.
The real reason I was searching for Verdandi now was because I judged her essential to saving Azazel.
“So, what's the source of this info? You sure it's legit?”
“Can't tell you, but I guarantee it's true. I'll stake my reputation on it.”
I couldn't exactly say the source was my own head, so no way to explain it to Wolfram.
In the original story, this info only surfaces after the Divine Thief dies, relayed to the protagonist Kim Huhl through the underworld info network.
“Hmm, honestly, I can't buy it. Info on the Philosopher's Stone, just handed over like that?”
“Believe it or not, up to you. I'd rather trust someone who endlessly doubts even themselves over someone who blindly swallows a stranger's words.”
I shared my personal creed with Wolfram. That's why I wrote Must Kill the Hero—I couldn't stand the clichés like prologues starting with “Hi, I'm a god!” or tutorial fairies kicking things off by killing some innocent soul.
“Is that why you don't believe in oracles? From the continent's most revered main god, no less?”
Seeing my unexpectedly favorable reaction, Wolfram circled back to the blasphemy comment from before.
She must have cast a spell to sober up—the scent of wine was gone from her now.
“Main god or minor deity, I don't trust the words of any power-granting hack. Power always comes hand-in-hand with responsibility.”
To Wolfram, who now looked surprisingly serious, I dropped a line straight out of hero tales.
The Spider Hero's iconic “With great power comes great responsibility.” Something I'd always wanted to say.
“Master's teachings! This disciple Biwol transcribes every word nightly with brush and ink!”
Biwol clenched both fists proudly from the side. Unlike Wolfram, she beamed just knowing this.
“I've told you it's not necessary.”
“Yet the Analects were compiled by disciples recording Confucius's words. To pass your wisdom to future generations, this is essential.”
No matter how much I advised against it, Biwol's loyalty ran deep—bordering on heavy.
What I said was often borrowed from novels, books, dramas, or movies I'd consumed in the past.
A writer's input wasn't limited to words on a page.
“Biwol... My words mix in wisdom from ancient sages. Posterity will point fingers if they see this.”
I bowed my head in shame. I was glib enough, but the thought of my words etched in history, judged by generations... terrifying.
I was a failed writer already. Absurd to think my scribbles could win hearts.
“Then I'll snap every pointing finger. How dare the rabble shame the sun above?”
Biwol unfolded my clenched fist, unwrapping the bandage coiled around my hand as she spoke.
Like a child tearing into a gift, her eyes wide, she grasped my index finger with both hands.
“If you're afraid of their pointing, Master... I'll wrap it up like this. Turn bad memories into good ones.”
Her pale pink lips drew closer to my index finger until a soft, moist sensation bloomed.
Slurp, smack, suck.
Biwol suckled my index finger as gently as a babe, wet slurps of tongue and saliva echoing in the carriage.
“B-Biwol! What the hell are you doing...!”
She exhaled hot breath with a puha, then licked and sucked again.
“Why so surprised?”
Her breath, tongue, saliva, laced with twisted emotion, sent a lewd tingle crawling up my finger.
“Just treating your hurt finger, like a mother beast licking her cub's wound.”
I waved her off, yanking my arm back, but she gripped tight with a clench.
Acting like it was nothing, as if I was the weird one, she slathered my finger glossy with spit.
“There, all done. This scar from when you protected me before, right?”
She opened her mouth wide with a beh to show me. True to her word, my hands and fists bore scars from relentless training and battles.
“Though you saved this girl... I remember your sacrifice clearly.”
Biwol bowed her head as she spoke. I'd written her with a trauma to blood and slaughter—a few lines that stuck.
“Shoulder, back, hands, arms—even your neck, all gashed deep.”
“......”
“I ache to lick every scar clean, but fearing you'd hate it, I indulged a small whim.”
I was speechless. She'd memorized every spot I'd been hurt back then.
I'd pegged her as clueless kid, but she'd carried guilt toward me all along.
“Ignore what others say. See it as petty jealousy from those blind to your vast virtue.”
Biwol set my hand down gently, bowing as if in formal greeting.
“Still, that's too much. I didn't save you expecting this.”
I had to say something to Biwol—especially with the Gold Tower Lord gaping, hand over mouth.
“Oh my, so bold... You're one sinful man. This is fun!”
She smacked her palms like a soap opera viewer spotting an affair.
I hadn't expected this from Biwol. She was clingy, sure, but never this brazen.
'Jealous over the Gold Tower Lord, maybe?'
Only guess that fit. I rubbed my chin, pondering. My index finger still tingled damply.
If she'd envied Wolfram's mature allure over her own underage innocence...
Entirely plausible.
“You said heart wounds, unseen by all but self, must one day be salved.”
“I did say that, but...”
I'd told her that when she moped over her friends dying because of her.
“I only treated the hurt in your heart, glimpsed in your words just now. No golden salve or elixir for me to offer.”
Trained under me, she now matched me word for word.
Soft-spoken, yet barbed. No openings—like a duel of wits.
“Still, next time, use words, not actions. Others will think I'm teaching my disciple strange habits.”
When I countered straight,
“You said you favor those who change through deeds over words, so I did.”
She twisted my own words back at me.
“Getting cocky to best your master, eh?”
“As the blue outshines the green. One day, surpass you in every way.”
She grinned, striking back.
“Every way? What does that mean?”
“Exactly that—all of it. I'll make you unable to live without me. You'll gaze only at me, crave only me, need only...”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, voice thick. Goosebumps prickled my skin—body tensed defensively, no killing intent needed.
“Ahem. Save the disciple spat for home? I'm here, you know.”
Wolfram cleared her throat, reining Biwol in. Staff out—must've been intense.
“Wonderhill Village soon. Quit playing around and prep.”
True enough, houses dotted the landscape now, chimney smoke rising, signs of life.
“Sober as ordered, layered defense spells. Even Hero won't kill me now, right?”
“Depends. If you're no villain.”
I eyed her trembling hands. Whether she died per canon or survived... even I wasn't sure.
I could only hope the Hero's justice remained unwarped.
But,
Contrary to Bing Yeon's hopes as he rode toward her in the carriage.
“The Lord's voice reached me! He called me the 'Hero of Justice'!”
“...V-Verdandi?”
“This oracle proves it—Mother, you truly are a villain!”
At this very moment, Verdandi Astraia held a kitchen knife to her mother.