The Mortgage-Backed Miracle
Forgetting about the inventory and the potential for a mortgage-backed loan, I frantically began tearing apart my desk area. I needed overwhelming physical force to stop the tragedy unfolding beyond the monitor. I glanced toward the kitchen, wondering if I could throw a fruit knife, but there wasn't even enough time to go and get it.
That was when a piece of scrap metal, buried in the corner under my desk and covered in a thick layer of dust, caught my eye. It was a 10-kilogram hexagonal dumbbell I had heroically bought once, swearing I’d get ripped through home training, only to never lift it a single time.
"Yes! This is it! With this, I can smash that bastard's skull!"
Like a madman, I crawled under the desk, grabbed the cold iron, and hauled it up with my fingertips. My arm muscles screamed, but fueled by an adrenaline rush, I didn't even feel the weight. Feeling like a blond vampire about to throw a road roller, I hoisted the 10-kilogram dumbbell in front of the monitor and slammed it onto the desk.
At that moment, the screen inside the monitor shifted into extreme slow motion. The Kappa’s sharp green claws were a split second away from touching the child’s thin neck. The children’s screams of horror and Aria’s blood-curdling cries flowed through the speakers, distorted and sticky, like a stretched-out cassette tape.
"Die, you disgusting amphibian piece of trash!"
I scrolled down the list frantically. I saw the icon for the dumbbell item, which had already been registered in my inventory. If I had been a little calmer, I wouldn't have needed to go through the trouble of pulling it out physically. But I had no time or mental capacity left to think. I gripped the 10kg steel dumbbell with my mouse pointer, dragged it toward the center of the Kappa’s hideous head on the screen, and clicked the Deploy button as if I were trying to shatter it.
This action is considered direct PvP against a hostile force currently possessed and controlled by an Outer God.
Direct physical intervention by an Outer God in PvP is only possible through 'Divine Power' and 'Champions'!
Intervention via miracles is an exception.
A bright red 'X' appeared in the center of the screen, and error windows flooded the display.
"Are you kidding me?!"
I shouted in disbelief, watching the Kappa’s claws inching closer. "Then what the hell do you want me to do? You want me to punch through the monitor and enter the other world to beat it with my bare fists? Or do you want me to pull out divine power I don't even have by using some kind of overflow bug?"
Just as I was pointing at the monitor, veins popping in my neck, screaming my lungs out:
Slide. The bottom drawer of my three-tier cabinet opened smoothly on its own, as if someone had pulled it.
"Huh?"
I stopped pointing and stared blankly at the open drawer. A worn, thick file folder floated out into the air. It was the title deed to this 30-pyeong apartment—my entire net worth, half of which was tied up in a bank loan.
The crisp paper documents unfolded one by one in the air with a rustling sound and began to emit a mysterious blue light. Simultaneously, a new golden notification window, looking like a devil’s contract, popped up on the monitor.
Insufficient Divine Power can be loaned by collateralizing the precious 'value' of the current Outer God, Patron, and Player!
A special first-loan interest rate of 25% (after a 5% discount) is available!
Use the Divine Power loan to find talent to become your Apostles and build your own great force!
I was so dumbfounded my jaw nearly hit the floor.
"Of course. What kind of insane system would give me a perfect 'money printer' opportunity without any risk or strings attached?"
It was no different from the predatory loan advertisements I’d seen a thousand times. A 25% interest rate after a "special discount" was the logic of a highwayman looking to strip away a quarter of the principal.
I sat there, mouse in hand, caught in an intense internal conflict. My title deed, burdened by that half-loan, was literally the only thing left in my life. If I lost that, I might really have to head to the Han River bridge. Should I bet my life on this unknown game system using that as collateral? Or should I cleanly give up on this opportunity—and this terrible risk—and slowly but surely starve to death in reality?
My gaze shifted back to the monitor. Aria’s desperate expression, weeping and screaming in slow motion. The text of her desperate prayer appearing at the bottom of the screen. Her sorrowful earnestness, reaching out to me—an unknown Outer God—in an act of apostasy, pierced deep into my hardened heart.
"Ugh, this is driving me crazy."
I gritted my teeth, glaring at the title deed floating in the air, glowing with blue light.
"You... please, at least you, don't stab me in the back like my damn ex-girlfriend."
I moved the mouse and clicked the [Approve Collateral Loan] button violently. I felt like the CEO of some gacha game company who supposedly mortgaged his own house to keep the business afloat just before it went under.
They say "no risk, no return," but my life was certainly rolling in a spectacular fashion.
Woo-hahaha! Fanfare! A cheerful, cheap-sounding fanfare that was designed to irritate people rang through the room.
Valued Customer... I mean, Great Patron, Outer God, and Player, 1000 points have been successfully credited to your account!
"I saw you write 'Valued Customer' and then delete it, you son of a bitch."
Swallowing the blood and curses rising in my throat, I clicked the newly unlocked menu in the top right corner of the screen. A new tab labeled [Perform Miracle] had opened, its padlock removed and glowing with a brilliant golden light. When I clicked the button, a list of various miracles and their point costs scrolled down.
[Meteor Strike (Cost: 50,000)]
[Descent of the Angel of Light (Cost: 100,000)]
Most of them were expensive miracles requiring tens of thousands of points that I couldn't even dream of. But as I scrolled down frantically, one very cheap and oddly humorous miracle caught my eye.
Sometimes, watch both above and below.
Description: Sometimes, even the most powerful kings and generals lose their lives to a bizarre coincidence. As it happens, the main beam of this old building is on the verge of snapping. If you aim well, it should be enough to crush the vermin targeting your lamb.
Cost: 50 | Success Rate: 50%
Do you wish to execute the Miracle Gacha?
"I've seen this trope before. Anyway, 50% is a bargain. It's definitely worth a shot."
Without hesitation, I pressed the [Execute] button. A flashy casino roulette wheel began spinning wildly in the center of the screen. My heart raced along with the wheel.
Ding!
Miracle manifestation failed!
The beam holds on in a bizarre fashion.
"Damn it, are you kidding me with this rigged nonsense!"
Overwhelmed by frustration and rage, I slammed my desk. The monitor rattled, and my precious 50 points evaporated into thin air. Meanwhile, in the slow-motion scene, the Kappa’s filthy claws finally tore into the child’s neck. I could clearly see bright red droplets of blood spraying into the air.
There was no time to waste. I grabbed the mouse and frantically spammed the [Execute] button again. I screamed internally, begging for it to trigger this time.
Ding!
Miracle manifestation successful!
Crack-! Boom! As the system notification appeared, the slow motion on the game screen snapped back to normal speed. And the massive oak beam that had been barely supporting the ceiling of the infirmary came crashing down like a thunderbolt, precisely onto the Kappa’s hideous crown with a bone-shattering, ear-piercing sound.
"Kaa-eck-!"
The bizarre scream the Outer God’s minion was letting out couldn't even finish. The heavy wooden pillar, weighing hundreds of kilograms, flattened the Kappa’s hard skull and green shell like a watermelon being smashed.
Splatter. Crunch. Dark red blood and white brain matter sprayed everywhere like fireworks, vividly staining the gray floor of the old infirmary.
It was a painful gacha miracle that cost me a total of 100 points, but the overwhelming destructive power that saved the child’s life and turned the monster’s head into mush was definitely worth the money from my mortgage-backed loan.
I jumped up like a spring and threw an uppercut into the air.
"Yes! That’s it! This is why I pull the gacha!"
I cheered loud enough to shake the room. It felt like a decade of indigestion had been cleared away. The extreme tension of potentially losing my entire net worth just moments ago transformed into a perfect dopamine explosion, surging through my veins. Even the sight of Aria and the children, frozen in shock while looking at the Kappa’s blood-soaked corpse, looked like a perfectly executed boss-clear cutscene to me.
Just as I was panting, savoring the pleasure, a massive golden notification window popped up in the center of the monitor, accompanied by a firework-explosion effect.
I smirked. The achievement name was vulgar and intuitive, exactly to my taste. But what was truly surprising was the reward notification text that followed.
Special achievement reward granted!
The system is reverse-tracking the connection algorithm of the Seven Calamities that remained in the brain matter and blood of the Kappa crushed by the beam.
Hacking and analysis complete!
You have secured an infiltration route into the secret communication network of the Outer Gods who breached Eden's security vulnerabilities.
"What? Communication network infiltration? You hacked them using the algorithm from the Kappa’s brain residue?"
No sooner had the absurd system notification finished than an anomaly occurred on my other monitor. The screen displaying the web novel serialization site began to glitch like crazy, emitting gray noise.
Static! Screeech-!
With an ear-piercing, creepy mechanical sound, the monitor screen inverted to a deep red before slowly returning to its original brightness. But what was displayed on the screen was no longer the web novel platform, Goranipia, that I had been reading. Instead, a single, strangely familiar yet terribly alien website window was open.
Judging by the design, it was a cheap-looking layout identical to a common anonymous community board in Korea. However, the bizarre title banner text written in dark red font at the top caught my eye intensely.
[Outer Gods Gallery - A board for little rascals]
Below the board, countless real-time posts, covered in unknown symbols and nicknames, were being updated dozens of times per minute.
I leaned my face close to the monitor and stared blankly at the screen. "Are you kidding me... Cosmic horror Outer Gods are posting on a gallery board?"
The fact that these cosmic horrors, who destroyed and twisted the providence of the world of Eden where gods had vanished, gathered to plot in an anonymous community board was so absurd that I couldn't even manage a hollow laugh. The enemies' den—a complete sea of information and chaos itself—had been flung wide open before my eyes, completely defenseless.