The Black-Haired Cultist

To be honest, when I was transmigrated into this world... I was utterly dumbfounded.

It was a weekend, and like any other, I was holed up in my room all day. The lights were off, the curtains drawn tight, casting the space into pitch darkness. It was a perfectly ordinary, unremarkable day.

I was just about to watch a live stream of my favorite game. As luck would have it, today was the grand finals. A tournament dubbed the "Clash of Stars." It was the day the smartest monsters on Earth gathered to prove who was superior.

Of course, it was only a fun day for the spectators. For the competitors, it was a literal hell. A cutthroat survival game rife with strategy, psychological warfare, and mind games.

Natural-born geniuses. Monsters with brains that operated several moves ahead of their opponents. People who had fully internalized tactics, logistics, and battlefield management. Elites who had spent years honing their craft. They analyzed data with pinpoint accuracy, calculated strategies down to the frame, and could read the entire flow of a war just by glancing at a map.

Then there were the other kinds of geniuses—the physical beasts who turned the game into a one-man show purely through raw reflexes.

...And me? I didn't belong to any of those categories.

If I were to play the game myself... I'd probably be one of those average players who gets beaten like a dog the moment the tutorial ends. In fact, that was highly likely.

I didn't have the personality to laugh off that kind of suffering. I wasn't a masochist. (Though I respect those who are.)

That was why I had always remained an observer, a spectator. I stuck to watching MVP matches, mad movies, and battlefield highlights. I was the guy munching on popcorn, going "Ooh~" and "Aah~" from the sidelines. I never had the slightest intention of playing it myself.

This tournament was no different. Rank 1 versus Rank 2. Their clash felt entirely superhuman. Organic military units moving like living organisms. Knights appearing at critical moments to shift the tides of battle. Tactics and counter-tactics constantly morphing to adapt to the situation. In that suffocating sequence, a single misjudgment changed everything. The scales tipped—and then,

"Whoa..." Just as I sat up, letting out an exclamation of awe, another gasp escaped my lips. This one, however, was of a completely different nature. "Ah, come on..." An advertisement suddenly covered the entire screen. The live stream I had been engrossed in vanished completely.

A blinking window. Naturally, I didn't watch the ad. I frantically searched for the skip button. My mind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was still entirely focused on the highlight of the stream that had just been cut off. What happened to the game?

Without thinking much, I waited about five seconds for the prompt to appear and immediately clicked the "Yes" button. Usually, clicking these makes them go away. ...But then? The screen froze.

"Ah, crap, what is this?" I clicked the button repeatedly, like a madman.

The blue window, which had definitely been on my computer monitor just moments ago, was now floating right in front of my eyes. At that moment, the excitement draining from my body left me with a cold, sinking feeling in my chest. This was a very familiar trope.

"Wait... No, hold on! This was a mistake!" Regardless of my protests, the windows began scrolling rapidly.

The rapidly scrolling system window suddenly ground to a halt.

A massive wall of text flashed by, but it scrolled too quickly for me to read. If there was any saving grace, it was the prompt telling me to grab something. If I had been a soldier, I would have grabbed a gun, but I was just an ordinary civilian. I frantically scanned my surroundings.

A bleak landscape of my room. A pen? What would I do with that? Useless. An eraser? I don't even have a pencil. Paper? What's the point of bringing a single sheet of paper? I'd need to know how to manufacture it first! A book? The language would be completely different! What, was I supposed to bring a math textbook and teach them calculus?

The timer was ticking down. With less than a second remaining, I grabbed the nearest thing within reach—my VR headset—and shoved it onto my head. Virtual reality. But I hadn't installed any modules on it yet. All it had was basic system software. While my mouth frantically babbled rejections, my hand repeatedly tapped the screen to install the fastest available app.

I had done everything I could. In times like this, one had to stay cool and negotiate calmly. Keep a cool head, but let the body burn with action.

"I'll watch the whole ad! Okay? Just cancel that prompt—hey, you son of a—!" Suddenly, a floating sensation washed over me. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was waking up behind a tree in some nameless forest.

Starting completely empty-handed from the get-go. This had "mauled by wild beasts bad ending" written all over it.

The VR headset was gone—but fortunately, it seemed to be functioning. A mechanical voice rang out clearly inside my head.

My ingrained habits reacted to the familiar sound. Habits really are terrifying things.

"Jiri. Is it going to rain this week?"

Ah. It's going to rain. But what good does knowing the weather do me right now...?

"You there! Are you a spy?!" And just like that, I was immediately captured by the kingdom's army. Suspected of being a spy, I was dragged into a dungeon. It wasn't until a full day had passed that I was finally allowed to see the light of day again.

"Grand General. We have brought the individual suspected of being a spy, captured a few days ago."

"Leave him there. I will decide his fate once the council meeting is concluded."

A long, sprawling table, the kind you only see in movies. Seated around it was a row of imposing figures. Even so, I still held onto a sliver of hope. Maybe if I play my cards right and talk my way out of this, I'll be fine.

"Then, let us begin the war council." My hopeful delusions shattered instantly. Here I was, a suspected spy, sitting right in the middle of a war council inside a command tent dominated by a massive map. Just looking at the attire of the people seated around the table, it was obvious every single one of them held a position of immense power.

Yet they were just leaving someone of unverified identity like me in a place like this? Without even escorting me out? This meant only one thing: they had absolutely no intention of letting me leave here alive.

I wanted to run. But every single person seated at the table had a sword strapped to their waist. If I made a reckless move, my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head would literally roll. Making a scene here was not the right move. For now, I had to gather information and bide my time.

"We have received reports that the enemy's target is Mustion Castle. If they breach this stronghold, the path to Capital Elium will lie wide open. I want everyone's input on how we can stop them."

Elium...? My mind raced at the unfamiliar name. I had memorized almost all the major locations in the game. The fact that Elium didn't ring a bell meant only one thing: this kingdom was eliminated before the main story of the game even began.

The man at the head of the table remained silent. Spurred by his silence, the officers around him began clamoring to voice their opinions.

"Would it not be best to defend the castle and meet the enemy there?" one officer suggested, only to be immediately mocked by another.

"Defend? How did you even get promoted to that seat? This is why people who didn't attend the military academy..." "What did you say?" "If the enemy besieges Mustion Castle and pushes their remaining forces straight to the capital, we will be forced to surrender without even putting up a fight. Use your head!"

"Then I suppose our esteemed academy graduate has a brilliant plan of his own?"

"What about a night raid? The Zenith Kingdom forces must be drunk on their recent string of victories. If we exploit that opening..."

"Have you forgotten who the enemy's strategist is? It is the Weaver of a Thousand Schemes. Has a single one of our tactics ever worked since she took the field?"

The Weaver of a Thousand Schemes. ...If it's the Weaver of a Thousand Schemes, that means Rachel Auf Krin. She was an early-game boss, a half-demon female of unknown age. She was a character who appeared in the latter half of the tutorial, driving players to absolute despair and rage. Her archetype was an all-rounder who seamlessly blended strategy and cunning. I didn't know the exact timeline of this era, but the tactics she favored were still vividly etched in my memory.

The atmosphere in the tent grew heated. Just then, a soldier entered, approached the Grand General, whispered something, and quickly departed. I was the first to notice the shift in the Grand General. I had been closely observing the man's expression from the start. The situation was grim.

"The enemy is less than a week's march away," the Grand General announced. My suspicion was correct. Following his words, a heavy silence fell over the council.

This was my one and only chance to survive. The Grand General was the only person in this room who held absolute power over my life. I had to catch his eye. But simply saying, "I have a solution," would achieve nothing.

A single day in the dungeon had been more than enough to show me how I was viewed here. A filthy foreigner. That was all I was to them.

Ostracization is a negative emotion born of the unknown. Admiration is a positive emotion born of the unknown. Though both stem from the exact same ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"unknown," the way people perceive them is polar opposite. The variable that creates this difference is expectation. From this moment on, I had to become a mysterious entity from the East. I cast a spell of self-hypnosis over myself.

"...It is not a particularly difficult problem." The moment I spoke, the Grand General's gaze shifted toward me. His expression was still one of mild boredom.

"There is a way, though we will only have one shot at it." Did I catch his interest? "What makes you say that?" he asked. A question. This was as good as permission to speak.

"It will soon rain heavily over the Rhine River." At the word "rain," a sharp gleam flickered in his eyes for the first time since the meeting began.

"Are you suggesting... a water attack? It is indeed a tactic that could annihilate a massive army without clashing head-on. In our current state of numerical disadvantage, it is practically our only breakthrough."

I hadn't said a single word after mentioning the rain. Yet, the Grand General was already connecting the dots and drawing his own conclusions. It didn't take him long to reach the core of the strategy.

"But the timing is critical. If we move too early, the enemy will notice and avoid it. If we move too late, the water level won't be high enough to deal a decisive blow." "In that regard, a window of 'one week'..." "Would actually be the perfect grace period." The tension in the Grand General's stiff face eased slightly.

"The plan is not bad. However—" A glimmer of hope appeared. "All of this hinges on the premise that it actually rains. If we miscalculate and the rain never comes, building a dam will be nothing but a colossal waste of manpower."

This was the turning point. I had to answer perfectly here. Though my heart was pounding, I didn't let a single trace of tension show on my face. It was an air of absolute indifference, something impossible to fake. No, it was a state of composure that bordered on total resignation.

The Grand General reevaluated the man standing before him. At first, he had assumed he was just a common peasant, or some unfortunate soul caught up in a spy sweep. Yet, even surrounded by men who could draw their swords and decapitate him in an instant, not a single tremor shook his frame. That level of composure wasn't something one could simply act out. He was certainly no ordinary peasant.

As the Grand General's gaze remained locked on the figure in the back, the eyes of everyone else in the tent followed his lead. Only then did they realize who the Grand General had been conversing with. The backlash was instantaneous.

"How dare you! A mere spy!" "General, let me take his head and rip his belly open this instant!" "Black hair and black eyes... He is an omen of ill fortune just to look at."

The last one is just straight-up racism. Fucking racists. Even amidst the uproar, the Grand General spoke calmly.

"I have heard your plan. But tell me, can you explain how you know it will rain?"

...Explain? Of course I couldn't. I was only parroting what the weather forecast app, which I had received as a transmigration perk, told me. But I couldn't exactly explain that to people living in a medieval fantasy world. It wasn't that I was trying to hide it; they simply wouldn't comprehend it.

Every eye in the room was fixed on me. I recalled the class I had been assigned before transmigrating. Class: Cultist. My perks were Fanaticism and Piety—abilities that boosted belief and trust during religious events or actions. It wasn't a particularly good class in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the game. A non-meta, off-brand class, so to speak. However, when it came to dealing with people, the title of a priest was unmatched.

Locking eyes with the Grand General, I spoke with as much sincerity and conviction as I could muster. "Tell me... do you believe in God?"

The moment the words left my mouth, the Grand General's face stiffened, looking exactly like a busy commuter being approached by a cultist outside Gangnam Station Exit 8. Ah. Was that a bit too much?

"You have very clear eyes." Well. His eyebrows twitched upward. Hey, every religious solicitor I've ever met started with that line.