Encountering a Main NPC

Wait, is it possible that I'm not the cult leader here? I think I've found someone who understands this religion far better than I do.

"Can you not see the wrath of Lord Ifrit?! Look at that brilliant, sublime wave of fire! It tears through the heavens, scorches the earth, and swallows all sin! It is not too late!"

"Hurry, offer your bodies, your souls, your wealth, your children, and your very future to the Ifrit Church! Without a single shred of regret, without a moment's hesitation!"

"What? You believe in Aling? Ha! Aling? Aling, you say?! What kind of outdated, minor deity is that? While your tongue hesitates, Lord Ifrit's flames have already begun their judgment!"

...Did you receive a main quest like me? Why are you so much more passionate about this than I am?

No, wait. More importantly... I looked at his face. It was familiar.

From what I had heard, that man was supposed to be an Aling Sect priest dispatched here as a medical officer. He was famous for never skipping his daily prayers.

Yet, there was no way such a faithful, devout Aling priest would speak of Aling with such utter contempt, calling it outdated.

Then, my eyes caught his shoulder. It was marked with a black 'X'. Right where the Aling Sect insignia, representing his affiliation, should have been.

Is that... heresy?

... I closed my eyes. I hadn't heard a thing. I hadn't seen a thing.

"A declaration of surrender has just arrived from the Zenith Kingdom. The war is over."

Arsen's voice from behind me was calm.

The battlefield fell silent so quickly that the destruction of the ships, the roaring flames, and the sudden surrender felt almost like an illusion. Up on the riverbank, the soldiers' faces were flushed with the heat of victory.

Instead of answering, I gave a quiet nod. I didn't think this was some deceptive ploy by the enemy. Their main force was currently resting at the bottom of the river.

The tension that had been tightly coiled deep in my chest began to unravel. Only now did it finally sink in that it was over.

"Now, we will assess the casualties, sort the prisoners, and..." Arsen trailed off, gazing across the river. I could see the prisoners being dragged out in long lines. Though his tone remained composed, something about it had subtly shifted. "And... we must excise the most useless elements."

...Wait a minute. What did he just say?

"This war has made one thing abundantly clear to me." Arsen smiled, though heaven knew how he had interpreted the look in my eyes. "Consecutive defeats. No matter how delayed our reforms were... this was simply unacceptable. This war has taught us that lesson painfully well. The military must change now."

"Most of the old leadership fled, convinced of our defeat. Even if they return, they won't be able to sit comfortably in their seats anymore. Now that the incompetent have been swept away, this is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠our chance. New talent will take their place."

It was nice that he was having a moment of deep reflection, but... I couldn't share his sentiment at all. I felt an ominous premonition.

Surely... it can't be, right? No. I clearly told him. I said this wasn't my doing.

It felt as though the sturdy lifeline I thought I was holding onto was actually a noose prepared to bind me. As if trying to lighten the mood, he put on a bright ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expression and spoke.

"People like you... in the kingdom you used to live in, they are called 'Chief Priests' rather than strategists, correct?"

A deeply traditional, localized term that felt entirely out of place in a fantasy world reached my ears. It felt strongly like an introductory remark meant to pave the way for whatever bombshell was coming next. At that familiar word, my eyes instinctively darted toward someone.

...Yerin?

Yerin was standing next to Arsen, puffing out her little tadpole belly and snorting proudly.

I hadn't just been talking to myself in the barracks over the past few days. A highly inquisitive child had clung to my side, peppering me with endless questions. I had fallen into a "But why?" hell.

"...Wait... the world is actually round? It's not flat like a plate?"

"...Yeah. Usually."

"But why?"

"It's just naturally round. Because... wait. Jiri?"

I had either answered simple questions like that, or...

"Do the high and mighty back in your hometown ask for your opinion too, Prophet?"

High and mighty. Ah, royalty. I had recalled historical records of Joseon kings asking chief priests about rain and harvests. It wasn't entirely incorrect.

"Yes."

"But why?"

"...Well, because they usually need it to read fortunes or divine the nation's fate."

"Then what do they call you back home, Prophet?"

"Usually... they called ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me a Chief Priest."

"But why?"

"...Hold on, Jiri? Ah. A Chief Priest is the leader who oversees rituals, offers sacrifices to the gods, performs ceremonies, and acts as a bridge between the gods and humanity."

The words I had spoken back then had now come back to haunt me. Arsen scanned the crowd gathered on the fortress wall and spoke.

"As of today, the position of strategist is abolished. In its place, we shall establish a new department. The name of this department shall be the 'New Weather Forecasting, Rainfall Observation, and Academic Analysis Strategy Department'—abbreviated as the 'Theology Department'. And I hereby appoint Kaimu Doyunes as the first Chief Priest of this Theology Department."

...There were so many things I wanted to object to.

First of all, the department name itself was a disaster. "New Weather Forecasting, Rainfall Observation, and Academic Analysis Strategy Department"? This was a blatant, roundabout way of forcing through that "introducing theology" nonsense we had discussed before! No, but seriously—abbreviating that mouthful to "Theology Department" was an incredibly forced stretch!

On top of that, the newly created position replacing the strategist was... "Chief Priest"? Is this... a military or a temple? And they were putting me in that position? Doyunes, a black-haired, cult-leading foreign worker?

Of course, looking on the bright side, starting as a foreign laborer and rising to a strategist, and now to the incredibly grand-sounding position of Chief Priest, could be seen as a classic rags-to-riches success story. But there was one problem, and it was absolutely fatal.

I... never wanted a promotion.

I didn't want the Karis Empire to find out about me. I just wanted to quietly slip away before they did. So, this was no reward. It was a punishment disguised as a promotion.

"Waaaaaaah—! Doyunes! Doyunes! Prophet! Prophet!"

Thunderous cheers shook the top of the fortress walls. At the same time, bound prisoners were being dragged up onto the watchtower one by one.

"The man on the left is Bardomis, the enemy's Grand General. Beside him is the Heavenly Strategist, Rachel. She is the woman who toyed with us using all sorts of schemes."

At the title "Heavenly Strategist," my eyes naturally drifted toward her. She was the first main NPC I was meeting face-to-face since waking up in this world. In the game, she was always depicted as calm and intellectual. With an impeccable posture and golden eyes, she possessed an air of profound mystery.

But when I followed the description with high expectations, all I saw was someone looking like a drowned rat.

Drip. Drip. Hair soaked by the rain, a cloak caked in mud. Water that hadn't dried yet dripped onto the floor. She was a complete mess. The "calm and mysterious beauty" I knew from the game was nowhere to be found.

Even so, the light in her eyes remained unextinguished, burning fiercely. As she scanned her surroundings as if searching for someone, her gaze locked onto mine.

Oh. I know that look.

According to the game's lore... 'When they make that kind of face, it usually means they're vowing never to forget you... right?'

"Excuse me... Arsen?"

When I looked back, Arsen had already approached the prince and princess and was deep in conversation with them. Left in this spot were only the bound Rachel, myself, and Bardomis, who lay collapsed and tied up on the ground.

A stinging gaze pricked at me. It felt almost as if she were shooting lasers from her eyes. A voice as cold as frost brushed past my ears.

"Was it you?"

It was a familiar tone. Firm, clear pronunciation. I slowly lowered my fan and turned my head.

Rachel, the Heavenly Strategist. Though her rain-soaked hair clung to her face, her eyes burned with an intensity far greater than any of her official game illustrations. I offered her an innocent, ignorant smile, but her face was already set with absolute certainty.

"It wasn't just once or twice. Our plans... they were completely ruined because of you." She took a step closer. Water dripped from the hem of her wet garments. "At first, I tried my best to dismiss it as a mere coincidence. But... when such coincidences repeated themselves, a thought occurred to me. Perhaps this isn't a coincidence at all."

"Could it not truly be a coincidence?"

At my words, she paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes. Her expression was calm, but her tone was icy.

"If an arrow shot at random happens to pierce the gap in a general's armor, and the wind just happens to blow at that exact moment, and the fleet just happens to march in that precise direction—I would certainly love to meet the person who could orchestrate such a chain of coincidences. If such a person exists, they must be the luckiest soul in the world."

"Excluding that, there is only one other possibility. That there was someone who predicted all of it: the river's water ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠level, the fleet's movement path, the flow of the wind, and the exact timing of the communication disruption."

"And for some reason, the latter sounds far more credible to me."

Soldiers approached and began to lead her away toward the other prisoners. Rachel frowned slightly, then turned her head back to me.

"Next time... we will have a proper conversation. You and I, we will surely meet again."

She finished speaking and quietly turned her back. The Heavenly Strategist's footsteps were steady, but her mind was anything but.

This was the second time. The second time she had encountered an existence she could not comprehend. But this time was different. The man before her held neither sword nor magic. Instead, he possessed something that utterly overwhelmed both.

It wasn't mere deduction or intuition. He had moved with the absolute certainty of someone who already held the answers.

The exact hour the water level would rise. The moment the southern wind would shift. The precise spot where the fleet would enter a blind spot. The window when communications would be paralyzed. The information was overwhelming, the variables shifted by the second, and the stage was a massive river and battlefield. Yet, a single man had predicted and orchestrated all of it with flawless precision.

It makes no sense. Denial rose endlessly within her.

However, her intellect, entirely detached from her emotions, was already drawing its conclusion. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

That Eastern man. He was the mastermind behind all of this.

And even after accomplishing all of this, he simply stood there, casually looking up at the sky while holding his fan. As if absolutely nothing had happened.

Rachel did not stop walking. A cold sweat slowly trickled down her spine. Perhaps the words she had left him with—"Next time... we will have a proper conversation"—were not meant for him at all, but were merely a self-hypnotic spell to suppress her own rising terror.

Her fingernails dug deep into her clenched fists.