What a Nightmare (1)
"Ugh..."
Late summer had been showing off its heat with a vengeance, only for a sudden chill to slip through his clothes. His body shuddered against the cold air.
By the time he finished the last-minute work dumped on him at the office, the sky outside had already darkened into dusk, streetlamps lighting the way here and there.
Scattered pedestrians hurried home along the roadside. They were probably cogs in the same social machine as him, working late into the evening.
"Ugh... it's freezing."
He could have sworn he'd been commuting in short sleeves only days ago, yet the weather had turned cold in the blink of an eye. He quickened his pace toward home.
Ding-dong—
"Have a good evening."
Four cans of beer for ten thousand won, bought on the way home. Plastic bag swinging from one hand, he trudged the rest of the way.
Beep, beep-beep-beep— bleep.
He opened the door on autopilot and stripped off his clothes, heading straight for the bathroom to enjoy a scalding shower. Standing under the water, he found himself thinking of the strange cult woman he'd run into again on the way home from work.
"...Honestly. What could she possibly want to scam out of me that she'd wait until I clocked out?"
The cult woman from his morning commute had, astonishingly, loitered near the office until he finished work. Waiting out in this cold took a certain kind of dedication—he'd give her that much.
"Ha, what? My energy's too pure? Unbelievable."
How a pretty woman like that ended up in a cult was beyond him.
She'd clung stubbornly, repeating that his energy was far too pure, until he threatened to call the police—then she vanished in an instant. She really had been pretty, though...
He finished a rough shower, shook the water from his hair, and toweled off his still-damp body. Dinner tonight would be... ketchup bean-sprout salad and instant rice.
"Payday tomorrow... I'm completely broke."
Tomorrow night, pork belly. He made the vow as he unlocked his phone. The familiar loading screen passed, and the logo of the weapon-crafting game appeared.
Then the temple filled the screen. First things first—check the attendance reward.
Attendance check complete! Your reward has been delivered to the mailbox!
He opened the mailbox at once. His heart fluttered the same way it did when he cracked open a random box.
He received a pink-looking candy. It looked like the kind of candy that would level you up if you ate it, and it dropped straight into his inventory.
Tastes strange. Full of strange energy. Eat too much and you'll go strange.
The awful dad-joke in the description made him scowl. Did they really think that kind of pun was funny?
"No idea what it even is—strange energy? I'll just gift this to some random villager."
Feeling like it had been a while since he'd pushed the mine deeper, he shifted the screen toward the mines. Right now... Floor 6 was open as far as "Sturdy Gold."
"Time to open another floor."
He had a decent pile of gold, so he unlocked Floor 7 of the mine. Watching the gold drain away in a rush left him with a twinge of regret.
"Maybe I should've just unlocked a weapon instead?"
No—the mine had to be viewed as a long-term investment. He was an ant investor playing the long game.
The dwarves clanged and hammered away on Floor 7, then waddled back to the temple to offer up the ore.
Oh—platinum. After last time's gold, he could really feel the prefixes climbing higher. He needed to craft some decent weapons soon, too.
"Platinum goes straight into the smelter."
The higher the grade of ore, the longer it took to refine. Watching the dwarf sweat buckets in front of the blazing furnace almost made him feel sorry for the little guy.
After that he sold off a decent stock of weapons and gold, then sold more weapons to the adventurers who'd come to the inn. Once he sent them out on "Beast Subjugation," the day's work was done.
"Kenis has been showing up for beast subjugation like it's the most natural thing in the world lately."
She'd been missing from the hunts for a while, then reappeared out of nowhere. A bug?
"No idea..."
Thinking about it wouldn't solve anything. He switched the screen over to World Exploration mode.
The AI and graphics were high enough that just watching was genuinely fun.
He collected faith, then moved the view around the Holy City, watching the residents go about their lives. They laughed and chatted among themselves, haggled over goods, even argued.
"...They really made this well."
He shifted his view toward the massive temple. As a place that housed the gods, its grandeur and solemn atmosphere were overwhelming.
"Oh—Hans?"
Wandering from room to room, he found Hans lying on a bed. The adventurer who'd first come to his inn and bought a weapon—Hans—was right here.
"Ah, so the people from this world are the ones who come to the inn."
It felt like the residents of this side of the world were being summoned over to the inn.
Suddenly he remembered the Strange Candy from attendance. Perfect—he'd give it to Hans.
"Here. Eat this. It's Strange Candy."
He dragged the Strange Candy and dropped it in front of Hans. The man lying in bed looked around, picked up the candy, and ate it.
"Oh..."
It must have tasted truly strange—Hans's face twisted, then he began to tremble. A moment later he collapsed onto the bed. Huh?
"...Did he die?"
Checking the info, it didn't look like he was dead. He favorited Hans for now, then went looking for the hero-rank adventurer he'd given a shield last time... What was his name again? Isca? Islca?
Anyway, he moved the screen to find that guy.
"What? Where's he going?"
Why was he riding off alone on a horse? That area was blocked by fog. Iscal galloped straight toward the fog-shrouded region.
Amazingly, as Iscal moved, the fog around him melted away. It seemed that, like in StarCraft, a resident had to be looking at the path for the fog to clear.
"...How far is he going?"
Curiosity got the better of him. He cracked open a can of beer and locked the camera on Iscal.
Caesar stood before the reception room door and let out a long breath.
This meeting would decide the future of the Empire. He glanced at the mountain of high-quality paper the servants were carrying in behind him.
Documents on Stultus's crimes that he and the chancellor had spent several sleepless nights compiling. Everything now hinged on how he explained them to the heretic inquisitors.
"...Open it."
The well-oiled door swung open without a sound.
Caesar's steps into the reception room were no different from those of a general marching to war—truly a solemn sight.
Five people were seated inside.
Girls with red and black hair, a pink-haired young woman, a silver-haired middle-aged man, and a heretic inquisitor wearing a crow mask.
Why is there only one inquisitor?
Caesar was not so green as to let that question show on his face. Dealing with slippery nobles required that much as a baseline.
"May the grace of the Six Gods be with you. We greet the Emperor of the Empire."
The silver-haired middle-aged man rose from his seat, made the sign of the cross, and greeted Caesar.
He neither bowed at the waist nor lowered his head before the Emperor of the Empire. The others rose as well and made the sign.
Caesar felt the escort knights behind him bristle, but he calmly returned the sign of the cross.
"May the grace of the Six Gods be with you as well."
As Caesar took the seat of honor, the middle-aged man stepped forward as the party's representative and began introducing names.
One of only three living Paladins, a Hero chosen by the gods, a young lady from a northern duchy, an Apostle charged with assisting the Hero, and a heretic inquisitor.
The sheer brilliance of the lineup sent a cold sweat down the back of Caesar's neck.
Just how seriously is the Holy City taking this matter?
Caesar's expression darkened slightly, and Demonic carefully opened his mouth.
"Your Majesty, how much do you know of this affair?"
It begins. Caesar swallowed dryly once.
"If you mean Stultus, I know he received divine punishment. Even within the Empire he was infamous for his savage nature and wicked deeds—"
Demonic shook his head.
"We did not come to speak of Stultus's crimes."
"What?"
"Your Majesty, first dismiss everyone else in this room. What follows will cause great turmoil."
Demonic pointed to the escort knights standing at rigid attention behind him. The knights, bristling at the insolence, flexed their hands—but did not move rashly.
They were the Emperor's blades, and a blade is not swung without its master's command.
"...Withdraw."
"Your Majesty!"
"Must I say it twice? Withdraw."
"...Understood."
The escort knights bowed and left the reception room. Caesar looked at Demonic with an expression that asked whether he was satisfied now.
Demonic met the Emperor's gaze in silence.
"So what is it you wish to say?"
Demonic slowly opened his mouth.
"According to the Pantheon's investigation... Stultus was a man who contracted with a demon."
"Wh-what?!"
Caesar shot to his feet without thinking. Contracted with a demon? Where in the world... no—since when?
In that instant, Stultus's medical arts—his "treatments"—flashed through Caesar's mind.
An ominous sensation brushed the back of his neck.
Surely not.
"Stultus used the power he gained from his contract with the demon—"
It couldn't be.
"—on his patients—"
It must not be.
"—planting the seeds of a curse known as the Demon Plague—"
The horrific words leaving Demonic's mouth. Caesar felt his vision lurch violently.
Everything around him warped, spinning and mocking him as if dancing in circles.
"Those infected by the Demon Plague ultimately become horrific fiends—"
Julius.
"—and if other victims are nearby, they merge into one—"
My son.
"—we are currently searching for a solution—"
My only son.
"—for the time being, we request a list of patients for minimal measures—"
"Ah... aah..."
The sounds around him receded, growing muffled. His increasingly distorted vision split everything into two, then three, dancing and jeering.
His head felt ready to split open. He could no longer tell whether he was the one staggering, or the world around him.
"Ah..."
In that moment, Caesar felt something inside him snap clean through.
With it, his vision darkened, and the carpet on the floor rushed up to meet him.
The sounds around him spread out, muffled as if he were underwater.
Yes. All of this must be a dream.
Truly a foul nightmare.
When he woke, nothing would have happened. Julius would be healthy, and he and the chancellor would diligently attend to state affairs.
Those ordinary days would continue.
"—Ha! Your Majesty—!"
My only son, Julius.
"—Ruel! Quickly———!!"
I love you.