Flames in the Forest and Poison in the Well
The act was pure wartime atrocity.
Burning the forest, poisoning the village well. It was the kind of thing that would earn the harshest sentences if the world were still at war.
But there was no war going on.
Yet just because the world wasn’t burning didn’t mean it had to be. How utterly monstrous to commit such crimes simply because you felt like it, without even the blinding madness of battle to justify it!
Team A’s leader and the healer of the same position as Tarte, Miro, had already surpassed level 15.
The blessings of mass slaughter.
By burning the forest and poisoning the well, she had felled far more enemies than should have been possible.
The party’s assassin, Shadow, secretly craved the thrill of madness and desired to look truly insane.
Yet to the cold eye of a third party, she appeared nothing more than a common attention-seeker pretending to have mental issues on social media.
She would never have agreed with the people she killed with her blade.
<Looking at the things they’re doing, it’s obvious the world of superpowers should never arrive.>
Even voices accusing Team A of inhuman, antisocial behavior surfaced, but they were quickly buried.
Only those with normal, sound minds fled the broadcast, leaving behind the fans who genuinely enjoyed Team A’s atrocities.
Countless viewers who simply wanted to watch the world burn remained, and many more would follow.
The world was never kind to anyone.
“Light behind my head, healing, and purification. She really is the perfect saintess.”
“Don’t you dare say that, Explosion-pal.”
Tarte, who had learned Cure at level 8, had healed every patient in the village who was still alive and purified the well.
The Hero’s Light gave extra bonuses for healing and purification, so she had no choice but to keep the light blazing even if she hated it.
Thanks to that, the villagers now worshipped her as a saintess.
Tarte found it embarrassingly embarrassing.
She told herself it was just another job like being a priest, but the self-deception didn’t quite stick.
“Who on earth would become a saintess without knowing which god to believe in.”
The holy book granted to the priest profession had been thrown away somewhere in the forest because it caused aggro toward the Deer God.
She didn’t need faith at all, and she didn’t even know which god she served, yet the recovery skills worked perfectly.
“If the Tower’s creator really is the Demon, then the god of this Tower is the Demon anyway, right?”
“What if I just believed in the System God? Flying spaghetti in the sky is fine too.”
“Jokes aside, let’s head back and rest already.”
The Starry Night Party had hunted for almost a full day.
The forest was so dense that moonlight barely reached the ground, but they had hunted without issue because light was constantly glowing behind Tarte’s head.
They hadn’t rested when they should have, and they hadn’t slept when they should have, so exhaustion piled up heavily.
Upon reaching the village, Tarte tried to put the rest of the party in the inn, but Daepokpal insisted it was dangerous to act alone and followed her.
The other two then tried to follow, so Tarte proposed splitting into pairs: one pair resting, the other healing the villagers.
After a while, the resting pair would handle repairs and resupply, while the healing pair would rest.
Honestly, three useless people wandering around was a waste.
She couldn’t say “you’re completely useless,” but she still thought it.
Right now they were on their way back to the inn after finishing all the healing.
Tarte glanced down at her own chest.
When she stood at attention, her head bowed and her feet still invisible.
Even a tiny spill of food while eating would normally fall to the table, but instead it landed on her chest.
At first it had been awkward and terrifying, yet after just two days she had grown completely used to it.
It was her own, after all.
Understandable that men went crazy for it, but the complicated feelings that came with knowing it was her own were another story.
<Maybe Team A is doing something right?>
Tarte had no syndrome of the kind and didn’t even recognize NPCs as people.
She even thought quietly that Team A’s method might be more efficient.
But walking a different path from Team A wasn’t grand strategy.
It was simply that if she followed them blindly the latecomers would be at a disadvantage, so she had taken another route.
And so she was worshipped by the world as a saintess.
A saintess who didn’t believe in gods and didn’t even know which one—how ridiculous was that.
Tarte had long decided she would never be the kind of person who heard “saintess.”
“Everyone, good night.”
Before entering the inn, Tarte greeted the viewers.
She hadn’t wanted the broadcast on, and she couldn’t turn it off even if she had wanted to.
But the people inside were real.
Not NPCs scattered throughout the Tower.
She stepped inside, Privacy Mode activated, and the broadcast ended.
Before sleeping, Tarte rolled around on the bed, relishing the compliments sent by every single person.
“Who is even the saintess? I’ve never heard anyone call me kind, and I’m not even a woman to begin with.”
She would have kicked the wall or stomped the floor if it were a nuisance, so she tormented the poor pillow instead.
If the broadcast had been on, the viewers would have died from her cuteness.
Privacy Mode had saved the lives of multiple people.
Emotionally it was fine, but her body was bone-tired from laboring for more than half a day extra beyond the twenty-four hours of sleep she should have had.
Staying awake for forty-eight straight hours was not recommended unless you were suicidal.
She passed out.
When she woke up, it was night.
Waking up at night was something Tarte did frequently.
She had been a NEET before entering the Tower.
Maintaining a proper sleep schedule without a set work schedule or classes was already difficult.
Even more so without family to live with.
“My sleep pattern!”
She checked where her companions were and stepped out of the room to explore the inn.
The restaurant was empty.
The innkeeper was the only one guarding the place.
Out in the courtyard, Hyeolpung Geomseong and Muraebae were fighting.
Tarte startled and tried to stop them, only to realize the weapons in their hands weren’t swords.
“You’re back?”
Daepokpal, the man outside the fight, spotted Tarte and greeted her.
Inside the fight, Hyeolpung Geomseong and Muraebae didn’t notice Tarte or chose not to break focus, continuing their spar.
<They’re actually decent.>
At the start they had been clumsy.
They couldn’t even balance their own body weight.
Not handling your own body was a funny thing to say, but for modern office workers and students it was quite rare.
Yet after only two days of serious training, they were already wielding proper swordsmanship.
Tarte felt a little sore.
After all, men went crazy for sword fights.
She wanted to ask them to spar together.
But their bodies had changed too much.
They had adapted quickly and could walk and run well enough.
But their minds, tastes, and hearts remained the same.
That was how she felt.
“Krooo!”
The duel between Muraebae and Hyeolpung Geomseong ended with Muraebae victorious.
Although strength favored the sword saint, Muraebae had refused to enter the pure strength contest.
She dodged and deflected attacks, exploiting every opening in Hyeolpung Geomseong’s defense.
Eventually the sword saint fell, and Muraebae pressed her blade to his back.
If it had been real combat, his body would have been torn to pieces long ago.
Even without that, the final blow could have taken his head.
It was truly fortunate it was only a spar.
“I’ll heal you both.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ve shown a shameful face.”
Using skills in the Tower increased proficiency the more you used them.
Mana recovered over time.
So leaving recovery skills idle was a loss.
Tarte healed the two of them, then eyed Hyeolpung Geomseong’s throat.
“May I join your spar too?”
“Do you want to join the spar?”