The Juddak Admiration Society (3)

No matter how I looked at it, this Gallum had lost his damn mind. Doxxing someone was bad enough when done in secret, but trying to dig up my real-life identity right to my face?

"A cold shower ought to bring you back to your senses."

After repeatedly cycling through bans and unbans like water torture, I checked in on Ju-hwang-pa once his rational mind seemed to reassert itself.

The moment physical therapy was applied, reason returned to Ju-hwang-pa's chat messages like clockwork. Wondering what kind of absurd excuse he had concocted, I waited, only for his rationale to be an utter spectacle.

So, to prevent me from getting doxxed, his brilliant plan was to dox me first?

Anyone could spit empty promises. With words alone, I could claim that I loved Crown Prince Frederick and was secretly a cute half-elf archmage girl.

"Get lost."

I hovered my cursor over the ban button, setting the duration to 9,999 days. But just as my finger was about to click ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down, a trade prompt from Ju-hwang-pa popped up on the interface.

"Hmm."

I hesitated for a beat, wondering if I should accept it. What if it was loaded with some trap like explosion magic? Right then, the Holy Sword—which had been dutifully serving as a desk lamp—suddenly zipped through the air and planted itself in front of me.

Hummm. Huummm.

"What? You're saying you'll block the magic for me?"

Hummm.

"Because you're a Holy Sword, you know how to counter almost every spell in existence?"

Had it grown sick of functioning merely as bunker lighting? Watching it hurriedly pitch its credentials, I decided to trust it. Besides, it probably still harbored lingering guilt over dozing off and failing to protect me during that previous kidnapping incident.

"All right, I'll count on you."

Hummm.

Far across the room, the Masterpiece Sword gifted by the Dwarves gave an anxious twitch, warily eyeing the Holy Sword. But the moment the Holy Sword rotated its hilt in its direction, the dwarven blade stiffened and went back to silently guarding the entrance as if nothing had happened.

Now that I had magical protection lined up, I accepted the scroll offered by Ju-hwang-pa. Of course, simply ignoring the prompt would have been the safest choice, but my curiosity got the better of me.

The instant I hit confirm, a cardboard box materialized out of thin air and dropped onto the floor with a dull thud.

"Oho... so this is a magic scroll?"

Inside lay the parchment sent by Ju-hwang-pa. It looked like the typical scrolls one saw in fantasy games—emanating a faint, imposing pressure and covered in indecipherable runes. Mages could probably read it at a glance, but as an ordinary modern human, it was complete gibberish to me. Fortunately, I had an all-purpose cheat key at my disposal.

"...What the hell?"

The moment I finished reading the description, words completely failed me. To prove his innocence, Ju-hwang-pa had literally handed me his life on a silver platter.

"Wait, you guys weren't just larping as a cult?!"

People kept calling them a cult, but seeing how their funding came from diligent honest labor and voluntary offerings, I had let my guard down. They weren't roleplaying. They were an authentic, full-blown cult. Who on earth hands over a scroll containing their literal mortality just to earn brownie points from an internet moderator? If my clumsy fingers accidentally tore this sheet of paper while opening a snack wrapper, a regular user on my board would drop dead on the spot.

And the trouble didn't stop at whether I was being deified by fanatics. On the public boards, a massive religious war had erupted.

What had started as minor petty forum bait had gradually widened into a fissure, and that fissure had transformed into a raging rift devouring the entire board.

"Why does everyone lose their absolute minds the moment religion gets dragged into the conversation?"

Even though I had cut off the cultists' energy supply by restricting the church's communion bread, the forums continued to burn furiously. I made up my mind. If they were going to keep this nonsense up, I had no choice.

"I really didn't want to pull this card out..."

Closing my eyes, I blew out a weary sigh and drafted a new official notice.

Even with an aggressive crackdown, netizens rarely listen on the first warning. It was human nature for someone to push the boundary, testing whether the admin actually meant what he said.

"Just give me one. Just one idiot..."

Like an undercover detective watching a sting operation unfold, I monitored the recent posts with hawkish precision. And finally, a fish bit the hook.

"Ah, 'is what I almost said,' huh?"

Dodging the bullet with an 'almost' clause was technically within the rules. I decided to wait a little longer. Sure enough, another user stepped straight into the minefield.

"Gotcha."

I clicked straight into the user's profile and began dissecting their activity logs post by post.

"Oho, look at this."

This user was an even bigger hypocrite than I had dared to imagine.

One prominent agitator executed. Almost immediately, hate posts and factional squabbles began vanishing across the gallery. Having an austere priest—who routinely screamed about chastity with bulging veins in his neck—revealed as an avid furry connoisseur proved utterly devastating. What kind of absurdity was this, like backup dancers busting moves at a solemn funeral?

"Still, this isn't enough."

The church had not been rotten from the beginning. Integrity, moderation, charity, and virtue had been its original tenets, and in its inception, believers upheld them. It was only as centuries passed and the world degraded that the church grew decadent. Exposing activity logs was fatal to the church faction because of their hypocrisy, but it had far less effect on the Jusamo cultists.

The cultists possessed zero sense of shame from the start. Perhaps because they commissioned risqué artwork and worshipped me as their god—not that I ever agreed to it—their doctrine was as degenerate and open-minded as an anonymous imageboard. In fact, whenever I tried to publicly humiliate them, they accepted it with saintly humility.

"Hmm..."

This was nowhere in my calculations. To have them accept public doxxing like holy martyrdom was utterly intolerable. My pride as the Head Moderator revolted against it.

"You agree, don't you, John Malphite?"

"Rock solid."

Even my persona as John Malphite, proud citizen of Kellierton, could not stomach such unearned spiritual victory. In the end, I decided to deploy my true nuclear option, unleashing the ultimate finishing move.

Cracking my knuckles, I typed out one final announcement.

In an instant, the gallery plunged into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unprecedented, cosmic pandemonium.