Black-Haired Succubus (1)
"I finally found the counter..."
Namely, turning Spam into a luxury good. By making it an ironclad rule that canned Spam would only hit the marketplace when the users behaved themselves, I had managed to effortlessly tame even the most insufferable wave of worship-trolling.
In the end, even the legendary Hero crumbled before the salty glory of processed luncheon meat.
It's me.
Ever since I put Spam on the shop, inquiry tickets have been pouring in like a flood, so here's a quick rundown.
Q. Will Spam be restocked on a regular schedule?
Nope. I'll only put it up if you guys behave yourselves.
Q. Release Spam more often, damn it!
Memes poking fun at me or half-joking praise are fine.
But if anyone starts getting genuinely theological about it, you're catching a permanent ban and Spam is disappearing from the marketplace entirely. Got it?
As long as you steer clear of that, I'll consider regular stock positively.
Q. This is tyranny, you little shit!
Anyway, worship memes are back on the table.
However, let me be crystal clear: I am an ordinary human being.
I am not an omnipotent, omniscient god, and I will not be made into an object of religious worship.
"Hmm..."
I didn't mind the memes, but genuine, earnest deification made my skin crawl. Yet staring down at those last few comments left a strange, heavy ache behind my ribs. On the surface, everyone in the Gallery clowned around and bantered like care-free idiots, but behind those screens, the reality was starkly grim.
After wrestling with my thoughts, I reached out to a Sub-Mod who probably had centuries of experience dealing with mortal reverence.
YongyongJukgetji: Mortals are far frailer creatures than thou might imagine.
Judddak*: Meaning what?
YongyongJukgetji: A mortal's life flickers precarious as a candle in a tempest.
YongyongJukgetji: A mere misstep resulting in a fall can strike them blind.
YongyongJukgetji: The faintest graze from a rusted blade may taint their blood and claim their breath.
YongyongJukgetji: Thus do mortals forever seek to lean upon entities grand and overwhelming.
YongyongJukgetji: Even more so when faced with one as exceedingly benevolent as thou. Wouldst thou not agree? :)
Humans didn't drop dead quite as easily as all that, but they certainly broke with terrifying ease. In the span of a few careless seconds, their bodies or minds could suffer irreversible damage, condemning them to a lifetime of agony. That was why, as Yongyong had put it, they desperately sought gods—why they reached out blindly for anything solid enough to cling to.
My announcement had thrown half the Gallery into a quiet panic. Staring at the frantic comments piling up beneath the post, I sighed and typed out a quick reply.
I had cobbled together the best compromise I could manage, though whether it was truly the right call remained to be seen. Before long, every plaque and holy scripture within the cathedrals bearing my moniker had been taken down. The predatory ecclesiastical culture of peddling divine dogma for profit had vanished alongside them.
An ambiguous mantle took root in its place, blossoming into a quiet, inward sanctuary nestled deep within the hearts of the desperate.
With the cathedral drama laid to rest, the Gallery settled into a spell of tranquil peace. The cultural impact of the freshly distributed Spam rivaled that of the miraculous canned tuna, sparking endless waves of culinary research across the boards as users pioneered decadent new ways to consume it.
"The monster bounty settlements wrapped up recently, didn't they?"
The monster subjugation event featuring an AK-47 assault rifle as its grand prize had been a massive success. The user who snagged first place still hadn't posted anything, which left me mildly curious, but before I could dwell on it, another thread caught my eye.
Hell yeah it arrived, of course I'm posting it! Lmaooooo!
Yep~ this right here is the current Tier-0 ultimate endgame refrigerator.
To that tiny handful of Gallums flexing their puny mini-fridges?
Shut your fucking mouths and kneel.
Chef Collection is god and I am invincible.
The user who claimed the second-place refrigerator began flexing shamelessly, instantly drawing a furious surge of traffic to the board. Which was, of course, entirely by design.
"Marketing? Who needs to pay for that?"
Winners would post brag threads, their obnoxious bragging would promote the monster bounty hunts for free, and the transaction fees from marketplace activity would flow straight into my balance. It was the ultimate hands-off, automated leveling loop.
Besides, rankers capable of placing at the top of a continent-wide bounty board were hardened, elite survivors. What reason would powerhouses like that have to act like degenerate trolls?
At least, that was what I had assumed.
Full-Health Elf: Head Mod, Head Mod!
Judddak*: ?
Full-Health Elf: Have you seen the Hall of Fame right now, daeyo?! Big trouble, daeyo!
"Huh?"
Startled by Full-Health Elf's panicked ping, I navigated to the board's top posts. Sitting right at the summit was a thread sporting an utterly deranged title.
I shall cleanse... this rotten world!
"What kind of insane bullshit is this?!"
The grand prize AK-47. The man gripping it had infiltrated the throne room of Kellierton and was currently holding its sovereign monarch, Evelin, in a deadly hostage standoff.
"Release Her Majesty this instant, you maniac!"
The royal audience chamber had collapsed into absolute chaos. For Evelin, who had simply been sitting quietly on her throne savoring a freshly opened can of tuna, disaster had struck out of nowhere.
"Stay back! One more step and I blow her head off!"
"Dammit...!"
Some random intruder had charged into the throne room, smacked her beloved can of tuna straight onto the floor, and seized her throat. Under ordinary circumstances, such an outrage should have been impossible. Even for a newborn nation, security surrounding the sovereign's throne was impenetrable; the chamber was reinforced to withstand a surprise barrage of high-tier fireballs without a scratch.
"Ugh... of all things..."
"Is the Head Moderator watching this?!"
The catastrophe stemmed entirely from the weapon cradled in the assailant's hands: the Head Moderator's legendary great magic, the firearm. A gun was a terror that even an ancient dragon could not shrug off. Staring down the barrel of what was effectively an absolute divine armament granted by the Head Moderator himself, the royal knights could not advance an inch. For all they knew, a twitch of that man's index finger would turn everyone in the hall into mangled meat.
"W-Why are you doing this...?"
Evelin wore the most wronged, aggrieved expression in the history of mortal existence. Ascending the throne had made her schedule hellishly busy. She had barely managed to clear her daily duties to indulge in a fleeting moment of pure bliss, only for this lunatic to barge in and swat her tuna can to the floor—
He smacked away my tuna can!
It was a transgression so unforgivable it had to be registered twice.
"Shut your mouth!"
"Eep!"
The freezing iron muzzle jammed hard against Evelin's soft cheek. The man holding it was completely unhinged. His pupils were drowned in madness, and his breath tore from his chest in shallow, violent gasps. Most alarming of all were his eyes—shot through with a deep, unnatural crimson haze.
"I lost my entire family to corrupt rulers like you," the man muttered, staring half-vacantly into the empty air.
Evelin's sense of injustice spiked through the ceiling. "I didn't do anything to your family!"
Her voice never penetrated the haze in his mind.
"The Emperor of Adrian is nothing but a pampered child, and the Pope has already perished."
A sweet, poisoned whisper had been coiling through his ears for days now.
Slaughter all who hold power...
Avenge your fallen kin...
It was a dark, suffocating murmur drilling into his brainstem. To a soul already broken and desolate, the command had proven utterly irresistible. It had infused a once-ordinary hunter with terrifying supernatural strength, granting him the raw power needed to seize first place in the monster hunt.
"Judddak! Show yourself! The voice is commanding me to slaughter you!" Raising his chin toward the vaulted ceiling, the man screamed at whatever unseen gaze was monitoring the hall. "If you do not appear before me right now, Head Mod, I will execute your precious Tuna Can Queen!"
The air coiled taut as a drawn bowstring. A single breath separated life from sudden death.
The community threads were spiraling into frantic doomposting when a solitary system alert flashed across everyone's feed.
"...Ah."
The grand prize had indeed been an AK-47 assault rifle. But I had never once stated that it would come loaded with ammunition.
The realization hit the assailant like a brick wall, his manic expression freezing solid in an instant.
I had put up a gun as the top prize. But I had deliberately excluded the magazine.
Well, obviously. Isn't that common sense?
Even on modern Earth, where firearm safety was drilled into the public consciousness, horrific accidents occurred every single day. Handing a fully loaded, untracked military assault rifle to an unvetted inhabitant of a lawless fantasy realm would have been gross administrative negligence. My plan had been to provide meager, controlled batches of rounds only after establishing direct, real-time communication with the winner over the course of an entire week.
Naturally, I hadn't anticipated the idiot immediately storming the royal palace with an empty firearm.
"His status looks completely off."
His eyes had gleamed blood-red, and the incoherent mumbling indicated he was clearly detached from reality. Whether he was afflicted by Outside corruption or something else would only become clear once we subdued him.
Before the knights could seize the opening, however, the man moved with unnatural, horrifying velocity, bursting out of the audience hall like a cannonball.
Threatened the poor Tuna Queen.
Turned out he had zero mana catalysts (bullets) so he's hauling ass right now lmao
The fugitive's speed was monstrous, true to his standing as the tournament champion. But he was still trapped within the fortified walls of Kellierton. With his assault rifle exposed as an empty prop, the garrison's cordon tightened with terrifying efficiency.
"Don't come any closer!"
Cornered in an alleyway, the man lunged sideways, snatching a cloaked woman passing by and hauling her in front of his chest to halt the approaching knights.
To prove he wasn't bluffing, the assailant pressed the edge of a jagged dagger against the woman's throat, close enough to nick the skin. Disgust flooded the Gallery feed, but as I zoomed in on the live broadcast, my brow furrowed.
"Wait a second..."
The female user taken hostage wasn't screaming. She wasn't trembling, weeping, or panicking. In fact, she was bizarrely tranquil. Even with cold steel resting against her jugular, there was not a trace of fear in her posture.
"Um..."
The captive gently reached up and drew back her hood.
Cascades of radiant golden hair spilled free over delicate shoulders, framing amber eyes and porcelain skin so pure and milky it seemed untouched by dust. Yet her condition was far from ordinary. Her breath came in hot, ragged pants, and a feverish, intoxicated flush colored her cheeks.
"Excuse me... but do you know where that sweet fragrance nearby is coming from?"
Her face was entirely unfamiliar, yet an unmistakable instinct jolted through my gut.
"Dryer...?"
It was the beloved fixed-nickname user herself—Geonjogi.