The Most Precious Soul

The Eternal Ascetic

“So the one controlling the Skin Hybrid of God is Ruin?”

The mere mention of Ruin. If the Eternal Ascetic had been defeated, his body stolen, and himself locked away in a prison, then I could not help but ask who truly ruled this island now—who the Skin Hybrid of God really was.

The great eye shifted left, then right.

—It is Ruin, and yet it is not. It moves by the will of a fragment of Ruin.

A fragment that possessed will of its own, using flesh as its host. I had seen it once before. In the Abyss, the Four Calamity Baal had been under the thrall of just such a fragment. Everything—the hollow shell of Baal awakening, sinking into the Abyss to evolve—had been the fragment’s design.

“If it’s dominated by a fragment, why did the Skin Hybrid of God bother creating all these rules?”

That part still made no sense. Gathering rivals on God’s Island and laying down rules as if it were a game…

—That is my influence. I have been calling to you without cease.

The Eternal Ascetic answered as though it were nothing of consequence. Though the body itself had been seized, his influence lingered—habits, residual will. That was why the Skin Hybrid of God had fashioned this game. And that was why I had come here: all of it by his design.

…At last the questions resolved themselves. It felt as though the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked into place.

“So the fact that I already knew of the Skin Hybrid of God was also your doing.”

—The Eternal Monarch and the Eternal Ascetic are inseparable. You recognized me by instinct alone.

By instinct. I nodded. Every doubt I had carried was swept away in a single stroke. Now it was time to answer the new ones that had risen in their place.

“If I become the master of God’s Island, can you reclaim the body that was taken from you?”

—A body once stolen by a fragment can never be reclaimed.

……Never?

Yet the race-reconstruction quest had clearly stated that once I became master of God’s Island, the Eternal Ascetic would awaken. Had it not meant he would reclaim his body and rebuild his people? More than that—I myself had once lost my body and taken it back. When Baal’s fragment had consumed and killed me, the hidden power of Eternal Randolph had restored my flesh and resurrected me.

Without a miracle of that magnitude, it is impossible.

Countless miracles had aligned that day. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could not afford to hope for such fortune again. I had to prepare, to ensure nothing of the sort ever happened twice.

—Eternal Monarch! Our people’s dearest wish begins with my death. Only then may the countless “seeds” within me be scattered across the island.

The Eternal Ascetic spoke with heavy emphasis. Not awaken him—kill him. An approach I had never imagined. Yet the seeds required for the race’s restoration were held inside the Eternal Ascetic. Only by slaying him would the wish of reconstruction be set free.

“You called me here to scatter those seeds?”

—Half of the reason, yes. The seeds my flesh carries must never fall into their hands.

“Their hands?”

—The Dominators of the Abyss. Should one of them claim victory in this trial and reach completion, he would draw that much closer to becoming the Abyss King. Even now the Abyss seethes with countless Dominators and masters of fragments, each proclaiming himself king. If the seeds were to pass to them as well…… the mere thought is nightmare.

The Abyss must never be conquered by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠any single will. The moment it is, that will’s gaze will turn solely upon Pangenia. Another Ruin, under another name, would be born. To prevent that, the Eternal Ascetic had summoned me here—to the struggle that began on God’s Island, the contest to decide its true master.

Yet he had said that was only half the reason. I furrowed my brow slightly.

“And the other half?”

—For your completion, Eternal Monarch.

“……?”

—The time has come to choose.

Choose? What choice was there to make? Victory in the game was already certain; there was nothing to decide. If even my arrival here had been his design, what exactly was I meant to choose?

The Eternal Ascetic. That colossal eye regarded me and spoke.

—Discard it. And be complete. This place exists for that alone.

“……Discard what?”

Discard. Pour out whatever I possessed, whatever I carried. Yet I could not even begin to guess. When I asked again, the Eternal Ascetic answered with something like a sneer.

—You already know, do you not? Your most precious thing. The thing you no longer need. The lingering attachment and the soul that every soul who arrives on this island carries!

……My most precious thing. But I did not know what it was. I was not pretending ignorance—I truly did not know. Seeing my blank expression, the Eternal Ascetic clicked his tongue.

—What clung to the Cheonmado, to the copper coin, to the diary was never mere memory. It was soul. Everything you have read until now was the souls themselves.

That the most precious things were, in truth, souls. He was not wrong. The Evil God dwelling in the Cheonmado had been the soul of the first Heavenly Demon. The only reason I had recognized that presence, unlike the others, was because its ego had been so overwhelmingly fierce. The copper coin the Owner of the Tomb had cherished, Raiga’s voice diary—both had held not only memory but soul.

Yet I had lost nothing. I could not even guess at a soul that was bound to me.

—Souls that can only be completed once they are discarded. Ordinarily they cling to related objects, yet your “most precious soul” was lodged within you yourself.

Souls cling to objects. I felt I had heard that somewhere before. But if it was lodged within me……

—Think back. Since when have you never logged out? Do you even remember the last time you returned? At some point you have remained permanently logged in to Pangenia alone, have you not?

“……!!!”

My eyes flew wide. Those words were unmistakably familiar. Login. Logout. Just as the Eternal Ascetic said, at some point I had stopped logging out. I could not even recall the last time. Perhaps the Second Invasion had been the final moment. After that I had immersed myself in Pangenia and never once questioned it.

Yet……

What is this?

That was not the only strangeness. A fact that defied all understanding.

Why did I ever try to log out?

There was a memory carved out and erased. A name I strained to recall yet could not grasp no matter how hard I tried.

Who am I?

The one moving this body was, of course, me. The existence called “I.” But who was that “I”? What was it, where had it come from, how did it exist?

The Eternal Ascetic continued as though my confusion were only natural.

—You lost that name. You forgot it. Yet there is no need to reclaim it. You are the Eternal Monarch Randolph—one who began solely as Randolph and has already been completed.

—Even when you tried to recall your memories after being locked in the prison, that name alone never surfaced. Because it is a name you no longer need.

—Forget it. Forever.

—You are already complete.

—You need no longer be controlled.

—From this moment on, live your life wholly as yourself. Eternal Monarch Randolph!

Goooooh.

The Owner of the Tomb gazed upon the Dreadful Omen. Something luminous. Now that the Dreadful Omen had received its most precious thing, the Owner of the Tomb itself was owed something in return.

“Do you truly wish to know so badly? The child’s whereabouts?”

Goooooooh—!

The Owner of the Tomb reacted with violent intensity. It wanted to know with a madness that had driven it to wander the Abyss for uncountable ages. Yet it had found not even a single clue.

Then the Dreadful Omen spoke.

“Did someone tell you that if you came to God’s Island, you would find the child?”

Goo. Goooo.

The Owner of the Tomb nodded. That was precisely why it had come to God’s Island.

“Who?”

Goooooh.

“……The Operator?”

Gooooooooh.

The Owner of the Tomb affirmed it.

The Operator, is it.

Someone who had named himself “Operator” had guided the Owner of the Tomb here…… But what, exactly, did he operate? This Abyss? Pangenia itself? Or was he a god who operated the world?

What was certain was that every soul gathered on God’s Island had come with purpose. Not only the Owner of the Tomb—every other participant as well. Each of them sought something here. God’s Island and the Holy Star? Those were secondary. They had gathered to find the things they truly desired, the things they could never afford to lose. Just like the Owner of the Tomb.

Goooooh.

At last the Owner of the Tomb fixed its gaze on the Dreadful Omen. It was time to keep the promise. It had safeguarded and handed over its most precious thing as agreed; now it demanded the child’s whereabouts.

After a moment of thought, the Dreadful Omen shook its head.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot tell you.”

……Goo?

What had it just said? It could not tell?

“Knowing would only bring you pain.”

Goooooh!

In an instant the atmosphere turned murderous. The Owner of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Tomb was pure rage—rage at the Dreadful Omen that refused to keep its word. Pain was something it would endure itself. After wandering the Abyss ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for eons and finally seizing a clue to the child’s location, it was now being told it could not know? That reclaiming its own treasure was the end of the bargain?

Gooooooooh—!!

It would kill. It would kill this thing. Just as it had crushed the monsters of the Abyss that barred its path, just as it had crushed the masters of domains—it would grind this creature to dust without leaving even powder behind.

Swaaaaaah!

In that moment, countless starlights rose behind the Dreadful Omen.

Yet initiating a duel did not automatically grant the first strike. Crushing the creature outright would have been preferable, but this was not bad either. First it would seize the Dreadful Omen’s most precious thing once more; killing it after nightfall would still be soon enough.

The Owner of the Tomb confidently embroidered the starlight. If it struck first, it judged, even the Dreadful Omen could be defeated.

In that instant—

Goooooh—?

Reading those words, the Owner of the Tomb stared at the Dreadful Omen in utter disbelief. The shock surpassed even the defeat itself. The Dreadful Omen was a Night Spirit? Had a Night Spirit been mimicking the Dreadful Omen all this time?

Goooooh!

It had been deceived. The Owner of the Tomb could no longer contain its fury. It had handed over both its own most precious thing and the Dreadful Omen’s as well.

The Owner of the Tomb swung its arm. But before the blow could land—

Shuuuung!

The Owner of the Tomb was transferred to the prison. Left alone, the Dreadful Omen once more regarded what it held in its grasp. Something round, luminous yet utterly unstable.

“Park Hyunmyung.”

Randolph’s most precious thing. His most precious soul.

The Dreadful Omen lifted its gaze to the heavens and spoke.

“……I finally understand what I must do. My king, my star.”