The Priest Who Wouldn't Leave
Anyone watching would think I'm some lunatic who goes around killing people for no reason at all. BOOM! My old friend the warhammer slammed into the ground, sending a thunderous echo through the air. The sensation that traveled up my arms was heavy, yet strangely exhilarating. New Dimension fights really were fun. Your own movements decided so much, and you could even turn the tables with a well-timed skill. Of course, the same applied to your opponent, so battling heretics always felt like stepping back into that other world. Especially this particular heretic—he was strong, which only made it more so.
…Did any of that even matter? The moment the thought crossed my mind, all the strength drained from my body. I didn't even feel like moving anymore. Right then, a system message popped up in my vision.
HeadSmashPriest has requested a 1:1 chat.
…What now? The question flashed through my mind. Was he trying to confess or something? But the last time a newbie heretic tried to chat with me, I got my hopes up for nothing. This guy had already had his head smashed way more times than that newbie… No. I shouldn't doubt it. The second I started doubting, I wouldn't be able to help anyone who actually wanted to repent.
With that thought, I accepted the request. As if he'd been waiting, the heretic's message appeared instantly.
…He always got mad when I killed him, and now he was complaining that I wasn't killing him. What kind of person was this? A masochist, maybe?
After replying, I ended the 1:1 chat and stepped off him.
HeadSmashPriest has requested a 1:1 chat.
Ah, what now? Why couldn't he just leave when I let him go? I was already feeling unsettled—please just leave me alone…
★
While attaching the teddy bear eyes, I'd had all sorts of thoughts. Why was I even doing this? Back in that other world, I'd never once worried about money. Sure, Earth had way more things you could enjoy just for fun, but not being able to satisfy a basic human need like hunger whenever you wanted was obviously a huge problem. To be blunt, whether I was on Earth or over there, I'd always been alone, holed up in my room anyway… If that was the case, wasn't the other side better, where at least I didn't have to worry about food and shelter?
Honestly, ever since returning to Earth, that worry had never left me. No matter how much money was in my bank account, it wasn't enough to last a lifetime. So of course the balance kept shrinking, and one day it would hit zero. In other words, I had to find a job before that happened if I wanted to keep living. But someone like me—a shut-in hikikomori who saw blood pouring from people's heads the moment I made eye contact—someone who couldn't even hold a simple conversation… how was I supposed to earn money?
I didn't think my actions as an Inquisitor were wrong, but this part really annoyed me. …Still, no matter what circumstances I was in, that didn't give me a free pass. In the end, the only result left would be "I have no money." From the moment I first returned to Earth, I'd known that. I'd just been turning a blind eye, telling myself the future me would figure something out. Maybe that was why I'd become even more obsessed with heretics after starting New Dimension. It was the only thing I could do, and back there, that alone had been enough… But now my bank balance was down to 83,150 won. Adding what I'd earned from the teddy bear eye attachment job, it came to 163,150 won. Pennies.
…No, thinking about it now just made me angry. Even after coming all this way and working hard without forgetting my identity as an Inquisitor, shouldn't Ia at least let me win the lottery or something? She was the one who sent me to Earth in the first place. If she had any conscience, she'd give me enough money to live comfortably for life after all my hard work—not just eighteen months' worth of living expenses. This shady bitch…
Hmm. Even so, that was going too far. I should hold back a little, you shady bitch. Anyway, right now I was feeling really unsettled. I'd worked so hard to make heretics repent, and all I got in return was a ridiculous hacking accusation and an empty bank account. And the teddy bear eye attachment job. What had I even been doing all this time? The same thoughts kept circling in my head. That was why I'd decided to let this one go for once.
HeadSmashPriest has requested a 1:1 chat.
Why wouldn't this guy just leave even when I let him go…?
"Haaah." Still, it might be something important…
Sigh. Instead of blaming his own incompetence and ignorance, he was pushing the blame onto someone else. And today I'd even shown him mercy. Normally, wouldn't he at least think about the reason properly?
This guy was impossible to talk to. He really needed to learn how to look at himself objectively like I did.
Why was he so curious? Why couldn't he just think "Oh, everyone has days like that" and move on? We weren't even friends.
★
Seong Jin-ho, a 23-year-old man using the username HeadSmashPriest in New Dimension. Right after being discharged last June, he'd immediately bought a Reverse Capsule. The reason this man—who'd never been particularly interested in VR games—spent a fortune on one was obvious: New Dimension. For Jin-ho, who'd always thought games were fine on a regular computer, New Dimension had been a fresh shock. It had cost him almost all the money he'd saved from his military service, and he'd never once regretted that investment. Of course, getting his head smashed by that "Inquisitor" made him angry every time, but he'd come to see it as just another memory you could only experience in a VR game. Plus, every time he was forced into a 1:1 with that "Inquisitor," he could clearly feel his own skills improving, so despite the anger, he even felt a bit grateful.
But today, something about the Inquisitor's state felt off. Strong as ever, of course, but this was the same person who smashed every priest's head while calling them heretics and demanding repentance. And now he was saying things like:
Jin-ho wouldn't have minded if that was the case. They weren't friends, they'd never had a proper conversation, and if anything, they were more like enemies. But after being tangled up together for over a year, it was hard to just ignore. If the Inquisitor had just said "whatever," Jin-ho could've brushed it off as "That's just how crazy people are," but openly admitting he was unsettled made it impossible not to care.
Even if there really was a problem, Jin-ho probably couldn't help much. But people were creatures who felt lighter just by venting to someone. Jin-ho knew that well from his military experience, so he kept asking, even if it seemed a bit pushy. Still, forcing someone to talk when they didn't want to was bad manners too. Knowing that, Jin-ho decided that if the Inquisitor didn't want to say anything, he'd just let it go this time as well.
And with that final message, the Inquisitor grabbed hold of the conversation.
"No money and can't find part-time work—does that mean he needs cash urgently?" Surprised by the unexpectedly normal response, Jin-ho thought of some advice. Actually, he didn't even need to think. Streaming. Honestly, for someone like the Inquisitor, there couldn't be anything better than that right now.
And it seemed the Inquisitor immediately understood what Jin-ho meant.
The "Inquisitor" had been watched closely by New Dimension players long before the recent hacking suspicions. That unique concept of smashing the heads of anyone in a priest-related class, combined with skills that even top players had to admire, meant that anyone who'd played New Dimension for a while—especially priest players—had heard the name at least once. With the recent hacking controversy, interest in him had reached its peak. Of course, the game company had officially announced he wasn't a hacker, which had cooled things down a bit, but the attention hadn't completely died out. In that situation, if the person in question started streaming? Success wasn't guaranteed, but it would at least bring in some pocket money until he found a part-time job. It might even help shake off the remaining suspicious looks.
Seeming to have noticed that as well, the Inquisitor thanked Jin-ho.
The 1:1 chat with Inquisitor has ended.
CRACK!
[DEATH]
Jin-ho's vision went pitch black.
"What the fuck?"
★
Once the worry was resolved, my mind felt clear. Thanks to that, I realized that everything I'd been doing so far hadn't been wrong. See? If you keep working hard, opportunities come your way. …That said, I hadn't expected that kind of method either. Making money through games. I offered a prayer over the heretic's corpse and thought about it carefully. New Dimension was pretty popular among gamers these days, so there would definitely be demand. Plus, I could do all the endgame content, so I'd probably earn plenty. What was that term again? I was pretty sure I'd seen it on the community boards. Converting in-game currency into real money… Ah, right. They called it "rice eating." Well, the name sounded a bit off, and I knew the community didn't have the best view of it, but what could I do? Making a living came first. Yeah. From today onward, I was a rice-eating streamer.