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Chapter 3: At This Point, Let’s Just Go All Out!
... ...
Deep inside the textile factory, the space had been transformed beyond recognition. The once massive, clunky machinery was gone, replaced by mysterious murals with unclear purposes. The faint but eerie sound of knocking echoed from the shadows. In the innermost room stood an altar, blood dripping steadily into a container below.
On the altar was a stone sculpture—an intricate spiral of flowers surrounding an inverted scale, symbolizing "equivalence" in ancient Hermoric language.
"Today is a momentous occasion."
"We have finally taken that qualitative leap forward. The Philosopher King will soon grace us, and the gates of knowledge shall open wide before us."
Mohn Hollan, leader of the Old Fire Gang, stood at the forefront. To his right was a man bound tightly.
"But first, there is one matter to resolve." Mohn's voice was low as he turned to face the man: "My friend, why did you betray us? Betray this family?"
The man gagged with a cloth in his mouth, unable to speak, only shaking his head frantically. His eyes occasionally darted toward Voran, who stood to Mohn's right. He couldn’t understand what tricks Mohn had used to make this Ascender willingly serve him.
"It’s alright," Mohn said, gently wiping the blood from the man’s face with a handkerchief, like an elder consoling a wayward child. But his words sent chills down the man’s spine: "I am but a devout believer. Your confession should be directed toward the great Philosopher King."
He smiled with pride: "I merely guide you to meet Him."
The man’s pupils dilated in terror. His struggles intensified, but against the unyielding chains, they were futile.
The next moment—
Click—
The chains fell to the ground.
The man stared blankly at the unlocked restraints, stunned. But Mohn suddenly grabbed his arm and slammed it onto the ritual platform.
Instantly, excruciating pain shot through his arm, as if countless maggots were gnawing at his forearm. Crimson tentacles erupted from the ritual, snapping his right hand off.
The process was quick—so fast that the man only realized the pain moments later.
Splat! The crimson tentacles exploded into a pool of rotten flesh. Amidst the grotesque mess, a dazzling gemstone lay embedded within.
"Behold!" Mohn exclaimed, holding up the gem like a priceless treasure: "This is the blessing of the great Philosopher King!"
The followers raised their arms in celebration, chanting wildly. Meanwhile, the man writhed on the floor, clutching his severed arm and screaming. Cheers and cries intertwined, forming an absurd symphony.
Amidst the euphoria, a small wooden crate quietly “sneaked” through the side door. No one noticed it.
'Oh my god—' Viya’s pupils contracted. She thought the scene in the factory was already terrifying enough, but this… this took it to another level.
The blood-soaked floor, the sinister ritual, the wailing victim, the frenzied believers—it was textbook-level cult madness!
Viya’s desire to flee reached its peak.
"It seems there’s no way forward."
Lin Qi scanned the area, confirming this was the final room. With so many people inside, it was undoubtedly the "boss" room.
If there’s no way out, we can always retreat... Viya looked at the man still howling in agony on the floor. Her instincts told her that being caught would mean a fate worse than his.
Clang!
The wooden crate was lifted, the sound clear and distinct in the otherwise silent room.
Whoosh—
All eyes turned instantly toward the intruder, expressions ranging from surprise, fear, to murderous intent…
Under everyone’s gaze, Viya desperately wanted to raise her hands in surrender—but she couldn’t.
"... " Mohn, upon sensing the intruder was just an ordinary person, wasn’t sure whether to be angry at his subordinates for letting someone slip in unnoticed or shocked by how silently she had entered.
He wiped the remaining blood from the ritual with his handkerchief and turned to Voran: "Everyone must pay for their actions. Kill her, then throw the body into the ritual."
"Understood." Voran nodded, slowly approaching. A crystalline glass blade grew from his palm, eventually forming a longsword.
It’s over… Viya watched as the fanatic closed in, her heart skipping a beat.
Whoosh—
The sharp whistle of the blade slicing through the air filled the room. Viya’s mind raced with memories—her first birthday, the relentless pressure she put on herself to pass the entrance exam, and the joy of receiving her acceptance letter—all flashed before her eyes.
So this is what they call the "life review"… Viya’s pupils unfocused as she resigned herself to her fate.
Several seconds passed, but the pain never came.
When Viya refocused her vision, she was astonished to find the scene frozen in place. Everyone was motionless.
"Whew, that’s scary." Lin Qi wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, expressionless.
Good thing he paused the game fast enough.
What kind of broken game doesn’t even have combat tutorials… Lin Qi opened the menu, reviewed all the key bindings, and figured out the controls before resuming the game.
"Let’s begin."
Begin? What begin? Before Viya could question it, the frozen world sprang back to life.
Her ankles tensed, and she shifted her body slightly to the side.
Snap—
The sword grazed past Viya’s cheek, embedding itself into the wall behind her. The force was so strong that it left cracks in the metal wall.
Voran froze, instinctively gripping the hilt with both hands and trying to pull it free.
A familiar sensation washed over Viya. Without thinking, she moved, raising her knee to strike the weakest point of the crystalline sword. Instantly, the blade shattered, scattering glittering fragments.
Taking advantage of Voran’s loss of balance as he stumbled backward, Viya quickly circled behind him, pressing his head down hard onto the jagged remnants of the sword embedded in the wall.
The shards pierced through Voran’s skull. His body convulsed briefly before going still.
The atmosphere froze.
No one expected the situation to escalate this way.
‘I… I killed someone?’ Viya stood there, stunned.
In a play, this would be the moment for a long internal monologue about her emotional turmoil. But reality isn’t literature, and more cultists charged at her with weapons drawn.
"Not bad for a start."
"Keep going."
The disembodied voice in her ear remained calm, as if killing someone was nothing more than routine.
Still dazed, Viya picked up a shard of the broken crystal blade, shook her head, and faced the oncoming attackers.
Their footsteps drew closer, the sound of loading guns deafening.
Boom—
Bang, bang, bang—
The roar of flintlocks and the clash of swords filled the air.
Viya’s vocabulary failed to describe the chaos unfolding before her.
It was like a meticulously choreographed performance. She knew the script, predicted every move her enemies would make, and delivered fatal counterattacks at the perfect moments.
Every slash was precise. Every dodge was impeccable.
Bullets and blades narrowly missed her.
Slash, sidestep, slash again—simple movements formed the raw beauty of violence, a feast of slaughter. She repeated these motions mechanically until the crystal blade turned crimson and no living beings remained in sight.
Without Voran’s support, the remaining cultists were like candles in the wind. The locked doors forced them to fight recklessly.
When Viya finally came to her senses, the room was eerily quiet. But the scattered limbs, impaled bodies on the walls, and abandoned weapons served as constant reminders of what had just transpired.
"Ugh..."
Mohn, the leader, lay on the ground, whimpering in pain. Where his right arm once was, there was now only a clean cut. The culprit was obvious.
Struggling to think, Mohn couldn’t recall offending anyone capable of such brutality. Finally, he asked: "Who are you?"
The "butcher," whose clothes were unstained by blood, didn’t respond. She simply crouched beside Mohn.
In her blue eyes, Mohn saw no emotion—not the twisted pleasure of taking a life, nor relief after battle. There was nothing, just stillness, like the stagnant waters deep in the Naria Valley, devoid of ripples.
She reached into Mohn’s coat pocket.
The sound of fingers brushing against fabric filled the air. Mohn strained to keep his eyes open, desperate to know what on him had drawn her attention.
Blood loss had turned his mind into a foggy haze.
In the last moments before his vision blurred, her hand seemed to find what it sought and withdrew. Mohn caught a glimpse of the "treasure" worth all this carnage.
It was five copper coins.
... ...
At noon.
Viya sat on a bench, holding the paper bag with the heavy black bread.
Only now did she snap back to reality—
Today, she had infiltrated a cult’s lair, brutally slaughtering over a dozen members, including an Ascender wielding extraordinary powers.
All for a damn breakfast?
Viya bitterly realized that if she tried to confess this story, she’d likely be dismissed as a lunatic.
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