Chapter 26

I leaned in close to my daddy’s ear and whispered quietly.

“If your steps feel heavy, then just don’t walk!”

Earlier, I told him my steps were heavy, and he picked me up without a word.

Which worked out great—made it easier to whisper.

“Daddy, whatever you see in there… don’t be surprised, okay?”

Daddy looked straight ahead, his expression hardening. He looked downright solemn.

“I understand.”

Then, after a pause, he asked:

“Is ‘that’ thing inside, too?”

‘That’ thing, he says…

‘Why is he talking like fanatics are cockroaches or something?’

Well, they’re everywhere, impossible to eradicate, and even when you kill them, they somehow come back.

So… maybe not that different after all.

“Mmm… You’ll know when you see it.”

“Alright, I got it.”

The image of that fanatic Connector pretending to be a cockroach flashed through my head, and I buried my face in Daddy’s shoulder.

‘Anyway… still hasn’t asked.’

Even after all this time—after my forced rest period—he never asked a single thing.

Like why I knew what the holy knight’s supply items were, or why I asked for them.

I figured at the very least he’d ask something like, How do you know how to identify a fanatic?

But instead—

“You don’t have to tell me. Say it when you feel ready.”

He said it like he already knew exactly why I couldn’t talk. It left me with a strange feeling.

And there was really only one reason I couldn’t speak.

‘Brainwashing.’

That bastard Usher.

Corrupted holy knights are especially vulnerable to a fanatic’s hidden abilities.

‘Daddy’s Will stat is high, so he might not fall easily… but still.’

Just in case.

Until I’d fully purified all the corruption from Daddy, it was safer to minimize how much I shared.

Feeling conflicted, I hugged him tighter.

“…?”

He seemed puzzled but walked into the room with me in his arms.

‘This place is intense.’

A few seconds after entering, I could feel all the eyes on us.

Since we were the last to arrive, there were eighteen sets of eyes in total.

Even when I sat down and stared forward for a full five minutes, the eyes didn’t let up.

Ten pope candidates and their guardians.

And among them, I was the youngest.

The oldest boy here looked to be at least ten years older than me.

‘I can’t see anything. Nothing.’

I gripped my sleeve tight and stubbornly kept my eyes on the table.

More minutes passed.

“Wow, what a VIP entrance.”

A snide voice cut through the air.

I kept my gaze forward, pretending not to hear.

‘Tch… Shit, here we go.’

“Some of us had to bust our asses limping through lessons and brutal training, and someone else just waltzes in like they own the place?”

The moment I took the protagonist’s spot, the protagonist rules locked into place.
No matter where you go, you’re a magnet for agro. That’s just how it is.

“If she’s getting special treatment for being a baby still sucking on a bottle, just send her back home.”

Finally, I looked up and saw a burly boy glaring at me.

Freckles. A face twisted with anger.

The second our eyes met, his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Behind him stood a knight who looked like a massive bear.

“Sir Gidehme, I agree with your sentiment, but please mind your words.”

“Yeah, yeah, Father. Of course.”

[Faction: The Order]

They weren’t fanatics, nor were they spies from the royal court.

But to me?

‘Dead meat.’

In horror movies, they’re the first ones to die screaming, “This isn’t scary at all!”

The game reinforced realism by killing off supporting characters and extras.

Players were constantly venting on the forums about how hard they worked to recruit an ally… only for them to die.

‘Then again, extras die too.’

Anyway, this kid—Gidehme, apparently—was clearly the oldest. He stood a full head taller than everyone else.

I blinked my large eyes dramatically.

Up until now, I’d been quietly fiddling with my sleeve and counting wood grain just for this moment.

You dumb extra.

“So, um… your name was… Sudmeh?”

“It’s Gidehme!”

Oops. Sorry, sounded like ‘Sudmeh,’ which makes you sound like a bride-to-be shopping for dresses.

I tilted my head like I was totally clueless.

* * *

Gidehme Lysn was a pope candidate who had cleared Section 5 of the exam: the jungle.

The hot, humid air, the scorching sunlight breaking through the leaves, the giant bugs crawling out every second…

Even now, just remembering it made him feel short of breath.

He’d survived while ninety-nine others didn’t. He had pride in that.

But when he arrived at the Order, there were ten other kids who had done the same.

‘Still… I must be the best among them.’

But nope. Not even close.

In fact, the two most talked-about kids had survived zones even harder than his. And the youngest of them all had supposedly cleared the toughest one.

What pissed him off most?

He hadn’t seen that kid’s face once—not once—during three whole lessons.

Sure, the reasons sounded legit…

But to Gidehme, it was all BS.

That’s favoritism…!

Gritting his teeth, his sharp eyes gleamed with frustration.

“So, um… your name was… Sudmeh?”

“It’s Gidehme!”

The mysterious survivor of the Labyrinth.

The youngest pope candidate looked even smaller and younger than expected.

And not just that—she looked weak.

She barely said a word, but her eyes were already shimmering with tears.

‘How the hell did someone like her make it through the Labyrinth?’

The jungle he survived was rough, but the Labyrinth was said to be dozens of times worse.

Gidehme gulped.

‘What kind of special ability does she even have…?’

Obviously, Gidehme had a special ability too.

Everyone here did—divine powers granted them supernatural abilities. That’s how they’d made it this far.

‘Tch. What am I even scared of? She’s just a tiny shrimp.’

Whatever the case…

‘My ability is the best.’

He reassured himself and jumped up from his seat.

His seat was right next to hers—perfect for barking down at her.

“Hey, go on then. Tell us. Why were you late, huh?”

The kid’s eyes started to tremble. Her soft pink hair made her look even more fragile.

“There better be a good reason for all the special treatment, right?!”

She flailed a little, panicked.

“I-I, um…”

“What? Speak up. Don’t you know how to talk?”

When he first picked a fight, he was a little worried.

What if she’s actually stronger than me?

But seeing her just panic, Gidehme’s simple brain inflated with confidence.

He loved this—being able to bully priests, holy knights, even pope candidates.

And now the candidate everyone was whispering about was scared of him?

Hell yeah, I’m the best.

“I-It’s hard to talk when you yell like that…”

“Oh? Too bad. Go ahead, make your excuse.”

“I…”

Tears welled up in Nemesia’s eyes. It looked like she was about to give up and cry—

“…You—your breath stinks.”

“…What?”

Sniff.

Tearful eyes glared back at Gidehme. Still trembling, but not backing down.

“You’re ugly, too…”

“…Pfft.”

Someone couldn’t help but snort-laugh, then quickly covered their mouth.

Gidehme’s face turned red.

“What did you just—?”

“Sir Gidehme… enough.”

His guardian, who had been quietly watching his antics, finally stepped in with a warning.

BANG.

A wooden stick slammed down between the two kids, embedding itself in the stone table—a wooden practice sword.

Dust swirled into the air.

“Got rid of the stink.”

No one saw when he moved, but Nemesia was suddenly scooped up into someone’s arms.

Gidehme froze stiff the moment he locked eyes with Derek Sacrum’s cold, bottomless gaze.
 

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Translator: Japchae