And so, inside a secluded government building’s interrogation room.
Under dim lighting, two men were locked in a sealed chamber.
The cult leader and the sniper who had staged the assassination.
It looked exactly like the interrogation rooms you see in movies.
A room with black film on the glass so nothing could be seen from the outside.
Surprisingly, the cult leader looked older: mid-40s to early 50s.
The cult leader, around 40, and the assassin accomplice.
Both looked thoroughly battered, perhaps from something that happened during their arrest.
Bandages were wrapped here and there, lips split, faces bruised.
“We’ve finished the basic questioning.”
“…Don’t tell me they ended up like this during questioning?”
“Of course not. It was unavoidable force used while subduing them during pursuit.”
“They’re still Korean citizens. Is this really okay?”
“What’s not okay? We didn’t even use violence. They just… tripped and fell on their own while we were catching them.”
“Of course they did.”
Team Leader Kang now sounded less like a Player Management Office official and more like an NIS agent.
Kang Jinsu had already grasped their plan.
Exactly as Choi Junseok had deduced.
Stage a suicide, use a mythic item to “resurrect,” and turn the followers into fanatics.
It would also make himself appear even more transcendent.
What miracle is more transcendent than dying and coming back to life?
The only thing that went wrong was that, while the prepared followers were carrying his limp “corpse,”
they ran into agents in black suits.
“This is the mask he used for the fake death. This one is the usual mask he wore.”
“Why does it look so creepily like someone just roughly carved a piece of wood?”
It was a crude mask made from a square block of wood with only holes for eyes and nose.
“Maybe that’s how rootless the cult started in the first place?”
Choi Junseok felt oddly offended, as if the insult was directed at him.
Team Leader Kang seemed curious why he had them brought here, but Choi Junseok’s intention quickly became clear.
The Church of Hamsu. In a good light, weren’t they Hamsu’s fanbase?
There was no need to disband them completely. They hadn’t committed any crimes yet.
Then… wouldn’t it be better to redirect the entire organization in a more positive direction?
Keep the fanbase, expand it,
and do good deeds in Hamsu’s name to build national goodwill.
Something like a volunteer group.
“Before you go in, it might be good to climb the tower a little slower today if possible.”
“Why?”
“If the followers get the strange belief that the cult leader is still alive, it could slow down the normalization process.”
“I’ll consider it.”
There was no reason for Choi Junseok to reveal he was the real Hamsu, so he simply looked down at the cult leader and nodded.
“There’s only one way for you to keep living.”
“You’re going to change the name of the Church of Hamsu. Starting today, you people are the… Hamsu Volunteer Corps.”
“…Pardon?”
“Do I look like I’m here to negotiate with you?”
The leader shook his head.
The fear on his face looked genuine.
“Burying one person is nothing for the Player Management Office. We already know every move you and your family — even your cousins — make. If you want to live, retire quietly. We’ve already chosen your successor.”
Team Leader Kang Jinsu chimed in without missing a beat.
“The Church of Hamsu is now the Hamsu Volunteer Corps. Any objections? You’ve been delegated authority from the cult leader to become the volunteer corps director.”
“…N-no objections.”
“Great. Work hard.”
If there were people doing good deeds in Hamsu’s name, it could only help, right?
Who knows — this might even become the foundation for creating a guild or a company later.
As Choi Junseok left the room, he gave Kang Jinsu a small nod.
Take care of the rest.
Kang Jinsu grinned and sat leisurely in front of the two men.
“No long speech. Recently some North Korean agents were brought into this very room. None of them left alive, but the world never knew they went missing. The difference is, they weren’t Korean citizens. You two are.”
It was blatant intimidation — the kind that made you wonder if that was really allowed.
Choi Junseok figured Kang would handle it fine and returned to the Player Settlement.
He used a spatial movement item to vanish like smoke from a deserted spot and reappear in his room.
***
“Did everything go well?”
Lee Nayeon asked from where she lay sprawled on the sofa.
She didn’t look the least bit worried.
“Surprisingly, it was resolved incredibly fast.”
“But your voice sounds somehow unsatisfied.”
“You’re right. There’s a small issue — a request. They asked me to refrain from record-time clears until the Player Management Office finishes cleaning things up.”
The atmosphere inside the Church of Hamsu must be shifting dramatically right now.
While the followers were confused by the leader’s death and his cronies were subtly spreading resurrection rumors,
if Hamsu suddenly climbed the tower?
If the assassinated leader was suddenly seen climbing the tower at top speed in front of people whose reason had already shut down,
they might develop an even weirder faith, thinking “The leader really is alive!”
That would interfere with shifting the organization’s nature.
It made sense that they needed time to purge all the leader’s plants inside the group first.
Climbing today probably wouldn’t ruin anything major, but he didn’t particularly want to fuel those cultists’ bizarre beliefs over a difference of a few days.
“This is annoying.”
The floor to challenge was the 23rd.
Difficulty wasn’t the problem, of course.
The concern was being unable to climb optimally.
Fortunately, according to the Player Management Office’s intel, there were no hidden rewards in the 20s for being the first solo record clear on any individual floor.
He would just miss out on the reward for clearing five consecutive floors in record time.
And crucially, if he didn’t break the top record, the Magic Tower High-Pass effect wouldn’t activate.
That meant he had to climb at the normal pace of one floor per day.
For others that was everyday life, but for Choi Junseok — who had grown used to clearing two floors a day with the high-pass — his brain refused to accept it.
“I’ve decided. I’ll still clear the 23rd in record time today… but I’ll wait until evening.”
“Ooh! Then can I take Kamdori for a walk?”
“…No.”
As if.
A living, moving dragon.
“…Actually, this is the Player Settlement, right? Maybe people won’t find it that weird?”
Lee Nayeon, who had been expressionless the whole time, whipped her head toward him, narrowing her eyes that asked if he was serious.
“Everyone would definitely find it weird.”
“Why? You see tons of posers openly carrying weapons just in the restaurant.”
“That’s because subspace bags are expensive, and they’re gathered for climbing anyway. More importantly… have you ever seen a player walking a black baby dragon?”
He had seen players walking cats or dogs they raised.
“But never a black baby dragon.”
“Right? If you don’t want to become a hot topic again, it’s better to refrain from the walk…”
Song Hana, hugging Kamdori, gave him teary puppy eyes.
Lee Nayeon sharply turned her gaze away.
“Why… why are you looking at me? What do you expect me to do?”
“I already finished all my protection spell homework…”
“I’ll let you walk him inside the tower later.”
“Eeeh… no way! It’s the undead floors!”
“…Or in Haetaesik’s workshop?”
“Hng. Fine, it can’t be helped. I’ll just lie down and rest with Kamdori.”
Song Hana hugged Kamdori tightly and zoomed into her room.
The whole way, Kamdori just blinked his big eyes, tongue lolling, head tilted in confusion.
Lee Nayeon changed the channel as if to change the subject.
Predictably, every news channel was running special reports on the Church of Hamsu leader assassination.
– Yes, I am reporting live from in front of the Suseo Magic Tower, the site of the Church leader’s shooting. The followers are still unable to leave the area and are sobbing loudly, awaiting Hamsu’s second coming.
– If Hamsu really died, wouldn’t that be a serious social issue?
– It is virtually impossible to believe the cult leader was the real Hamsu. Considering how he always emphasized anonymity and hid from the public, this appears to be the act of a mere impersonator…
Fortunately, the news was handling it rationally.
However, player society was divided on whether Hamsu had actually been assassinated.
On the player community Player Inside, mocking posts were already up.
[Title: Hamsu-man never falls!!]
[If you’re happy Hamsu died, massive upvote lol]
└ Anyone can see it’s a fake cultist lol do they have amoeba for brains
That was the view from outside the cult.
But the believers were dead serious.
There seemed to be Church members even among players.
[Our revered Leader will return. He will bring divine punishment upon you all and clear the Suseo Magic Tower to restore justice to this land!]
└ Welcome, cultist
Similar scenes continued in front of the Suseo Magic Tower.
“He will return! He will return!”
“Please save us!”
“Our revered Leader promised us! He said that twelve hours after his death, he would return!”
The leader’s plants were actively spreading those words.
And whenever someone said that, they mysteriously disappeared from the crowd.
The Player Management Office and NIS were purging the plants.
They were probably also extracting the list of associates from the leader himself and actively hunting them down.
“To think people would grieve this much if Hamsu died…”
Feeling a strange tingle in his nose, Choi Junseok rubbed it.
Lee Nayeon looked at him with pity.
“If I died, people would cry for me too, right?”
“Would they? They’d just think you died quietly in a tower somewhere.”
The moment he thought this woman really has no warmth at all,
Lee Nayeon muttered in a small, passing voice,
“But… I might cry a little.”
Choi Junseok was quietly blinking, unsure how to interpret that, when
Ding—
A text from Team Leader Kang arrived.
Surprisingly simple group. You may enter the tower now.
– Is it really okay?
– You can take it easy, but there’s no problem. Look forward to it. When Hamsu finally reveals himself, they’ll have built up your reputation quite nicely.
Judging by the confidence, the Player Management Office was probably planning to invest budget and run it separately as an official Hamsu propaganda organization.
Somehow the scale kept growing,
but wasn’t all of this just a side effect of climbing towers and giving people hope?
“Then shall we enter the tower?”
Lee Nayeon nodded with a slightly sulky expression.
“I will enter the 23rd floor.”
At the same moment, Choi Junseok turned into a beam of light and vanished.
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