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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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“Have you ever heard of Biyeong Shintou, the Phantom Tiger?”
I knew the location of the Philosopher’s Stone because I was the one who’d created the character who possessed it, a character from my novel [King of the Diamond Fist].
He was a legendary being known as the god of thievery, said to be able to conceal even his shadow, a master of disguise who often took on the form of a tiger.
“…Never heard of him. Is he from the East?”
“Yes. He’s basically the greatest thief in the world. And he has a hidden cave called the Secret Vault where he stores all his loot.”
I figured a legendary thief was a must-have in any martial arts novel, so I included him in my story.
I asked Wolfram for a map and tapped my finger on a mountain range in the east.
“It’s right here. Halfway up the mountain, behind a waterfall… there’s a hidden cave. If you walk along the ceiling, you’ll find another secret chamber.”
“Sounds like a treasure trove!”
Wolfram clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I nodded, confirming her suspicions.
The Phantom Tiger’s Secret Vault was a treasure trove of rare elixirs, secret martial arts manuals, exotic creatures, and valuable artifacts from the West.
‘I devoured every single elixir in that place that claimed to cure the Nine Yin Severed Pulse.’
I chuckled, remembering my past desperation.
I had consumed every remedy mentioned in those martial arts novels, but nothing seemed to work.
My condition would improve temporarily, but there was no permanent solution.
“You said my blood vessels were clogged with something other than ice shards, right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s hard to describe. It’s like something not from this world? That sounds crazy, even to me!”
I looked at Wolfram, running a hand over my face. If even a renowned alchemist and mage like her couldn’t identify the substance blocking my meridians…
“…Could it be something extradimensional?”
That was the only explanation that made sense.
It was most likely connected to the Outer Gods from [Trapped in an Idle Game].
After all, Azazel Blackheart, my third ‘daughter’, the Saint of the Outer Gods, had fallen from grace after making a pact with them.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re talking about the Outer Gods, those mythical beings everyone talks about but no one has ever seen! If that were true, I’d be dead by now.”
“…”
She was right, of course.
The reason I was so determined to find Verdandi was because I needed her to save Azazel.
“So, what’s your source for this information? You’re sure it’s accurate?”
“I can’t reveal my source, but I can guarantee it’s true. I swear on my reputation.”
My source was my own memory, so I couldn’t exactly tell Wolfram where I’d gotten this information.
In the original story, this information was revealed to the protagonist, Kim Hyul, through the Hao Clan after the death of the Phantom Tiger.
“Hmm, to be honest, I’m still not convinced. You’re telling me you just stumbled upon information about the Philosopher’s Stone? Just like that?”
“Believe it or not, it’s up to you. I respect those who question everything, even themselves, more than those who blindly trust anyone who comes along.”
I shared my personal philosophy with Wolfram. After all, my disdain for the ‘Hero Summoning’ trope was the very reason I wrote [You Must Kill the Hero].
I hated those generic stories that started with “Greetings, I am God!” and featured clueless protagonists being dragged into another world by a “helpful” tutorial fairy who inevitably ended up dead.
“Is that why you don’t believe in the Divine? The god that most people on this continent worship?”
Seeing my willingness to engage with her, Wolfram decided to press me on my earlier blasphemous remarks.
She must have used a spell to dispel the alcohol, because the smell of wine had vanished.
“I don’t trust anyone who casually hands out power, whether it’s a god or a demon. True power comes with responsibility.”
I looked Wolfram dead in the eyes and delivered a classic superhero quote, something I’d always wanted to do.
It was the famous line of the spider hero: With great power comes great responsibility. I had always wanted to say it at least once.
“This disciple, Bi Wol, diligently records Master’s teachings every night with brush and ink!”
Bi Wol declared, her fists clenched with pride. Unlike Wolfram, she seemed to find my words profound.
“I told you, you don’t have to do that.”
“But Master, even the Analects of Confucius were compiled by his disciples! To ensure your wisdom is passed down through generations, this is essential.”
No matter how much I discouraged her, Bi Wol’s loyalty was unwavering, even a bit overwhelming at times.
After all, my words were often a mixture of personal experience, borrowed wisdom from novels and movies, and sometimes, pure nonsense.
An author’s input wasn’t limited to just reading.
“Bi Wol… My words are often just a jumble of things I’ve heard from ancient sages. Future generations will mock me.”
I lowered my head in embarrassment. I might be a smooth talker, but the thought of my words being recorded and judged by posterity terrified me.
I was already a failed author. The idea of being recognized for my writing seemed ludicrous.
“I’ll gladly break the fingers of anyone who dares to mock you, Master! How dare those fools insult the sun that shines upon us?”
Bi Wol gently unwrapped the bandages around my fists, her eyes wide with concern as she examined my scarred hands.
Like a child unwrapping a present, she carefully traced the lines of my index finger with both hands.
“If you’re afraid of their judgment, Master, then… I will protect you. I’ll turn those bad memories into pleasant ones.”
Her soft, pink lips hovered over my finger, and then I felt a warm, moist sensation.
Lick. Slurp. Smack.
She was sucking on my finger, gently, like a baby. The wet sounds of her tongue and saliva filled the carriage.
“B-Bi Wol! What are you doing?!”
She exhaled a hot breath against my finger, then resumed her ministrations.
“Why are you so surprised, Master?”
Her breath, her tongue, her saliva, all mingled with an unsettling intensity, sending shivers down my spine.
“I’m simply treating your injured finger, just as a mother would lick the wounds of her child.”
I tried to pull my hand away, but she held on tight.
She continued as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her saliva coating my finger.
“There. All done. This is a scar you received while protecting me, isn’t you?”
She opened her mouth wide, showing me her tongue. As she’d said, my body and fists were covered in scars from years of training and countless battles.
“I know I was just a helpless child, but… I’ll never forget your sacrifice.”
Bi Wol lowered her head, her voice filled with remorse. I had written her to be sensitive to bloodshed and violence, a consequence of her upbringing.
“The scars on your shoulder, your back, your hands, your arms, and even your neck…”
“….”
“I wanted to lick them all away, to heal them… but I was afraid you might not like it, so I indulged in this small act of devotion.”
I was speechless. She remembered all of my injuries.
I had assumed she was just a child, oblivious to the weight of her past. But it was clear that she had been carrying this burden of guilt all along.
“Don’t worry about what others say, Master. They simply envy your greatness. Their judgment means nothing.”
Bi Wol gently released my hand, her bow almost reverent.
“Even so, this is going too far. I didn’t save you for this.”
I had to say something, especially with Wolfram staring at us with wide, shocked eyes, her hand pressed to her mouth.
“Oh my… Such blatant PDA… You’re a wicked man, Bing Yeon. I like you even more now!”
She clapped her hands together, like a gossip enjoying a juicy scandal.
Even I hadn’t expected this from Bi Wol. She’d shown signs of possessiveness before, but never this openly.
‘Could she be jealous of Wolfram?’
That was the only explanation that made sense. I pondered the situation, my finger still tingling from her touch.
If she was jealous of Wolfram, a mature and accomplished woman, it was understandable.
After all, Bi Wol was still just a child.
“You once told me that wounds of the heart are invisible to others, known only to the one who bears them, but they must be treated and cared for.”
“I did say that, but…”
I had said those words to her when she was feeling guilty about the deaths of her friends from the cult.
“Master, your words revealed the hidden wounds within your heart. I wanted to heal them, even though I have no healing balms or rare elixirs to offer.”
She had learned well. She was no longer a naive child, easily manipulated. She was capable of challenging me with her words.
Her calm, measured tone, the subtle barbs hidden within her words, it was like a verbal sparring match.
“Even so, you should communicate your feelings with words, not actions. People will think I’m teaching you strange things.”
I tried to counter her arguments with logic.
“But Master, you said you valued those who changed their ways through action, not empty words.”
She countered my logic by quoting my own words.
“You’re getting quite good at this, aren’t you? Trying to outsmart your master?”
“As they say, the student surpasses the master. One day, I want to surpass you in every way.”
She smiled sweetly, landing another blow.
“Every way? What do you mean by that?”
“Every way, Master. I want you to be utterly dependent on me. I want you to crave my presence, to yearn for me, to…”
She swallowed hard, her voice husky. I felt a shiver run down my spine. She wasn’t radiating killing intent, and yet my body went on high alert.
“Ahem, ahem. Can you two lovebirds save this for later? Some of us are trying to have a civilized conversation.”
Wolfram cleared her throat, interrupting our intense exchange. She even had her staff at the ready. Things must have gotten a little too heated.
“We’re approaching Wonderhill. You should probably prepare yourselves, instead of flirting.”
She was right. I could see houses in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys.
“As promised, I’m sober, and I’ve layered myself in protective spells. I should be safe when I meet the Hero, right?”
“I guess so, as long as you’re not evil.”
I eyed Wolfram, who seemed to be trembling slightly. Even I couldn’t predict what would happen. Would she follow the original story and die, or would she survive?
I could only hope that the Hero’s sense of justice hadn’t been twisted yet.
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But,
Contrary to Bing Yeon’s hopes, as their carriage rolled towards Wonderhill…
“I heard the Divine’s voice! He called me the ‘Hero of Justice’!”
“…V-Verdandi?”
“The fact that I received this oracle means you’re evil, Mother!”
At that very moment, Verdandi Astrea was holding a kitchen knife to her mother’s throat.
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