Chapter 110

Chapter 110
## Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: The Final Question

A single query remained.

“Filthy scoundrel.”

The Master grimaced behind the shadows of his facial covering.

His throat was parched. Without intense concentration, it felt as though his very lungs would seize.

—Number 53, that man! He is a “Player” as well! I am certain of it, despite the mask! So I beg you…!

The individual whose life had been snuffed out by the Reaper.

After his identity as a “Player” was exposed, he had been reduced to ash, but not before he had pointed an accusing finger at the Master as a fellow “Player.”

It was like standing with bare soles on a carpet of needles.

Every person in the grand hall was murmuring, their gazes locked onto him.

Even Black Night—that particular woman—was nowhere to be found.

“I never should have made contact with him.”

The bidding event had gone on for two weeks. Attempting to approach others to form “allies” had proven to be a ruinous blunder.

The scattered bits of intelligence he had traded, under the assumption they were fellow Players, had transformed into venom.

Had he possessed any foresight, he would have remained entirely solitary.

A foul taste filled his mouth.

“All spatial warps are deactivated. There is no path for flight, no corner for concealment.”

A bleak predicament.

The ability to Warp had been frozen in place.

This meant nothing could enter or depart the perimeter.

A hiding spot?

The entirety of the Darkan territory was already under total blockade.

So meticulously guarded that not even a minuscule insect could slip through.

And the most preposterous realization of all.

“There are no civilians. This entire auction was a snare designed to harvest Players from the very beginning.”

Not a single local resident could be spotted within the city walls.

Prior to the freezing of the warps, while everyone was preoccupied with the bidding, the populace had been moved out in secret.

In hindsight, the reaction time was far too rapid to be a mere response to the man killed at the auction earlier today.

They had known beforehand that more Players inhabited the Darkan territory and had prepared their move.

It was highly likely the “special auction” itself was the lure to draw Players out.

A pathetic creature caught in a net.

Or a specimen trapped in a glass bowl.

His own predicament was no different.

“An informant? Are they using the Reapers to sniff it out? Or how exactly do they intend to prove I am a Player?”

He needed to deflect the scrutiny currently centered on him.

But by what means?

Should he point at another and scream “Player”?

He was ignorant of the Reaper Church’s techniques, leaving him with no visible exit.

Yet remaining passive was a death sentence. He had to take action.

Step.

At that moment, a figure moved within the banquet chamber.

The wielder of Bone Destroyer.

The protector of #2, the one who had annihilated the Transcendent.

He paced slowly toward #1.

He then wordlessly presented an object, and after inspecting it, #1 gave a firm, decisive nod.

“This individual is not a ‘sinner.'”

Not a sinner.

The moment he spoke, it became “truth.”

The demeanor of the gathered aristocrats shifted instantly.

“There is no disgusting odor of a ‘sinner’ clinging to him.”

“Indeed. If he carries ‘Bone Destroyer,’ he is surely of the Giant race. Giants are never counted among the ‘sinners.'”

Yet something else remained nonsensical.

…Just who was this #1?

The nobility acted as though he were invisible.

As if they were forbidden from looking him in the eye or acknowledging his voice directly.

And yet, his every word and motion dictated the room’s reality.

Was this man some sort of nameless entity, a Voldemort they dared not mention?

“What did he show him?”

The Master watched the man until his vision blurred.

He was desperate to understand what evidence had been produced to prove he wasn’t a sinner.

Clang.

Clang.

Chime.

In that instant, bells echoed through the hall.

The massive portals of the banquet hall swung wide, and the hooded executioners of the “Reaper Church” marched in.

Among the ranks, one wore a silver fox mask.

The one who had “incinerated” the previous victim at the auction stepped forward to address the crowd.

“We shall proceed with ‘disinfection’ one by one, according to your assigned numbers. Step forward in sequence.”

By the numbers.

An uneasy feeling settled in.

One of the aristocrats stepped out and spoke up.

“Wait a moment. Does this imply that even we, the high nobility of the Empire, are subjects of this?”

“Naturally.”

“…Are you suggesting we are to be treated as ‘sinners’?”

Immediately, the Imperial nobles donned expressions of arrogant fury and began to voice their dissent.

“Is this even logical?”

“You presume to cast doubt upon our loyalty?”

“This is an insult…!!”

“Lord Darkan! Was this your intent from the start?”

They had operated under the assumption that only the outsiders were under the microscope.

Subjecting the Empire’s own elite to disinfection was an overreach.

But the figure in the silver fox mask did not waver.

Lord Darkan merely observed the scene with his arms folded.

It was clear this had been the strategy since the inception.

“That pale dust…”

What truly held the Master’s attention was the powder held by the Reaper Church executioners.

That substance clearly facilitated the body-swap between Earth and Pangeniar.

If that mysterious powder functioned across different planes of existence, it was a lethal variable.

“To refuse is to be branded a ‘sinner.’ Number 2.”

#2.

His bodyguard had been exonerated, but #2 himself had not yet been cleared.

Soon, the summoned #2 walked toward the silver fox mask.

“…”

A heavy silence fell between them.

However, #2’s facial expressions flickered and changed by the second.

They were clearly communicating through a silent, mental transmission.

“What are they discussing?”

The Master’s mouth felt like sand again. The need to know was agonizing.

“Move to my right. Next, Number 3.”

Shortly after, #2 took his place on the right side of the silver fox mask.

No verdict was shouted to the room.

If the protector, who looked the part, was cleared, then #2 likely received a “clean” assessment as well.

But even that was an assumption.

The fact that he was questioned at all meant he hadn’t completely evaded the shadow of doubt.

“Move to my left. Next, Number 4.”

The “disinfection” marched on.

The criteria remained a mystery, but the division between the left and right groups stayed balanced as they passed the twentieth person.

“Curse it.”

An even split.

Did that mean half of the people gathered here were Players?

The special auction had been a “snare” for Players from the very beginning.

With so many Players concealing their Pangeniar lives, it wasn’t far-fetched to think they had infiltrated the Empire.

He could only despise his own decision to walk straight into the cage.

But remorse was a useless emotion now.

The Master shifted his gaze back to #1.

“Why are those two inseparable?”

#1 appeared to be a loner.

Yet he remained anchored to #2’s bodyguard.

It suggested something far more significant than just a confirmation of not being a “sinner.”

Even the Imperial lords, even Lord Darkan himself, kept their distance from #1.

Yet those two stayed close…

“They are the ones doing the judging!”

The fox masks of the Reaper Church were merely distractions.

The ones truly identifying the “sinners” and the “Players” were undoubtedly #1’s companion and that guard.

“Next, Number 53.”

The Master tightened his grip on his hidden fist.

His moment had arrived.

“…To hell with it all!”

There was no more time.

No path of retreat.

And yet, perhaps.

“Their perspectives might clash…”

With a pair of judges, there was a ghost of a chance.

—I perceive that the Successor’s seal has been etched upon you. By the “Executor” who provided you with that token.

The sigil secretly placed on the Imperial Plaque by the Executor.

It served as the confirmation that the “Successor” had been located.

—Then, where might the “Successor” be?

He was inquiring about Hell.

I maintained a mask of absolute calm.

—Would you like me to reveal it now?

—No, the Orthodoxy does not expose itself in such a public manner. We shall verify it together at the “Main Temple.” However, why do you appear wearing the “Black Goat Mask”?

The Main Temple.

The heart of the Reaper Church!

His direct mention of it confirmed that #1’s man was indeed a high-ranking member of the “Reaper Church.”

I had displayed the Imperial Plaque as a gamble to force a resolution.

If he was with the Empire, the Emperor’s mark would suffice; if he was with the Reaper Church, the plaque would trigger the expected recognition.

“The Black Goat Mask.”

The silver fox mask Executor who had handed me the Imperial Plaque after witnessing Hell in the Abyssal Labyrinth had explicitly instructed me to wear a golden goat mask upon entering the Empire.

—A golden mask was unavailable.

—…Hmph. That was a narrow miss. Regardless, if you are truly a “Guardian of the Orthodoxy”… you would not be a Player.

He gave a dismissive shrug.

It was the look of someone offering a silent apology for the previous interrogation.

So the “MintChocoDelicious” remark had been a simple lure?

A test to see if I would react like a Player?

—You are a “Guardian of the Orthodoxy” holding authority equal to my own. At the very least, the “Executor” who granted you that plaque was certain of it. I shall honor that certainty.

The Three Swords of the Empire. The conviction of the silver fox mask had been my salvation.

For the moment, I had crossed the threshold.

Furthermore, his gaze had shifted to one of subtle respect.

—It has been a long time since we saw a new “Guardian.” And to wear the goat mask, the emblem of “Baal” no less… I am genuinely intrigued to know which Successor you guard. Very well, golden Guardian of the Orthodoxy. From this point forward, you and I shall oversee the “disinfection” as a pair.

Did different Guardians possess unique “emblems”?

He looked at my goat mask with a sense of wonder.

Soon, the disciples of the Reaper Church flooded the room.

Turning to them, he said:

—Those summoned by number—we two shall conduct the initial screening to determine if they are sinners. Guardians possess a high likelihood of identifying Players, so if our conclusions match, they will be designated as primary “sinner candidates.”

—And if our views diverge?

—They shall be spared the brand for the time being.

Spared for now.

Cleared of immediate doubt.

Was that the truth?

Had he truly abandoned his suspicions regarding me?

“This is another trial.”

#1 likely already had a list of suspected Players in his mind.

And he claimed that “Guardians of the Orthodoxy” could sniff out Players.

This was a test to evaluate my perception and confirm if I was genuinely a Guardian.

The issue was Hudson.

#2, Hudson, was summoned immediately.

I knew with certainty he was a Player, but what did #1 think?

—A Player.

Soon, #1 voiced his verdict.

…Perhaps he hadn’t been entirely sure about Hudson until now.

What should my move be?

If this was a test of my loyalties?

If this was another “snare”…

—Not a Player.

—Ho.

He gave a soft, curious laugh at my response.

Seconds later, Hudson was directed to the right.

Our conclusions had differed.

The right side appeared to be the “cleared” zone.

Next came #3.

—The lady of the Dersian family. A woman you frequently clashed with, wasn’t she? You give the first verdict. Does she strike you as a sinner?

The woman sharing a name with Isabella, daughter of the Dersian house.

She walked forward, her expression radiating wounded dignity.

The idea of me holding her fate in my hands was surreal.

—No.

—I am of the same mind.

We agreed on a negative.

The Dersian lady was then sent to the left.

…Wasn’t the right the “safe” side?

The “disinfection” proceeded.

The numbers on the left and right stayed roughly equal.

It became clear that the left was actually the cleared position.

And Hudson remained standing on the right.

“Next, Number 53.”

#53.

The Master, who had been singled out previously and was the target of everyone’s suspicion.

—Player.

—…A Player.

I could not suggest otherwise.

The Master.

He was sent to the right, joining Hudson.

With that, the “disinfection” of every auction attendee reached its conclusion.

48 on the left, 48 on the right.

A perfect 50:50 split.

Finally, he turned to me again.

—One last question. Do you still maintain that Hudson is not a Player?

The Revealed Truth

Korea, Hero Alliance.

Following the spike in erosion levels and the frequent emergence of monsters through warps, they had become the primary representative force of Korea.

—Hero Alliance! The Beacon of Korea!

—Hero Alliance Halts the Busan Disaster.

—Hero Alliance Commander Park Taewoo Offers a Message of Hope!

The tide of articles grew more immense with each passing day.

Public perception of them as the saviors of the nation and world-class champions solidified.

At the heart of this acclaim was the man himself, Hero Alliance Leader Park Taewoo.

Crack!

Park Taewoo slammed the journal he was reading onto his mahogany desk, his face contorted in a scowl.

“…Tsk, damn it all.”

“What is the matter, Leader?”

A nearby alliance member noticed the newspaper and asked with genuine curiosity.