Chapter 391 New

Chapter 391
## Chapter 391: Thunder Lion

Within the perspective of the Death God Cult in Pangenia, humanity was divided into two distinct categories.

There were the ‘Sinners’ and those who remained untainted.

The term ‘Sinner’ was reserved for individuals whose physical forms were held hostage by an external presence through the ‘God’s Sickness’. To the members of the Death God Cult, these people represented an objective evil that required eradication. They were viewed as vessels for wickedness, existing only to warp and disrupt the natural equilibrium of the world.

Consequently, for the Death God Cult, the act of executing these players was considered a form of divine retribution. It was not viewed as a transgression; rather, it was a highly encouraged duty. Their practice of conducting ‘cullings’ via quarantine served this exact purpose: to identify the possessed players and eliminate them. In the lexicon of the Death God Cult, this process was known as ‘performing a disinfection.’ It was, in the most literal sense, the removal of a stain.

Occasionally, however, individuals suffering from the God’s Sickness would achieve a self-awakened state. These were Transcendents who managed to sever their chains, reclaim their lost history, and discover details regarding the ‘incarnation of evil’ that had once pulled their strings. Within the hierarchy of the Death God Cult, these individuals were titled ‘Executors’ and entrusted with vital responsibilities. Because they harbored an intense, burning animosity toward the players who had used them, they dedicated themselves to the ‘disinfection’ with a fervor that surpassed all others.

“Mercy, please!”

“I am no sinner, I swear it!”

Roughly thirty individuals were currently slated for divine punishment. Regardless of their sex or age, they were forced to their knees before the cult’s altar. They were the ones the Executors had tracked down and identified as ‘players.’

“More than thirty captured in just one territory?”

“Look closely. Isn’t that Lord Ardin among them?”

“Hmph. Word is he was in league with those disgusting parasites.”

The onlookers huddled nearby, trading hushed observations. While the Empire’s lands were regularly cleaned by the Death God Cult’s ‘disinfection’ squads, it had been a long time since so many were apprehended in a single location. Finding even one was a mark of shame for a city, but a group of thirty was unprecedented. It suggested that the local ruler must have been actively protecting the ‘players.’ To a player, the Empire was a restricted zone—a literal purgatory they dared not enter, knowing the fate that awaited them there.

“Please, listen to me! This is a terrible mistake! I have a spouse and a little girl waiting for me!” one man cried out, the strain visible in the cords of his neck.

He pleaded his case based on his family ties, arguing that a sinner would not have such connections. In a way, his logic was sound. Most sinners didn’t plant roots or start families; they treated the world like a temporary playground rather than a home. While his plea might have moved a softer heart, the crowd only sneered.

“A sinner going through the trouble of starting a family? Rare indeed.”

“He certainly went to great lengths to hide.”

“I suppose that’s what it takes to survive in the Empire these days.”

“Tsk. Too bad for him he ran into the ‘Thunder Lion’.”

The Executors, having once been sinners themselves before their self-transcendence, understood the psychology and habits of players better than anyone. Among them, the one known as the ‘Thunder Lion’ possessed an uncanny level of precision. Every single person he brought in was guaranteed to be a sinner. He was a master of lightning magic and ranked among the three most powerful Executors. His insight into the nature of sinners was legendary, largely because of a specific rumor.

“Is the story actually true?”

“Which one?”

“That the Thunder Lion was once the vessel for Phantom…”

It was widely believed that he had been the primary avatar of ‘Phantom,’ perhaps even the one ‘Phantom’ had cultivated with the most care. When an avatar achieved transcendence, they usually recovered memories of their time under control, often gaining a specific clue about the entity—a name, a silhouette, or a voice.

Among the cult’s Transcendents, an unusual number of these clues pointed toward a single figure: Phantom. It was estimated that nearly a third of all Executors had been his former avatars. The ‘Thunder Lion’ was the most prominent among them.

Despite their status, former avatars of Phantom weren’t exactly beloved within the cult. Phantom was considered a top-tier ‘incarnation of evil’ that had to be wiped out at all costs.

‘I will track him down… and end him.’

The Thunder Lion’s hatred for Phantom was a bottomless pit. Upon his awakening, he remembered the ordeal of being a puppet. It had started with the acquisition of the ‘Advent of the Thunder God’ skill, leading to a life of constant, lethal peril. But there was a darker memory: he had once had a daughter. While under Phantom’s control, he had completely forgotten her. By the time he regained his senses, she was gone. Her body was never found. That grief and rage were his fuel. To him, Phantom and all players were vermin to be exterminated.

“Thunder Lion. If every Executor possessed your talent, we would have cleared the Empire of sinners long ago.”

A figure ascended the altar steps. At his sight, the assembly bowed in unison. It was the Golden Mask, the High Priest. He held more power than any other official and served as the cult’s true commander, given that the ‘Sleeping Emperor’ had remained dormant for ages.

“…I offer my greetings, Golden Mask.”

“There is no need for formalities with you. Proceed with the execution.”

The Golden Mask trusted the Thunder Lion implicitly. As the order was given, the thirty captives dissolved into desperate wailing.

“No! Please!”

“Don’t do this!”

“I’m innocent!”

The ritual of execution was straightforward.

*Fwoosh!*

Pyres ignited across the altar. The cult had learned that destroying the avatar in this world effectively killed the incarnation of evil linked to it. To ensure the ‘evil’ suffered appropriately, they chose fire.

“It burns!”

“Guaaaagh!”

The Thunder Lion watched the flames consume them, his eyes tracking every flicker of agony. His expression remained a mask of stone, showing no pity as he watched the supposed ‘evil’ vanish into ash.

—

“….”

He lunged upward in his bed, heart racing. It happened without warning. The Thunder Lion sat there, gasping for air.

“…Just a dream?”

It didn’t feel like one. The images were too sharp, too visceral. He didn’t even notice the tears carving paths down his cheeks. He looked at his shaking hands.

“What… what have I committed…?”

He tried to tell himself it was just a nightmare, but he knew better. These were ‘other memories’—truths he had buried deep within his soul.

“Did I… was it me who killed her…?”

The realization hit him like a physical blow: he was the one who had ended his own daughter. She had been sickly since birth, her body ravaged by a disease that offered no hope. In his memory, he saw her again, begging him to end her suffering because the pain was too much to bear. He had finally relented. Afterward, he had intended to follow her into death.

‘The Bluebird…’

He remembered now. Just as he was about to end his life, the Bluebird appeared.

—Even if it means losing your identity, if you could have one wish granted, would you take it?

—Am I seeing ghosts now?

—This is real. I am an ‘Operator’.

—You’re here to grant a wish?

—I am.

—Can you bring her back? Healthy? I don’t care what happens to me.

—It is possible.

The promise of his daughter’s life was all he needed. Once the contract was signed, his past and present were wiped clean. He became an avatar. It had been his own choice. And as for Phantom…

‘I was drowning in debt. I was being sold to a necromancer as a human sacrifice.’

That was the reality. The cost of trying to save his daughter had ruined him financially, and he had been sold to a dark mage. He was as good as dead until Phantom saved him from a pit of the walking dead. Phantom hadn’t just rescued him; he had empowered him, teaching him the secrets of lightning. He had trained him for a single purpose: to reach the conclusion of the world and fulfill his wish.

‘I didn’t even realize the moment I transcended.’

When he had first awakened, he only remembered the time he was a puppet. The most vital pieces of his life had been locked away. Why? Had the Bluebird hidden them? Had the Death God Cult manipulated that gap to manufacture his hatred? Were they in league?

Regardless of the ‘why,’ he knew this wasn’t a dream. He was a Transcendent; he knew the difference between a fabrication and a suppressed truth.

‘I have done something unforgivable…’

The horror of his actions as an Executor washed over him. He had hunted players like a predator, believing them to be demons. He had been searching for Phantom to kill him.

But Phantom was the one who had pulled him out of the darkness.

‘He was my savior. He was the one who gave me a chance.’

Without him, he would have died as a nameless experiment for a black magician. Every feat Phantom had achieved using his body was a miracle. Phantom hadn’t stolen his life; he had lived it when the Thunder Lion was too broken to continue. It was all a lie. He had been a fool.

“…It appears we are all of the same mind.”

The Thunder Lion looked up. A group of Executors had gathered in the shadows of his room. They were all former avatars of Phantom. They, too, had seen the truth at the exact same moment.

“The Death God Cult is built on a foundation of lies.”

“We were played like puppets.”

“Thunder Lion. What is our move?”

They were looking to him for leadership. The Thunder Lion didn’t need long to think. The window of opportunity was narrow; the cult would realize soon that their ‘Executors’ had regained their full senses. They had to strike while they still held the element of surprise.

“…First,” the Thunder Lion said, his voice crackling with electricity, “we take the head of the Golden Mask.”

—

Raiga, the man known as the Empire’s Greatest Sword, was traveling back. Having conquered the World Tree’s dungeon, he was returning to the Empire to refine his newfound strength and finish his remaining business.

“….”

As he looked toward the horizon, his eyes widened in shock.

The sky was choked with soot and embers. The Empire was engulfed in flames.