The Gospel Book is a gift from the Omniscient Weaver—a miraculous tool beyond human comprehension, a universal wish-granter, and the foundation of the Gospel Civilization. But at the end of the day, it is still just that—a tool.
No matter how sacred or revered a tool may be, the passage of time strips away its divinity. To exploit tools is a mark of wisdom, an instinct ingrained in every sorcerer.
"If the Gospel Book is a vast spiderweb stretching across the entire nation, then our offices are like little bugs scuttling through its gaps," Anan said with a sly smile. "The Gospel Book doesn't make mistakes—it's simply… slow."
"For instance, by transferring talent before a ranking evaluation, you can manipulate the standings of two cities. There are countless ways to exploit these kinds of loopholes. For example, the Gospel Book doesn't allow direct queries about someone's location. But if you frame your question differently—like asking where their vehicle is—you can achieve the same result."
"The work of an office like ours," Anan explained, tapping the rim of her wineglass, "is to identify and exploit these loopholes to fulfill all sorts of commissions. However, it's an inherently dangerous profession. Because while the Gospel Book doesn't make mistakes, it does catch on eventually. When the web senses an abnormal tremor, the bugs that dared to profane it will face the consequences they deserve."
Igula frowned.
"If the Gospel Book disapproves of what you do, why does it even let you make the rankings?"
"Because the web has holes," Anan replied softly. "As long as those gaps exist, there's space for offices like ours to survive. The day we're completely eradicated will be the day this world transforms into heaven."
"A heaven where everyone participates in relentless competition for rankings?" Ash shuddered. "That sounds more like hell!"
"I think it sounds great," Harvey remarked. "The corpses of overworked sorcerers make excellent raw materials."
Anan turned to Igula and gestured toward Ash.
"Is your Blood Moon Kingdom's environment so harsh that even someone who hates competition can become a two-wing sorcerer?"
"...Once again, please don't generalize based on individual behavior," Igula replied, exasperated. "So, are we—outsiders—your new tools for exploiting loopholes? The contract is for 101 days. Does that mean there's a significant ranking evaluation during this time?"
"Exactly." Anan nodded approvingly. "Mr. Bogin, in different circumstances, I would have been eager to recruit you permanently to the Funeral Office. Unfortunately, that's no longer an option."
Igula's gaze turned cold.
"Anan, I don't think exposing your intent to kill us 101 days in advance is a wise strategy."
"You misunderstand me," Anan said, spreading her hands in a gesture of innocence. "What I mean is, by participating in my plan, you won't just help me achieve untold benefits—you'll also elevate yourselves beyond the mundane, standing atop the world."
"I'm not worried about your revenge because, by the end of 101 days, you'll be thanking me."
"Our goal isn't some ordinary ranking," she declared, her voice tinged with anticipation. "It's the Weaving Festival—an event that happens once every 50 years!"
The Weaving Festival?
Ash's mind wandered, recalling a past job interview. The boss had promised him an opportunity to "ring the Nasdaq bell," painting a picture of grandeur. Fresh out of college, Ash had almost fallen for the pitch—only to be beaten down later by "flexible working hours" (read: unpaid overtime) and "excellent learning opportunities" (translation: doing multiple roles for one paycheck).
Now, bound by an ironclad contract, Ash wondered why Anan was still wasting time pitching a dream. Was this corporate seduction or just overly polite coercion?
"The Gospel Book's rankings and the information it provides are all rooted in the past," Anan explained. "If you want to trade points for knowledge about the future, the cost is astronomical—and often impossible to obtain. The one exception? Information concerning the security of outsiders.
"For national defense purposes, the Gospel Book devotes extra resources to predicting information about foreigners, which is why I could so conveniently welcome the three of you."
"But the rankings introduced during the Weaving Festival are different," Anan continued. "These aren't based on the past—they reflect the future."
Igula's eyes gleamed. "Are you saying…"
"Yes," Anan replied. "For example, if the Weaving Festival introduces a 'Four-Wing Sorcerer Power Ranking,' the individuals on that list won't necessarily be today's legendary sorcerers. Instead, they'll likely be those destined to rise and dominate the next 50 years."
"Some of them might still be obscure apprentices. Others might not have even been born yet. But under the Gospel Book's all-seeing guidance, their destinies will be woven into certain history. In the Weaving Festival, we hear the echoes of the future."
"To distinguish these future ranking stars from ordinary top-tier individuals, we call them 'Echoers'—those whose names are carried back as echoes from the future."
"The Weaving Festival begins on May 10th and ends on August 10th," Anan explained. "Every 10 days, a new future ranking is revealed—10 rankings in total. Unlike ordinary rankings, the rewards for future rankings are personalized for the Echoers and include rare items such as experience orbs, unique sorcerer spirits, precious tools, or even permanent divine miracles."
Harvey's expression shifted.
"If we make the rankings, you want us to give you our rewards?"
Anan smiled mysteriously and didn't answer immediately. Instead, she continued, "Not all rankings are created equal. You understand that, right?"
The group nodded. A national ranking outweighed a regional one, organizational rankings surpassed individual ones, and sorcerer rankings were always more prestigious than non-sorcerer rankings.
"The Weaving Festival's rankings are no different," Anan said, tapping her fingers on the table. "While the 10th ranking is predetermined, the other nine are entirely random. In the last festival, there was even a 'Cat's Cradle String Game Ranking.'"
"To differentiate the Echoers, each ranking also assigns 'hidden points.' The Echoer with the highest hidden points will receive the Omniscient Weaver's ultimate blessing."
"What kind of blessing?"
"A wish."
Her emerald eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as she raised a finger. "One universal wish."
"To resurrect the dead. To achieve immortality. To surpass the four-wing stage. Even… to travel through time."
The room fell silent. Igula's pupils dilated. Harvey froze mid-motion, his fingers digging into his palm. Ash narrowed his eyes.
After a long pause, Lis broke the tension with a wistful sigh.
"Wow. I have a wish too. I think I had a sister once… I'd love to meet her again."
Her innocent remark eased the mood, though a heavy undercurrent remained.
"Is that your goal?" Igula asked, stroking the metallic ring on his finger.
Anan nodded.
"Yes. I won't take any rewards from the rankings except for the highest hidden-point wish. That wish belongs to me."
Ash tilted his head.
"What makes you so sure we can even make it onto the future rankings? I mean, aside from being lazy and single, I don't really excel in anything."
"It's not about your talents," Igula interjected. "It's about our status as outsiders."
Anan grinned, toying with her earring.
"Tell me, what does the Gospel Book use to predict the future?"
"The past."
"Family, environment, resources, genetics… It's not complicated. A child born into privilege—with loving, educated parents and a network of high-society neighbors—is almost guaranteed a bright future."
"Conversely, someone born into poverty, orphaned young, and burdened by mediocrity is unlikely to amount to much."
"The Weaving Festival weaves the vast threads of the past into a definitive, unchangeable future. For someone born in the Gospel Civilization, the Gospel Book can predict their destiny with absolute certainty—even if they haven't taken their first breath."
Harvey spoke up, licking the wound his teeth had worried into his finger.
"But we're outsiders. The Gospel's web doesn't reach the Blood Moon Kingdom. It can't know anything about our distant past."
"Exactly," Anan said, a faint glow emanating from her fingertips as a moth-shaped sorcerer spirit emerged.
"Without enough past data, the Gospel Book must rely almost entirely on our present actions to predict our future. Which means…"
She leaned forward, her smile razor-sharp.
"You can use your 'now' to deceive the Gospel Book into weaving a more brilliant 'future.'"
"You," she said, her voice a mix of awe and calculation, "are the most dangerous bugs in the Gospel Civilization's web."