'A numbering in the millions.'
Minjun had never met this convict before, likely because they had been assigned to this dimension recently while he had been away in other worlds.
Despite this, Minjun focused on the number for three reasons.
'So, they've been doing this for at least 700 years.'
It's known that the probability of a convict classified as "Asif" surviving for over 100 years is less than 50%. As informal workers, they often take on dangerous missions that regular Committee employees avoid, leading to many dying untimely deaths due to accidents and disasters. Considering that convicts with numbers in the tens of millions are the norm, a convict with a number in the millions is a veteran who has survived many trials, possessing both judgment and skills to stay alive this long.
'And they seem to be mentally stable.'
For convicts who are originally from single-life species like humans or orcs, the mental limit for enduring imprisonment usually maxes out around 200 to 300 years. Beyond that, their minds begin to deteriorate. The man standing in front of Minjun had likely endured several times that span of time without showing any signs of instability, indicating he was from a long-lived species. Individuals like that are generally difficult to deal with.
'And...'
The last reason Minjun felt uneasy looking at the number above the man's head was because, despite this being their first meeting, the number felt oddly familiar.
Minjun sneered.
"So you're the idiot who made that ridiculous proposal to me through the spiritual network."
Asif-1,319,552's face hardened, and a flash of anger flickered in his eyes.
Minjun's voice was filled with mocking as he continued, "You suggested teaming up with other convicts to retrieve the head and split the reward, didn't you?"
Just before heading to Germany, Minjun had checked a message on his computer. The man in front of him had boasted about his 'tracking abilities' and proposed a partnership.
And Minjun's response to that?
"It was so absurd that I didn't even bother to reply."
He had read it and ignored it.
By not responding, Minjun had sent a clear message: he didn't need any help and could handle it on his own.
The convicts, unaware of this, exchanged confused glances. Asif-1,319,552 gritted his teeth and shouted, "Forty million talents is an insane amount! Do you really have to take it all for yourself?! After all these years as a convict, you must have saved up a lot of talents! Even with the high survival tax, 800 years should be more than enough to retire...!"
"My account balance is none of your concern, nor is it relevant to this nonsense you're spouting. You're straying from the point. I'm working alone because I'm confident I can succeed on my own. Why should I share the reward with you when the success will be entirely my doing?"
Minjun's tone was certain, as if he could retrieve the archbishop's head by himself, and the others dared not refute it. Asif-1,319,552 spoke in a cold voice.
"You're impressive. Very impressive. You're so far ahead of the rest of us that you can't afford to be a little generous?"
Minjun thought it was a waste of time to keep listening to this nonsense.
"Don't kid yourself. We're convicts. We didn't willingly form these ties, and nothing gets better by sympathizing with each other."
Unless they were in a unique environment, like the dimension that was nearly destroyed by a dictator, the Committee openly dangled rewards in front of convicts to encourage competition.
A deeply ingrained winner-takes-all structure.
Minjun was certain that even if he were to show kindness and redistribute the talents to the 'weaker' convicts, no actual value would be created. There was no room for convicts to change this rigid system on their own.
"Furthermore."
He twisted his lips.
"To spout such nonsense in this situation... you must be pretty shameless. While a group of incompetent guys were planning to backstab someone capable."
The shadows around him began to rise. He threw a glance at the four convicts surrounding him.
The group had originally been over ten strong, but their numbers had dwindled significantly. Half had split off to follow Ha Eun-seong, and a few were already incapacitated.
'The guy with the million-number might be a bit tricky... but this should still be manageable.'
Just then—
Screeeam!
A scream echoed from afar. Judging by the direction, it wasn't from a convict.
Instead of paying much attention to that, Minjun gripped his ceremonial dagger. The momentary distraction also shifted the expressions of his enemies as they gathered their strength.
As soon as Minjun sliced below his elbow, the convicts charged at him.
Dotes watched the people passing by in the hallway with a puzzled expression.
They were all ancient races. But the atmosphere was strangely chaotic. Judging by their attire, they were from the "Mint," an organization known for their pride in doing the Committee's most important work, which usually made them exude a confidence bordering on arrogance. This time, they seemed nothing like that.
Dotes picked up on the air of bewilderment and urgency.
"Hey, you! Do you know what's going on?"
He caught someone passing by and asked, indicating the Mint employees with a nod of his head.
The person he stopped wasn't an ancient race but a regular employee, not a convict. It was good timing, as the man was known for having sharp ears and a loose tongue.
"This is top-secret information..."
The colleague scratched the cornea of his left eye with a stubby finger, hesitating.
"You don't trust me? Come on, spill it."
After extracting a promise of secrecy, the colleague finally whispered.
"Looks like there's a problem with the Mint."
"Yeah, I've got eyes too. And they're both working fine, thanks."
He sarcastically remarked, mocking the man for stating the obvious.
His colleague grumbled.
"Patience, will you? Just listen. It seems the amount of talents the Mint has been reporting lately is lower than expected."
Dotes' ears perked up.
"How much lower?"
"About 15% less per day than projected."
"What?!"
Dotes gasped and took a deep breath.
"Is it true? 15%?"
"Yes. It's quite alarming, isn't it? While exact predictions are impossible, this discrepancy is just too large."
Dotes didn't fully understand the Mint's secrets, but he knew there was a cycle that determined the mining volume. The Mint's elites would simulate this cycle to estimate the mining output and report it to the High Commissioner.
Of course, it was always a headache for the Mint when the actual annual totals were slightly lower than the predictions, but the High Commissioner never penalized them for such minor discrepancies.
However, a 15% difference like this was a serious problem.
"But didn't a similar incident occur in the past? A few hundred years ago?"
"There was a drop of about 3% back then. But the next day, the mining volume had recovered. The decrease was offset by an increase, so overall production ended up rising. Because of that past experience, the Mint and the High Commissioner didn't panic and were just monitoring the trend. But…"
It seemed their patience had worn thin.
"So, they're in an uproar because the restoration isn't happening?"
The colleague's tone grew more cautious.
"It's been ten days already."
Dotes couldn't comprehend it, not because he didn't understand but because he couldn't believe it.
"What?"
"Ten days with the mining volume still reduced."
"...Oh my God."
"The High Commissioner is furious. They're questioning whether the Mint's simulations are wrong. But even after several rechecks, the results remain the same."
Dotes mumbled in confusion.
"Has the base production decreased? But since the Committee's formation, that's never happened..."
The colleague squinted as he spoke.
"Well, for someone not from an ancient race, it's hard to guess the reason. After all, we don't even know how the Mint secures its talents. The term 'mining' that everyone uses is actually quite vague. Who knows if they're really digging on some planet or using some other method?"
Still, it was common knowledge that the production volume had never deviated so drastically from the Mint's simulations, and there had never been a day when production had stopped.
"So do you know how much the total mining shortfall is over these ten days?"
The colleague leaned in, whispering as if revealing a real secret. He shared the cumulative deviation from the expected amount.
As soon as Dotes heard it, his feathers stood on end. His voice was filled with shock and terror.
"...2.5 million talents?!"
The port city was now enveloped in complete darkness.
Joachim looked at his stepfather, surrounded by heavy silence.
The resurrection seemed incomplete. The absence of his neck alone suggested a loss of most normal biological functions. Additionally, the archbishop had fallen into a deep sleep that never broke with the coming of night—almost as if in a trance.
Joachim could only vaguely guess that this somnolence was essential to maintaining his current state.
Strange events always seemed to occur at this time.
Joachim stared at his stepfather, his face showing a dazed expression.
'What could this holy light be?'
Just like when he was first resurrected, the neck emitted a brilliant light.
The ecstatic radiance that poured out after losing consciousness. Despite having seen it several times, he gazed at it as if entranced.
'It's beautiful!'
Joachim thought. This was indeed the perfect proof of divinity. Evidence of the gods sleeping in the 'Dreamland.'
The priest extended his hands and lifted his stepfather. In an inexplicable desire, Joachim absorbed the light into his retinas.
Even though he already held the head in his hands, greed surged within him. Could he grasp the light directly if he shattered this head?
'...No. I mustn't.'
After receiving instructions from the headquarters to escape with the head, the act had seemed perfectly rational at the time.
However, as time passed, Joachim could no longer be certain. Could he definitively conclude that the impulse to covet that light was not one of the motivations?
The priest shook off the complex thoughts in his mind.
"This is not personal desire. It is to keep the evidence of the divine near the Earth's inhabitants. And it is a step toward uncovering the truth hidden by the aliens."
While thinking this, a scream echoed from outside.
Kyaaaaah!
Even without looking out, he felt he knew what was happening.
'It's getting faster.'
The city they had initially stayed in had seen a murder spree begin a few days after they left. But the intervals had gradually shortened, so even though tonight was their first night here, the slaughter and madness had already commenced.
"Is this also the result of your actions, borrowing the power of the slumbering gods?"
People committing murders and having nightmares in the place where the archbishop stayed.
And the verses written in the "Asif's Book."
Suddenly, Joachim thought. Until now, the Earth's believers had committed all sorts of bizarre acts to make the slumbering gods have nightmares. That was the archbishop's teaching.
But perhaps... there was a much more direct way to give the gods nightmares and awaken them?
"I can no longer believe what you said."
Once he had believed everything with all his might, but now his eyes were filled with distrust.
As Joachim placed the head on the table, his gaze fell on a particular spot. The area where the archbishop's neck and jaw connected. About half an inch from the sharp incision made by Min-jun. From the front, it was obscured by shadows, but there was an old scar that looked like it had been caused by a blade. It was clearly made long before his death.
A chilling mark left on the body of a high priest who could heal wounds with divine power.
When he was young, Joachim and the other orphans had asked how such a wound came about, but the archbishop had never once told them. He either mumbled something vague or told a convenient lie, but never spoke the truth. At the time, Joachim had thought it might be due to some unpleasant memory and had let it go, but now everything seemed suspicious.
Joachim traced the scar with his finger and muttered.
"Just how many more secrets are being kept from us?"
At that moment.
"!"
Sensing something unusual, Joachim widened his eyes.
Crackling!
He felt the barrier constructed with divine power being forcibly torn apart. The protective barrier he had put his all into creating for the sanctuary was being breached in an instant.
The force that pierced through was of a kind Joachim was all too familiar with.
"No! Not now...!"
Joachim gritted his teeth and stood up. With a rough gesture, he grabbed the archbishop's head.
< 88. The Abyss of Distrust (16) > End