Chapter 9

His grim conjecture was confirmed by the System.

Hastur reread those two brief task descriptions, tasting a flavor of incitement and insinuation within them:

Stay vigilant, Hastur. That person investigating the evil gods isn’t as feeble as the Hawk Gang thugs.

He stands at the pinnacle of species evolution, just like you—but at the completely opposite end.

You pursue ultimate chaos, while He pursues ultimate order.

A clash between you is inevitable, one battle or countless ones.

Until one of you claims the other’s blood-drenched severed head and strides down the victor’s path of triumphant evolution.

“…Father?”

Ithaqua’s urgent whisper reached him as if muffled by a wall. A few seconds later, it successfully yanked Hastur’s attention back.

He turned his head and saw Ithaqua clutching his unfinished Little Pudding in a protective embrace—more like guarding it, really. The Ithaqua’s fur had poofed out explosively, engulfing half of Finnian, who sat beside him.

“…” Finnian’s expression was a sight to behold. He sat rigidly at the table, staring at his plate, his face caught somewhere between “What the hell is this?”, “Damn it, fur in my face”, and “Oh~ so fluffy~”:

“Is this some hallucination of mine, or what? Why does it look like there’s an embryo in this pudding?”

“Ha! That’s rich. I remember making this pudding myself. I sure as hell didn’t stuff an incubating chick embryo in as filling.”

Ithaqua snatched the plate with lightning speed and devoured the contaminated pudding in one gulp: “One hundred percent your imagination, Mr. Finnian.”

The look on his face as he swallowed was one of distinct discomfort. If he ever traveled to the East, he’d never be able to stomach century eggs.

“What happened, Father? You just seemed… very unhappy.”

“Very unhappy” was putting it mildly. To be precise, Hastur had just looked like an evil god descending to earth, on the verge of unleashing a slaughter.

That poor old-fashioned phone had melted into a viscous puddle, stinking to high heaven. The call with Detective Dustin had been forcibly terminated.

“You could hear the call. Figure out why yourself.”

Hastur forced himself out of his somewhat undignified alert state, though not entirely successfully.

He had no choice but to wrangle the Yellow Robe, which was prickly about everything at the moment. It rolled up the phone Dr. Raymond had left for the unwilling Ithaqua and redialed Detective Dustin.

“What was with the sudden dropout?” The detective sounded baffled for only a few seconds before supplying his own explanation. “Must be a signal issue… Can’t those damn thugs leave the last few signal towers in Phoenix District alone?!”

Sadly, such casual vandalism of public infrastructure was all too common. Detective Dustin fumed for only a moment before sighing in resignation.

“Anyway, back to our earlier topic—thanks to this illegal intruder who ‘helped’ sort the files, I found a list in that stack of case records. Names of people tied to the Cradle Cult, ones who’ve supposedly infiltrated the mid-to-upper ranks.”

“I’m planning to pay them a visit one by one. See if they have any valuable insights into these bizarre missing persons cases.”

From the detective’s deliberate emphasis on certain words, Hastur could tell the man held out little hope.

Detective Dustin sighed again. “If the visits turn up nothing, I’ll have to switch identities and go undercover in the Cradle Cult. Hope the guy behind the disappearances takes the bait… flush him out.”

“The efficiency on that approach would suck, though. So I’m really hoping the visits cough up some solid leads.”

Hastur hoped the same.

But compared to tracking down his kin or uncovering his true origins, right now he wanted more to eliminate that shadowy figure lurking in the dark, features blurred and indistinct.

So instead of responding right away to the detective’s plan, he turned his attention to his Status Panel.

Time froze briefly as the panel opened.

A string of 1s gleamed like candles marking death. Blow out any one, and the shadow of eternal sleep would swallow him whole.

Why stare at a bunch of game stats? Go chase your true origins! Sow chaos and madness!

The voice in his mind prodded him, laced with wariness and irritation—maybe even a hint of unease:

That guy should be above this entire game world, just like you. You can’t beat him with in-game tricks. Chase something real instead. Like evolution—

But this game did interfere with his power to some degree, after all—blinding his senses, capping his strength and vitality.

Hastur wondered: Was the other entity under similar constraints?

Either way, he needed to boost his panel stats. His strength within the game was heavily tied to that Status Panel.

Then dump those remaining 5 points into Life.

The voice sneered:

Lest you croak from a paper cut before even facing the enemy.

Hastur ignored the inner voice’s trash talk as usual. His gaze settled on the panel’s two highest attributes: Mental/Spirit and Agility.

Points in Life or Strength would only bump him from “helpless invalid” to “average invalid.” Better to double down on his strengths entirely.

As for which one…

Hastur dumped all 5 Freedom Points into Mental/Spirit without hesitation.

Dodging wouldn’t secure victory. Only offense could.

【Mental/Spirit: 25 (I can feel it… I can feel it! Something’s about to grow!!)】

Hastur: “…?”

…If my ‘face’ feels itchy, is that normal?

The inner voice muttered.

Of course it wasn’t. Hastur had no “face”—no anthropomorphic features at all, save for that pair of decorative fake eyeballs.

Is this a good thing?

The voice pressed, tinged with unease:

Maybe those 5 points are kicking in?

Earn more Freedom Points. Figure out what’s growing.

Even without the voice saying it, that was exactly Hastur’s plan.

He pulled up the long-neglected GM Interface and had the Yellow Robe type in: 【How do I acquire Freedom Points?】

Silence answered him.

Just as Hastur started wondering if the GM had gone AWOL, lines of text scrolled rapidly into view:

【Pandora above, did you even bother with the Newbie Tutorial?】

【Look bottom-left—right where the popups spawn. Tap there, and you’ll get the task list with all your current quests.】

Hastur: “…!”

On his third day playing the game, he’d finally learned about the “task list”!

He switched back to the game view and tapped bottom-left as instructed.

A translucent sidebar slid into place, kicking off with a bold red countdown:

【(Countdown remaining: 72 hours) Basic Construction Task · One: Provide basic education to the children in the Orphanage】

【The Orphanage, also known as a children’s welfare institute.

The Dean must lead all staff in implementing tailored upbringing programs for the various types of orphans (Note 1):

1. Healthy children: Combine education and nurturing;

2. Infants and toddlers: Prioritize care, with preschool education on the side;

3. Physically disabled but mentally sound: Provide rehabilitation, vocational education, and skills training;

4. Intellectually disabled children: Focus on self-care training and simple labor skills.】

The task description came across with a frantic, exasperated edge:

【Countdown!! Check the countdown, Dean!! You’ve been in office for three days now! And you still haven’t provided any proper education for the orphans! A competent Dean wouldn’t be this negligent!】

【Within one week, establish an independent school within the Orphanage, or enroll the children in a nearby school for day classes.】

Hastur: “…………”

He knew it! How could a management sim throw zero management quests at him? All he’d gotten were mystery investigations. The real mainline quests were stashed right here!

He scrolled down quickly to the crucial bit:

【Task Reward: 5 Freedom Points.

Note: Strongly recommend building an independent school. Once complete, it will generate Freedom Points hourly, scaled to construction level.】

Hold on—ongoing Freedom Points? Huh… that actually sounds promising.

The inner voice grumbled:

Basic Task One… so there’s Two, Three, Four… more? If every construction task spits out steady Freedom Points… couldn’t max out every stat?

—Was this game really that straightforward?

Hastur blinked in mild shock, cradling the task list like a map to a wide-open highway.

He closed it slowly, a touch suspicious of the game’s suddenly plummeting difficulty.

But as time resumed its flow, he managed a timely reply to Detective Dustin: “—Appreciate the hard work, Detective.”

He’d originally planned to tag along on the visits, but with a path to unshackling his power right in front of him—one that might carry unknown side effects, no less—he had to prioritize this.

As for the investigation? Detective Dustin could handle it just fine. The man bore Hastur’s mark, after all. He wouldn’t go down easy.

Hastur carefully weighed the priorities of his tasks, ensuring he would be in peak condition when he finally met that unknown tracker.

In most games, a player’s death simply meant reloading from a save point. But Hastur didn’t believe his clash with the intruder would allow for any do-overs.

Just as the voice in his mind had once tempted him: You should be capable of more! Corrupt the core data! Make it so that even a save reload can’t bring him back!

“Uh?” Detective Dustin paused, muttering under his breath. “I figured you’d insist on tagging along… I even rehearsed some lines to talk you out of it.”

Since there was no need for persuasion, Detective Dustin was more than happy to keep things simple. “All right, then. It’s settled. I’ll call you once my rounds are done.”

The call ended shortly after.

Hastur set the phone down and turned toward Ithaqua.

In keeping with his vow to fulfill his fatherly duties as best he could, he asked Ithaqua’s preference anyway. “Would you rather commute, or stay on ca—”

Wait. This question was pointless.

Ithaqua’s current appearance made any outing impossible.

Hastur relaxed at once, his gaze shifting to the only viable option left. “I’m planning to reopen the on-campus school.”

“——????”

Neither Ithaqua nor Finnian could follow how Hastur had leaped from the missing persons case to starting a school—though piecing together bits of the phone conversation, they had a vague sense of this “monster hunter” now in the mix.

Finnian’s face took on the wide-eyed wonder of an old-timer stumbling into a wizard’s realm. “Weird—”

He caught himself mid-word, clamping his mouth shut and shooting a quick glance at Ithaqua before swallowing the “thing” that had almost followed.

“—weirdly awesome. Even non-human kids have to go to school?”

Hastur glanced at the task description. “That’s right. Ithaqua’s a perfectly healthy child. He deserves a proper education. You two keep eating. I’ll go fix up the school.”

“…” Finnian’s expression morphed into a mask of pure confusion. “Healthy child???”

~~~

Setting aside how rundown everything was, the orphanage’s facilities were surprisingly complete.

The first floor already boasted a spacious lecture hall classroom, along with offices aplenty for staff.

As Hastur drifted toward the lecture hall he’d set aside for now, that nagging inner voice kept murmuring:

On closer inspection, it all made perfect sense.

Nesting in a world meant putting down roots there. The corruption would radiate outward from the lair, seeping into the surrounding reality… and their power would grow along with it!

Hastur listened to the voice spin its occult theories about the game’s mechanics and pulled up the Building Interface.

According to the task rewards, once the school was complete, it would generate Freedom Points every hour—scaling with the “construction level.”

Which meant not just building it, but kitting it out thoroughly and up to modern standards.

Hastur eyed the “top-tier package” in the building mall and scanned the price tag:

35,000,000.

Hastur: “…”

Hastur: “?”

Too steep? Question marks popped above the Egg Yolk Jellyfish’s head.

With barely 80,000 to his name, the sticker shock hit Hastur hard. He quickly sorted by ascending price and found the cheapest bundle at the top:

【Basic Classroom Set:

Want to let your kids dive into their passions and discover their future dreams? Try this foundational classroom package!

Includes:

Crafting station and tools ×1;

Physics, chemistry, and biology lab bench and equipment ×1;

Literature bookshelves ×3;

Hacker starter kit ×1;

Arts and entertainment stage ×1;

Small martial arts training area ×1】

【Price: 300,000】

Still sitting on less than 80,000, Hastur: “…”

A voice drifted over from behind him—Finnian’s. “What now? Your robe’s hem just froze.”

He said it like the Yellow Robe was some kind of external tail.

Hastur turned, his mood a touch heavier. “If the orphanage needs funds for repairs, is there somewhere we can get help?”

“Help?” Finnian echoed, a lazy, almost amused smile tugging at his lips—new and intriguing to him.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the peeling wall without a care. His gray-blue eyes sized up Hastur as his tongue toyed with the word, like it was hilarious to even mention in Phoenix District.

—But it wasn’t funny. It was tragic.

He reined in the smirk and sarcasm quickly, answering with a straight face.

“Normally, yeah—the local government tosses some relief funds at orphanages.”

“But in Phoenix District? They can’t even outfit their own cops with bulletproof vests. Forget about subsidizing an orphanage.”

Hastur studied Finnian intently. “But you’ve got another way, don’t you?”

He caught the whiff of hesitation.

“Another way…” Finnian repeated, drawing it out slow and thoughtful this time.

He seemed to be weighing whether his approach might drag Hastur and Ithaqua into hot water. He didn’t want that.

After all—

“I figure I owe you a proper thank you.” Finnian veered off-topic for a beat before circling back. “Yeah, I’ve got an idea for making some cash. But it’s risky.”

“Not just pulling it off—there’ll be fallout afterward, too.”

“That’s why I’d rather hold off a few days. Let my wounds heal up proper, then I handle it solo, hand you the money, and keep the mess away from here.”

The System chimed suddenly:

【Unlocked hidden achievements: [The Lamp God’s 2000th Year], [Lamp God’s Gratitude].】

【You’ve earned 5 Freedom Points. Proceed to allocate?】

Hastur, absorbed in the conversation: “?”

Talk about a windfall!

The inner voice jumped in right away, wracking its nonexistent brains for a mystical explanation:

It’s faith! He just offered up a sliver of faith!

Hastur silenced the mental chatter. He didn’t care where the points came from—he just wanted to spend them:

【Mental: 30 (I can feel it… I can feel it! Something’s about to sprout!!)】

The description hadn’t changed, sadly.

But Hastur wasn’t discouraged. The breakthrough felt tantalizingly close.

“No time to drag our feet.” He shook his head, his tone brooking no argument. “The school needs to be up yesterday. What’s this idea of yours? We’ll handle it together.”

Finnian started to protest, then faltered. In the end, under Hastur’s unwavering stare (bolstered, no doubt, by that Sanity edge), he caved.

“I’m plugged into all the gangs around Phoenix District—which bases are soft targets, which members have fat bounties on the police wanted lists.”

“Come nighttime, we hit one of their outposts. Clean out their petty cash stash, then drag ’em to the station for the reward payout. Double dip.”

Hastur didn’t hesitate. “Which one’s the target?”

“…Happy Old Home.” Finnian shrugged and fiddled with the Implanted Weapon in his right hand. The mechanical components clicked into place with precise snaps. “Zane Gang turf.”

The high-end meds pumping from his mechanical heart had mended his wounds to about eighty percent. Tonight was doable if they moved fast.

No one turned down vengeance served early. Finnian’s gray eyes blazed with inner fire.

“Night’s when they roll out for jobs—base’ll be lightly manned.”

“We snag a temporary ride off the street and head straight in.”

Hastur mulled it over but decided against looping in Ithaqua for an op this shady. “Where’s the base?”

Finnian jerked his head. “Abandoned Hydroelectric Station, up north in Phoenix District.”

~~~

Meanwhile.

Phoenix District North · Inside the Abandoned Hydroelectric Station.

Lights were few and far between. Squads of guards clutched their rifles, pacing the narrow paths on patrol.

In the security booth at the entrance, a buzz-cut thug sprawled across the desk, snoring away.

An old clunker of a computer sat open before him. Its stark black-and-white screen flickered with a streak of green code.

The next instant.

The thug bolted upright, eyes glassy and vacant. A murky glow pulsed erratically from his Brain Core Interface.