I Start with 13 Hidden Traits Chapter-110

Ch-110

—

I’ll ask one last time.

*“You bastard.”*

The Master frowned beneath his mask.

His mouth had gone dry. If he didn’t consciously control his breathing, it felt like he might suffocate.

— *53… that bastard! He’s a player too! His mask hides it, but I’m sure of it! So please…!*

The man who died by the Reaper’s blade.

The one who was later revealed to be a “player” and was then incinerated—
that very man had pointed at him and declared that he was also a “player.”

Was this what it felt like to stand barefoot on a bed of thorns?

Everyone in the banquet hall was whispering and staring at him.

Even Blackflame— that woman— had completely vanished from sight.

*I shouldn’t have approached her.*

A fifteen-day auction.
Wanting to “make allies,” he had approached people with the intention of establishing a connection—
and that had been the decisive mistake.

Information he had let slip, assuming they were fellow players, came back to poison him.

If he’d known this would happen, he never would have approached anyone to begin with.

His mouth tasted bitter.

*All warps have been halted. There’s nowhere to run, no place to hide.*

A hopeless situation.

Warp travel had been temporarily frozen.

No going out, no coming in.

A place to hide?

The entire Darkan Territory had already been sealed off.

So thoroughly that not even an ant could slip through.

And the most absurd part—

*There aren’t even any citizens. From the start, this entire auction was bait to catch players.*

Not a single ordinary citizen was visible in the city.

Before they froze warp access—
at that time when everyone would be focused on the auction—
they had already evacuated every single non-player.

Naturally, it would be impossible for them to have moved this fast simply because a man revealed to be a player died today.

This meant they already knew there were more players in Darkan.

Perhaps the “Special-Grade Auction” itself was a trap designed to catch players.

A pitiful animal caught in a snare.

A fish trapped in a glass tank.

His situation was no different.

*Informants? Are they finding players using the Reaper? Or is there some other way they can prove I’m a player?*

He had to dispel these focused gazes on him.

But how?

Should he accuse someone else of being a player?

He didn’t know the Reaper Cult’s methods, so he couldn’t see any opening.

But if he stood still, he would die.
He needed to act— anything.

Tap.

At that moment, someone began walking across the hall.

The owner of Skullbreaker.

The bodyguard of Number 2— the one who crushed a Transcendent.

He slowly approached Number 1.

Then silently handed him something.
After checking it, Number 1 nodded deeply.

“This one is not a sinner.”

Not a sinner.

As soon as he said it, that verdict became final.

The nobles’ attitudes changed instantly.

“He does not give off the grotesque stench of a ‘sinner.’”

“Hm. If he can wield Skullbreaker, he must be a giantkin. And there are no giantkin who are sinners.”

There was something else that made no sense.

…Just who was Number 1?

The nobles acted as if the man beside him did not exist.

As if they must not look at him directly, must not act as if they had heard him.

Yet his words and actions clearly influenced everyone present.

Was he some kind of Voldemort whose name must not be spoken?

*What did he show them?*

The Master stared at the man until his eyes hurt.

He was desperate to know what had been revealed to prove innocence.

*Ding.*
*Ding.*
*Ding-a-ling.*

Suddenly, chimes rang out.

The great doors of the banquet hall opened, and the Reaper Cult’s enforcers, clad in black hoods, entered.

Among them was the man in the silver fox mask—
the one who had carried out the “incineration” at the auction.

He stepped forward and said,

“Each person will be ‘sterilized’ in order. Come forward by number.”

By number?

Something was off.

One of the imperial nobles stepped out.

“Hold on. You mean *we*, nobles of the Empire, are included?”

“Of course.”

“…Are you treating *us* as sinners?”

The imperial nobles all scowled and began protesting.

“Is this a joke?”

“You dare suspect *us*?”

“Utterly preposterous…!!”

“Lord Darkan! Was this your plan all along?”

They had thought only the invited outsiders would be subject to suspicion.

But to sterilize even imperial nobles was beyond outrageous.

But the silver fox mask did not move.

And the Lord of Darkan simply watched with folded arms.

Meaning—
this had been the plan from the start.

*That white powder…*

But what continued to grip the Master’s attention was the powder the Reaper Cult agents were holding.

He was certain that this powder had swapped bodies between Earth and Pangaenia.

If this unknown substance could act across dimensions, it was dangerous.

“If you refuse, you will be branded a sinner. Number 2.”

Number 2.

His bodyguard had already been declared innocent—
but Number 2 himself had not.

Soon Number 2 stepped before the silver fox mask.

“…”

Silence stretched between them.

But Number 2’s expression was shifting ever so subtly.

They were conversing.
Exchanging thoughts inaudibly.

*What are they talking about?*

The Master’s mouth grew dry again.
He was burning with curiosity.

“Stand to my right. Next, Number 3.”

After a moment, Number 2 moved to the right side.

No results were announced.

Since the bodyguard had been removed from suspicion, perhaps Number 2 was also deemed “normal.”

But he couldn’t be certain.

Interrogation meant lingering suspicion.

“Stand to my left. Next, Number 4.”

One by one, the “sterilization” continued.

Whatever the criteria, the numbers were divided left and right in almost equal amounts— until past Number 20.

*Damn it.*

Half and half?

That meant nearly half the people gathered here were players.

The Special-Grade Auction had been a “trap” from the very beginning.

There were many players living in hiding throughout the Empire; it wasn’t strange for some to have infiltrated.

The fact that he’d willingly stepped into that trap filled him with regret.

But it was too late.

He looked again at Number 1.

*Those two. Why are they always together?*

Number 1 was a figure of independent, absolute standing.
Yet he remained beside Number 2’s bodyguard.

That meant there was something more than simply declaring him innocent.

Even imperial nobles and the Lord of Darkan could not stand near Number 1, yet that bodyguard remained constantly at his side—

*They’re the real judges!*

The fox masks were just window dressing.

The ones truly identifying “sinners”— players— were Number 1 and the bodyguard.

“Next, Number 53.”

The Master clenched his fists inside.

It was finally his turn.

*…Damn it!*

Time was too short.

No escape.

Still— perhaps.

*Maybe the two judges’ opinions will differ…*

With two judges, there was at least a sliver of hope.

*

*

*—So the Executor engraved the heir’s mark.*
Hidden on the Imperial Medallion was a secret symbol.

Proof that a “Heir” had been found.

*—Then where is the Heir?*

He must mean Hel.

I kept my composure.

*—Should I reveal him now?*

*—No. A True Lineage must not appear just anywhere. We will confirm it together at the Main Church. But why are you wearing the Black Goat mask?*

The Main Church.

The central sanctum of the Reaper Cult!

The fact that he referenced it openly meant Number 1 was indeed a Cult insider—
not a low-ranking member, but someone with substantial authority.

Showing the Imperial Medallion had been a gamble—
one way or another, it would force a conclusion.

If he were imperial, he’d react to the Emperor’s seal.
If he were Cult, he’d recognize the medallion itself.

*A black goat mask…*

In the Abyssal Labyrinth, after seeing Hell, the silver fox mask swordsman had told him to wear a golden goat mask when visiting the Empire.

*—I didn’t have a golden one.*

*—…Hmm. That could have ended badly. In any case, if you are truly a Guardian of the True Lineage… then you cannot be a player.*

He shrugged.

As if apologizing for testing him earlier.

So “MintChocoIsDelicious” claiming he was himself— was that bait?

A trap to confirm his identity as a player?

*—You bear the same authority I do, Guardian of the True Lineage. At least the Executor who gave you the medallion was convinced. I will trust that conviction.*

The Three Imperial Swords—
the silver fox mask’s certainty had saved him.

It appeared he had passed.

And the way the man looked at him had changed subtly.

*—A new Guardian… it has been ages. And one bearing the goat mask— the symbol of Baal… I am truly curious whose Guardian you are. Very well, golden-hued Guardian of the True Lineage. From now on, you and I will perform the ‘sterilization’ together.*

So each Guardian had their own “symbol.”

He looked at my goat mask with curiosity.

Soon the Reaper Cult members arrived.

Watching them enter, he spoke:

*—Those called by number will be judged by us first, to see if they are sinners. A Guardian has a high probability of identifying players. If our judgments align, the individual will be marked as a strong sinner candidate.*

*—And if we do not align?*

*—Then they are temporarily cleared.*

Temporarily cleared.

Removed from the suspect list.

Could he trust that?

Had the man truly dropped all suspicion toward him?

*This is a test.*

Number 1 no doubt had his own list of players he had already identified.

And since he said a Guardian could recognize players to some extent, this was clearly a test—
to verify his discernment, to confirm whether he truly was a Guardian.

The problem was Hudson.

Number 2— Hudson— was summoned immediately.

I knew he was a player.
But what about Number 1?

*—He is a player.*

Soon Number 1 reached his verdict.

…Had he already suspected Hudson from the beginning?

What should I do?

If this was a test to check my intentions—

If this was also a trap—

*—He is not a player.*

*—Oh?*

He let out a faintly amused laugh.

A moment later, Hudson was sent to the right side.

A disagreement.

The right side seemed to be the place for “suspicion avoided.”

Next was Number 3.

*—Lady Dersian. You’ve clashed with her often, have you not? Then you answer first— does she seem like a sinner?*

A woman with the same name as Isabella—
the young lady of House Dersian.

She stepped forward with a pride-hurt expression.

Was he really giving me the right to determine her life or death?
What a bizarre situation.

*—She is not.*

*—I think the same.*

Agreement.

She moved to the left.

…Wasn’t the right side the “cleared” side?

The sterilization continued.

Left and right— nearly half and half.

It seemed the left was the cleared side.

And Hudson still stood on the right.

“Next, Number 53.”

Number 53.

The Master was called.

The one who had been singled out at the previous auction—
the one everyone was now certain about.

— *A player.*

— *…He’s a player.*

There was no denying it.

The Master.

He moved to the right side, just as Hudson had.

Once the “sterilization” of all auction participants was complete—
there were forty-eight people on the left, and forty-eight on the right.

A perfect ratio of 5:5.

Then, he asked me once again.

— *I’ll ask one last time. Do you still believe Hudson is not a player?*

—

Ever since the erosion rate began to rise, leading to frequent monster appearances via warp, the Hero Alliance had emerged as Korea’s representative organization.

— *Hero Alliance! Korea’s Light!*
— *Hero Alliance Prevents the Great Busan Catastrophe.*
— *Hero Alliance’s Union Leader Park Tae-woo Raises a Voice of Hope!*

Each day, more articles poured out.

And gradually, the number of people who viewed them as Korea’s hope— as world-class heroes— continued to grow.

At the center of such praise was one man: Park Tae-woo, the Alliance Leader of the Hero Union.

Tak!

Park Tae-woo, who had been reading the unfolded newspaper, threw it onto his desk with a scowl.

“…Ha. Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, Alliance Leader?”

A Alliance member beside him, having glanced at the newspaper’s contents, asked in puzzlement.

—