I Start with 13 Hidden Traits Chapter-112

Ch-112

—

There was no way for him to escape from here.

The knights of the Darkan Territory blocked the banquet hall, and each and every one of them possessed strength far surpassing his own.

*‘I must never let this be connected to Lord Randolph.’*

Even if he were to die here, he could not allow Randolph to be implicated.

Randolph had shown him kindness so great that even offering his life in return would not be enough.

Had he not vowed—truly vowed—to devote himself in gratitude and loyalty?

To allow harm to fall upon Randolph because of him would be unforgivable.

Above all else, if he could only save Serengeti…

*‘Reality means nothing to me.’*

Reality held no weight for Hudson.

If it could save Serengeti, then his own meaningless life would finally gain value.

For on Earth, as Oliver, Hudson had merely been surviving—subsisting day by day.

But the life he found in Pangaenia—how beautiful it had been.

He had gained adventure, love, and comrades with whom he could walk side by side.

He had witnessed miracles with his own eyes, time and time again.

He had breathed alongside someone who achieved the impossible and ascended ever higher.

That miraculous person had reunited him with Serengeti, allowed them to speak again, and even restored the heart everyone else had given up on.

A ray of hope had shone into his dark life.

That alone was enough.

Just tasting hope—he felt filled, overflowing.

*—Hudson. When we return this time, you will be able to awaken Serengeti completely.*

…Forgive me.

This is as far as I can go, but may you soar even higher, my lord.

Phantom… you are my hope.

My one and only light.

Please… I entrust Pangaenia to you.

This land that made everything possible for someone like me, weary of life in reality.

This place that allowed me to walk freely, run, and love.

*‘Others only see Pangaenia as a game, a virtual space.’*

Even after becoming players, it was the same.

Even if death here equaled death in reality, their true selves still belonged to Earth.

Thus, they never treated this place with sincerity.

That was why Hudson, despite having many chances to interact with other players, had chosen to settle down alone.

The difference between him and the others—

Their attitudes toward Pangaenia were too drastically different.

How many treated this place like a mere game or illusion, running wild, harassing others, destroying everything?

To associate with such people was simply impossible for Hudson.

Randolph, however…

*‘…For the first time, I felt I had met someone like me. A kindred spirit.’*

The Garden of Knights.

At its center stood the memorial stone in the Marquess of Weiser’s domain.

Inscribed upon it were the names of knights who perished in the Great Expedition.

Randolph had read each name aloud as he pledged:

*—As the successor of the Knight King, I offer my condolences for your glorious deaths. For the eternal rest of heroes who shall never return, I will lay you forever in my heart.*

For a moment, Hudson saw Randolph as *Knight King Wilhelm* himself.

His sincerity, overflowing and heartfelt, struck Hudson’s chest like a thunderclap.

No ordinary player would ever do such a thing.

Even if they tried, it would only be empty words they did not mean.

But Randolph mourned the deaths of Pangaenian people with his whole being.

For the first time among players, Hudson had met someone who truly cherished Pangaenia.

How deeply it had moved him in that moment.

Even after witnessing many other miracles, that single scene remained burned into Hudson’s memory stronger than anything else.

A memory he could truly never forget.

Thus, if Pangenia had any hope at all, that hope was Randolph.

Only he could save Pangaenia.

*—Think about it. When you finally reunite with Serengeti completely. When you hold a wedding with her, I’ll officiate the ceremony myself.*

*—…*

*—Imagine Serengeti in a dress, walking down the aisle with you. And it won’t just be imagination. It will become reality soon.*

…She would be beautiful.

Truly.

When he pictured the wedding hall, Serengeti’s image refused to leave his mind.

Why was Randolph saying such things to him all of a sudden?

Was it to tell him not to give up hope?

No. Even receiving Randolph’s worry here would be too much of a luxury. If he delayed any longer, it would only worsen suspicions about them being connected.

Hudson shoved his hand as deeply as he could into the hole-riddled oak barrel.

At once, a chill spread, and his muscles and bones began twisting all over his body.

When he finally opened his eyes—

*‘…What the hell is this.’*

Hudson… had become a woman.

*

*

 

*‘…’*

For a moment, I lost my words.

When someone is told to imagine themselves in a wedding hall, isn’t it natural to picture oneself in a suit?

Or even if they imagine the bride, one would still envision **her** wearing the dress, not oneself.

So why was Hudson wearing armor?

A pure-white knight.

Hudson had taken on Serengeti’s appearance—clad in gleaming white armor, just like her name.

*—The Pure-White Knight, Serengeti.*

Number 1 also seemed to recognize her.

And if he knew Serengeti, he naturally knew she was a Pangaenian.

And also that she could *not* possibly be a player.

*—Hudson. So she is the one he loves.*

I was taken aback at that part.

The Empire had figured out the relationship between Serengeti and Hudson.

Even I only realized at the very end of the Great Expedition that Hudson was Serengeti’s partner.

I had even heard it from Serengeti herself.

There really was a reason they were convinced Hudson was a “sinner.”

The Empire had already gathered prior information on him.

*‘Then they also must know about me being Wilhelm’s successor.’*

If they knew about Hudson and Serengeti, it was highly likely they also knew about me.

They might not know about the Fifth pillar yet, but Randolph, successor to Wilhelm—they would at least have mapped out the basics.

*‘The Empire appears closed-off on the surface, but they know far more than they show.’*

They were not simply secretive.

They knew far more than one would expect.

If I didn’t stay careful at all times, they’d devour me whole.

Soon—

*—To be honest, I’m surprised. I truly believed Hudson was a “sinner.”*

Number 1 genuinely looked shocked.

For someone who always maintained an air of leisure, this was the first real break in his composure.

*—Do you still not think he is one?*

*—Hmm. A player could never truly love a Pangaenian human. He… is no “sinner.”*

Number 1 nodded.

A top-grade appearance-alteration potion.

He had attempted to alter his form using it, but a player in such a situation would normally picture their real Earth self.

But Hudson, even now, had thought only of Serengeti.

Number 1 understood the sincerity of Hudson’s heart.

Not lies, not mockery—true and earnest feeling.

*—I win the wager, then.*

*—…Aren’t you curious? Why Hudson became like that, and why I no longer think he’s a sinner?*

Of course—it was because he had used the appearance-alteration potion.

But he didn’t know that I knew.

Even I had barely deduced the answer after stitching everything together.

*Whew.*

I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Had my deduction been wrong, I would’ve been in serious danger.

My chances of escaping alive would’ve been under 2%. And escaping with Hudson? Nearly zero.

Since it’s come to this, might as well continue playing the simple-minded barbarian.

*—He is not a sinner.*

*—…Yes. You saw correctly. “That thing” transforms one into a form born of genuine thoughts and truth. Any “sinner” exposed to that powder invariably reveals their true, sinful nature. Unless they place something above themselves, they cannot become someone else entirely.*

Hudson had placed Serengeti above his own body.

Thus, becoming Serengeti was only natural.

*—But… how long must he remain like that?*

Hudson was still panicking.

He glanced over himself, his face growing pale.

Number 1 shrugged.

*—Who knows? It depends on how long he had his hand in there. But it’s not a complete transformation. It will fade with time.*

*—Good. That’s a relief.*

*—Anyway, I lost the wager. I’ll give you the three auction items you wanted. Later.*

*—…Later?*

*—I never said I’d give them immediately, did I?*

What a cunning bastard.

I glared openly; he shook his head.

*—I won’t make you wait endlessly. I’m not that unreasonable. If you accompany me to the main sanctuary, I’ll give them to you right away.*

*—The main sanctuary? You mean the Reaper Cult’s main sanctuary?*

*—Isn’t that why you came here? All “Golden-Line Patrons” must attend the soon-approaching “Divine Banquet.”*

The Divine Banquet of the Reaper.

I recalled hearing about it.

From the Silver Fox Mask of the Abyssal Labyrinth.

*Ninety-seven days from now, the Reaper Cult will hold a banquet.*

The problem was—I had no idea where the Reaper Cult was located.

Number 1 was offering to guide me there.

*‘There are beings like Hel there.’*

Number 1 also called himself a Patron of the Golden Line.

Meaning, he likely hid such “domain beings” within his realm as well.

Hel, who could freely manipulate warp, could also hide herself in the folds between spaces.

At any rate—

*—Very well.*

There was no reason to refuse.

I needed the Baal Armor to complete the set and gain control over it.

I couldn’t demand them immediately.

Time was short, yes, but rushing blindly and losing everything would be worse.

*‘The Reaper Cult…’*

And this was an opportunity to finally understand them properly.

They were deeply tied to the Empire, even outranking imperial nobles.

Powerful beyond measure.

*‘I tried infiltrating the Imperial Palace several times before, but every attempt ended in disastrous failure. This time, I must succeed.’*

I had created countless characters in attempts to infiltrate the Empire.

Only once had I succeeded—but I’d been caught before reaching the palace and killed.

The difficulty was absurd.

Infiltrating the imperial center was nearly impossible.

But through the Reaper Cult, it might finally be doable.

With Hel, and with Number 1 treating me as a “Golden-Line Patron.”

*—Number 53. I’m looking forward to him as well.*

So was I.

Number 53—the Master.

Had he realized anything?

Standing before the oak barrel, Number 53 finally thrust his hand inside.

Fwoooosh!

And the Master began to transform.

*—Oh my!*

Number 1 exclaimed in admiration.

*

*

The primary “purification” was finished, and the auction resumed.

Having already obtained the Baal Armor without spending any gold, what remained was simply to sweep up all the “high-value items.”

With the 1.5 billion gold I had on hand, I purchased items worth roughly 4 billion in value.

The reason for buying them with such “cost-efficiency” was simple.

*Upgrade the Throne of Light.*

At the very least, to the “Radiant” tier.

Or, if possible, to see the tier *beyond* that.

The Radiant Throne of Light possessed an “invincibility” effect all on its own.

Once I headed to the Reaper Cult, I would be in a situation where I had no way of knowing what might happen even a step ahead.

*If their orthodox methods have abilities similar to Hel, escaping won’t be easy.*

Even if I opened a Teleport Book to flee, if they stopped it, that would be it.

In that case, shouldn’t I secure at least one item that guaranteed my survival?

After receiving all the auction items and looking at the mountain of goods piled before me, I nodded.

《Will you offer the equipment corresponding to the “Ominous Throne of Light” as a sacrifice?》

Last time, when I rolled the Radiant Throne of Light, I had used items worth around 2 billion gold.

In contrast, using everything before me now would amount to twice that value.

If things went as expected, I would be able to glimpse what lay beyond the “Radiant” throne.

*Let’s begin.*

—

—

## The Imperial Palace

“W-what should I do…?”

Lady Dersian.

Her face had turned deathly pale, and her whole body trembled.

For days now she hadn’t slept properly—hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, parched lips.

If hell existed, surely it would look like this place.

*More than twenty people have already disappeared.*

After the “purification” of the second day ended, the auction resumed.

But as the days went by, attendees grew fewer and fewer.

The auction that began with one hundred people had only seventy-seven remaining by the final stretch.

The problem wasn’t just the invited guests—*Imperial nobles* were included as well.

Imperial nobles being branded criminals—what kind of absurd nonsense was this?

*It was planned from the start. Only people suspected of being criminals were invited to this auction!*

Lady Dersian bit her nails.

But she no longer had any nails left to bite.

Even as her skin split and blood stained the corners of her lips, she didn’t notice.

It was clear the auction had been hosted by the Reaper Cult for the purpose of gathering only those suspected of being criminals.

But… was the Reaper Cult really the only one who knew this?

*Could it be… did my own household… also consider me a criminal? Is that why they sent me here?*

—*Isabella. As the representative of House Dersian, cooperate with Lord Darkan and successfully carry out the “Special-grade Auction.” Show them your abilities.*

Those were the words from the elders before she left.

They emphasized the importance of the special-grade auction and told her to prove her capability—but thinking back now, it was strange.

If the auction truly was that important, why send *her*?

House Dersian was currently in the midst of brutal internal conflict between heirs. Schemes and bloodshed were rampant, yet the house tolerated it.

And the one who sent her here was someone she believed to be on her side.

Had they already been swayed?

Above all, after sending *her* here, “that one” had been dispatched to Delphia.

He had been placed at the forefront of subjugating one of the Four Calamity, backed with tremendous military power—

—*five* Berserkers, no less.

Meanwhile, she had been given only a single escort.

*…He’s making that bastard a hero who slays a Calamity, while sending me here to be treated as a criminal and die? Is that really what’s happening?*

Her certainty solidified.

It wasn’t simply that the heirs had been sent to different locations.

Though the auction was jointly hosted by Darkan and Dersian, the Lord of Darkan had known in advance about the Reaper Cult’s appearance—

—and what they would do.

But what about her?

She was called a “co-host,” yet she hadn’t known *anything*: not their planned arrival, not that “Purification” would take place.

Purification—

The Reaper Cult’s euphemism for identifying “criminals.”

When Purification was underway, even high nobles were powerless.

They would shut down an entire city and continue Purification until every criminal was found.

If it dragged on, the city itself could collapse. In worse cases, sink into the Abyss.

Thus nobles feared nothing more than their city becoming a target of “Purification.”

The problem was that no one could ever know when, where, or how Purification would begin.

The fact that none of the nobles here knew—said everything.

*I must not be designated a criminal.*

Lady Dersian clasped her hands together and collapsed trembling in the corner of the room.

If designated a criminal and executed by a Reaper, the Empire would “erase” everything about that person.

Records—and in extreme cases, even memories.

They would make them into someone who had never existed.

It was rare for an Imperial noble to be branded a criminal, but not unheard of.

There had even been a case where a lord was deemed one—and his entire territory vanished.

Mentioning that house became taboo throughout the Empire.

There was no law saying the same couldn’t happen to her.

She wasn’t a criminal—but no one knew the criteria for determining one.

*I have to live… I have to survive and get out of here.*

But how?

People disappeared daily.

Nobles and outsiders alike.

There was no safe place anywhere in this city.

The warp network had been shut down entirely, so escape was impossible.

She was terrified. Petrified. She couldn’t breathe. She felt she might suffocate to death.

*Th-that barbarian.*

The savage warrior who had beaten her escort to death.

At first she’d thought he was just a bodyguard, but as time passed it became clear he wasn’t.

Number 1. A high-ranking executive from the Reaper Cult. And that barbarian was always with him.

*The one who decides who is a criminal is Number 1. And that barbarian as well.*

Flinch—

At that thought, Lady Dersian’s complexion hardened even further.

If that “barbarian” stood on the same level as Number 1, then designating *her* as a criminal would be as obvious as water flowing downhill.

They would hunt her like a rabbit, flay her, and kill her brutally.

They would designate her a criminal so no record of her remained.

She would become a stain on House Dersian, disappearing like smoke.

*I apologized… didn’t I?*

A brief sense of relief.

But it didn’t last.

The incident at the restaurant—the attack at Darkan’s Afternoon.

Then going all the way to the lord’s castle to seek judgment.

But the Darkan Lord, whom she had been certain would take her side, forced her to apologize—and she had been compelled to kneel.

At the time, kneeling had wounded her pride terribly.

But thinking back now—

Would he truly have accepted that *forced apology* as sincere?

“Ah…”

Her mind snapped awake, and Lady Dersian jumped to her feet.

Crash!

As she forced her dried-out body upright, her legs buckled several times and she fell.

It was behavior unbefitting a noble, but now was no time to care about such things.

—

 

 

 

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