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Chapter 8
The letters on the loose sheet of the Mind Map shimmered faintly.
[Please designate a target.]
“Hayang.”
[The target is currently under the control of another entity.]
[If you proceed, the target’s mind may collapse.]
The scarlet letters glowed menacingly, as if to threaten him. But Lee Cheoeum pressed forward without hesitation.
‘Better to seize control than to let her die at the hands of a fellow Apostle. And if I have to do it, it’s safer to use the Mind Map than not.’
Normally, Cheoeum avoided using the Mind Map. It was tedious, requiring deliberate connections of thought, and it consumed time.
But when a thought had to be implanted seamlessly, or when someone’s mind was teetering on the brink, the Mind Map acted as a safeguard—reducing the strain on the psyche.
[The ‘Mind Map’ begins.]
Shooook—
A vast canvas unfolded, visible only to Cheoeum.
At its center, standing stark and solitary, was Hayang’s current thought:
[Kill every human in sight.]
“…Spirited, aren’t you.”
He couldn’t help the dry laugh. It was brainwashing, no doubt, but still ridiculous.
From here, he had to weave plausible threads of thought, shifting Hayang’s mind step by step. Yet each time he stared at that vast white canvas demanding logic and causality, a doubt surfaced.
Do thoughts even follow logic at all?
[But killing people is not the right thing to do.]
The hastily scribbled line burned away at once.
[Inappropriate flow.]
So. You think killing can be “right.”
It was the first time he’d glimpsed her level of morality. This was the difficulty of the Mind Map. You couldn’t just string words together like a children’s game—it had to be something the subject might actually think.
[Killing people is boring.]
Another attempt.
[Inappropriate flow.]
[Subject under cognitive strain.]
“Tch.”
How was he supposed to know the personality of someone he’d only just met?
He tried several more lines that might spark resistance to murder. All of them failed.
“Damn…”
He finally stopped when Hayang’s eyes began to glaze over with madness.
I’ll have to shift this completely.
A psychologist once said that human thought wasn’t arranged like a mathematical formula, but more like fragments of images strung together in minimal context—that well-known stream of consciousness.
Cheoeum found truth in it. When he tried to write too logically, it often failed. After all, no one thinks in equations. You look at clouds and think of cotton candy, then crave caramel snacks sold nearby.
The trick of the Mind Map was to find the keywords that lurked in a person’s unconscious.
Cheoeum had only met Hayang today, but he knew one keyword sure to be there.
[But if Oppa is nearby, it could be dangerous.]
That keyword was “Hayan.”
[A dangerously close but acceptable flow has been linked.]
[Subject under cognitive strain.]
Finally—it worked. The connection wasn’t clean, but it was enough. He’d accept the side effect.
[Current state: Anxiety]
“Ugh…”
Hayang, stabbing her blade into an Apostle’s shoulder, grimaced in visible pain.
Cheoeum quickly continued:
[I want to see Oppa.]
[Excessively inappropriate flow detected.]
[Subject under severe cognitive strain!]
“AAAGH!”
Cheoeum cursed. Damn it, they’re normal siblings after all.
He ducked deeper into cover as Hayang thrashed violently, then tried again.
[That useless Hayan—what if he’s already lying dead in some alley?]
[Appropriate flow.]
[Word choice mismatched to subject’s tone; reduced effectiveness.]
[Current state: Concern]
As expected.
The wording wasn’t quite right, but the thought itself fit. Hayan—someone the people around probably treated like a child at constant risk.
Scratch, scratch.
The web of the Mind Map grew.
Hayang’s state shifted: from anxiety to hesitation, hesitation to resolve, until at last a single determination was born.
[This is no time to waste.]
She froze.
“What the—?”
“Ha…yang?”
The Apostles faltered, watching her.
Her eyes still lacked focus, but something new burned within them.
Now, all that remained was the final stroke.
What should I overlay?
Cheoeum’s quill hovered.
He wasn’t healing her mind. He was overlaying, suppressing, distracting—a trick of sleight and force. He wasn’t undoing the Pride Arbiter’s brainwashing, merely burying it under something stronger.
This world is a leper, and all I can do is wipe the pus away.
This will feel the most natural.
He wrote the final line.
[From now on, I must find Hayan.]
“…Yan… Oppa.”
[Appropriate flow.]
[Current state: Obsession]
Swoosh!
“H-Hayan?”
The moment the sentence was sealed, Hayang bolted from the battlefield, possessed with a singular purpose: to find her brother.
She wouldn’t attack fellow Apostles now.
Done.
Cheoeum tossed the quill aside in relief.
Ssshhk—
The Pride Arbiter’s wings unfolded softly.
Blink.
An eye opened.
A thorn-rimmed eye.
A vast, burning red eye.
[That eye rests above all who revere it.]
“AAAGH!”
“Ghk—!”
The Apostles collapsed, writhing under the mere gaze.
A wave of incomprehension swept the battlefield.
It was absolute mental domination—resistance made meaningless.
[Status Effect – Profound Reverence]
Ensnared in awe and terror, all creatures who meet the gaze are rendered powerless.
Who dares stand before one whom reverence itself enrages?
The force that swept through the field was overwhelming, dwarfing all prior play.
This was an S-rank psychic catastrophe.
[‘Resistance of the Mind’ activates fiercely!]
Cheoeum exhaled sharply. A foreboding thought struck him.
This… this happened because of me.
By stealing away its strongest piece, he had pulled the trigger for the next movement.
Ssshhk—
The Arbiter of Pride began to move, its round form swiveling, searching like a predator hunting the rat that caused this disruption.
Cheoeum spun, desperate to flee.
But froze.
The enormous eye was already fixed on him.
“Oh…”
As the Arbiter’s wings beat toward him, Cheoeum could only sigh—
And then, the world erupted into reverence.
—Shhhiiiik!
In broad daylight, stars began to fall.
Kwooom!
Meteors crashed down upon the statues. Statues that had taken six Apostles to hold back shattered like brittle toys.
“…Ahh!”
“He’s here!”
The cornered Apostles shouted in exultation.
Cheoeum raised his eyes.
Srrrk—
A man walked through the air itself.
His figure defied gravity, yet looked natural—as if reality itself bent to suit him. His black robes spread like ink through the sky.
“Gather the wounded and retreat.”
Cheoeum knew instinctively. That platinum-blond man, beautiful beyond any he had ever seen, was the master of these falling stars.
“From here, I will take over.”
He was a Branch Head of Purim. The man known as Meteor Shower.
But Cheoeum had no time to gape.
Ta-tat!
Using the distraction, he bolted.
“…Haa.”
He ran at full speed, lungs burning. He hadn’t sprinted this hard in years. Finally, after bursting free from the collapsing battlefield into the debris-strewn outskirts—
A new voice, low yet strangely boyish, cut into his ears.
“[-But humanity is this sorrowful.]”
Cheoeum’s eyes widened at the sight behind him.
Humanity
is
this
sorrowful
The words themselves ignited—fluttering as glowing embers in the air, like living fireflies.
A sight at once bizarre and beautiful.
What…
Cheoeum’s gaze was drawn into the trembling orbit of “humanity” and “this.”
Then—
“Ah.”
“…”
“[The flames are far too red.]”
The man’s lips gave birth to a period.
And that period burst into fire.
Whoooosh!
Crimson flames erupted from the words, racing outward in all directions.
At their center stood Cheoeum.
He stared blankly at the wall of fire surging toward him.
“…What the hell—”
FWOOM!
The inferno consumed him whole.
And thus, Lee Cheoeum died.
