YMDR 01

Chapter 1 

 He Who Knows All
(From: [Guide] “The Twisted Truth Cultist Handbook—Written by a Veteran Who Spent 20,000 Hours Playing Only Cultist” by ‘Leadney’s Foot Washer’)

“The Forerunner of Twisted Truths. The wicked magician who devoured the World Tree to grasp infinite wisdom, offering his own eyes as sacrifice.Leadney, the Deceiver, Knows All.”
“But you people seem to know nothing, so I’ve decided to write a proper guide for the Cult of Twisted Truth.”

1. Why Worship Lord Leadney?

The Cult of Twisted Truth starts with the skill “Eyes That See Through All Lies”, which is basically a god-tier ability in the early game.
It’s absurdly useful for survival, and on top of that, the class boasts eighteen different skills—making it the most versatile of all cultist classes.

2. Race

Humans or goblins work fine, but personally, I strongly recommend half-elves.
“Why would an elf serve an evil god when the god of nature would curse them for it?” you ask?

“If you’re asking that, it means I’m right and you’re wrong. So just shut up and keep reading.”

I’ll explain why later, in the “Mysticism” and “Build” sections. For now, just trust me and read on.

3. Traits

Pick exactly two: [Fanatic] and [Rusty Mind]—no more, no less.
Why? Well…

My fingers stopped on the keyboard.
I leaned back, staring at the half-finished paragraph.

How can I make this both informative and fun to read?

“If you combine [Fanatic] with [Rusty Mind], you can worship other evil gods indefinitely too?”

No, that sounded too vague.
I’d need to explain it in detail—but people nowadays wouldn’t even read a paragraph unless there was a three-line summary at the end.
If I made it too long, they’d just click away.

“Ugh… headache.”

Why did I have to fall in love with this ridiculously hard and underpowered class of all things?
To make it worse, the developers kept nerfing the cultist every single patch. Not once—not once!—had it ever been buffed.

“Lore reasons,” they said.
Sure.

‘Oh no! The evil gods were ignored again this month! Their followers gain no power at all. Sorry, cultists!’
(From the North American dev team’s cheery patch notes.)

I grumbled as I kept typing. Before I knew it, the sky outside was turning gray.

“Already morning, huh?”

I stood, flexing my stiff fingers. My body begged for caffeine.
I grabbed a two-for-one coffee pack from the fridge—and then froze.

There was new text on my screen.
Text I hadn’t written.

[You who walk the road toward the Twisted Truth.]

The letters were strange, jagged, like they’d been scratched onto the screen by a clawed hand.
Before I could react, another line appeared—by itself.

[The Wise One has been moved by your devotion.]

And then my vision began to blur.

[leadyney watches over you. Seek knowledge unceasingly, and spread His name to the world.]

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. The world dimmed.
What the hell…?

The last thing I saw before blacking out was a final message, written in a perfectly normal font this time:

[May your steps find their destined end.]

When I opened my eyes, a grimy-looking boy was glaring at me.

“Why would you serve an evil god?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer right away—not because I didn’t know how, but because too many explanations came to mind.
Given time, I could’ve lectured him for half a day about why serving a temperamental evil deity was the only rational choice.

But my attention was fixed on something else—the black letters floating in midair before my eyes.

《Abel, 12, Tiger Beastkin. A street pickpocket from the slums, living with his sister Marlin. Disrespectful brat. Recommended course of action: elimination.》

I stayed silent.
Information floated everywhere I looked.

When I glanced at the forest—

《A suspicious forest. Thick branches block out all light, creating an eerie darkness.》

When I looked at a burly man with a sword and a mug of ale—

《Barnes, 39, Human. Mercenary of the Skyfire Company. Begins every morning with a pint of beer. Hopeless drunkard.》

When I turned to the girl hiding her brother behind her—

《Marlin, 14, Tiger Beastkin. Abel’s sister. Talented thief-to-be.》

It was absurd.
Yet, somehow, it all felt… right.

The girl glared at me. “Don’t ignore me! Why do you worship that evil thing, huh?”
“Abel, stop it.”

The sister pulled him back, but her trembling hands betrayed her fear.

Then a deep voice rumbled beside me.

“Calm yourself, human.”
A red-skinned orc rested his spear on his shoulder. “I understand your anger, but now’s not the time. Like it or not, we’re part of the same expedition.”

A beastkin boy who hated cultists.
An orc trying to mediate.

Familiar. Too familiar.
I knew this exact setup—because I had lived it thousands of times.

‘…This is the Cultist Tutorial.’

Every detail, every line of dialogue matched perfectly.

The world of Nightmare Dungeon—the game I’d poured twenty thousand hours into after quitting my job—had come to life before my eyes.

No… could it really be?

If it was true, I couldn’t just stand there.
Because hovering high above us were glowing letters:

《E-Rank Dungeon — Den of the Hidden Ghouls》
《Beware: ghouls are highly sensitive to the scent of living flesh, especially blood.》

We had to run. Now.

The stench hit before the sound did.
They were coming—those damned ghouls, the newbie killers, the wall every cultist died to.

“Intruders…”

Two grotesque creatures emerged from the trees.

《Hidden Ghoul (Lv. 3)》
《Recommendation: throw your allies to distract them and flee immediately.》

The orc cursed. The siblings tensed. The mercenary just drank.

“They’re here already?” The orc frowned, raising his spear. “No matter. I, Tunrak the Great Warrior, will protect you all!”

He charged.
His movements were bold—but clumsy.

The ghoul dodged effortlessly and slashed.

Crack!

“Ghk—guhhh…!”

The orc’s chest burst open. His body twitched once and went still.

《Tunrak the Greenhorn Warrior (Red Orc, 24). Looks like a veteran but has zero combat experience. Died showing off his muscles.》

I sighed.
Just as expected. No saving him.

Better to move while we still could.

“Wh-what are you things?!” the drunk mercenary howled before being torn apart next.

Time to go.

“Run,” I said, turning sharply.

The beastkin siblings hesitated only a heartbeat before following me through the trees.

Their feet pounded the dirt—thud, thud, thud.

“…Mister Cultist!”
Marlin, the girl, ran up beside me, her feline eyes wide.
“Where are we going? Can we really survive?”

A familiar question. I remembered the in-game choices that followed:

[1. Shut your mouth.]
[2. Stay quiet or I’ll tear your lips off.]
[3. Ignore her.]

I wasn’t going to be that kind of adult.
Not anymore.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I said gently. “So stay close, Marlin.”

Her eyes widened. “H-how do you know my name?”

“Of course I know,” I replied, breathless but smiling faintly.

“Because Lordney knows everything.”