Chapter 61
“Who said you could claim whatever you want as yours?”
The voice was soft but carried no hint of kindness. Rather than feeling uncomfortable, it felt oddly refreshing. This was the first time in this life someone — or something — had treated me with such coldness.
“If my words made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
No answer came back.
“Can we talk for a moment?”
“Can’t you hear me?”
“Hello?”
I called several times, but nothing changed. Eventually my patience ran out.
“So you want to mess with me right now?”
How dare it ignore the greatest divine sword of all ages, and the greatest sacred artifact as well — me. Becoming human had caused me to forget for a moment, but in that instant I remembered clearly again: I had been called not the ‘Jaha Divine Sword’ but the ‘Jaha Hound Sword’ by the divine artifacts. I even remembered how they had made sure I couldn’t be called that again.
Sssrrrk.
Without hesitation I drew the Blade of Annihilation from its sheath.
“This will make even Baekho understand.”
If there was a problem with a gift, the one who gave it should apologize; it was not the responsibility of someone who received a flawed gift to apologize. So if I cut it up, Baekho wouldn’t fault me. Having easily rationalized that, there was no need to hesitate. A single swing would tidy things up neatly.
Then a panicked voice rang out.
“W-wait a moment!”
But by then the Blade of Annihilation had already been swung.
Shick.
The Blade of Annihilation that could even cut through a dragon with ease. Cutting through a straw-roof cottage was far too easy. The thatch of the roof I’d targeted came away in a shower of straw.
I’d aimed at that spot from the start.
There was a reason I aimed at the roof. I had known from the beginning that the thing speaking to me was located on the roof.
‘….’
I didn’t hear any words, but I felt it: it was flustered.
I raised the Blade of Annihilation again. Doing so was the perfect trick to make my opponent speak.
“If you keep this up, I won’t stay quiet either.”
Oh? Threatening me now, are you? I chuckled and swung the blade. Once more the thatch on the roof was sliced away and showered down. At the same time, something revealed itself.
The thing that had been speaking to me.
And its appearance was not what I’d expected.
“A book?”
I had already considered the possibility that whatever had been talking to me wasn’t a house. But I had never imagined it would be a book.
I leapt up, retrieved the book hidden on the roof, and brought it down to inspect.
“On the outside, it doesn’t look much different from ordinary books you’d see in the market.”
The paper itself looked ordinary. But the title was anything but ordinary.
“A ‘Shinseo’ — a Divine Tome. That’s dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic at all!” it snapped immediately, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the book’s hotheaded retort. Still, I had to admit the name suited it perfectly. Even then I was already suspicious: this world wasn’t made by the house — it had been made by this thing. To be exact—
“Hey, you made that house, didn’t you?”
I realized the being in front of me, the Shinseo itself, was the one who’d made the house that supports this world.
‘H-How did you figure that out?’
The Shinseo was flustered, but it didn’t deny that it had done it. Its surprise lasted only a moment.
“Yeah, I made it. So what are you gonna do about it?”
The Shinseo answered boldly, as if showing off, and I couldn’t help laughing. Despite its great power, it revealed a childish immaturity in this manner, no different from ordinary divine artifacts. Which meant I could handle it in the same ways I’d handle other divine artifacts — like this.
Screeee!
The sound of paper tearing came from the Shinseo, which I was holding in both hands. Naturally — I had squeezed harder. The Shinseo screamed.
“You crazy thing! What are you doing now?”
Was that not enough? It seemed the Shinseo still didn’t fully understand what I intended, so I pressed harder, twice as hard. Sreeeek!
This time, some of the paper actually tore. The Shinseo’s reaction was different.
“S-stop! Please!”
“I thought it unbecoming to use informal speech toward someone begging for mercy?” I said.
“P-please! I beg you!” it stammered. Its earlier bravado had vanished. The Shinseo flattened itself to the ground before me. I knew that posture wouldn’t last long. If I didn’t crush it thoroughly now, it would crawl back up when given the chance.
Screeeeeeeek!
Without giving it time to plead, the paper tore cleanly and boldly — nearly half the book ripped away this time. But I wasn’t going to stop yet. If I couldn’t get the answer I wanted, I intended to tear it all the way.
Just as I was about to do that, the answer I wanted finally came back from the Shinseo.
“I-I was wrong! I’m sorry for picking a fight first and for ignoring you and being so arrogant!”
That was the exact answer I wanted.
“Right. You should have apologized before asking me to stop.”
The half-torn Shinseo trembled. It seemed more genuinely terrified than resentful. That made talking easier.
“Enough. Now introduce yourself.”
“Eh?”
“Tell me everything about you.”
The Shinseo, clearly frightened now, spoke freely. Its name was, as the cover had said, Shinseo. It had originally been a sacred artifact from the celestial realm, and some immortal had brought it down to the lower world. I learned the immortal’s name as well.
“It was an immortal called Musang Jin-in, but I don’t know much about him.”
I had never heard the name Musang Jin-in either. One thing, however, was clear: Musang Jin-in had given the Shinseo to Baekho. Thanks to that, Baekho had been able to use the Shinseo to create this secluded world where he could live apart from the rest of the world.
A question came to mind.
“What exactly is your ability?”
I wanted to know the Shinseo’s power. Because of the house in front of me, I couldn’t help but wonder: does it create worlds, or does it create divine artifacts like the house? If it was the former, that was an amazing talent on its own. If the latter, I’d be shocked — as someone who makes divine artifacts myself, I couldn’t even fathom how to make something like that. If it were the latter, the Shinseo would be on an entirely different level from me.
The Shinseo’s answer surprised me.
It described its power as follows:
“I set tasks tailored to a subject, and if the subject accomplishes the task, I grant wishes equivalent to the tasks they’ve completed. That’s my power.”
So its power was wish-related. I’d heard rumors that some mountain spirits grant wishes on occasion, but I’d never witnessed one like this in person. It was strange and interesting at the same time.
“So basically, you grant wishes equal to what the person has done?”
“Yes.”
Usually a wish is tied to desperate longing or prayer; the Shinseo’s method was completely different. That intrigued me. I wanted to try it. But I couldn’t just dive in recklessly.
“If I make a wish, will Baekho’s wish that maintains this world still remain?”
That was my main concern. Thankfully the Shinseo’s answer was reassuring.
“A wish that’s already been fulfilled doesn’t disappear.”
One problem gone.
I asked one more thing.
“What task was given to Baekho?”
It didn’t seem like a hard question, but apparently it was for the Shinseo.
“Even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t. The moment I say it, my power would be nullified. Baekho himself can tell you if you want to know, so I recommend asking him.”
It even gave me a method. It didn’t seem like a lie. In some kinds of powers there are constraints like this. The task itself was essentially the constraint that activates the Shinseo’s power.
I didn’t think that was bad. The process before the power can be used is somewhat cumbersome, but that cost makes the power stronger. Besides—
“If a power can turn an entire world into a house, it’s natural there should be restrictions.”
If used recklessly it could easily wreak havoc. Some constraints were absolutely necessary. That made sense.
So I decided to check what constraint would be imposed if I wanted a wish granted.
“What task would I have to complete to get my wish?”
The Shinseo’s voice grew serious.
“To determine that, I must return to my original form. Is that okay?”
There was a reason the Shinseo asked. There was an additional constraint for granting a powerful wish.
“If I return to my original form and set the task, I cannot speak a single word until the task is complete. Is that alright?”
That meant once the task was decided, the Shinseo could not answer any questions or offer help. Depending on the task, that could be a harsh constraint, and I briefly regretted provoking it.
“You wouldn’t give me a difficult task just to get revenge, would you?”
Ha! I asked sincerely, and the Shinseo responded with a laugh. Its manner had changed completely since it’d been haughty and insolent earlier.
“I’m caught,” it admitted.
At first I thought it was a threat, but now I understood it wasn’t. The Shinseo said:
“I’d like to do that too, honestly, but tasks aren’t decided by my whims. Still, it’s nice to feel like someone’s finally watching out for me.”
Indeed — someone who had tried to treat me casually now checking their behavior toward me felt satisfying. But that wasn’t the only reason the Shinseo seemed pleased.
“Didn’t I tell you? Tasks can result in either success or failure, and if you fail, you must compensate me in the exact opposite way.”
