Chapter 323: The Fraudster's Therapy Session
At six in the morning, Gospel time, in the Senheiser Family District of the second-layered city of Vanmura.
Iger opened his eyes inside a wardrobe. He pushed the door open and stepped out. On the bed lay a bulging, human-shaped figure. It was an "Iger" he had meticulously crafted from pillows, blankets, clothes, and a touch of imagination. It was neither a spirit nor a Miracle, but this simple trick had saved his life more times than he could count.
If he left a note on the bed reading "Good evening," it would convince any late-night intruder that the fraudster had foreseen their arrival and vanished through some secret passage. Cursing their luck, they would rush off to track his supposed escape route, while the real Iger, hidden inches away, seized the chance to slip away.
After all, Iger was only a fraudster, not an omniscient deity. He couldn't actually foresee every danger. Still, that did not stop him from presenting himself as a man who never miscalculated. With a little extra caution and a few tactical precautions, he could plant a seed of doubt in the minds of others.
What truly turned a lie into reality was not the fraudster's words, but the victim's own imagination.
Humans had an instinctive need to interpret the world. When information was lacking, they unconsciously filled the gaps with their own projections. That was why conspiracy theories thrived and why rumors outpaced the truth. People always believed what they wanted to believe.
The world might be objective, but perception was entirely personal. In the past, Mind Class sorcerers had even established religions, becoming "gods" within the subjective realities of their followers. Iger had little interest in such grand ambitions, but if his goal was merely to become, in the eyes of a specific group, a strategist who always foresaw their next move, then it was as effortless as putting on makeup.
On his first night in this unfamiliar city, Iger had already begun his work. When others eventually discovered the decoy on his bed, they would assume the real Iger had long since departed. It would never occur to them that this was a trap set up every single night, while the helpless, immobile, and ignorant fraudster hid right beside them inside the wardrobe.
This was how a Mind Class sorcerer deceived. Even after exhausting every ounce of effort, one must appear completely at ease. A carefully prepared gift must be given as if it were a mere afterthought. In this world, the one to lose was always the first to let a seed be planted in their mind.
As was his habit, Iger headed for a bath. Fortunately, the suite featured a bathtub and even a steam massage tub. The accommodations here far surpassed the staff dormitory Annan had provided. It seemed Miss Annan truly was a second-generation entrepreneur. In the stories common to Gospel dramas, if such women failed in business, they were forced to return home and inherit vast fortunes.
Iger attributed the frequency of such tales to the underdeveloped luxury economy and consumer culture of the Gospel Kingdom. In his view, the only reason parents managed to keep their wealth was that the kingdom lacked enough ways for them to squander it.
In the Blood Moon Kingdom, even capitalists lived paycheck to paycheck. A single life-extension package from a research institute could bankrupt a tycoon on the spot. To Iger, the Gospel Kingdom simply lacked a certain... "freedom" of expenditure.
After a quick rinse, Iger tested the water with his toes. He lowered himself in, knees bent to maintain his balance, and slowly sank until the waterline brushed his collarbone. Warm currents seeped through his pores. His body, cramped from a night in the wardrobe, began to thaw. His soul, freshly returned from the rigors of the Virtual World, started to loosen. The lazy steam massaged his aching mind.
Most citizens of the Blood Moon Kingdom suffered from psychological ailments, and Iger was no exception. A mind as sharp as his could keenly feel the crushing gravity of reality. His soul felt heavy at every moment, leaving him in a state of constant, suffocating anxiety.
Iger knew he was ill, yet he could not save himself. The better one swam, the easier it was to drown in the deep sea.
He had once imagined that one day, he would finally grasp the "meaning of life." On a drizzly, overcast afternoon, he would dress in his finest clothes, seek out everyone who knew him, and deceive them one last time by erasing himself from their memories. When there was no one left who remembered him, Iger Perskin would vanish, leaving only a faint, untraceable ripple in the Virtual World.
Yet the Iger who was meant to walk alone toward destruction had instead developed a habit of bathing and emptying his mind after entering prison. The taut string within him finally found slack, and his illness had begun to heal. It was the Shattered Lake Prison that had saved him. For the people of the Blood Moon, prison was often the only way out.
Of course, Iger always made sure to bathe alone before the group sessions with Ashe and Harvey. Being around those two cloven-hoofed beasts did absolutely nothing for his mental health.
Knock knock! Knock knock! Knock knock!
Just as Iger was about to drift into a state of blissful mindlessness, a fool came knocking. From the rhythm of those triple knocks, the fraudster knew exactly who it was and what nonsense they were about to spout.
Iger remained silent, hoping the visitor would take the hint and leave. But a few seconds later, he heard the precise click of turning gears and the hiss of releasing alloy. The door opened.
Click.
The bathroom's glass door swung wide, and the steam eagerly curled around the intruder.
"That scared me," the visitor said. "I thought you'd escaped through the toilet."
Iger let out a long, weary sigh. "First of all, this isn't our home. Secondly... how exactly did you get into my room?"
"I told the maid no one answered when I knocked, so I was worried you might have died in the Virtual World," Ashe said, sitting on a small stool. "Maybe a Fish-Slaying Dragon bit a chunk out of your soul and left you in a vegetative state. She let me in to check if you'd lost control of your bladder."
Ashe looked around. "What feudal decadence. Maids? This kind of family system is a tumor on civilization... though the outfits are pretty cute."
"Aren't we supposed to be under house arrest?" Iger asked.
"No idea. I tried the door this morning and found the restriction lifted. Maybe the Lady acted spoiled with her mother last night while we were out?"
"Let's skip the trivial details," Iger said, staring hard at him. "Have you still not noticed I'm taking a bath?"
Ashe blinked, the realization finally hitting him. He stood up, closed the glass shower door, and sat back down on the stool. "Sorry. Forgot to close it."
"You also forgot to close yourself outside," Iger splashed water over his face, giving up on his attempt at relaxation and switching back to a working mindset. "Speak. What do you want?"
"Can't I just come for a chat? Do I look like the type who only shows up when he needs something?"
The fraudster curled his lips. "Of course. You're the type who shows up before even realizing you need help, and you interrupt a man's bath to do it. If we were talking about borrowing money, most people at least act arrogant after they get the loan. You act arrogant before you've even asked."
Ashe scratched his head. "I do have something to ask. You seem... experienced."
Iger raised a brow. "You're consulting a fraudster? A believer seeking comfort from a priest wouldn't be much different."
"When you carry other people's lives on your shoulders, when every move you make could get those who trust you killed... do you feel afraid?"
"If this pressure comes from the trust we placed in you during the prison break, then your nerves could probably circle the entire Continent of Time."
Ashe shook his head. "No. During the escape, I never felt responsible for you. None of you trusted me, and I didn't trust you either. We trusted our own judgment. We were responsible for ourselves."
He looked toward the glass. "What I'm talking about is when others trust you unconditionally. When they're willing to stake their lives on your word. When you place that bet, do you feel... different?"
The fraudster narrowed his eyes. "They chose to trust me. That means they made their own judgment. I don't need to—"
Ashe cut him off. "Do you really not?"
His gaze pierced through the mist, trying to find something real in the fraudster's eyes. "If I handed my life to you, could you place that bet without the slightest hesitation?"
Steam rose between them, wrapping the bathroom in a heavy silence.
Iger splashed water over his face again. "I understand now. You're not here for a consultation. You're here for confession."
Straight to the point.
When Ashe faced Denzel, he could make rational decisions. He could stand firm in the face of death, even play the role of a hero who would rather die than yield. But after leaving the Virtual World and calming down in reality, the weight of his actions finally settled. He had placed both the Witch and the Swordswoman's lives on the gambling table.
The Swordswoman had told him long ago that she had a life of her own. The operators were not mere extensions of him. They had emotions, families, and futures. If they died in the Virtual World, they were truly gone. Their portraits would fade to gray, leaving nothing behind but a name in a handbook.
During the prison break and the escape from the Blood Moon, whenever it came to betting his own life, Ashe never felt any psychological burden. But this time, after putting the Witch and the Swordswoman on the line as well, fear suddenly crept in. He feared that they might die. Even more, he feared that he might survive... while the others did not.
They were still far from the Three-Winged Sacred Realm. Every Spider Tower cycle was a race against the Legion of Heroes, a struggle for survival. They could escape once, twice, three, or even ten times, but could they escape a hundred? A single mistake or a slight twist of fate would bring everything to an end.
Ashe closed his eyes and could almost see them being torn apart. This wasn't a problem he could solve by dying first, either. If he died, their contracts wouldn't dissolve. They would still be trapped in the Virtual World, forced to risk their lives without him.
The Witch and the Swordswoman hadn't objected. His choice had been the tactically correct one. Still... He was afraid.
He recalled his second-to-last question and let out a bitter smile.
Forget grand phrases like "sacrificing the world," "giving up billions of lives to save it," or "carrying a thousand-year burden." He couldn't even bring himself to say something as simple as "entrust your lives to me" with a clear conscience.
The rapidly swelling psychological burden soon made it hard for him to breathe. Before, Ashe would have chosen to bear the pain of that trust alone and pretend nothing was wrong. That was the way he had been raised. Complaining only burdened others, and no one wanted to swallow another person's blood and tears.
It was Freya who had changed him. Their brief period living together showed Ashe how an ordinary person survived the brutal society of the Blood Moon Kingdom. The kingdom's prevailing logic was straightforward. If you were sick, seek treatment.
Seeing a psychotherapist was not shameful. Perhaps that was the greatest contribution the Blood Moon Kingdom had made to civilization. Since there was no therapist around, consulting a fraudster was practically the same. After all, comfort and deception were essentially the same thing.
"'Don't be afraid. They entrust their lives to you because they trust your judgment. Even if you make mistakes, they won't blame you, because you've already done your best. The world does not condemn those who give everything they have. The injustice of fate should not become your burden...' Is that what you want me to say?"
Ashe looked up. In the next moment, a wet hand grabbed his collar and yanked him forward, pulling him right in front of the fraudster.
"I'd rather a fraudster deceive himself than face reality on his own," Iger said coldly, contempt filling his eyes. "Even among my clients, you're the lowest tier."
Smack!
Iger shoved him away. Ashe stumbled and sat hard on the floor.
Iger didn't even look at him. "Go find Harvey and get some candy. That's the right medicine for you. I'm a high-level fraudster. I don't serve clients like you, ones who are already rotting from the inside."
Ashe sighed. "You don't have to say it so harshly..."
Iger's voice remained indifferent. "I started gambling with other people's lives when I was thirteen. I won a lot, and I lost a lot. Because of one misjudgment, a partner of mine was caught by the Fire Crab. The only thing I ever saw of him again was in the most grotesque newspaper reports. He had become a piece of avant-garde abstract art. The tools used were coat hangers and chairs. Do you know what I was thinking then?"
"Revenge?"
"No. I just wanted him to receive my final message and end his life before the Fire Crab reached him."
Water dripped from Iger's hair, merging silently into the bath. "That is the fate of a decision-maker. No matter how calm you are, no matter how hard you try, you still cannot prevent sacrifice. Even gods cannot save everyone. Who do you think you are?
"Endure sacrifice, accept sacrifice, get used to sacrifice. That is the only path. There is no second option. You think going to a Mind Class sorcerer for comfort will give you a strong heart? They aren't enhancement masters. They can't just 'ding' and make you stronger. What you need is not comfort or deception, but growth."
The fraudster looked at the downcast cult leader, while another image formed in his mind. In the apocalypse, a mysterious man in a dark red coat stood alone, looking down upon the world...
Iger said, "There is also a very simple way. Just become selfish enough. Be like me. Treat everyone as pieces on a chessboard. Care about no one's thoughts. Do whatever makes you happy. Then you won't feel the weight of responsibility. For Blood Moon orphans like us, that should be the easiest upgrade path."
The cult leader's eyes lit up. "As long as I become like you..."
Iger looked at his blurred reflection in the water. "Yes, just like me... Only care about yourself. Only value yourself. Only love yourself..."
"Then I just need enough decision-making experience like yours, and I can grow into a calm, responsible leader!"
Iger blinked. "Huh?"
Ashe stood up and patted the water off his clothes. "The difference between us is that you already have rich team experience, while I don't. So I just need to gain more experience leading people and become a steady decision-maker."
"But how will you do that?"
"I already have a plan. Coming to you was the right choice. I won't disturb your bath anymore."
"I don't know what your plan is, but it definitely isn't as simple as my selfish upgrade path," Iger said flatly. "Why make things so complicated?"
Ashe opened the bathroom door. "Because it isn't that easy to be selfish. If even you can't do it, how could I possibly manage it?"
"When did I say I couldn't do it?"
Ashe paused. "You didn't answer my question."
Iger froze as Ashe's footsteps faded away, but the earlier question once again rang out in his mind. If I handed my life to you, could you place that bet without the slightest hesitation?
Eventually, the fraudster let out a sigh. "A seed..."
He had already soaked for quite a while, but he decided to stay a little longer and empty his mind. Otherwise, his thoughts and emotions would turn into rain and sunlight for that seed to sprout.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
It was an unfamiliar knock. Iger already had a bad feeling.
As expected, the bathroom door opened again.
Lys stood there with her hands on her hips. "Aunt Perskin! I have something very important to discuss... We need the wisdom of a fraudster!"
"Have you even noticed I'm taking a bath?"
Lys froze, then nodded as if she finally understood and gently closed the door.
Iger almost wanted to summon the Book of Gospel to check how much shared bloodline similarity she had with Ashe.
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