“Hasn’t it been three hours?”

The priest whispered as the others chimed in.

“He’s still in there? How devoted…”

“That much should be expected from a Cardinal.”

“Shh, not so loud—he might hear us.”

“Come on… let’s get back to work.”

As the whispering subsided and they returned to their duties, silence fell—broken only by the mind of the man inside the sanctuary, the very subject of their gossip.

“O God of the Universe, who watches from beyond the veil—grant me patience, for Your will unfolds beyond mortal time. I bow not in doubt, but in obedience, for faith is proven by waiting. May the unworthy be corrected, and the faithful be rewarded in Your hour.”

He prayed with reverence for the umpteenth time and bowed his head, long, smooth black hair falling forward with the motion. With his almost feminine features, and hands clasped beautifully, he looked like a saint sent down from heaven.

Three hours of kneeling had left his legs numb.

And yet—he didn’t want to end his prayer.

How could he rise when the so-called merciful God had yet to respond?

“If You still hear me, then answer—even if only once. I have waited, Lord… how long must waiting be called faith?”

He paused, biting down on his bottom lip. His pretty features and sapphire eyes twisted into a scowl.

“SEND ME BACK, DAMN IT!”

His voice echoed through the sanctuary as he panted for breath. A bitter scoff left his lips as realization sank in.

God had never heard him. Not once.

'Fine. Let’s see how long you can keep ignoring me.'

He stood up abruptly—only for his numb legs to give way. He stumbled forward and slammed his head into the marble cross. Hard.

He cursed under his breath, massaging the swelling on his forehead as he glared at the cross. Then, clicking his tongue, he turned away and headed straight for the exit.

The moment he opened the door, his head collided with something—hard, solid, and strangely… squishy?

He staggered back, quickly regaining his composure.

“I apologize.”

“Pardon me… are you hurt?”

The man’s brows knit with concern. He had dusty rose-pink hair, slightly damp and loose, and light pink eyes—the very image of priestly grace. He leaned closer, stealing the breath from the younger man’s lungs.

Edmund Valemont—His half-brother.

Edmund gently placed a hand on the swelling forehead, the cool touch sending a shiver down his spine.

“I-I’m fine,” he blurted out. “Don’t worry. But I do need rest.”

He bowed once and fled in a hurry, leaving Edmund standing there, dumbfounded.

He just wanted to get away.

Because that man—

That man was no ordinary person.

He was batshit crazy.

SLAM!

The door shut as he collapsed onto the bed, the wound on his forehead throbbing painfully.

"Crap…"

He sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his chest.

“I really am being punished…”

He facepalmed, dreading his absurdly unfortunate fate.

He used to be an author.

Now, he was trapped inside his own novel—punished for offending the God of the Universe.

Apparently, God had no sense of humor.

The novel had been nothing more than a release of Lee Yeongu’s anger and pent-up frustration—written during his days as a struggling atheist author.

A historical fantasy world where, in an age recorded by the Church itself, the Supreme Pontiff proclaimed a prophecy:

That the God of the Universe would send a savior.

One who would heal the sick and cursed, raise the dead, and bring an end to war.

But the prophecy never came to pass.

Years turned into decades, and faith eroded into doubt. With no miracles and no answers, humanity was forced to rely on its own strength to survive the monsters that plagued the land.

The Church, once revered, became an object of scorn—its prophecy dismissed as a fabrication born of blind faith.

And when the Demon Lord finally descended upon the world, the people no longer waited for salvation.

If a god would not keep His promise, then mankind would finish the battle without Him.

Thus, the savior foretold by the Church never arrived.

Instead, it was a Lady blessed with dual magic—an existence never mentioned in scripture—who, alongside her companions, defeated the Demon Lord without divine aid.

The Church, having refused to support those it deemed unbelievers, was dismantled in the aftermath.

And the Viremont Royal Family’s greatest pillar—the Valemont House—was executed for defying royal decree.

“And I am Theo Valemont, heir to the Valemont House…”

He paused, then laughed hollowly.

“Which means sooner or later, I’ll be executed alongside my family. Teehee!”

Theo made a series of ugly, dying noises, stretching his eyelids like a madman before suddenly springing to his feet. He shoved his few belongings into a small bag—he hadn’t owned much to begin with.

“To hell with this punishment."

He kicked the window open and jumped out, landing in a bush. Without wasting a second, he ran.

Just as he reached the church gates, his foot caught on a rock. He lost his balance and tumbled straight into the pond.

Cold water closed in around him.

Since when were ponds this deep?

Realization struck too late.

He was drowning.

'No… not like this. I refuse to die this way.'

His thoughts blurred as consciousness slipped away.

'Please… I’ll do anything. God, save me.'

His tears vanished into the water as his lungs burned.

He had reached his limit.

FLASH!

A beam of light pierced the depths.

And before darkness claimed him, a voice echoed—

“Divine Mission accepted.”

—

TO BE CONTINUED

Where… am I?

Theo looked around—and instantly recognized the place.

Ah… how could I forget? The Kingdom of Virelia… a piece of my imagination.

Everything around him was burning. He was already familiar with this scene—it was the final battle against the Demon Lord.

The female lead and her companions were locked in a bloody struggle. Many were injured. Some were already dead. And yet, fire still burned in their eyes as they fought on—

Led by… Theo Valemont?

Wait—what am I doing there?

I didn’t write that shit.

Theo couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He could only stand there like a ghost, forced to watch his future self fight alongside the very characters he had created.

THUMP!

Theo’s eyes snapped open.

He found himself in a cozy yet luxurious room.

Definitely not his room.

“You’re awake.”

Theo turned toward the voice. The man sitting beside the bed had been there the entire time.

Edmund Valemont.

“We found you unconscious by the pond,” Edmund said gently. “It seems you’re still not fully recovered.”

His hand came to rest on Theo’s forehead, checking his temperature. The cold sensation sent a strange, electric shiver down his spine.

'Isn’t this man a little too touchy…?'

Theo frowned internally. Being touched by a hypocrite was not his cup of tea.

Yes—Edmund Valemont looked like a kind, devoted priest.

But inside? Cruel to the core.

“I’m fine now… thank you, brother.”

The moment the word left his mouth, Edmund froze.

'Oops. Did I say something wrong?'

A second later, Edmund smiled—but this time, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“And here I thought…” he said softly, “that you had forgotten my face.”

'Dude, I couldn’t forget a face like yours even if I tried.'

Theo wisely kept his mouth shut and listened.

“You were often bedridden when we were young,” Edmund continued. “So we never really played together. Then you were sent out of the capital for treatment… for ten years.”

Theo stiffened.

“You couldn’t attend our parents’ funeral either,” Edmund said quietly. “And you only returned yesterday.”

His voice carried weight—and for once, it didn’t sound hypocritical. Or at least… not entirely.

“The way you avoided me this morning made me think you had forgotten me.”

“Oh—no,” Theo replied quickly. “I wasn’t feeling well because of the wound on my forehead.”

Edmund’s expression softened slightly.

“Then… will you keep calling me ‘brother’?”

“Huh? Oh—of course. Isn’t that natural?”

“Natural…” Edmund murmured. “Yes, you’re right.”

A chill ran down Theo’s spine.

'What the hell is this wacko thinking now?'

—

—

Before leaving, Edmund informed him that this would be Theo’s new room—right next to his own.

“Huu…” Theo exhaled once he was finally alone. “He left.”

He stretched his arms, exhaustion creeping into his face.

“Edmund said he found me unconscious by the pond. That means…” Theo muttered, “God really did intervene.”

He sat at the desk and pulled out ink and paper from a drawer. His stomach twisted slightly as he picked up a pen after so long.

“From what I saw in that dream… I’m far more involved than I thought.”

What bothered him most was this—

Theo Valemont was never a character he created.

He had only taken the name after overhearing the church workers gossip.

The Valemont House was supposed to have only one heir—Edmund Valemont.

“And Edmund’s reaction earlier…” Theo groaned. “How am I even supposed to act around him?”

Shaking his head, Theo decided to ignore Edmund’s mess of a personality for now.

Survival came first.

This was a horror world he had written with his own hands.

First of all—dungeons and monsters exist here. By royal decree, every noble heir is required to participate in monster subjugations. If a family has no heir, the head of the household has to step in instead.

“That means…” Theo whispered, staring blankly ahead,

“I’m about to go die in a monster raid.”

He banged his head lightly on the desk and gripped his pen.

“Should I pretend to be sick?”

He considered it—then immediately shook his head.

The idea of God doubling his punishment didn’t sound appealing.

“Oh—right,” Theo muttered. “Didn’t I hear a voice before I passed out?”

He tilted his head, searching his fuzzy memory.

“I think it said… ‘Divine Mission’ or something?”

The moment the words left his mouth—

A red screen popped up in front of him.

[Divine Mission accepted! ^-^]

[Mission: Make the main characters of the novel devoted believers of God and defeat the Demon Lord.]

[Loading…]

[Current believers: None]

“What the ****?”

…

[Cursed language detected.]

[Warning: Such expressions are prohibited. -_- ]

—

TO BE CONTINUED

“****.”

[Cursed language deleted.]

‘****.’

[Cursed language deleted.]

“…Wow,” Theo muttered, staring at the screen. “It deletes my thoughts too.”

He leaned closer to the red interface floating in front of him.

“What are you?”

[I’m merely an assistant sent by my Father to help you complete your mission! ^o^ ]

Theo’s eye twitched.

Annoying—yes.

But useful? Maybe.

He couldn’t deny it. Something like this could help him survive. Or at the very least, keep him from dying horribly.

“…So—” Theo cleared his throat, eyes lighting up with cautious hope.

“Am I going to receive some grand power or something?”

Silence.

The light in his eyes dimmed as he let out an awkward laugh.

“…Okay. Then maybe just a small buff?”

He rubbed his hands together like a scheming servant.

He knew what was coming.

As the heir of the Valemont House, he would be sent on monster raids. And those raids weren’t a game. People died in them. Often.

Without power, he wouldn’t last long.

But the system remained silent.

“**** you, you ************ **** yourself!”

[Cursed language deleted.]

…

Theo grabbed his hair roughly, then let go with a frustrated groan.

“I forgot I’m literally being punished for writing this ****** novel.”

[Cursed language deleted.]

“Fine,” he snapped. “I don’t need you.”

He turned away—

And the screen flashed again.

[Task: Call upon the name of the Lord.]

[Condition: Honesty.]

“Huh?”

Theo stared, then scoffed.

“Are you serious?”

“To **** with that.”

He dismissed the task without a second thought.

If that stupid system thought it could toy with him, it was wrong.

He would survive on his own.

—

—

'…That’s what I thought. But can I really survive this?'

Theo’s stomach churned as his gaze locked onto the man standing before him.

Silver-white, slightly wavy hair, and pale grey eyes.

Large hands marked with scars that contradicted his refined, almost gentle features.

There was no doubt about it.

Grand Master Eryx Beaumont.

The only commoner blessed with magic powerful enough to stand against nobles. Through sheer strength alone, he had risen through the ranks—earning the title of Grand Master and becoming the commander of the Holy Order.

“Identify yourself,” snapped the priest beside Theo. “Can’t you see the Cardinal is waiting?”

Standing next to higher authority had clearly given the petty priest some courage. Though it vanished instantly as Eryx’s cold gaze flicked toward him.

The priest stiffened.

Eryx then turned to Theo, and stepped closer.

Too close.

“Eryx Beaumont.”

His presence loomed, his height towering Theo as he looked down at him with detached indifference.

“One piece of advice,” Eryx said coldly.

“Don’t interfere.”

Then he walked away—as if nothing had happened.

Only then did Theo realize he’d been holding his breath.

“T-That imbecile commoner!” the priest shouted—only after Eryx disappeared from sight.

As expected.

His background did not matter.

Everyone feared the Grand Master.

'…Atta boy', Theo thought approvingly.

'That’s the cool character I created.'

Even though his authority had been challenged, Theo couldn’t help but feel excited.

He wanted to see Eryx in action.

—

—

The dungeon portal hovered above the ground like a wound torn into the air.

Dark blue—not bright, not inviting.

The kind of blue found in the deepest parts of the ocean, where light forgot how to exist.

Its surface churned slowly, layers of shadow folding into one another as if space itself were being stirred. Thin veins of dull silver light pulsed within it, appearing and vanishing like drowned stars.

No warmth radiated from it.

Instead, the air around the portal felt heavy—pressing against the chest, carrying the unsettling sensation of being watched.

Holy sigils placed around it glowed uneasily.

Their light bent inward, warped at the edges, as though the portal were drinking their radiance rather than being repelled by it.

Standing too close dulled sound.

Voices softened.

Footsteps faded.

Even prayers seemed to hesitate before reaching its surface.

'Here I go…'

Theo clenched his fist and stepped forward.

This dungeon would decide the rest of his fate.

It wasn’t a doorway.

It was an invitation—

One that didn’t care whether you accepted it or not.

—

TO BE CONTINUED