The Second Coming of Gluttony - Chapter 101

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 101. Threads of Fate Woven One by One (3)

[Bless of Ter Circum.]
The Trinary Art synthesizes all fundamental angles of observing nature.
Within the domain called Essence, the physical aspect employs a singular perspective, the magical aspect a dual perspective, and the lawful aspect a triple perspective.
The Bless of Ter Circum is a tri-directional shield crafted through multi-perspectival understanding, protecting its wearer from not only physical and magical forces, but also from sorcery manifested through Yin-Yang and divination.
Protection strength is based on the wearer’s mana, duration is ten seconds, overlapping is impossible but stacking is permitted, and it can be used three times daily.

“Ah….”
He’d exclaimed, though in truth the description was dense with obscure terminology he barely grasped. Still, it seemed clear enough that this shield was formidable equipment.
Most importantly, he didn’t have to trouble himself carrying it by hand—that alone was incentive enough.
‘So phalanx formations become possible.’
It was the sort of thought one could only entertain while ignorant of what a phalanx actually was—a tightly-packed battle formation of heavy infantry.
In any case, he’d always needed both hands to grip the spear, so shields had been a dream beyond reach. But with this bracelet? The situation changed entirely. What if he could summon the shield in desperate moments mid-combat?
The thought alone thrilled him. He slipped the bracelet onto his left wrist and grasped the Ice Spear. Hop, ha! He bounded left and right, feigning violent combat, then suddenly raised his left wrist as if an axe had just flown at him.
Whoosh!
The moment he poured mana into it, three circles—gold, crimson, and azure—materialized around the bracelet’s center. They overlapped partially, creating intersections, arranged in a triangular configuration with gold at the apex and crimson and azure supporting below.
‘This size should be adequate….’
It wouldn’t cover his entire body, but it ought to protect his face and upper torso.
Exactly ten seconds later, the three circular shields dissolved into the air as if melting into nothingness.
Seol Jihoo, who’d been striking all manner of poses, seemed to realize how ridiculous he looked and chuckled to himself. He tried on the Black Belt as well, repeatedly drawing and sheathing the Short Spear, growing increasingly satisfied with each motion.
With combat-ready equipment in hand, his spirits soared. If a job came up, he felt he could dash out with genuine eagerness.
But not yet. He hadn’t reached his goal. Remembering he hadn’t yet mastered Mana Spear Throwing, he quickly tamped down his elation.
Late evening. Yet there was no law against training through the night.
‘Tonight, I’ll master it for certain!’
Seol Jihoo withdrew all the short spears from his belt and hurried toward the outdoor Training Ground.

Murphy’s Law—the phenomenon by which matters grow increasingly tangled and obstructed, refusing to progress smoothly.
A cruel saying, but life has always been thus. Like the phrase “mountains upon mountains,” misfortune occasionally arrives in relentless succession without warning.
Once a venture begins to fail, it does so catastrophically—so badly that one ends up cursing remote ancestors or railing against an indifferent heaven.
Yet does only misfortune find us? No, one could argue otherwise.
Fortune and calamity differ by a hair’s breadth. Over a long lifetime, there inevitably comes a season when good fortune chains together in unbroken succession.
In other words, if Murphy’s Law exists, so too does Sally’s Law—the principle that just as a chain of misfortunes can plunge one into the abyss, so too can a chain of fortune lift one beyond the clouds to brush the very vault of heaven.
In Seol Jihoo’s case, since entering Paradise, nearly everything had sailed smoothly, like a ship with full canvas catching steady wind.
True to Phscihi’s boasts, the Haramag Royal Family proved fair and reliable in matters of state. One could call their administration expeditious.
According to reports brought by messengers, the king had already inquired of the village chief about relocation. Consequently, Rahman Village was awash in festival atmosphere these days.
With good reason. Haramag wasn’t entirely without danger, but distance from the Border Region and protection from both the military and Earthians made it far preferable.
The tomb visit proceeded apace as well. Theresa sent word that she’d secured a trustworthy High Priestess and was preparing funeral rites, and that as part of comforting the ghostly saint, they planned to construct a shrine. She appended a note that she’d inform him once preparations were complete.
Though the weight on his heart had lessened, as the saying goes, no joy is without its flaw—worries remained.
Thud!
A dull sound echoed. The Short Spear bounced off the building wall, rolled across the ground, and came to rest at the young man’s feet.
“Hah… hah….”
Bent at the waist and breathing heavily, Seol Jihoo wiped sweat from his brow and picked up the spear.
He’d lost count of the days. But one fact remained certain: he’d mastered neither Mana Spear Throwing nor even basic Spear Throwing.
‘What’s going wrong?’
Theory and practice were not the same. Accumulating knowledge through rigorous study was entirely different from flawlessly translating that knowledge into action, as one might copy and paste code.
The inevitable gap between them had grown into an enormous wall blocking his path forward.
To speak plainly, his earlier rapid mastery of Ungi Haengkong had been entirely thanks to Phscihi’s Tear. But pure effort without aid or luck—training like Mana Spear Throwing—progressed unbearably slowly.
No. He wasn’t even certain progress was being made.
Thus of late, he’d come to thoroughly accept that his talent was ‘ordinary.’
‘Damn. I’m going mad.’
Looking back, his time in the Neutral Zone had been blissful. He’d had Agnes, a magnificent teacher. Though he’d been beaten and cursed during every session, she’d always identified his shortcomings with uncanny precision and offered sound counsel.
‘Should I go find her?’
The thought occurred to him, but he steeled his resolve against it.
Paradise was not the Neutral Zone. He couldn’t lean on others forever. Besides, walking this thorny path had been his own choice.
He couldn’t afford weakness now.
He shook his head vigorously, sending sweat droplets flying in all directions. Straightening his spine, Seol Jihoo began gathering the scattered Short Spears from the ground.
He’d devoted himself to Spear Throwing from dawn until noon. A change of pace—two hours devoted to physical conditioning—wouldn’t hurt.
Seol Jihoo arranged ten short spears neatly to one side, wrapped sand pouches around his limbs, and headed down to the 1st Floor.
Absorbed in his training, Seol Jihoo had no idea that another stroke of tremendous fortune was making its way toward him.

The sun hung at its zenith when it happened.
“The Slayer! She’s the Slayer!”
“Ahhh, ahhhhh!”
As Earthians scattered through the streets in panic, Agnes moved with unhurried grace toward the Carpe Diem Office.
It wasn’t official business. Quite the opposite—entirely personal.
It was nothing remarkable, really. Simply that she’d promised someone, long ago, to help with their training now and then, and now she was coming to honor that pledge.
A mere word of mouth, but still a word she had spoken. Since she lived by the principle of “don’t say what you can’t keep,” she bore the obligation to fulfill it.
And so, as she drew near her destination,
Tap. Tap.
A rhythmic sound—faint, the sort of noise one might ordinarily dismiss—reached her ears with crystalline clarity. The perks of ranking high.
Down the otherwise empty street, a lone figure approached at a leisurely pace. Even seeing Agnes, the stranger showed no hesitation.
In Haramag, the name Agnes is synonymous with terror. Her dreadful reputation was forged during the Haramag Uprising, the incident that had earned the city its epithet “Crime City.”
To be more precise, Agnes’s method of dealing with enemies could be summed up in a single phrase.
An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
Enemies known for cruelty, she kills by even crueler means. Against madness, she becomes something madder still.
For instance: the time she had an enemy’s corpse neatly dismembered and arranged on a silver platter, then served it as a meal at a negotiation table. Or when she exterminated an entire enemy faction’s subsidiary organization and decorated a Christmas tree with their bodies and organs for a public exhibition.
Under Cheonji’s creed—that ally blood is washed clean by enemy blood—Agnes had committed such grotesqueries more than once. Small wonder, then, that Sicily’s vanguard is feared.
Yet the approaching figure’s gait betrayed no unease. And Agnes, for her part, saw no reason to be concerned, so she continued forward without a second thought. Or so she intended.
But she could not. As the distance closed, the stranger’s details came into focus, piece by piece.
The bowler hat perched on white hair, the navy suit—it was as though the figure had just stepped out of Paradise. In one hand, a long staff of wood, held less like a wizard’s implement and more out of habit, used to test the ground with each step.
The figure was smaller than Agnes, the frame slight and narrow. Deep wrinkles carved the eyes and face, stark testimony to the passage of years.
To all outward appearance, an elderly man in the twilight of his days. Yet those large eyes held a trace of irritation, and the dark brows were striking. Most of all, when her gaze met those aged yet still-burning eyes, still alight with vigor despite the years,
“Ah?”
Agnes’s eyes widened in genuine shock. She even stopped in her tracks.
Tap!
The Elder, too, had seen Agnes. He gripped his staff and came to a halt.
“Ho.”
Slowly, he removed the bowler hat, revealing white hair combed back neatly. His sharp gaze softened slightly, and his expression mirrored her own astonishment.
“You are…?”
The voice that emerged was rough, weathered with age. Collecting herself, Agnes brought her hands together respectfully and offered a deep bow of greeting.
“I never expected we would meet like this.”
“Mm. It has been a long time.”
“You still don’t speak to me casually, I see.”
“Ha. Here you go again the moment we meet. I thought we’d settled this matter already, several times over.”
“Perhaps. You’re right. Though I find it endearing, even if it is a bit lonely.”
Agnes nodded and continued.
“It feels like only yesterday I was training under you, tears and all.”
The Elder tilted his head, as though the words made no sense.
“I never saw you cry. The Agnes I remember was someone who learned without needing to be taught at all.”
“I cried in secret, at night. It wounds the pride to weep in front of others.”
The Elder’s mouth fell open, and he laughed silently.
“So you’ve picked up the habit of joking, have you. I merely kept an eye on you at that person’s request… But tell me—how is she faring?”
“If you’re speaking of my boss Cheonji, she is doing well, thanks to you.”
Agnes answered with humble courtesy.
“Thanks to me? An old man’s face has no gold to gild.”
“It is sincere.”
Agnes smiled, rare and genuine, then placed a hand slowly over her heart.
“The lessons I learned from you are a treasure buried deep in my oldest drawer.”
“A treasure, even.”
“Yes, a treasure. Like my boss, I too have my life saved more than once by your teachings. As recently as before.”
“Hm. Sounds like you’ve had another close call.”
The Elder scratched at his slightly flushed upper lip.
“Not that I taught you much of anything. But you and Cheonji both—you’ve always exceeded my expectations. Ha ha.”
A warm, nostalgic smile crossed his face as he gazed into the past.
After a moment’s silence, Agnes opened her mouth, hope flickering in her eyes.
“If I may ask something presumptuous—is it possible…”
“Mm. No.”
The Elder shook his head before Agnes could finish.
“I came today only because of a promise with Dylan. We agreed I’d drop by from time to time, whenever I thought of it.”
“I see… I understand.”
Agnes’s expression grew complicated. The old man didn’t know what had become of Dylan.
“But what brings you here? A commission?”
Agnes shook her head.
“I came to meet someone. It’s a personal matter.”
“I can’t guess who. It’s not Cho Hong or Hugo, is it? Dylan?”
“None of the three.”
None of them at all?
“There’s one more person.”
At Agnes’s addendum, the Elder immediately realized a newcomer had joined and showed interest.
Someone who’d passed Dylan’s demanding scrutiny—and Agnes had even come looking for them herself?
“Come in. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. Have some tea at least.”
“No, thank you. That’s all right. I’ll come again next time.”
Though his offer was kind, Agnes politely declined. The old man before her would soon face a certain truth. And the person delivering that news wouldn’t be her—it would be a member of the Carpe Diem Team.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.
“It’s not urgent either, and… there’s no need to go anymore.”
The Elder nodded. He didn’t quite understand what she meant, but if she’d decided to leave, there was no reason to detain her.
“Take care. It was good to see you after so long.”
“I hope you have a pleasant evening.”
Agnes bowed respectfully and vanished in an instant.
After she left, the Elder’s gaze turned toward the shabby, faded building, his eyes glistening with longing.
But the wistful expression faded quickly. The moment he stepped inside unhurriedly,
“Hmm?”
Both eyes fixed forward.
Through the glass window lay the 1st Floor Training Ground—a space the Elder had once built with all his heart and devotion, filled with countless memories.
Yet a young man he’d never seen before was training there, sweat streaming down his face. He couldn’t know who it was, of course, but he could make an educated guess.
‘Is that the new recruit?’
He’d been curious anyway. The Elder didn’t venture further inside, watching the youth’s movements intently.
‘Hmm….’
After a moment, the Elder slowly stroked his chin.
‘Not bad at all.’
For someone newly arrived, that was high praise, though his assessment came with reservations.
He wasn’t simply working hard. There were rough edges, perhaps, but his movements and breathing showed considerable discipline. Even the way he cut his rest periods sharply at intervals suggested professional training.
‘Whoever taught him did a fine job.’
It was nearly a compliment.
Presently, the youth removed the Sand Pouch and moved outside.
Whish! Thud….
Whish! Thud….
As the Elder followed into the back courtyard, the sound of air being cut and impact echoed in regular intervals.
The youth gripping a Short Spear, throwing it repeatedly. The Elder, watching from the shadows, tilted his head.
‘What’s he doing?’
It seemed he was drilling repetitive motions to internalize an ability directly. That would be commendable, yet the Elder continued frowning. Something bothered him, a flicker of irritation.
‘Is he playing some kind of spear-target game?’
His gaze suddenly caught on a Notebook lying on the ground. Muttering to himself while examining the neatly written notes, the Elder looked away again.
The youth still threw the spear repeatedly, oblivious to the visitor.
‘Wait. That’s… Spear Throwing, isn’t it?’
After watching the youth’s movements and the notebook alternately for some time, the Elder’s expression shifted to one of exasperation. What was this?
‘That idiotic fool!’
He wasn’t one to meddle, but if the boy belonged to Carpe Diem, things were different. Unable to bear the frustration any longer, he opened his mouth.
“You there.”
Whish! Thud…!
He called out, but got no response.
“You there!”
“?”
Raising his voice, the youth gathering up the Short Spear finally reacted. Clear eyes, fair skin—a delicate face for a man. Yet his lean, muscular frame dispelled any impression of frailty.
As the youth turned, the Elder lifted his cane.
“Rotate your arm at an angle.”
“…Yes?”
He asked back with a startled expression. But the Elder offered no explanation and continued.
“Your right arm. Rotate it halfway clockwise.”
“What? Who are you?”
“From the elbow! Rotate all the way to your hand!”
The Elder barked sharply. The timid young man reflexively rotated his right arm, which had been held back.
“Like this, sir?”
“Try it.”
At the abrupt instruction, he blinked.
“Don’t just stand there gawking. Start with an approach run.”
At the cutting edge of his voice, the young man moved hesitantly. He stepped with his left foot first, then pushed off with his right, and the Elder’s face instantly contorted.
“Stop, stop!”
He trudged forward and tapped the ground in front of the young man’s feet with his cane.
“I told you to do an approach run. Who told you to tap dance with those legs? What’s the point if you lift your left heel while running?”
The young man then grumbled as if aggrieved.
“But I am doing an approach run…”
“An approach run builds jumping power and throwing force by running a certain distance. I’m not saying don’t do it—you need to plant your foot firmly and push off from the ground. You’re not a circus clown. How is running on your toes from the start and scraping your feet an approach run?”
“But—”
“Keep your left sole on the ground!”
Seol Jihoo, about to protest, was overwhelmed by the force and quickly lowered his left heel. Even as he obediently followed instructions, the Elder seemed dissatisfied and smacked his lips.
“Stay like that.”
He went into the building and returned with a Small Hammer.
After taking the spear and handing him the Small Hammer, he moved behind the young man and gripped his right hand firmly.
“Good. Try again.”
Surprised by the grip and warmth of the hand against his, the young man nonetheless pushed off the ground by instinct. But the stern command continued relentlessly.
“Don’t press your right foot with the ball—use your toes! The power isn’t transferring properly, which is why your left foot is trying to bounce!”
“Yes, yes!”
“Don’t flail your arm! If your foot is the starting point, your left arm is the stepping stone. Pull from the tip of your left hand! Let the rotation that starts there flow through your waist and into your right arm!”
“Yes!”
To an outside observer, it would have looked absurd—the young man advancing like he was doing the techno, his right arm held back and restrained.
But Seol Jihoo himself was moments away from collapsing in shock.
‘Wait… what?’
He’d only corrected what he was told to correct.
True, the stance still felt awkward. But with the Elder’s firm grip from behind keeping him aligned, the movement flowed far more smoothly.
What this meant was that every motion he’d grown accustomed to had been wrong all along.
Then, at some moment, the pressure on his right hand suddenly released.
‘He let go?’
Even in his confusion, his body—having absorbed the new movement—responded naturally.
He kicked with his right foot and stamped his left firmly against the earth. He yanked his left arm to throw and spin his body counterclockwise, and the rotational force surging upward shot through to his right arm. As his arm flew forward almost of its own accord, Seol Jihoo’s eyes went wide.
‘So that’s why…!’
The arm he’d rotated halfway spun back into place, and the rotation carried upward from below seamlessly, no longer clashing but merging perfectly, doubling the snap!
“Now!”
The moment the command rang out, Seol Jihoo threw with all his strength, and—
‘!’
Thwack! A satisfying, explosive sensation shot through his palm. A feeling he’d never known before. It was exactly like firing a gun.
Boom!
Staring blankly at his hand, Seol Jihoo jerked his gaze upward at the sudden crash. The Small Hammer had embedded itself so deep into the building wall it was now jammed there.
And then came several notifications in succession: messages confirming he’d learned Spear Throwing.
‘This can’t be real…’
It felt impossible. He’d mastered in a single attempt what had tortured him so long?
“Throwing for distance and throwing for accuracy are different things,” the low voice resonated.
Only then did Seol Jihoo remember and turned to look at the Elder.
“Your technique is built for long-distance throws. But if you keep your target close, how does that work? Your goals contradict each other—it can’t succeed that way.”
Seol Jihoo stood rigid as stone, staring intently. He didn’t know who this man was. But he understood now that someone had appeared out of nowhere and aided his training.
Could it be.
‘A stroke of fortune!’
In novels, this happened sometimes. A reclusive eccentric would appear and help a protagonist stuck against a wall. Such fortunate circumstances did occur.
‘Gasp—’
Activating the Nine Eyes, Seol Jihoo nearly shut his eyes in that instant. The brilliant golden radiance was so blinding. He’d never seen a gold this dazzling before. Certainty bloomed in him.
‘Truly, a stroke of fortune!’
Suddenly he remembered the colored paper from the central notice board—the recruitment notice for Carpe Diem. Either way, he couldn’t let this slip away.
Feeling the keen gaze upon him, the Elder removed his bowler hat.
“Now that I think of it—I’ve been remiss in introducing myself.”
He cleared his throat lightly and opened his mouth.
“I am….”
“Please, help me!”
Seol Jihoo suddenly rushed at him.
“W-what?”
The Elder was taken aback.
“Please, help me!”
“Now, now. First, you need to calm down.”
“Venerable one, I beg you. It’s urgent!”
“No! Wait! Just listen to what I’m trying to say!”
Seol Jihoo clung to him desperately, forcing the Elder to cry out for what felt like an eternity as he struggled to keep his trousers from sliding down.
And then.
Cho Hong returned four days after Seol Jihoo’s fateful encounter with the mysterious Elder.

[In the name of Ira! From this moment forth, I appoint Cho Hong to Level 5 Templar! I expect her to prove worthy of her new rank!]
“Ha!”
The moment she entered, Cho Hong had submitted her request for an upper rank, and she strutted out with unbridled pride. To finally attain Level 5, the rank she had only dreamed of—there was no dampening her spirits.
Cho Hong lifted the shopping bags in both hands, her face beaming.
‘He’ll like these, won’t he?’
Since her return had taken longer than expected, she’d purchased a gift for Seol Jihoo. A simple explanation and the offering should mollify any anger.
There was one problem, however, that Cho Hong hadn’t considered: she had brought no gift for Hugo. Not that she’d ever intended to, of course.
“That brat. He’s not crying because his sister’s been gone, is he?”
Lululu, lulululu. Cho Hong hummed to herself as she descended the stairs. Whether it was the joy of returning to Paradise after weeks away, or the eagerness to see her comrade’s delighted expression upon receiving gifts, her pace quickened with each step.
When Cho Hong finally arrived at the Carpe Diem Office,
“Hey! Seol!”
She burst through the door,
“You here? Come on out! Your sister went through all this trouble for you…!”
Boom!
Suddenly the interior trembled. The entire structure shook as if an earthquake had struck.
Thud… Thud….
The tremors didn’t cease with one impact; they continued in rhythmic succession.
Cho Hong’s face went rigid.

(To be continued in the next episode)

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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