Little Pink Starfish

Gradually, the convoy left the boundaries of Frost Maple Territory. Originally, the territory did not border the Duchy of Tulip—what did was the Snow Lion Domain. But now, most of these lands had already been incorporated into Frost Maple.

Nominally, Eagle had inherited the title of Lord of Frost Maple, but the Principality of Balst did not officially recognize him as the successor to the Marquess of Red Maple. However, Eagle didn’t care. What he valued was the land itself, not the marquisate bestowed by the Principality of Balst—which, by now, was nearly his in its entirety.

As a result, a strange situation emerged: Frost Maple had expanded to cover almost all of Balst’s territory, yet it was still referred to as Frost Maple. Sadin had once suggested merging it with the Lanno Domain and simply renaming the greater territory “Lanno,” but Eagle had not agreed. He understood Sadin’s intentions—the ever-loyal servant of Burke Angre likely thought his former master would be pleased by such a development—but Eagle had no sense of belonging to the House of Lanno.

Passing through what was once the Snow Lion Domain, the scenery became increasingly desolate. They had entered the Duchy of Tulip.

The first Duke of Tulip was a capable man, but his descendants grew more incompetent with each generation. The duchy’s territory shrank, the people grew poorer, and eventually, the parasitic Light Church latched onto the region, siphoning its wealth. Even the new Duke of Tulip had become a devout follower of the Church. Under the so-called radiance of the Light, life only worsened.

As they traveled, players muttered to each other: spring was coming, yet the land still looked like winter—barren, lifeless.

Both Jian Dao and Tianhe had been granted seats in the carriage, but spent most of the journey gazing outside, captivated by the bleak scenery. Occasionally, they discussed military matters in low voices. As long as they avoided direct mentions of “game” or “system,” the conversation wouldn’t be censored.

Nearby sat the Lich, Jekko, and two very obedient footmen from Red Maple Castle—selected for their silence. The Lich, still haunted by his hatred for the Church, remained visibly uneasy. Jekko, once a quartermaster, now oversaw all military logistics for the Frost Maple forces under Ichabod’s supervision. Though Ichabod wasn’t particularly talented in warfare, he was honest and generous, and he appreciated Jekko’s talents.

Listening to Jian Dao and Tianhe, Jekko slowly realized something astonishing: they were likely the real masterminds behind the previous stunning victory—not Ichabod.

Ichabod had nominally led the war, but many nonhuman Bix had refused his command. The real strategists had been among the players, and these two stood out especially—Jian Dao in particular, whose aura rivaled that of the legendary Earl Woheimins of the Kingdom of the Lion. Could such a figure have been just an ordinary player from the Bix race?

Jekko thought: No ordinary background could produce someone like that. Even if the Abyss was chaotic, the Bix must have come from a civilized race. Otherwise, how could they produce leaders of this caliber?

He glanced at the desolate lands ahead. Can the Light Church, entrenched here for thousands of years, survive what’s coming?

Meanwhile, the players’ commentary continued:

“What the hell is this place? Nothing grows here!”
“No wonder we didn’t expand into the Snow Lion area. It’s too damn barren.”
“The Light Church is in such a crappy spot? No wonder they’re parasites.”
“These priests seriously suck…”

Some players had bought horses, riding in formation like the Frost Maple knights. But most chose not to waste their money—mounts only boosted movement speed by 3% at most, and supernaturals like them could often outrun normal horses. Magical mounts were too expensive, so players typically preferred saving up to buy property.

So, most players ran alongside the convoy—and despite the pace, they didn’t tire easily. Their stamina far surpassed that of normal horses.

Eventually, they came upon signs of habitation, but instead of excitement, a chill ran through the group.

It was a ruined village. The shelters weren’t even huts—just skeletal frames barely able to block wind or rain. Emaciated, hollow-eyed villagers stared at the passing army with terrifying blankness. There was no curiosity, no fear—just numb, soulless gazes. The sight sent a shiver down even the bravest players’ spines.

“Dude, this looks like the start of a horror movie.”
“Wait, are these even people? They move like zombies…”
“I swear if they lunge at us next, I’m out.”
“This is seriously creeping me out.”

Pei Sen, peeking from his carriage, frowned at the sight.

There were always poor people in Aryl. The Lanno Domain had been destitute, and war-torn Frost Maple was hardly better. But even so, the people there still looked human. These villagers… were skeletal, with bloated stomachs and blank eyes. Some had the distended bellies of starvation, as if about to burst. Their eyes—empty, animalistic—were the most chilling part.

Because the image wasn’t gory or violent, the system didn’t censor it. The players saw it in full, brutal detail.

Eagle noted Pei Sen’s expression. “Yes, this is the Duchy of Tulip, under the so-called ‘radiance’ of the Light,” he said with cold irony. “Most kingdoms know what’s going on. The Church feeds on this duchy’s blood. But nobody cares—neither Esmia nor the others. That’s exactly why the Church chose Tulip. The first Duke was a lucky commoner who clawed his way to power. Even with his success, most nobles never respected him. After generations of decline and the Church’s interference, the people here lost all hope.”

The Church had chosen its territory wisely. Most nobles were proud—arrogantly so. Touching a noble’s land usually drew retribution. But Tulip, with its commoner heritage and weak lineage, was despised even among the elite. No one would come to their aid.

“This is what the ‘light’ of the Church looks like,” Pei Sen murmured. He didn’t even know how these people had survived the winter. And even if they had… there was no food, no spring in sight. They were doomed.

Eagle gave a faint nod. “Since the Holy City was built here, Tulip’s population has dropped by about a third.” He wasn’t exaggerating—aristocrats had access to reliable population data via mages and magical census methods. And Liches could sense spiritual presence like beacons in the dark, making their own rough estimations.

Pei Sen was shocked. “A third?! Isn’t that too much—even for bloodsucking parasites like the Church?”

Eagle’s eyes narrowed. “That’s because you haven’t seen the Holy City yet.”

It was a place more magnificent than the capital of Esmia. In a land this poor and broken, how could such splendor exist—unless it came at horrific cost?

The Church wanted rapid growth, not slow cultivation. So they resorted to brutal, extreme methods.

The players, at first unsettled, began to understand. These people weren’t stumbling like zombies because they were zombies—just because they were starving, weak, and on the verge of death.

They’d survived the cold, but had no food left. Many were dying as they stood.

Though they were only NPCs, many players couldn’t bear the sight. Some instinctively threw out food items. Immediately, the villagers pounced like ravenous wolves, devouring the food and staring hungrily at the givers.

They no longer had reason. They weren’t afraid of armor or knights. Desperation had stripped them of humanity.

Some collapsed from hunger. Others were put down by blades. One player murmured, “Maybe death… is a release for them.”

As they traveled deeper into Tulip, Pei Sen was surprised—there had been no resistance.

Perhaps it was the lingering grip of winter. So many had already died. Starving and freezing, no one had strength left to fight. Even when they reached a larger town with actual defenses, the guards didn’t react. One of them mumbled scripture from the Holy Book while basking in the sun, too weak to even lift a weapon.

The players fell silent. Even Sadin rode up to Eagle’s carriage and said, “At first, I didn’t care much whether we fought the Church. But after seeing this, I’ve changed my mind.” He looked toward the Holy City. “Those people… don’t deserve to keep living.”

Eagle smiled faintly. “It’s fortunate we came at the end of winter. Had we come in another season, the starving corpses would already be buried. Year after year, the people die—and no noble ever comes to save them.”

Indeed. This land, cloaked in “light,” had grown numb.

The people knew: only in the Holy City could one avoid death by cold and hunger. And so, they clung to their faith ever tighter—hoping they’d be chosen someday, to join the City and escape their misery.

Pei Sen said nothing.

He knew: the worse things got, the easier religion spread. The Church had built its radiant Holy City for exactly that reason—to draw the desperate like moths to flame.

The clearer he understood, the more deeply he hated the Light Church.

To the players, this was just background setting—prewritten lore for immersion. But the brutal realism made it impossible to stay indifferent. Their disgust and hatred for the Church grew stronger with every step.

But Pei Sen knew: This… is real.

“I’ve never considered myself righteous,” he muttered. “But this time…” The main quest’s title lingered in his mind.

False Light of Justice.

Because truly, this was not justice.

Nor was it light.