Chapter 005. The Western City (1)

Anagin answered that he wanted to become a god because something shitty happened.

“...”

The old man fell silent, perhaps at a loss for words.

But only for a while. After some time had passed, the old man finally spoke.

“I don’t know how one becomes a god. But I do know of two methods of practice. Though I only heard of them in passing.”

He emphasized the last part.

Then he explained the two known methods of practice.

The first was to go to the ‘Temple of Delphi’.

If one were fortunate, one might immediately catch a god’s attention and be chosen. Even if luck was not on their side, they could at least earn the chance to be chosen by a god.

Once chosen, the god would bestow a mission upon them—and if they succeeded, the god would grant them a blessing.

“Blessings vary. Great strength, rare magic, health and youth, long life, even fortune itself—there are many kinds.”

Some practitioners, having received such blessings, would go on to found nations under divine patronage and become kings, heroes, or figures of legend.

“Of course, one might even become a god. If a god grants divinity upon a mortal and raises them to the heavens as a star, we call that ‘Tacheon.’”

To reach the heavens by another’s help—Tacheon (他薦).

Anagin nodded.

“I see.”

His reaction was odd—lukewarm and uninterested.

That was because he already knew all this, having heard it from his master.

Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that he simply wasn’t interested in becoming a god by someone else’s hand.

After all, the gods had ignored his prayers once. He had no intention of ever begging them again.

Thus, Tacheon was out of the question.

“The second method is faster... but darker and more dangerous.”

He turned to glance at the sack holding the serpent’s severed head.

That method, he said, was none other than to devour humans. To eat a human born by the hand of a god, blessed by divine power, thus raising one’s own rank.

A blasphemous path, stealing a god’s blessing to elevate oneself.

It was said that all monsters and villains who spread chaos across the world were born through such means.

Beasts devoured humans.

Humans devoured other humans.

A natural, if grim, truth—but Anagin had no interest in that either. Eating people? How pathetic.

The old man seemed to share the sentiment.

“They call it ‘Yeokcheon’ (逆天)—defying the heavens. To be frank, it’s hard to even call that a method of practice. It’s closer to corruption than training. That’s why, whenever monsters appear, both kings and practitioners move to hunt them down. They are dangerous and evil beings.”

“Do they really hunt them because they’re evil?”

Anagin tossed the question casually.

The old man’s brow furrowed.

“...Well, the fact that monster corpses fetch a high price doesn’t hurt. Their remains can be used as medicine or as materials for magic tools.”

This, too, was something Anagin already knew.

Magic tools like spatial bags that could hold absurd amounts of goods, strength-enhancing belts, length-changing ropes, and self-moving boots—all of them were made from monster byproducts.

Bones turned into magic weapons, flesh and organs refined into elixirs, hides and sinews into various instruments.

That was why such tools were treated as priceless treasures. They were hard to make—and their materials, even harder to find.

“There are two methods of practice, then,” the old man concluded.

“I see... But isn’t there one more?”

“...”

“I’ve heard there are three, not two. What was it called again... Ja, Ja—”

“Jacheon (自薦), you mean?”

“Ah! So you do know.”

Anagin pointed at the old man with a finger.

“Then why didn’t you mention it?”

“Because it’s not a properly established method—and I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

The old man’s tone turned doubtful.

And rightly so. ‘Jacheon (自薦),’ unlike ‘Tacheon’and ‘Yeokcheon,’ is hardly known and has no clear explanation — it’s an ambiguous practice method.

It was said to be the path of one who uses their own conviction as their compass, climbing toward the heavens by will alone.

Unlike Tacheon, which depended on receiving a god’s blessing, or Yeokcheon, which stole it, Jacheon was ambiguous—esoteric and nearly incomprehensible.

So much so that, though the world had many practitioners, those who pursued Jacheon could be counted on one hand.

“And those who do follow that path are all...”

The old man’s voice trailed off uneasily, his expression turning uncertain.

Just as Anagin was about to ask why, he felt a gaze on him.

He turned his head toward the inside of the wagon.

Everyone inside was staring silently at them.

People who had been sitting listlessly, worn by life, were now completely absorbed in the conversation between Anagin and the old man.

The old man, looking a little troubled, quickly changed the subject.

“Hm, well, I don’t think Jacheon is possible anyway. But it seems you already know all this... Who did you learn it from?”

“From my master.”

“Haha, whoever he is, he must be a proper practitioner. There are plenty of frauds pretending to be one these days.”

“...?”

“What is it?”

“It’s just—I’m not actually sure if my master was a practitioner.”

“...What?”

“I mean, he didn’t really talk about himself much, so I don’t know if he was or wasn’t.”

Anagin realized again how little he actually knew about his master. Well, considering he didn’t even know the man’s name, it wasn’t all that surprising.

“Was he stronger than you?”

The old man’s grandson piped up, eyes shining with curiosity.

That familiar look—pure admiration. The boy clearly looked up to Anagin, the man who had slain a monster serpent.

His older sister, embarrassed that he’d interrupted the adults, bowed her head and apologized, but Anagin waved a hand as if to say it was fine.

Kids—especially boys—always admired strength.

Even the children from his home village had looked up to Anagin for that very reason.

“Yeah, he’s stronger.”

“Woooow!”

The boy’s eyes sparkled in awe. Someone stronger than the man who’d killed a monster serpent with nothing but a sword? The thought thrilled him.

Then the boy eagerly asked if he could become strong too, if he became that man’s disciple.

“No. He’s dumber than I am. You’d die before you got strong. Don’t do it. Seriously, don’t.”

“Dumb?”

Trying to stay polite, the boy’s sister pretended not to care—but curiosity got the better of her.

“He’s smart, but dumb. The kind of man who says you learn to fight by getting hit. Doesn’t teach you properly, just beats the crap out of you.”

Anagin recalled his training with his Master.

Could that even be called training?

You learn to punch—by getting punched.

You learn to dodge—by getting punched.

You learn to block—by getting punched.

And sometimes... he just hit him for no reason at all.

“He’s also the one who threw me out here without a plan... Huh. I’m actually kind of amazed I’m still alive.”

Anagin marveled, half in disbelief, at his own survival.

Everyone around him, not quite following what he meant, tilted their heads in confusion.

“Um... is he scary?”

“Well, not really scary. He just had a temper when it came to me. He was nice to everyone else—kind, even. Talented, knowledgeable, and popular too. Though... he did look a bit strange.”

“How strange?”

“His hair and beard were gold—shining brighter than mine—”

—Neighhh!

The horses suddenly reared and neighed loudly.

Startled, Anagin looked forward. The old man had pulled hard on the reins, bringing the wagon to an abrupt stop.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing serious. The horses seem tired. It’s a little early, but how about we make camp here? Does that sound fine to everyone?”

No one objected. The horses indeed looked weary—and besides, the wagon belonged to the old man.

If the owner wanted to rest, then they rested.

Once the decision was made, everyone began settling down and lighting small campfires.

“Let’s make camp here, too,” the old man said.

What a coincidence.

Several of the travelers who’d been stranded because of the monster serpent also began setting up their own camps nearby.

Except for the merchant, he pressed on, eager to reach his destination.

“Well, it’s still a bit early for camping. But for merchants, time is money,” the old man remarked, stirring a pot filled with barley, jerky, and dried vegetables into a mixed porridge.

“Right.”

Anagin narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning the surroundings as he replied.

The old man, noticing his quiet gaze, asked—

“Why?”

“It just feels like people are gathering around us.”

It wasn’t just a feeling.

All around the wagon, people were setting up camp as if to surround it.

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant sight—men and women in shabby clothes, clutching their bundles, forming a ring around them.

“They’re probably gathering because of you.”

“Me?”

“There are many dangers on the road—bandits, beasts, or monsters like that serpent earlier. When people see someone strong, they instinctively stick close.”

“That’s funny. What makes them think I’ll help them?”

Anagin’s tone held genuine confusion.

Because he killed a snake? That was just because it happened to be in his way.

He couldn’t fathom how anyone concluded that following him meant they’d be safe.

“People who live in danger don’t think that deeply.”

“Then why are they even out on such dangerous roads?”

“Because staying put is harder—and more dangerous. Most of the people heading to Apix are like that. Crushed by heavy taxes, debt, war, or bandits—already cornered by life itself.”

“Mm...”

“Not interested, I see.”

The old man ladled a bowl of stew and handed it to him.

Anagin downed the hot mixture of barley, jerky, and dried vegetables in a few gulps.

“Yeah. Not interested.”

It was true that he’d been the one asking questions earlier—but that didn’t mean he cared about these mundane stories. They didn’t seem particularly useful, either.

“You should be interested—if you plan to live as a practitioner.”

After serving his grandson and granddaughter, the old man also shared portions with the other travelers riding on his wagon.

There was quite a lot of stew, but there were many mouths to feed, so everyone only got a modest serving.

That disappointed Anagin, whose appetite was nothing short of formidable.

“Why should I?”

He scraped the last of the stew from his bowl and asked.

“Because practitioners are meant to accumulate good deeds.”

The old man filled his empty bowl again.

“Defeating villains, slaying monsters, preventing disasters, offering shelter to travelers... all of it builds one’s virtue.”

Anagin drank another mouthful of stew.

“Sounds boring.”

“That’s what most call the right path. And to find another path, you first need to understand that one.”

“The right path, huh... Well, that shouldn’t be hard. I’ve done similar things.”

If fighting monsters and villains counted as the orthodox way of practice, then Anagin had already been doing it all along.

He was the one who protected his village by hunting the beasts that threatened it.

Granted, it wasn’t out of any noble sense of duty—he’d just preferred hunting to tedious farmwork. But still.

“You sure know a lot,” Anagin said, impressed by how much the old man had told him.

“I’ve just picked up bits and pieces from wandering the world for so long.”

“Then why settle down?”

“I’m getting old. And I’d rather not raise the children as drifters. Especially my granddaughter—she’ll need to marry someday.”

The girl who had been quietly helping beside him turned red at that.

“You’re going to live in the city?”

“No, the city’s just a stop on the way. We’re headed home—to Hellas.”

“Ah, right. You mentioned that. Shame, though. Guess we’ll part ways once we reach the city.”

“We could go together!”

The old man’s grandson shouted. It hadn’t even been a full day, but he’d already grown attached to Anagin.

Anagin, however, looked doubtful.

From the looks of it, the old man intended to stay in the city only briefly before moving on.

Anagin, on the other hand, planned to remain there for a while—long enough to gather information and rumors useful for his practice.

Besides, he wasn’t even sure they were headed in the same direction.

If he found something worthwhile as soon as he arrived, he could leave right away... but luck rarely worked out that conveniently.

* * *

The next day.

The sun rose.

After a simple meal, everyone climbed back onto the wagon.

As it started moving again, the other travelers—those who had stopped to camp nearby—quickly packed up and followed along.

Just as the old man had said, they were following Anagin.

He paid them no mind, instead turning his attention to casual questions—he had nothing better to do anyway.

Not that he asked anything grand. Mostly, he was just confirming stories he’d heard from his master.

The civilized lands of Hellas, the dark and barbaric lands of Barbarland, and the region caught between them—Apix.

The old man said the world was divided into those three realms.

“For reference, this here is the western of Apix. One of the better parts of it, I’d say.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, indeed.”

They chatted idly as the wagon rolled on—and before long, the city came into view.

“Huh?”

Anagin let out a deflated sound as he saw it.

It was the first city he had ever seen, and it was... disappointing.

It looked nothing like what his master had described. No grand stone walls, no paved roads. Just... unimpressive.

The city walls were made of upright logs, and the streets were plain dirt.

As an outsider, he had no right to criticize, but compared to what he’d been told, the gap was staggering.

“Most of them are fairly new. This ‘Dysis Polis’ is no exception.”

“Dysis Polis?”

“The name of this city. It means ‘Western City.’ From the perspective of Hellas, this is the west.”

“Oh.”

While they were talking, their turn at the checkpoint arrived.

“Thank you for your hard work,” the old man greeted the guards politely.

The guards, spears in hand, nodded absently—until something changed in their eyes.

A spark of recognition.

The senior guard whispered something to the junior, who immediately turned and ran inside the walls.

“Is there a problem?”

“Nothing serious. Please wait just a moment,” the guard replied courteously.

Before long, the younger guard returned—accompanied by a familiar face.

It was the merchant. The same one who had promised gold to anyone who could slay the serpent.

Seeing the wagon, he bowed deeply.

“Welcome! We’ve been expecting you! The City Lord has been eager to meet you!”

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