Chapter 35 : Interview of the Constellations

Instructor Han Seongryeong’s suggestion for a field study threw me into deep contemplation.

My home star was in crisis.

It wasn’t even a case like Duren, who had lived as a slave since childhood and was then betrayed by the state just as he was beginning to shine through spear technique.

The sentence tugged at my heart whether I wanted it to or not.

But the problem was that the Earth Instructor Han Seongryeong was talking about and the Earth I lived on were clearly different planets.

If I asked Professor Han Seongryeong to name the kings of the Joseon Dynasty, she probably wouldn’t list them as “Taejo, Jeongjong, Taejong, Sejong…” but would instead spit out completely random names.

It was what you’d call a parallel world.

Regardless of whether I had family there or not, I felt no attachment to it.

Perhaps sensing my cold expression, Instructor Han Seongryeong added a few more words.

“Of course, I’m not asking you to fight against the Devil Dolls.

I just want you to be listed as one of the four people required to fulfill the field study requirement.

Honestly, I’d love for you to join the Order of Pure Dawn and work in the infirmary, but that might be too much to ask.

As I said before, I understand that Earth—especially Korea—might not hold good memories for you.

In any world, reality is always harsh to the weak.

But if you help me this time, I’ll be a shelter for you.”

I looked closely at Instructor Han Seongryeong’s face.

Traces of what must have been extraordinary beauty in her youth still lingered in her features.

However, perhaps due to the harsh trials she endured on her path to becoming an academy instructor in a human body, a few strands of white hair had begun to grow—even though she was still in her relatively young late thirties.

Honestly, when playing the game, Instructor Han Seongryeong was nothing more than an NPC you passed by while doing a Gunner-themed playthrough—just someone you dealt with briefly to get a decent magic gun early on.

But now, facing her directly and having a conversation, I could feel the weight of her life and values.

And that wasn’t something I could measure, no matter how many hundreds or thousands of times I had played Pantheon of the Constellations.

That’s why I momentarily held back from rejecting her outright and instead offered a neutral response.

“If it’s just about putting my name on the field study list, then that’s not a problem. But if we’re talking about actually descending to Earth, I’d like to have some assurance of safety.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.

Actually, I haven’t found the other three participants for the field study yet, so it’ll take a bit of time.

I’ll contact you when the time comes, so stay in the dormitory and wait.

Oh, and this isn’t much, but here’s a self-defense pistol.

It may look like a toy, but it’s a magic gun, so try practicing your mana control with it.”

The magic gun Instructor Han Seongryeong handed me was so small, it could probably fit into a pocket.

If it had been a real gun loaded with actual bullets, maybe it would’ve felt different—but with my pitiful mana reserves and control, it was an awkward weapon for me to use.

Still, there was no reason to refuse a free gift, so I accepted it politely with both hands.

Without getting distracted, I headed straight to the dormitory, where I found a notice waiting in the stand-style mailbox—a gift from the dwarf uncle who had built the house and added the mailbox as a service.

The timing didn’t match with anything Instructor Han Seongryeong would have sent, so I quickly checked the contents of the notice.

“Since you have neither signed a contract with a constellation nor even attended an interview after an entire semester, we’ve decided to forcibly arrange a meeting with the constellations.

Don’t even dream of becoming a contractor—just quietly accept your fate, even if you end up as a foot-wiper.

This meeting was painstakingly arranged, so if you’re late, I will tear your limbs off.

From Principal Lyn Dragos.”

Knowing full well that Principal Lyn Dragos was the kind of person—no, dragon—who always did what he said, I immediately checked the time written at the bottom of the notice.

There were barely twenty minutes left until the appointment, so I didn’t even consider going inside my house.

I turned right around and sprinted back toward the Pantheon Temple at the academy.

Traditionally, the Pantheon induction ceremony is held only once during the first semester.

However, it seemed Principal Dragos had pulled some strings to give another chance to a few of the lower-ranked students.

Because this was an unplanned opportunity, the expressions of the students lining up in front of the Pantheon Temple were a mix of excitement and nervous tension.

Catching my breath, I straightened my clothes and waited for my turn as the instructor began a preliminary explanation.

“From this point forward, you’ll wear these specially designed headgear to connect to the avatars housed in the Hall of the Gods.

Needless to say, once you arrive at the hall of the Constellations, you must show the utmost respect.

If you behave rudely just because you’re in an avatar body and incur the displeasure of the Constellations, even I won’t be able to guarantee your safety.

Do your absolute best to answer their questions sincerely and win their favor.

This might very well be the last opportunity granted to you.”

Statistically speaking, students who fail to get selected during their first Pantheon induction ceremony are highly likely to be rejected again in the second round.

What the instructor was really saying was that there are very few touching stories of low-ranked students dramatically improving their performance and finally earning the approval of a Constellation.

After a long wait, my turn finally came.

Following the instructor’s guidance, I entered an annex building adjacent to the Pantheon Temple.

Inside, several researchers wearing white lab coats were gathered, observing various graphs on monitors and discussing them among themselves.

I was wondering if they were just going to leave someone like me unattended, when a female researcher with panda-like dark circles under her eyes—probably from lack of sleep—approached and handed me a headgear, saying:

“Please put this on and tell me where your Stigma is located. And your name as well.”

“Ah, I’m Kim Sunghoon. The Stigma is on my back.”

“We need to visually inspect the Stigma in case of any unexpected variables during the avatar connection process. So, could you please remove your top?”

Being asked to take off my clothes so suddenly made me a little embarrassed, but the female researcher didn’t even blink—she probably saw me as just Test Subject No. 300 or something.

But when I actually took off my uniform and revealed the Stigma, the researcher suddenly spoke in a surprised tone.

“Your Stigma is huge.

Normally, the output of a Stigma is proportional to its size, so it looks like we can try a higher avatar synchronization rate this time.

Alright, take a deep breath—it might make you feel a little dizzy, so brace yourself.

Three, two, one! Switch on.”

“Urgh!”

Though my physical body was clearly still sitting in the chair, I was suddenly hit with a wave of disorientation, as if I’d been thrown into a 360-degree section of a roller coaster.

I almost threw up all over the equipment.

But before I could even deal with the nausea, the moment I regained my senses, I had opened my eyes in a completely different space—a celestial realm, where instead of solid ground, an endless expanse of billowing clouds stretched beneath me.

And presiding over this Hall of the Gods was a six-winged angel whose eyes were covered with a white cloth—none other than the famed Ashakariel, the head of the Order of Pure Dawn.

As one of the few Constellations who had revealed her true name, her method of choosing contractors was rather unique.

To put it simply, the Order of Pure Dawn operated more like a grid-based file-sharing system.

Regardless of the contractor’s ability, if one possessed a Stigma, they could join with almost no barrier.

However, in exchange, they had to sign an unfair contract that permanently transferred ownership of their Stigma to Ashakariel.

Of course, you weren’t just handing it over for nothing—depending on the Stigma terminal’s capacity, you’d gain access to the Authority of Restoration.

But even generously speaking, the efficiency was far from good.

‘That’s why Ashakariel is considered the easiest Constellation to contract with, but the hardest to clear the game with. And above all, the reason she’s so notorious is…’

“Are you a virgin?”

“Wha—!? Uh… well, biologically speaking, I suppose you could say that.”

“Plus 1 point.”

The real issue was that the moment you joined the Order of Pure Dawn, a strict rule was imposed that restricted all sexual activity.

Losing ownership of your Stigma was bad enough—but having to live your entire life as a virgin on top of that?

That was hell in its purest form.

Apparently, it was to prevent the Stigma Network from being corrupted due to promiscuous behavior by the contractor—but that was the Constellation’s problem, not mine.

And honestly, even without that issue, someone like me—who hosted spirits inside their Stigma—should never form a contract with Ashakariel.

Unaware of how I truly felt, Ashakariel tossed out another question.

“What do you think is the definition of good?”

“Uh… maybe something like giving bread to a starving child, or helping an old person carry a heavy load? That kind of thing? Haha… I’m not really good with deep philosophical stuff.”

“Plus 1 point.”