Ch 2: The Corrupt Priest’s Life – What Is Life?
What is life?
What is life, really?
Life is an egg. A boiled egg.
What does this mean?
It means no matter how hard you try, none of it matters.
Just like me, who struggled through life only to end up trapped inside a game.
Let me start by placing a hand on my chest and confessing honestly:
I used a save file editor.
But hear me out.
I feel zero shame about using cheats in this game.
First: This forgotten-name game is single-player. No one gets hurt no matter how I tweak the files.
Second: You might ask, “Shouldn’t a true gamer play pure?”
You’re right. Absolutely.
If you love games, you should avoid editors that ruin the thrill of achievement.
But let me explain. By my late twenties, my life had become too busy and exhausting for my beloved hobby. So I compromised. I used the editor just to start the game on my terms.
Yes—I cheated all the way until switching to the “Corrupt Priest” class, which was why I bought the game in the first place.
This forgettably-named game boasted “infinite freedom” with endless professions. As usual, I researched new games obsessively and became fixated on the Corrupt Priest.
The Corrupt Sect—a name that practically screams “world’s enemy.” If they’d been beneficial, they’d be called the “Fermentation Sect” instead. (Mmm, I suddenly want to rip into kimchi with my hands.)
Anyway, in-game lore said the Corrupt Sect was extinct. Players would trace its remnants, endure grueling trials, gather rare materials to become a Corrupt Priest, then hunt 13 global holy relics.
That’s all I knew—I avoided spoilers. Reviews for the class were blunt:
- Class change: Nightmare. Gameplay: Nightmare. Performance: Garbage.
That one line made my heart race. Garbage performance? Meaning barely anyone picked it.
I’ve always loved playing “dead” classes in games. Call it hipster nonsense, but trash-tier options thrill me. I was born this way.
So I bought the game, downloaded an editor, stuffed my inventory with class-change materials, and warped to the conversion site.
A decision I still bitterly regret.
Why didn’t I go all out? Max stats? Infinite money? God mode? If I’d known I’d get sucked into the game, I’d have made an OP cheat character!
With materials ready, I mindlessly mashed Enter through the class quest. Items vanished one by one. Seconds later, I hit “Yes” on the final prompt—
And fell into the game.
As a Corrupt Priest.
A withered hand twitched in my chest pocket.
A single word burned into my mind:
Kill.
Kill. Kill.
Yes, the screamy death metal vocalist in my head is my patron: the Mother of Corruption.
This was actually an upgrade. Before I absorbed the first holy relic’s divinity, she couldn’t even speak—just spasmed that dried-up hand to gesture vaguely. No useful messages, obviously.
Five years.
That’s how long it took to steal the first of thirteen relics.
When I woke in this world five years ago, I had only Corrupt Priest robes and a twitching hand on my chest.
The “Mother’s Hand” should’ve vanished after the class change. Instead, it stayed—a walkie-talkie to a cosmic horror. Its oppressive aura made accepting my new reality… easier.
The Corrupt Priest body was oddly perfect for a modern human here. Game lore said they’re drug-enhanced superhumans. Fitting for public enemies, the class required elite specs—most quests involved scavenging rare body-mod materials.
The biggest perk? You can’t kill a Corrupt Priest without divine power.
That’s why I’m still alive after those rangers lobbed my head off earlier.
Peak physicality. Hyper-sharp senses. A body immune to non-magical death. Like it was designed for an office worker stuck in fantasy hell.
But this upgraded chassis had flaws:
Emotional Glitch: My brain’s empathy circuits broke. Once squeamish, I now watch gore like it’s weather news.
(Silver lining, I guess.)
No Taste Buds: I can’t taste anything. At first, no big deal. Now? Torture.
I’d kill for samgyeopsal sizzling in kimchi, kimchi fried rice, jajangmyeon, anything—
Kill!
The Mother’s voice yanked me from food fantasies.
“No need to rush. I’m moving, Mother.”
I trudged through snowdrifts, steel legs plowing effortlessly.
Kill!
“Nagging won’t make the next relic appear faster. I need to lay low until things calm down.”
A local proverb says: “Two-faced words, two fathers’ child.”
Cheat once, gain two moms.
Still, the Mother of Corruption is my only reliable ally here. As the sole priest of a hated goddess, even her whining is… comforting.
Sunset plunged the forest into blindness. My enhanced eyes pierced the dark, legs marching tirelessly.
Knife-edged winds slashed my face. Cold? Manageable. The mental spiral about my life choices? Less so.
Should’ve picked a normal class—Warrior, Mage, anything ending with “-er.” Maybe then I wouldn’t get decapitated in snowfields.
A blizzard erupted. Even superhumans have limits. I scouted for shelter and spotted a cave.
Wading through thigh-high snow, I entered—
And met a house-sized bear’s glare.
Kill!
“Not fighting today, Mother.”
I sat near the entrance. In-game, most beasts are neutral to Corrupt Priests unless provoked. Animals sense our corruption; they avoid me. Mostly.
Closing my eyes, I summoned my status:
[Divinity: 1623]
All normal stats gone. Just this—a skill currency. Spend 10,000 to unlock an “Authority.”
Not a vending machine, but close. After absorbing one relic’s divinity, I’d gained an Authority that’d paint a target on my back if used.
Leaning on the icy wall, bitterness crept in. Why’d I get isekai’d into this grindfest?
Kill!
“Not sulking. Don’t worry.”
I gripped the shriveled hand. At least I’m not alone.
Twelve relics left. Collect their divinity, and the Mother grants any wish. First priority: restore my taste.
I repeated my mantra: This is just a hyper-realistic VR game. Enjoy it.
The jagged floor numbed my butt. I mumbled:
“Still sucks, though.”
“Halt!” A guard blocked my path, gear gleaming with discipline.
“Identification.”
I smiled beatifically, robes swiped from my two-slot inventory.
“May your days be ever steady. I lost mine in an accident.”
“Which sect?”
“The Goddess of Maintenance, protector of daily perseverance.”
Lie. Impersonating priests is a divine crime—gods mark fakes with stigmas visible to true believers.
The guard bowed.
“Welcome to Guis. Replace your ID promptly.”
“Of course.”
Kill! Our merciful Mother ignores such deceptions. Her protection lets me cheat divinity itself.
And so, snow-crusted and lying through my teeth, I entered the northern city of Guis.
