Chapter 171: Artist (7)

He’d spoken boldly, but Lee Taebaek couldn’t help stealing glances at the Art Master’s expression.

Debt was like a tumor. The longer you let it grow, the fiercer the backlash. The quicker you dealt with it, the better—which was why Lee Taebaek planned to brush it off right after making his guess.

‘Kublai is the Art Master’s father.’

He didn’t know the details of her family history or circumstances. But Lee Taebaek was a Laykuns veteran and its developer.

When it came to his own creation, he knew exactly how plausibility would be maintained. It was no exaggeration to say he had it all figured out.

‘And if that’s the case…’

Lee Taebaek glanced sideways at the Art Master. She remained silent for a long while, a dangerous stillness settling in like a bomb whose fuse had burned down completely.

This lasted several minutes. Finally, the Art Master spoke.

“So.”

Her voice held not a shred of inflection.

“So what? What do you want me to do about it?”

“…”

Kublai’s gaze dropped as he crumbled into dust. The Art Master pressed on sharply.

“Fine, Lee Taebaek. Let’s say you’re right. Kublai is my real father. It’s not exactly rare on the steppes. A powerful man seizing another man’s woman.”

In truth, the City might have originated from the steppes.

“Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that Temujin is my father. Not some crumbling doll like that.”

The Art Master furrowed her brow. She spoke harshly, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. Outwardly calm, inwardly she was a mess.

“…Fine. Kublai, if you’d been in that state before you ended up like this, I might have proudly lived my life as your daughter.”

Lee Taebaek was surprised. From her words, it seemed she’d suspected as much herself.

But hearing her private suspicions confirmed from someone else’s mouth—his—made them all the more credible. It explained how quickly she’d regained her composure.

She’d had a vague inkling all along.

No solid proof until now.

“You probably boasted on some broadcast about what great parents you had, throat swelling with pride. But you now?”

“Jamukha.”

“Th-that name!”

Rumble. A pillar that had barely held under the Art Master’s glare finally collapsed.

“…Did you even give me that name?”

“…”

Silent affirmation.

Jamukha’s pupils emptied.

“Then my whole life has been a lie?”

“Jamukha.”

“Ha, haha. Even my mother might not have been my real mother.”

“That’s not true!”

“Shut—up!”

Chaos erupted once more. This temple-like place now had more missing pillars than standing ones. It mirrored her shattered state of mind perfectly.

Every pillar supporting her identity was being tested here and now.

The father she’d believed in wasn’t her real father. Her mentor, who vanished one day, had returned wearing the skin of a cultured human. If she were a martial artist from the jianghu, she’d have fallen into qi deviation by now.

Hmm, on closer look, she seemed possessed by her inner demon. This was dangerous. It was time for Lee Taebaek to step in.

He chose his words carefully before speaking.

“Kublai, hearing about your old body’s condition sparked a thought. You suffered from Crone’s Disease, didn’t you?”

“…How do you.”

Finally showing some respect.

‘Can’t blame her.’

Crone’s Disease was a forgotten concept in the current era. On the steppes, it only appeared in folktales about the elderly on their deathbeds.

And for good reason. It was the rarest of rare diseases. Its incidence rate was so low you’d spend ages counting the zeros. The fewer cases, the higher the fatality.

Especially for a disease like Crone’s, with only one confirmed patient worldwide.

Not to mention its brutal symptoms. Muscles wasted away entirely. As the disease slowly consumed the body, cellular vitality ebbed. It turned humans into the elderly faster than anything else.

Of course, the name came from steppe mythology. Those cursed by the Thunder Granny Goddess. Hence, “Crone’s Disease.”

Whatever its origin, it lived up to its horrifying name.

‘Didn’t expect Crone’s Disease to actually exist.’

It should have been dummy data only.

There had been a scenario where Crone’s Disease, buried in the City’s history, resurfaced as an epidemic, with players containing it. Team members had been skeptical about such an outlandish plague, leading to discussions and eventual scrapping.

Lee Taebaek lowered his stance. Kublai signaled with his eyes: Do you know more? Will you say it?

Yes. He would.

Lee Taebaek withdrew his gaze from Kublai and locked eyes with Jamukha, who was glaring daggers.

“You know this? Crone’s Disease is congenital.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’m from Siesta Watchdog, believe it or not. I know a thing or two about diseases and pharmacology.”

A hasty backstory, leveraging Siesta’s origins as a pharmaceutical megacorp.

But in this heated atmosphere, even flimsy credentials worked. The Art Master cared less about how he knew and more about what came next. Her nitpicking was just frustration that he had any credibility at all.

“I had to know a bit about Crone’s Disease.”

“…”

She seemed convinced enough.

Lee Taebaek pressed on confidently.

“Anyway. Crone’s Disease can’t be acquired later in life. You have it from birth and carry it to the grave. Treatment only slows progression—cure’s impossible. Not even with the City’s science.”

“What’s your point?”

“Most with Crone’s Disease die before adulthood. Born healthy? Doesn’t matter. They’ve never been healthy.”

“…”

“Weird, right? Someone with Crone’s Disease lived past twenty. Okay, fine—nothing’s absolute.”

The Art Master’s face paled. Lee Taebaek didn’t stop.

“Even so, Kublai knows strength too well. Like he was once someone who wielded it.”

“Stop.”

Kublai cried out. Ignored.

“Want my honest take? If Kublai had even a third of your strength, Jamukha, he’d have crushed you.”

“…”

Time to drive it home.

“You’d know, Jamukha. How curses work on the steppes.”

The steppes’ greatest foe was disease.

No medical facilities, yet bizarre endemic illnesses abounded. Mutations weren’t rare either. Like the Art Master’s.

No, the Art Master wasn’t born of the steppe’s natural order. Her limbs held power far beyond providence.

“On the steppes, curses can be transferred. If someone accepts the disease, the sufferer recovers.”

And that’s not all. The body freed of the vicious symptoms activates a ‘restriction.’ The suppressive force, deeming the disease overcome, bestows proportional strength. In simple terms, the universe mistakes it for a cleared quest and rewards accordingly.

For an incurable like Crone’s, it went without saying. But who would shoulder such a hellish affliction…?

“Jamukha.”

Someone did.

“Your real father was a true paragon.”

“Please stop!”

Screw it.

“He did what no one on the steppes ever dared. Imagine someone volunteering for Crone’s Disease? Well.”

“…”

Blood trickled from the Art Master’s jaw. Her upper teeth had bitten deep into her lower lip.

“Even I’d abandon a child with Crone’s. In other words, Kublai entrusted you to his most trusted friend, Temujin, and went into seclusion.”

Training, more precisely.

‘What a remarkable man, Kublai.’

Contracting Crone’s was as good as a death sentence. No hope of survival.

Yet Kublai had.

Deferred death through an absurd, ingenious method.

‘Cell manipulation.’

Yes. Beyond muscle control, he finely manipulated cells to move his limbs. Impossible.

But the world had no ‘absolutes.’ Lee Taebaek hadn’t designed Laykuns so rigidly. He wanted players generating more variables, overcoming obstacles in ways that drew gasps from developers.

In short, what he’d hoped players would show: a nobody unrecorded in history achieving the impossible.

Incredible. That’s why he ignored those desperate pleas. Kublai deserved recognition. Repayment, even at the end. He wouldn’t allow such a qualified soul to be erased pointlessly.

“This is just my guess, but Kublai probably meant to leave forever. As far from you as possible.”

Dust rose from beneath the Art Master. Her knees buckled first.

“But he had to return. Learning of Temujin’s death, he couldn’t leave you alone. So he used the alias of mentor, rationalized it as guidance, and built memories with you.”

Kublai looked resigned. Or too exhausted for anger. Either way, fine.

“Envy must have crept in. Toward you, Jamukha?”

No.

“Or toward Temujin, for sharing that happy family?”

Possible.

But not all.

“He must have raged at the world, the steppes. Why inflict such a cruel fate on his daughter?”

He’d wailed in grief.

How could the indifferent steppes shatter two lives? How could it burden an innocent child with such an unbearable disease?

“That’s when he left you. No—left the steppes.”

For revenge.

Against this world.

“Donning a cultured human body was defiance against the heavens.”

Scarce remnants of Kublai remained. A mere breath would scatter a man’s traces. Such was the cultured human’s frailty.

Perhaps that’s why. The empress embodying raw might, the Art Master, approached Kublai with cat-like steps. Then knelt.

“Why…”

She scraped her vocal cords to wring out the words.

“…why didn’t you say anything?”

Kublai silently raised his arm. His fingertips brushed the glistening trail on her cheek. Moments later, the hand touching moisture dissolved.

“What father…”

A dimple formed on Kublai’s cheek.

“…could burden his child?”

“…!”

Regrettably, those were his final words. The light in his pupils flickered out in an instant. No warning.

The Art Master knelt there for a long time. Debris crumbled messily from the ceiling.

Lee Taebaek unfolded his Para Blade and leaned forward. He tossed a casual joke at the Art Master, who lifted her panda-like patched eyes.

“My take? That grandiose title ‘Art Master’ doesn’t suit you. Three Calamities? Meh.”

For a moment, he thought she’d snap. Instead, she let out a sudden chuckle. Propping herself on the ground, she rose.

“Agreed.”

It was the first time he’d seen her smile.