Given that these frantic physical breaches were bound to manifest during every single iteration of the blessings, requiring an S-rank Esper like Yoon Seoho to personally expend high-tier mental energy to neutralize minor security threats was an egregious waste of high-value human capital.
Accepting the structural efficiency of the arrangement, I directed my attention toward the next target in the queue.
This initiate was also male, but my eyes instantly locked onto a glaring physical discrepancy: his right arm was entirely absent from the shoulder down.
I stared intently at the empty, deflated fabric of his black sleeve hanging loosely against his torso before deliberately lowering my entire upper body toward his position.
For an inexplicable, deeply instinctual reason, a sudden, powerful compulsion roared through my veins—whispering that I needed to select an alternate contact point for this specific sequence.
The moment the process initiated, I had made a definitive mental vow to yield my movements entirely to the primal, somatic guidance of this vessel’s biology.
Yoon Seoho had already constructed this entire stage explicitly for me to exert my capabilities, so there was zero utility in over-filtering my methodology. I would operate purely on whim.
I reached out, dropping my palm flat against the thick, scarred muscle tissue of his severed right shoulder.
I let out a slow, measured breath, completely clearing my mind of all analytical noise as I focused my entire cognitive intent on a singular directive: ‘Pour the energy straight through the break.’
‘Wait…… something is happening. This is different.’
The moment the mental command locked, the underlying texture of the transmission underwent a radical, unprecedented mutation.
The stabilizing Guiding frequency was clearly discharging into his core with absolute efficiency, yet the internal composition of the energy felt fundamentally altered.
The geometric composition of the power shifting within my cells had completely changed its alignment.
It was a profound, intoxicating sensation—an intuitive certainty whispering that this energy was capable of executing a function that extended vastly beyond simple psychic stabilization.
I locked my focus into an absolute, razor-sharp point, unleashing the full, unvarnished reservoir of my internal power and hammering it straight into the severed shoulder joint.
The muscle beneath my palm began to vibrate with a violent, near-seismic tremor.
The one-armed Esper let out a sudden, high-pitched gasp, his jaw dropping open as his eyes rolled back, exactly like the others.
But as the energy continued to cascade through his frame, the visual markers of his reaction began to diverge sharply from the established baseline.
“My arm…… my right arm is…… it’s burning. Cult Leader, something is wrong…… the sensation is completely abnormal…… Gh-Khhhhk…… Ugh!”
His throat constricted violently, a series of wet, choking gasps interrupting his desperate screams.
The text of his complaint was mathematically impossible; he was explicitly crying out about a severe, agonizing burning sensation radiating through a limb that had been entirely erased from his anatomy.
If the pain were localized to the stump, it would fit within the parameters of phantom limb syndrome, but he was explicitly referencing the lower forearm and fingers.
What kind of structural breakdown was—
“……!”
The breath completely evaporated from my lungs as I bore witness to a literal, empirical miracle.
Within the hollow, deflated void of the empty black fabric, a sharp, physical silhouette was beginning to violently carve its way into reality.
The dead, hanging sleeve suddenly expanded, the fabric lifting as an accumulation of brand-new bone tissue, cellular structures, and muscle mass began to rapidly generate out of thin air, filling the void like water rushing into a vacuum.
It was as if a hidden blueprint embedded within his DNA was being forced into immediate, accelerated physical manifestation.
“The…… the arm…… my arm is…….”
“……What in the name of the heavens am I looking at?”
“The Cult Leader…… his Holiness is currently…….”
The panicked, hyper-ventilating whispers of the auxiliary clerics echoed through the dead silence of the hall.
I stared blankly down at the heavy, muscular hand that had suddenly reached upward, its newly formed fingers violently clamping around my right wrist with a terrified, white-knuckled grip.
It was a pristine, fully functional right arm—an anatomical structure that, less than sixty seconds ago, had been entirely non-existent within this universe.
‘What the actual hell did I just execute?’
My cognitive tracks ground to a complete, shuddering halt, my mind feeling as though it had been struck squarely by a massive, high-velocity sledgehammer.
I had literally reconstructed and resuscitated a permanently missing limb from absolute zero.
Me? A simple transmigrated corporate worker?
A brief flash of literary memory surfaced—recalling the existence of highly specialized Healing-class Espers within the lore of ‘The World of Despair’—but I instantly discarded the comparison.
Even an S-rank, apex-tier Healer operating at the absolute peak of their biological capacity was fundamentally incapable of generating a complex anatomical limb out of absolute nothingness.
If a soldier’s leg had been cleanly severed a mere fraction of a second prior, a high-tier Healer could systematically reattach the tissue, provided the physical component remained entirely intact and untainted.
But if the flesh had been thoroughly consumed by a subterranean monster or completely incinerated down to the cellular level by an explosive anomaly, original restoration was a absolute mathematical impossibility within the baseline rules of this world.
“Another miracle has descended upon the temple!”
“Prostrate yourselves before the living Sovereign! Praise him! Praise his holy name!”
“All glory to the Cult Leader!”
A single, manic roar from an initiate at the center of the hall acted like a detonator, sending a massive, deafening shockwave of religious hysteria ripping through the entire room.
The congregation dropped to their knees like a falling wave, their unified voices rising into a titanic, booming chorus of absolute worship that caused the very stone walls of the subterranean chapel to violently vibrate.
They were completely unhinged—delirious with a level of pure, unadulterated fanaticism that defied all human logic. They weren’t merely devotees anymore; they were true, terrifying zealots.
I instinctively snapped my chin back over my shoulder, my eyes locking onto Yoon Seoho’s coordinates.
A desperate, high-priority calculation ran through my head—hoping against hope that his strategic intellect possessed some hidden contextual data that could rationalize this anomaly.
“……Ah.”
The thought died instantly in my throat.
For the very first time since I had opened my eyes in this world, the man’s flawless, unflappable composure had completely disintegrated.
His pupils were radically dilated, his breath catching sharply behind his teeth as his features warped into an expression of unvarnished, chaotic shock.
The variable was so thoroughly unprecedented that even Yoon Seoho—the absolute mastermind orchestrating this global fraud—had been caught completely off-guard.
I forced my features to maintain their naive, fragile mask, ensuring that to his eyes, the panic radiating from my frame looked like the innocent confusion of a startled child.
But internally, my mental gears were screaming.
‘My Guiding capability can actually achieve a structural output of this magnitude?’
I was already well aware that the internal reserves anchored within this physical container were staggeringly massive; I had personally calibrated the sheer density of the power coiled inside my cells during my initial interactions.
But the realization that this stabilizing frequency could literally rewrite physical reality to regenerate missing anatomy was a variable that completely shattered the established parameters of the genre.
‘Could this truly be the explicit intervention of a higher-plane divinity?’
