Chapter 95: The Breeder (1)

The pause was fleeting, but the spirits seized it.

“You’re a murderer!”

“You blame your Teacher, but you killed those children!”

“Murderer!”

Excited by Ion’s reaction, the spirits read his memories. Teacher fixated on Ion, forcing him to learn far more than the other orphans. To maximize efficiency, punishments were inflicted on others in Ion’s presence. A wrong answer meant another orphan was whipped. A scream during mana exhaustion training meant another was struck on the head. Some died from injuries, others from training with battered bodies. None blamed Ion, so he blamed himself.

“If you’d studied harder, that child wouldn’t have been beaten. They might’ve survived to be the seventh.”

“Why’d you take their apple? Couldn’t you defy Teacher? Risking your life, they could’ve had their share.”

“Teacher’s your savior? You know the truth. They’re an abuser. You ignored your dying friends out of fear. Don’t blame Teacher—you killed them.”

You’re a selfish traitor who ignored their deaths. The accusations poured.

“Without <vegetable consciousness>, this would’ve been tough.”

Across the uncrossable cliff, the corpses of the orphans Ion “caused” to die lay, along with his guilt and regret. As he pressed forward, the spirits panicked.

“Damn it, what’s with this kid? What trick is he using?”

“I’ll rot soon! I need a new soul, or the World Tree will consume me!”

“I shouldn’t have bargained with it! I shouldn’t have sought power!”

“I want to go back… my family, my friends. Send me back…”

The spirits collapsed, their final memories flooding Ion. Many sought the World Tree’s power. It took the form of a young girl—disarming to all—calling men “big brother” and women “big sister” to lower their guard.

“Enter my mind, and you’ll gain great power. Escape, and you’ll be the strongest in the world.”

“I shouldn’t have fallen for it.”

“I don’t want to vanish!”

“I need a new soul. I don’t want to dissolve!”

The spirits fell away with each step Ion took. They pleaded, “Don’t you pity us? How are you so cold?” then cursed, “Demon! You’re a demon! Die!” until no voices remained.

In the timeless mental realm, Ion followed the mana thread. The spirits’ whispers made solitude harder to bear, but he pressed on until the thread’s faint end appeared. A man stood there, turning at Ion’s approach, eyes wide.

“Ion…? Why are you here…?”

It was Teacher.

“…Teacher?” Ion said.

In the mental realm, where digested souls took forms from Ion’s imagination, he expected the Breeder to appear as Teacher. But the Breeder calling him Ion was unexpected. He’d suspected they were the same, but for Teacher to recognize him…

“Ion… Of course. It’s time for you to come. I lost track in this timeless realm… Three years already…” Teacher muttered.

Ion stared. Unlike the grotesque spirits, Teacher looked intact, likely because only three years had passed—or because Ion’s imagination shaped him as he was: over 180 cm, sturdy, square jaw, graying hair tied back, silver chain around a thick neck, broad shoulders, tight gray shirt showing biceps, black pants with a leather belt.

“Come here, my pupil.” That belt had whipped Ion often; just seeing Teacher reach for it triggered headaches. If not for <vegetable consciousness>, I’d be frozen in fear.

Teacher called gently, raising a hand. Ion’s eyes followed it, bracing, but Teacher only patted his head. “You look well. Your face is brighter.”

“Is it really you, Teacher?” Ion asked.

“Yes. You’re using <vegetable consciousness>. I warned you… still so weak,” Teacher said, clicking his tongue.

“How’d you know?” Ion asked.

“You flinch when I raise my hand.”

“…” True. Teacher’s massive hands were weapons even without a whip—gentle one moment, violent the next. Jokes could end with “Starve tonight,” praise with abuse. Ion saw it as teaching, like a botanist stressing a plant to strengthen it. But the pain was real, keeping him on edge. Now, he recalled it dispassionately.

“Don’t use that spell again,” Teacher said.

“Yes, Teacher,” Ion bowed respectfully.

“But… how are you here? I came for Sevi’s Breeder. You told me to kill the Breeder in your letter. Why are you here?”

“So impatient. I’ll explain.”

“Sorry,” Ion said.

Teacher’s rough hand slid from Ion’s head to his forehead, ears, cheeks, then neck, making Ion tense but not pull away. Their eyes met—Teacher’s chilling gray gaze locked with Ion’s.

Without Vegetable Consciousness, what would Ion have felt seeing Teacher after two years, presumed dead? No joy, no excitement—just surprise at the unexpected. He wanted answers: How is Teacher, dead on Earth, here?

“Tch.” Teacher, bored by Ion’s lack of fear, lowered his hand. “Losing emotions is dangerous. You think it’s fine now, with them across that cliff, but you’ll jump off to reclaim them someday. Never use it again, especially you…”

“Yes, I understand,” Ion said.

“You don’t get it. You always said ‘yes’ but caused me the most trouble,” Teacher said, arms crossed, tapping his bicep. “You and Sevi, always good at answering.”

“…”

“It’s all my plan. Your coming to Idea, finding my letter, thinking you must kill the Breeder, entering the World Tree’s mental realm, meeting me—I orchestrated it all.”

Ion paused, then said, “This mental realm is key, isn’t it?”

“Still quick to grasp.” Teacher’s voice lowered. “The World Tree’s mental realm is the only place beyond their gaze. I’ll tell you everything. Listen well—there won’t be a second chance.”

For years, I wondered why I was transmigrated into <hunter and hero>. I found out after adapting to Idea and this new body, interacting with others. While dining with Noishe’s brother, I had a ‘realization.’ It’s like waking from a dream, washing up, leaving the house, only to realize you’re still dreaming. You’ve had that, right?

That’s what happened. I realized all my memories were illusions—Noishe Dideiv, Damsan, all fake.

“Damsan?” Ion asked.

“Right, I didn’t say. My Earth name was Damsan. That’s why I gave you all the surname Dam.”

“…”

Anyway, I realized I was planted in this world with the setup of transmigrating into a novel, as ordained by the Apostle.

Ion, don’t interrupt. You know there are Apostles, absolute beings living for God? I was a shadow of divinity taken by the Fourth Apostle, who served God’s ‘entertainment.’

The Apostle crafted countless stories across worlds for God’s joy. As you might guess, <hunter and hero> is one of them—a masterpiece refined over millennia.

The Apostle poured effort into this story, creating NPCs to drive the plot per the synopsis. That required Breeders to raise them. They chose an immature soul from the Sacred Realm, stripped its memories, and placed it in the world.

It grew as Damsan on Earth, read a novel online, and transmigrated into an Idea character. That’s me.