Free Web NovelLee Jonghyeon genuinely took pride in his life. To endure twenty-six years as the head of a household despite coming from the very bottom, to raise his sister, and even manage to save enough for rent—he had every reason to be proud. He believed he could overcome any hardship fate might throw at him.
“...Ah. Okay. This is too much.”
That belief held—right up until he was dragged into the world of his one and only passion: the game <Forgotten God>.
And right up until the moment he saw his status window for the first time.
[Characteristic: ???] You cannot form a contract with any god.
※ All other effects are locked. They will not activate until conditions are met.
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If one were to describe <Forgotten God> in brief, it would be this:
“A game where you form contracts with various gods and use their power to exterminate evil gods.”
In other words, character progression depends entirely on “Gods.”
Even the most basic specialization is decided by whom you contract with.
A contract with the God of the Bow makes you an archer.
A contract with the God of Magic makes you a mage.
The stronger the god whose hand you shake, the stronger you yourself become.
Skills and equipment, for the most part, are also granted by gods.
The rules were simple and clear.
“And yet... ‘contract impossible’?”
Lee Jonghyeon—no, now Gunther, reduced to a background extra, an ordinary village boy—stared blankly at the status window.
A fatally negative trait like this was never supposed to exist in the first place. And if it did exist, it should have been accompanied by some overwhelming bonus to offset the drawback. Yet the status window displayed nothing but a penalty.
And his misfortune did not end there.
[Main Scenario, Act 1, Chapter 1 “Attack of the Luthien Army” will begin in “3 years”]
[Your current location is more than “3,000 km” away from the starting point of the main scenario. Please hurry to the location to proceed]
As if to mock him, Gunther’s homeland lay on the opposite end of the continent—infinitely far from where the main events would unfold. And the scenario he needed to clear had not even begun yet.
“Ah...”
But Gunther did not give up.
“I’ll make it back. No matter what.”
Back on Earth were the things he had protected and built with his own hands. He would clear this game and return, so he could embrace his only family again.
So what should he do?
The body he had taken over belonged to a nameless character.
A complete mismatch in time and place.
No transmigrator privileges whatsoever.
And yet the task before him was colossal: the extermination of the Seven Evil Gods and the Theocracy. He would have to crush the monsters known as Outer Gods and the fanatics bound together by their faith in them.
In the end, there was only one answer.
“I need to meet the protagonist.”
Unlike him, the protagonist was a hero of dazzling talent—one coveted by countless gods eager to form contracts with him. Gunther would join his side and support him, using the knowledge of a veteran player.
If he did that, even the ending of this absurdly difficult game would be within reach.
And so began the journey to the far side of the continent. For a village boy with the soul of a modern man, it was a road that could easily ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) consume several lifetimes.
Yet along the way, Gunther discovered a talent he never knew he had.
The sword.
He learned with astonishing speed—how to thrust, slash, evade, and block. Considering that most modern people freeze at the sight of an ordinary kitchen knife, his growth—to the point where he could earn his bread with a blade in just a year—was nothing short of phenomenal.
On top of that, Gunther possessed willpower.
The survival skills and stubborn endurance forged through years of life as a poor family head became his greatest assets.
[“Black Dawn” deems you useless ash and abandons you]
[“The One Wandering in Oblivion” forgets your existence]
...And that was that.
In <Forgotten God>, there was a clear ceiling to how strong one could become on their own. Without forming a contract with a god, any talent would eventually fade.
[“The Merciful Judge” sees no reason to concern himself with you]
[“Countless Eyes” avert their gaze, declaring you unworthy even of being looked at]
Rejected by the gods.
It was a brand seared into Gunther’s very being.
But instead of complaining, he simply kept walking.
“Just like on Earth. Nothing new.”
He continued to swing his sword. Many gods passed him by. He moved through several well-known mercenary groups. He never achieved great fame, but with every completed job, he grew a little stronger. And small changes began to appear.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats shows interest in your perseverance]
[The Drug-Addicted Saint gazes at your inflamed wounds with clouded eyes]
[Alphonse of Red Street praises your face, saying it looks just like his did in his youth]
Names he had never heard before. Trivial epithets.
They were probably low-tier trash gods that didn’t even appear in the official lore. So impoverished they couldn’t find proper contractors, clinging instead to a half-finished failure like him.
“...Well. That’s not so bad.”
They couldn’t grant him direct power, but they accompanied him on his journey, offering small pieces of advice and guidance.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats teaches you the subtleties of field survival]
[The Drug-Addicted Saint teaches you how to properly apply bandages]
[Alphonse of Red Street hints at the location of the black market]
Someone was watching this lonely journey. Just knowing that gave Gunther strength.
Three years passed like that. Gunther, who never gave up, finally reached the starting point of the main scenario.
“Gunther? Hm. I can trust you. I’m assigning you to guard the ‘Silver Compass’ caravan. I’m counting on you.”
He had arrived at the right time and place—where he could meet the “Protagonist.”
The quest he accepted was to guard the trading guild Silver Compass.
Soon, this caravan would be attacked by fanatics for a certain reason. At that moment, the player—no, the protagonist—would appear to save them.
That was why Gunther had come all this way.
“Soon.”
According to the official story, it would happen tomorrow.
The attack of the Luthien Theocracy would begin.
Which meant the protagonist would appear.
“...I’ll be able to go back.”
That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, Gunther stared alone at the sky above the caravan camp. The stars shone differently than those back home, yet within them he could still see the faces of those he longed for.
***
“Gunther. Time to wake up.”
“......”
“Hey. Gunther!”
“...I’m not asleep.”
Lying atop a pile of hay in the wagon, Gunther raised his stiff body. With a familiar motion, he reached out, and the hilt of his sword emerged from the hay.
Click—
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats smiles in satisfaction at your vigilance]
The partner who had woken him asked in disbelief,
“Did you seriously not sleep at all?”
“Mm.”
“Look at him. Acting like he doesn’t care, but tossing and turning all night thinking about the border city?”
“Move.”
“Oof. Prickly.”
The roughly laughing giant was named Ryan Parker. He was Gunther’s only close friend.
“Hey, listen. I did some digging. The taverns there? Absolutely insane.”
“I’m heading out.”
“Hey!”
[Alphonse of Red Street rolls his hips in anticipation of a night in the city]
[The Drug-Addicted Saint irritably closes her eyes]
Leaving the chatty minor gods behind as usual, Gunther jumped down from the wagon. The camp was already buzzing with activity.
“Hurry up and load the goods! Planning to leave after sunset or what?”
“Move it, you slowpokes! The city’s been waiting for us!”
Bustling comrades and merchants.
“Finally. Today’s the day.”
Just as Gunther exhaled, anticipation mixed into his breath—
“Everyone, positions!”
An irritated shout cut through the morning air. Gunther exchanged a glance with Ryan.
“Let’s go.”
“Yeah. Better move before that idiot Eddie starts losing it.”
Ryan and Gunther were assigned to guard the rear—more specifically, the most luxurious carriage, carrying the caravan master and his daughter.
Vrrr—
The hum of magical engines echoed down the road. The caravan began to move in formation. After a while, a thin girl’s voice cut into the noise.
“Gunther! Did you sleep well?”
Looking at the woman who suddenly leaned out the window, Gunther silently nodded.
“I’m counting on your protection today as well.”
“Understood.”
An awkward silence followed. The caravan master’s daughter darted her eyes around, searching for a topic.
“Well... this is the end of our journey today. Aren’t you sad to part ways?”
“Perhaps.”
“......”
The conversation ended with her closing the window gloomily.
[Alphonse of Red Street despairs at your lack of eloquence]
Ryan, exhausted by the same scene repeating for two months straight, shook his head.
“Man, you’re boring.”
“What now?”
“Try being just a little friendlier. Becoming the caravan owner’s son-in-law beats being a wandering mercenary.”
Just as Gunther was about to reply to that nonsense—
Thud—!
A hard blow slammed into his shoulder.
“You damn idiots think we’re paying you to flirt around here?”
The man brushed imaginary dust from his shoulder and looked Gunther up and down with a sneer. Eddie—the head of caravan security. Casting a wistful glance at the closed carriage window, he muttered under his breath,
“...Pretty-faced bastard.”
He stared at Gunther as if waiting for him to lash out, but Gunther did nothing. Today was too important to get dragged into petty fights.
“...Tch.”
Eddie turned and began berating the surrounding mercenaries.
“Don’t tell me there are idiots among you who’ve relaxed just because the city’s close. Badland is a place where anything can happen at any time. Stay sharp until the very end.”
The mercenaries listened with uniformly irritated expressions.
“Especially you freelancers. Your eyes are already half-glazed thinking about booze. It’s disgusting. Get your heads straight.”
Ryan muttered quietly,
“What a bastard.”
“Ryan Parker. Did you say something?”
“No, sir.”
“...Watch yourself.”
Eddie openly discriminated against mercenaries compared to the caravan’s personal guards. Yet no one dared openly protest—likely because of the faint pattern on his neck.
A Stigma.
The mark of a contractor.
Something Gunther did not have.
And never would.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Soon enough, he wouldn’t have to hold a sword himself. Narrowing his eyes, Gunther stared toward the horizon. He couldn’t see anything yet—but he could feel it. At the very edge of his vision, dust clouds were beginning to rise.
“They’re coming.”
Fanatics. And the protagonist who would crush them.
Gunther’s breathing trembled. Beneath the sky of this distant land, he remembered home. The old entryway. The cramped room. His sister’s smiling face. They were all waiting for him.
Because he had been trapped in the body of this “trash” character, he’d lost three years—but now...
Now he would help the protagonist clear this damned game and go home. frёewebnoѵēl.com
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[“◈” designates you as the protagonist on this game board]
[“◈” prepares to unlock Characteristic ???]
