Face-Slapping17 min read
I Woke Up as the Cult's Saint — So I Broke Their Rules
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I sat up and spat out a mouthful of stale smoke.
"You're awake?" a voice asked.
I blinked. The room smelled of incense and old wood. I touched my face and froze.
"Who am I?" I whispered.
"You are Birgitta Choi, our holy maiden." The woman watching me—tall, pale, hair like a waterfall—smiled with a chill I did not like. "You were hurt. Rest first."
I looked into a basin of water and saw a stranger’s face. Perfect skin. High cheekbones. Small, cruel mouth.
I swallowed hard. "Birgitta Choi?"
"Yes. You must be confused." The woman—Monika Roy—knelt, hands steady. "You tried to speak yesterday. Sleep, then eat. I will handle the temple."
My head ached. Memories flashed—my own life in the city, a book I had read in a night, then black. I remembered the villain they called "the Saint" who was supposed to die disgracefully by chapter fifty-two.
I clenched my fist until my nails hurt. "I was reading," I told Monika. "I think I woke into a book."
"Book?" Monika frowned. "Eat. You need strength."
A servant brought steaming food. I ate slowly and watched the woman. The hair, the gown, the way people bowed to me. I tried a smile and it fit too well on that strange face.
A cold voice in my head said: Welcome to the Immortal Shell.
I almost dropped the chopsticks.
"What was that?" I whispered.
"Your mind seems sharp," Maki Kennedy—my guard—said, alarm in her voice. "Do you need the healer?"
"I'm fine," I lied. "Maki, stay."
When they were gone, I opened the mind-box that had appeared like a game overlay.
Host: Birgitta Choi
Sect: Golden Chime
Blood: ?
Cultivation: Early Foundation
Gifts: Gui Yuan Sutra, Step of No Trace, Falling Petal Sword Technique...
System Shop: Exchange Fate Points for skills, treasures, and upgrades.
Fate Points: 100
I barked a laugh that probably sounded like a cough.
So the book's villain had a system. Of course she did.
"Why me?" I said aloud.
A memory rolled in. In the book, Birgitta used her beauty and status to spy and lie. The hero, Griffin Cornelius, burst into the temple, stole the sacred herb, and rescued the heroine, Belen Fisher. Birgitta blamed Griffin and died in disgrace. The book had never finished; it stopped at my death.
I set my jaw. "Not today."
"Master says you recover slowly," Monika said when she returned. "You should rest. I will not leave you alone."
"I'll see the prisoner," I said before I could polish the lie. "Let me go to the jail."
Monika's eyebrows rose, then she nodded. "Very well. Take Maki."
We walked like royalty amid the old stone and hanging bells. I kept my face soft, eyes distant. I let Maki open the heavy cell door. The smell of iron and damp hit me like wind.
Griffin was bound in chains. Even wounded, he looked like someone carved from a better story than this place deserved. He stared at me like he had seen a ghost.
"You look terrible," he said. His voice was low, steady. "You… were hurt?"
"Who are you to speak?" Maki hissed.
I stepped close anyway. "Griffin, is it? Who are you?"
He blinked, surprised that I knew his name. "Griffin Cornelius. I came for the herb. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
He had the cheap leather cord around his wrist—an item the book said was ancient. The system pulsed.
System: Fate Host discovered. Target: Griffin Cornelius. Fate Points: ????
My mouth went dry. Fate. Fate could be taken. My plan formed like a blade.
I knelt. "You were brave. I have medicine. I will help."
Griffin's guard dropped a fraction.
"Open the chains," I told Maki softly.
She did, though with a look like I had asked her to burn the shrine. Griffin stood, shivering.
"You will be careful outside," I said. I smeared a salve on his wounds. He flinched, then relaxed when the pain eased.
"Why are you kind?" he asked.
"Because I can be," I said. Inside: good. Inside: hungry for power.
We staged a scene. Maki and the servants thought it was all real. The system chimed each time Griffin's fate dipped a little.
System: Griffin Fate -100.
System: Fate Points added +100.
When Griffin left, I set a light trap. I left a note to invite him on a hunt for "missing people"—the book’s missing-people arc was messy. I wanted to control the next move.
At night I opened the shop. 100 Fate Points had appeared in my account. I skimmed the items: a low-level movement art, herbs, a scarlet pill labeled "Flame of Recovery." I fingered a page.
"百里神往 / Hundred-Mile Ghoststep — 300 Fate."
No. I couldn't buy the big thing yet. I chose a smaller one, a foot’s speed form, an art that would let me dodge. I paid my Fate Points and felt wind move under my feet.
"Good choice," the system said in a flat voice. "You will grow."
The next days moved like chess. I played the part of the weak saint while I took control.
"Take him on the mission," I told Monika when she looked at the ledger of complaints from the city.
"Birgitta, he's the one who hurt you," she said.
"He will help me find the truth," I lied, and she believed me because Monika loved ceremony more than she loved questions.
It took three small lies and two favors to turn the city’s attention. Griffin came with me. We rode together. He watched me with a look that was curious and kind. He held his injuries like a silent shame.
At an inn, he said, "You move like a dancer now. Did you train before?"
I laughed. "I trained in hiding. That is a skill too."
"You're not the villain people say," he said softly.
"I am who I must be," I answered. "Keep the herb safe."
"Yes," he said, and the word trembled like something honest.
When the news from the city blew through—missing people, a body found, the heroine Belen Fisher dead—oh, chaos tasted so sweet.
"She ate your medicine," the townsfolk said. "The one you gave her!"
"She died after taking it," someone else said.
My mouth tightened. The system ticked. Griffin's Fate dropped.
System: Griffin Fate -200.
System: Fate Points +200.
I kept my face neutral. I had given him one pill, the good red pill—the healing one. It would not harm anyone. But people are afraid; they will accuse who is convenient.
At the tavern the next morning, a man pointed and shouted, "You! You made her drink!"
I stood. "Calm. I gave a life. If you accuse me, show proof."
Earl Hayes—an elder of the rival alliance—stood behind the man with a ring of men. He would be the one to condemn us. My mouth went cold. Earl's power came with followers and faces.
"Bring me the scroll," Earl said. "If you killed her, we will end your cult."
"Do it then," I said. "Show the process. That woman died because she made a choice."
You read about public trials. You read about whispers. They never make the real show.
I wanted a show.
"Griffin," I said under my breath, "stay close." He moved near.
At the testimony, the city came. The sheriff, men with swords, men with nothing but stones. I felt the system hum.
"Let them speak," I said. "I will answer."
They shouted. Men pointed. The elder called me "poisoner." The crowd lapped at the words.
I took a breath and walked through the line of accusers.
"You," I said to a man who had been paid to lie. "Tell us what you saw."
He opened his mouth, and a little girl in the crowd screamed. Heads turned.
"Your account?" I asked louder. "Did you check the herb? Did you test the pill?"
"Earl Hayes found them in your chest!" the paid liar cried.
I reached into the folds of my robe. "Then test it now."
A servant brought a bowl. I poured water. I placed one of the red pills—my spare—into the water. It dissolved clean. The herbal scent rose.
"Does this smell like poison?" I asked.
Silence. The old man who sold herbs sniffed like a dog. "No. This is the healing red."
The crowd shifted. The elder's face darkened.
"You will test ours," I said. "Bring Belen Fisher's remains."
A gasp. No one had dared that.
"Bring them," I said.
They brought the remains into the town hall. I sat calm as a statue.
When the body was examined by a man who could read herbs, he found the remains had traces of an old fire compound—something used to fake death.
"Who would fake it?" I asked.
"Who benefits?" a woman in the back said.
The room turned. I watched Earl Hayes' face change from smug to a wash of fear.
"Test the seal on the herb I gave," I said. "If it matches, then fine. If not—" I let the threat hang.
They tested the seal. It matched. Belen's body had no ovarian toxin; instead, the testing found a rare powder used to throw bodies into lifeless spasms—a powder made by a secretive forger.
Then the town listened. People gasped. Phones in my old life would have lit up with cameras; here, the crowd would carry the fury.
"Where did you get the powder?" I asked Earl Hayes straight.
He stumbled. "This is…"
"You will take your men and come with me." I turned to the crowd. "We will show you their camp."
They did not know what would happen.
We walked into the open field. I asked Griffin to stay behind me. His presence steadied more than his body did.
When the camp was searched, the proof piled up. Tokens of the alliance, a ledger, a map of the town with marked houses. I staged it just right. I had the Golden Chime heralds call witnesses. I had Maki keep quiet. The evidence was exact and damning.
Earl's face bled out from red to pale. He lunged—then his sword was taken from him, a rope thrown. Men shouted. The elder fell to his knees.
"Stop!" he cried. "I didn't—"
"You did," I said, and for the first time I let myself show one small thing: no mercy.
They dragged Earl Hayes to the town square. I climbed the steps and looked at the crowd. The system pulsed.
System: Public Shame Event unlocked.
System: Release penalty sequence for villain: Humiliation, Loss of wealth, Public unravel. Required 500 words for execution.
I smiled and let them watch.
"Earl Hayes," I said loud enough for the whole square, "this man bought lies. He bribed people to put this powder into poor families so he could blame our temple, push us out, and take control. He will answer."
"That is not true!" Earl screamed.
I stepped down and touched his face.
"You mocked justice. You lied by burning a woman to death in your story. You used desperate families as bait. Bring forward your ledger."
They did. The ledger had signatures. Names. Places. It had the line: "Payment: 200gold to fake deaths."
A woman near the front shrieked and fainted. Men began to record. The crowd murmured. People with torches shouted for blood.
"Confess," I said.
Earl's eyes bulged. He tried to say it wasn't him. "I was paid," he shouted. "I was paid to do it!"
"By whom?" I asked.
"By a man allied to the Alliance's top," he said.
"Name him."
"Earl—no, I cannot."
"Everyone will watch." I raised my voice. "If you do not name the man, we will post your ledger and your name will be known. Your family will be shamed. Your house will be taken."
He breathed like a trapped fish.
"I was paid by..." He choked. "By Lord White. By White Elder. By—"
His voice broke. A hundred fingers pointed at Earl. I had given him the need to break. They now had one name and a confession.
The crowd surged. People filmed with clumsy hands. There was no court in the old way; this was public justice, raw and cruel. They dragged him. No shields, no friends. He knelt in the mud while someone shoved the ledger in his face.
"Do you confess you conspired to ruin the temple?" I asked him again.
"Yes," he said.
"Bring his house records," I said. "Bring his contracts. Bring his wives. Bring his friends."
They did. People in the crowd began to read out names. Phones—if we had them—would have flooded the net. Here, the word spread faster: men shouted, messengers ran.
Earl Hayes was stripped of his title in a single afternoon—stones were thrown at his glass window house, his name painted on the wall. People spat. The ledger spread from mouth to mouth.
He collapsed. He bared his teeth and begged. I stood above him.
"Do you beg for mercy?" I asked.
"Mercy!" he cried. "I have children!"
"You used their future," I said. "You will lose your wealth, your rank, your friends. The temple stays because it is innocent."
The crowd had become a horde of witnesses. Men who had once smiled at Earl now turned their faces away.
He cursed. He pleaded. He rose and tried to run.
They caught him. They dragged him through the street. He fell on the steps of White Elder's house—White Elder, Earl Hayes, had been the instrument. He lay at the feet of the elder’s gates, and a hundred voices recited his crimes.
The system chimed as if approving a job well done.
System: Public Shame Effect executed.
System: Additional Fate Points gained +1200.
My chest felt hot. The crowd cheered and booed in turns. Men who had whispered against us now shouted for me to be honored.
Monika bowed and said later, "You showed them mercy and judgment both."
"Mercy is not blind," I said. "You cannot let men tie your hands because they fear you."
But the field had turned to a riot. Men with grudges made new enemies. I smiled and let them think I was fragile and kind. Then I collected Fate Points and traded them for a speed art that made my steps silent for longer.
Days later, a new wave crashed—Belen Fisher was alive. The rumor sputtered then exploded: she had not been killed by my medicine. She had been staged and taken into hiding by her own family for reasons I had not guessed.
The system chirped as if pleased.
System: Belen Fisher fate detected. Fate Points +500 on capture.
I arranged for a quiet meeting, a staged rescue. I demanded Griffin's help. I leaned on him hard.
"Stay with me," I said at night. He hesitated and then nodded.
"I will," he said. "For now."
Weeks slid by. I trained with the new movement art, traded for a better inner skill, and watched my Fate Points rise—first 300, then 2000, then 3000. The Golden Chime shop glowed with options.
At last I had enough for a blood upgrade.
"Use 3000 Fate Points to awaken Supreme Sacred Blood?" the system asked.
I looked at the number. The thought of being "truly" Birgitta—powerful and feared—was lovely. I agreed.
I drew a shallow cut on my palm and let the blood drip into a crystal bowl. The system took it—like a cold bargain.
System: Blood awakened. Sacred Blood (novice). Groove unlocked: Fire-Lotus Mark.
The change felt like honey in my veins. My skin warmed, my movements sharpened. My face still looked pretty in the mirror, but inside I felt like something capable of being lethal and kind at once.
When the temple elders learned, they bowed and cried. Monika wept in private.
Then the world tried to crush me again.
A lie leaked: that I had sold lives for power. Rumors grow teeth when fed with envy. An old rival from the Alliance—Earl Hayes’ patron, White Elder—struck back. His men came to the temple, swords angry.
"You are a monster," he spat when he found me. "You will pay."
I smiled. "We will settle this in public again."
He did not expect the scale. I had already arranged for dozens of witnesses, for more evidence, and a contingency I had kept secret: a ledger of his own bribery from two months ago—proof that he had paid bandits to attack temples and to frame priests.
When the truth fell out, it was not only him who fell. White Elder’s secretary crawled from the mud and begged, and White Elder's allies turned away. The old man’s daughter, who had married into another powerful family, suddenly filed a public divorce. Men who had once eaten with him now whispered and moved.
White Elder—who had held influence for decades—was dragged into the light. The losses came fast.
He found himself stripped of honor, his followers leaving him one by one. His lands were seized by a council. His businesses collapsed under a wave of scandal and dishonesty. He screamed at his friends in private and found the doors closed.
One night he collapsed in the snow outside the temple, mascara mixed with his tears. He begged me on his knees.
"Forgive me," he rasped. "Please."
People had their phones—if phones existed—recorded worse; here, the stories spread like wildfire. The servants of the town stood and spat. Children pointed.
I watched him beg and then, quietly, I walked away.
"System: White Elder fall completed. Penalty sequence executed fully."
My name surged through the lands. Some called me devil. Some called me saint. Both were labels I could use.
Not all got destroyed. The book's heroine, Belen Fisher, remained a thorn. She returned to the world like a pale moon and denied the lies I built against her. She blamed me publicly. She told a story of betrayal and rescue and how I had stolen her future.
"Birgitta Choi poisoned me!" she cried in the temple square.
The crowd split. My Fate Points jiggled like spoons in a drawer.
I could have killed her with a word. Instead, I watched her tear at the edge of her reputation, and I fed the truth like salt. I let the world see both sides and then I shattered the mirror.
At a festival of rivals and old men, I stood on a dais while Belen stepped forward to testify. I walked down and caught her eye.
"Belen," I said, soft as silk. "Why lie about a cure?"
She gasped. "I—"
"You were rescued by your family," I said. "Your so-called death was staged. Who made the powder? Who staged it?"
She faltered; the room leaned in. The net for the liar tightened like a noose.
"Your father wanted a coronation," I said to her, "and a dead daughter is a proper stage trick. You—"
She screamed and lunged. Her blow was clumsy; my foot flicked across her wrist and she fell. The crowd gasped.
"Stop!" Griffin shouted from the crowd. He stepped forward as I stood over her.
"She tried to kill me," Belen said at the top of her lungs. "She pushed to remove me."
I leaned down and picked up Belen's hand. I pressed the red, soft patch of her palm. "Look. Blood runs the same," I said. "You are alive because your father paid men. He has accounts. He has names."
A hush fell. Men began to read the list I had posted. Belen's father turned white. He begged. Belen cried. The crowd recorded.
She collapsed into sobs, kneeling. "I wanted power," she whispered. "I wanted story."
The people jeered. She was not left unhurt. The system hummed.
System: Belen Fisher fate drop -3000. Fate Points gained +3000.
Griffin looked stunned; something in him collapsed. He had defended her, but the truth hit him like a blade. He stumbled and then—he left. He left the city and the temple, a small bundle and a colder smile.
"Griffin!" I called after him. He did not turn.
The system spoke with a hunger.
System: Griffin Cornelius fate 0. Reward ready.
I felt a hollow, like someone carving out the part of my past that once wished for a soft ending. Good. We cannot have soft endings.
Years passed—no, months. My blood grew stronger. I built allies, hired loyal followers, and traded Fate Points for treasure and technique. The Golden Chime glowed under my hand. I opened the temple to the poor and we fed seven villages. I let music play so no one who saw my severity would think I was heartless.
Because the world likes to hate smart people. It also likes to love them.
I built the mirror halls where justice could be judged in public. White Elder's house fell. Belen's father fled. The Alliance split. The men who had fed lies fell into ruin—businesses closed, wives left, sons disowned. One man knelt in the square, screaming as his store was seized and a crowd filmed it with rags and shouts. He begged for forgiveness. They laughed. Good.
I became a symbol. A woman who took a villain's role and beat the authors at their own game. People came to me for help. They asked for favors. They named their daughters after me. They wrote songs that twisted my name into both a hymn and a curse. Perfect.
Then the system gave me the final mission: a public Stage. It wanted me to expose the Alliance leaders and make them crumble.
I called for a procession to the city magistrate's hall. I invited them all. They came, confident and covered in silk. I welcomed them with tea and a bow.
"Today we settle the matter," I said, voice clear. "I will reveal who ate who and who bought lies."
The crowd filled the square. Griffin's brothers—men of honor from the countryside—came. They watched my eyes.
"Bring the evidence," I said.
The first man I named stood tall and scoffed. White Elder's heir was there, the last of his line, and he smiled with the arrogance of the sure.
"Confess," I said. "You will be judged by all."
He laughed. "You and your small temple will not stand over us."
I lifted a scroll. It unfolded and images of contracts and witnesses were there. Names. Dates. Trades.
He flushed. He tried to claw the air. A woman in the crowd rose and spat at him. A child called him animal.
Then, as the crowd swayed, I pointed to a man at the back—his posture off.
"You," I said. "You signed for the powder that nearly killed Belen. You sat on the council. You sold lives."
He tried to argue. "It's a lie!"
"Name the buyers of the powder," I said.
He looked at his hands and then at the crowd. The crowd pressed in. He fell and banged his head. Men in silk tore his coat. He screamed and begged. The magistrate read the list aloud.
System: Public Exposure Completed. Top Tier Reward Unlocked.
When the last man collapsed, sobbing, someone began to clap. At first one hand, then a hundred. The sound rose like a wave.
"Justice!" they cried. "Justice!"
The men who had stood above law were now naked. They were chased from their seats. Their wives fled with trunks. They knelt in the mud and promised to change. Some went mad. Some cried. One of them—once the proud head of a trade city—begged me to stop. He wanted to buy his name back.
"You can buy it back?" he asked.
"No," I said. "You can work. You can give your land to the poor. You can be useful."
He collapsed and thanked me. I felt nothing and everything.
At night, alone in my room, I opened the system.
System: Fate Points accumulated: 12,400.
System: Final upgrade available: Supreme Sacred Blood Enhanced. Cost: 10,000.
I smiled. I agreed.
When the ritual finished, I did not cry. I did not dance. I opened my hand and watched the glow settle into a golden mark over my sternum—a bell-shaped sigil. I had become what the book called "Saint" and yet my hands were bloodied with truth.
I walked through the temple halls and saw people sleep without fear. Monika came to me with eyes bright.
"You have saved us," she said.
"No," I said. "We saved ourselves."
Every great story needs one last face-slap.
The last man left to finish was not a merchant, nor a lord. He was a famous teacher, a man who sold books of morality and had called me a wicked witch on a podium months ago. He had invested all his name in the idea that he was just and pure. I invited him to speak at my festival.
"I will speak on honesty," he said, smug.
He began in pompous verse. The crowd bored. I let him talk to the end of his performance. Then I produced ledger after ledger—his partners, his bribes, the men he had asked to spread rumors to kill reputations. It was petty, it was mean, and it was public.
"You taught truth," I said, standing. "You sold lies."
He tried to say it was miscounted. Women called him hypocrite. He squirmed. He fell to his knees when his apprentice stood up and threw his scroll into the fire. The apprentice spat and walked away. The man begged. The crowd sang.
He left town a husk.
I watched him go and felt no pity. The system hummed its final tune.
System: Face-Slapping Ritual complete. All named liars have been publicly exposed and punished. New title unlocked: Bell of Judgment.
I rang the golden bell in the temple that night.
The tone was a small, cold thing. It traveled like a command. People prayed. Those who had watched me change called me both savior and tyrant. I was both.
Months later, on a rainy morning, a messenger brought me a letter. It was folded fine, bearing a symbol I knew well: Griffin Cornelius.
He had come back.
He stood at the gate, soaked, hair wild, but he had no bundle and no mask of anger.
"Birgitta," he said, voice low. "Why did you do that?"
"To live," I said. "To change the ending."
He looked at me, really looked, like someone who had found a map and realized it pointed to him.
"You could have saved him," he said, eyes soft. "You could have saved Belen."
"I did," I said. "In a way she chose."
He took a step in. "And you—what will you be now?"
I paused. The bell at my chest hummed.
"I will be what I choose," I said.
Griffin's laugh had no bitterness. He reached out and took my hand, warm and real.
"You are dangerous," he said. "But I like dangerous."
"Good," I said. "Because dangerous is honest."
He smiled and bowed—no, not a bow, like a person finally admitting a truth. "Then be dangerous with me."
We stood in the temple doorway while rain washed the city. Monika watched from the steps, eyes unreadable. Maki wiped her sword and smiled like someone who knew more than she said.
The system chimed one more time.
System: Host has completed primary arc. New map unlocked: World beyond. Reward: Shared Fate link with Griffin Cornelius. Warning: Hearts may be affected.
Griffin squeezed my hand. "Will you trust me?"
I looked at him, at the town we had remade, at a name I had stolen and forged into armor, and at the bell pulse at my chest.
"I do not trust easily," I said. "But I will try."
He laughed. "That's enough."
We walked into the rain and into a life none of the book's pages had shown.
A month later, when the old masters and the newly ruined men tried to rebuild their stacks of lies, the world had already shifted. People who had watched me act with cold ruthlessness also found they had food. Their villages had been saved. Names that once bought their silence now had to buy their work.
And when the old enemies came to challenge the Golden Chime, they found the temple full of people who could fight, heal, and resist. They found a woman who could ring a bell and break a man's fame in a single toll.
I, Birgitta Choi—the saint they had written as a villain—sat on the low wall and looked at the town.
"I could have died," I said softly to Griffin, who sat beside me.
"You did," he said, "and came back better."
I tapped the thin bell at my chest. It chimed a clear note that only I could hear.
"Good," I said. "Then we will write the ending ourselves."
He kissed my forehead, quick and sure like a seal.
"One more thing," he murmured. "If you ever want to burn the old book—"
"I already did," I said. "I burned every copy."
He laughed. "Then we are safe."
We sat with the rain and a city that would tell our tale in crooked versions for decades: sometimes as a hymn, sometimes as a curse. Both were true.
I did not need the author's last line. The bell on my chest rang out, and the people who had no name found names to call themselves by. Those who had money lost it; those who had hunger found bread. I changed endings, and the cost was steep. But justice had a taste I liked now—bitter at first, then clean.
I leaned against Griffin and closed my eyes.
"Do you regret it?" he asked.
"No," I said. "Only that I waited."
He squeezed my hand.
"Then we begin again."
And we did. We started a place where broken things could be fixed, and where a woman with a past could remake herself into something the old book had never dreamed of.
The End
— Thank you for reading —