In a small village on the outskirts of Greece—a quiet place where sheep outnumbered people and grass outnumbered roads—a golden-haired girl waited, the lake behind her serving as the backdrop for a painting.
“……Hmm.”
Swish, swish.
The moving brush swept paint across the canvas. She rendered the sunset in orange, the clouds in drifting white. The green mountains she expressed with rough, beating strokes, and the blue lake she completed with gentle dabs and blends.
And atop that blue lake, she rendered the bobbing corpses as black dots. After a final touch that was meticulous and precise, she smiled in satisfaction and lifted the canvas with both hands.
It was then.
“Your skills are still as good as ever, Irene.”
“……!”
The girl whipped her head around at the voice that rang out suddenly. Her gaze was quite sharp, but the moment she identified the owner of the voice, it lazily softened. The girl called Irene let her shoulders slump, clutching the canvas tightly to her chest.
“Walter.”
“It’s been a while, Irene. How have you been?”
Walter.
The leader of Laplace and a mage who possessed the Grimoire of the Outer God. Dressed in light clothing, he walked slowly across the grass, and smiled brightly at the sight of the corpses floating on the lake.
“What are those?”
“My art.”
Irene muttered without the slightest hesitation. She knelt down, gazing at the drowned bodies floating on the lake with a slightly flushed, excited expression.
The corpses had blue skin, bloated and beginning to rot. Small fish swarmed around their swollen abdomens, distended as if they would burst at the slightest touch. The fish—creatures whose names she did not even know—vied with one another to tear at the softened flesh.
Blood spread like paint.
“Why is it that humans always believe themselves to be the lords of all creation? Any being that survives by consuming something must, by rights, tremble in fear at the possibility of being consumed in turn.”
Irene laid the canvas on the ground and bit her finger lightly to draw blood. Then, tracing the trail of blood spreading through the lake, she painted around the blue pigment with her own blood.
“Humanity in the past had to wager their lives just to survive. They had to test with their own bodies whether a plant was poisonous or not. On days they went hunting, they had to be prepared to lose a limb.”
“Hmm.”
“But what of now? We’ve grown too comfortable. We no longer hang our lives on survival. That is an artwork expressing that very contradiction—humanity that has lost the glory of its past.”
Irene’s golden eyes sparkled in the sunset light. Walter stroked his chin as if mulling over her words, then smiled wryly and crossed his arms.
“Haha, forgive me. It seems Irene and I have rather different views on art. In crude terms, it sounds like nonsense.”
“Hmph. Artists are meant to be lonely. I simply create my own works…….”
Muttering to herself, Irene placed the canvas back on the easel. Then she turned to Walter.
“So, what brings you here all of a sudden?”
“It’s nothing much. I came to tell you that Eddie is dead.”
“Eddie?”
Irene tilted her head, seemingly unsure who that was. Walter explained personally.
“You know, the mage from the Clock Tower. The old man with white hair and a beard.”
“……Ah, that man.”
She sat down in a chair with a listless expression. Her hair fluttered softly in the wind.
“He had it coming. He wasn’t all that strong considering his reputation, and his face was too ugly to inspire anything…… He must have died an unsightly death.”
“Ahaha, that’s harsh. Did you dislike Eddie that much?”
“He was a man with nothing to like. Honestly, I wanted to kill him, but he didn’t inspire the slightest urge to paint, so I gave up.”
Irene waited for the paint on the canvas to dry with a languid expression. Walter, seemingly not planning to stay long either, brushed the leaves off his pants and turned to her.
“Well, that’s not what’s important. The place he died is the key.”
“Where did he die?”
“Korea.”
“So what?”
Irene asked without turning her head from the canvas.
“Didn’t he go there and show off and die?”
“Probably. But there was something I asked him to do. I asked him to track the Grimoire of the Outer God.”
“…….”
Hearing Walter’s next words, Irene’s gaze turned to him. Stars seemed to twinkle in her amber eyes.
“The Grimoire of the Outer God?”
“Yes.”
Walter grinned.
“Eddie may have been foolish, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t have gone to Korea and died a sudden, meaningless death without any reason.”
“Mhm. I suppose so.”
“There must be something related to the Outer Gods there. Ah, it’s not the Lovecraft side. Those all have owners already.”
“I know. I saw one recently too.”
“Yes. Anyway, I was thinking of visiting Korea because of that.”
“You stay put. I’m going.”
Irene declared, rising from her seat. Walter smiled faintly.
“You, Irene? You’ve never once left Greece.”
“It’s the Grimoire of the Outer God. You know how desperately I’ve longed for it. I don’t want one already etched into history like yours. Something completely new. A grimoire written by an outer universe god whose name is not even known.”
Her expression flushed with excitement. Her flowing golden hair shone even brighter in the sunset.
“I won’t give it to anyone else. I will find it. I’ll be the first to feel that beauty with my own hands, and I’ll paint it.”
“What if it already has an owner?”
“What are you talking about?”
Irene tilted her head.
“With me right here, there’s no way the grimoire would like another owner better.”
“……Haha.”
At her clear answer, completely devoid of doubt, Walter laughed dryly and pulled his hat down low.
“Then you go, Irene. I’ll focus on my work a bit more.”
“Mhm. Leave it to me. I’ll bring it back.”
“Yes. And, um…… this is just for your reference. It seems an Outer God has descended to Earth recently.”
“What? When?”
“Hmm, don’t shove your face at me like that. It makes me want to skin and stuff you whole. Um…… the exact timing was probably about a month ago? That’s what it seemed like.”
“……? That’s too recent. Then there’s no way you wouldn’t have known.”
“Right? I found it strange too.”
Walter smiled, patting the grimoire tucked inside his clothes.
“It seems something unusual happened. Look into that while you’re there too. I’m also looking into it.”
“Mhm, got it.”
Irene nodded. She gazed at the corpses floating on the lake, the corners of her lips quivering.
“Korea, you say…….”
An unbearable thrill began in her heart and coursed through her entire body.
*
The school ghost story that Iseoa had been looking forward to was supposed to be a heart-pounding evil spirit collection game. But what she actually encountered was the fallout from the birth of a Grimoire of the Outer God, and the only thing she’d gained from it was “Hanako of the Toilet.”
Even that was a net negative. She had burned through about fifteen evil spirits at the school. But since she had only gained one, from Iseoa’s perspective, it was a losing commission.
What action did such a girl choose after everything was finished?
“Get out here, you fraud bastards!”
Nothing less than going on a rampage.
“How dare you scam me?! That school ghost story wasn’t even the right one, you damned shaman bitches!”
Crash!
In the heart of Busan. Iseoa raided a small rest stop belonging to the Shaman Association in the city center. The shamans had been chatting peacefully about which evil spirit they had exorcised in a recent ritual and how the god they served was faring—when they jumped in shock at the sudden attack by a mage.
“Oh my, you crazy bitch! Stop it, stop! Let’s talk first!”
“Kyaaaah! Th-that’s not allowed! That ritual blade is off-limits! Aaaaah! That talisman too, nooo!!”
“So many goddamn things you can’t do! Just shut up and stay still!”
“Kyaaaaaak!!”
It was the early hours of dawn, the moon slowly waning. Old and young shamans stomped their feet and screamed. But Iseoa didn’t stop; she unleashed evil spirits, destroying everything around them. Her guardian spirit waved a kitchen knife about in a frenzied dance.
“Crazy bitch, stop it!”
She did not stop. Iseoa stood in the middle of the room and continued to command the evil spirits.
“Smash that pig head over there too.”
“Kiyaaaak!”
Her rampage lasted a full two hours, only stopping as the sun began to rise. The shamans, who had been causing a commotion themselves, were now exhausted and sprawled across the floor. Among them, the oldest shaman looked up at Iseoa blearily and muttered.
“……You crazy bitch, did your grandmother put you up to this?”
“My grandmother kicked the bucket a long time ago.”
“So I’m asking if that dead old bat put you up to this…….”
“I caught my grandmother and put her to rest long ago. She kept nagging me about being a shaman even after she died.”
“Crazy unfilial wretch…….”
“What are you talking about? I said I put her to rest.”
Iseoa answered and looked down at the shaman.
“Whatever, I’m pretty sure I’m owed compensation for this gig. Pay up—double. And hand over some talismans while you’re at it.”
“What? No, you bitch! I’ve never seen such barefaced robbery! The reward is a full hundred million, a hundred million! And you want double? Talismans too? Damn, you rotten wretch. Just kill me.”
“Fine, die. See you in hell.”
“Let’s talk this out.”
The shaman sprang up.
“Even so, two hundred million is not a sum we can prepare right away. Please give us a little time. No, what even happened there to make you like this? Huh?”
“Muggles wouldn’t get it. If you’re mad, go be a mage. And did you think I didn’t know you skim off the top every time you perform your rituals? Did you think I didn’t know why my grandmother’s inheritance was so damn big?”
Iseoa tapped the shaman on the head with her finger.
“Hand it all over right here. Withdraw it in hundred-million cash bundles. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“…….”
The shaman fell silent. Fortunately, it was an affirmative silence. She entered the safe inside the rest stop with the other shamans and began counting out cash. Ian watched the scene with a bitter smile.
In fact, thinking about it, it wasn’t their fault. It was simply a story of non-mages recklessly entering a school ghost story and getting swept to their deaths. They must have felt utterly wronged.
But what can you do? It was also true that they had passed the commission to a mage without even investigating the cause of death. If Iseoa had gone to that school alone, she probably would have been torn apart and died too.
That was precisely why she was so furious.
In any case, it was no skin off Ian’s nose. They were getting more money and even talismans; why step in?
“You should’ve done that from the start. Whew. Ian, let’s eat something expensive this morning.”
Iseoa had already come to Ian’s side. Ian chuckled and nodded.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Shortly after, the shamans returned with the money, sniffling. The two packed the cash into their bags without hesitation and left the rest stop.
It was a decent haul.