A nameless rear mountain in Gyeongsangbuk-do. The man and woman in suits arduously climbed that mountain, upon which not even a trail had been carved.
“Huff…… huff……! Hoo……!”
“……Huu.”
Hardened scabs of blood rustled loose and fell from the gaps of their suits, which were worn to shreds. One woman, who had not eaten properly for days, collapsed into the grass with a thud, and without anyone tending to her, the rest continued moving their steps along the rugged path.
It was not long before evil spirits flocked around the corpse of the collapsed woman. The creatures burst into shrill, bone-chilling laughter upon seeing her still conscious, then conversed in grotesque tongues as they divided and claimed her flesh. A wet, chewing sound echoed clearly.
“Fucking hell.”
Among the group, a man with a particularly large frame, Victor, whose hand had been lost and was wrapped tightly in bandages, spat a curse and wiped away the sweat trickling down. Picheo, standing beside him, clicked her tongue.
“Quiet, Victor. Now is the moment to conserve even the energy to speak.”
“I know, you fucker. But I can’t do that. Is this a situation where I can hold back curses? Huh?”
“You still must endure. The Management Bureau could be pursuing us using a device that detects voice frequencies. We’ve already shaken off their pursuit once and barely managed to hide in a mountain swarming with ghosts. It is best to avoid unnecessary harm.”
“Writing a novel, are we?”
“If it truly feels like a novel, go jabber over there by yourself. Do not stay near me.”
Without continuing the conversation further, Picheo began walking again. Victor stared at her ragged back, clicked his tongue, and slapped his thigh.
It had already been five days since they ambushed Eric. The Twilight Hour had effectively ended, and according to the original schedule, they should have been on a plane back to Switzerland by now.
But plans and reality were starkly different.
The biosignals of the other mercenaries not present here, including Laura, had all been extinguished. The mercenary corps had effectively been annihilated. They had poked the wrong beehive and been retaliated against in full.
Victor decided not to think too deeply about how that was possible.
It simply meant that the mage who had first ambushed Anna was a crazy bastard beyond imagination, a lunatic with the ability to unleash that madness. They had failed to know their place, ignorant of their opponent’s personality and capabilities, so getting turned on was, in a way, only natural.
This world was originally a place filled with nothing but bastards desperate to stab one another in the heart. Being hunted while out hunting was a daily occurrence hardly worth joking about. This time, the Florence Mercenary Corps had simply been chosen as the protagonists of that tale.
Thus, he had not the slightest thought of finding the mage who killed Laura to take revenge. Betting one’s life on something that was plainly fatal was laughable in itself.
Though the corps’s loyalty to Laura could not be said to be low, once the mercenary company was shattered, there was no point in foolishly parading that loyalty. Lost loyalty ought to be left to rest until it found a new master.
“……? Victor, there is something over there.”
While he was lost in thought, Picheo, who had been walking ahead, suddenly spoke. Victor furrowed his brow.
“……You told me to shut up, yet you’re the one making noise.”
“Acting like an idiot benefits you nothing. Rather, look. There is some kind of temple over there.”
Swish.
Picheo pointed her finger at a building faintly visible through the grass. Victor turned his head.
[Taehyeolyunsa]
A wooden plaque written in Hanja entered his sight faintly. Though the characters looked like an alien language to him, who knew no Hanja whatsoever, he could still roughly tell the overall architectural style.
“It’s a temple.”
“A temple?”
“Yeah. A church or cathedral built by Buddhism? Think of it like that. They probably exist in Switzerland too, but they’re not common.”
“Ah…… why is something like that on this mountain?”
“How should I know? I’m not even Korean.”
Victor glanced at the remaining mercenaries standing behind him before shifting his gaze back to the temple.
“Whatever it is, it’s nothing but good fortune for us. Let’s hide there for a few days.”
“……Hm. I have nothing but an ominous premonition. Do you truly think a temple in a place like this would be intact?”
“Then what, keep wandering the mountain meaninglessly? For several more days without proper food?”
Victor clicked his tongue.
“We die if we don’t go in anyway. Starve to death, wither away, or get tracked down by the Management Bureau and die. Without a hideout, we die, period. So claiming that place is better.”
“……Huu, it cannot be helped. I will kill everyone inside. I can eat human flesh anyway, so divide the rations as you please.”
“Alright.”
Victor nodded, turned to the group, and shared the conversation he had with Picheo. The expressions of those who had been living as drifters for days brightened slightly.
It was then—
Crack.
The sound of a branch breaking came from behind Victor and Picheo. The two turned toward the source of the sound before anyone even spoke.
“To think the commotion was excessive enough not to be called the footsteps of a beast.”
A gloomy mountain where sunlight barely permeated. In the heart of nature, where the cries of birds and insects faintly spread, an old man’s dignified voice rumbled low.
A monk’s habit of combined black and dark brown. A round wooden piece worn like a necklace, and a pure white beard thickly covering his chin. Black eyes gleaming with vitality. The corners of his mouth stained red, as if he had been chewing raw meat only moments before.
“So they were naught but creatures unworthy even of being called vermin.”
Too grotesque to be called a monk, yet possessing a rationality unbecoming of a mere monster.
Stepping upon the broken branch, he drew prayer beads from his sleeve and closed his eyes.
“But this, too, must be a fated encounter. The turning wheel has led you here; this humble monk sincerely welcomes you.”
“…….”
“However, welcome and hospitality are separate matters. This humble monk is currently enjoying a feast with his disciple, so I pray you withdraw from here today.”
The old man spoke while slightly bowing his waist. Victor and Picheo answered not his words, but looked at one another and swallowed dryly.
“……There was no presence at all. He literally appeared out of nowhere.”
“……If he is human, he is a transcendent; if a monster, quite a high-ranking one.”
The two drew their weapons and spoke with tense expressions. The mercenaries standing behind them also readied themselves for battle, following the mood.
“Hmm.”
The old man silently watched the sight, then rolled one bead of his prayer beads between his fingers and straightened his bent waist.
“This humble monk gave you a chance, and there is no such thing as a second in life. This humble monk shall respect your will.”
“……Victor, he’s coming.”
“A fallen monk and mage. The new Buddha who shall sever your samsara.”
Click.
Slowly rolling his prayer beads, he stepped forward with a hazy smile.
“In place of Śākyamuni, this humble monk shall personally judge you.”
As if donning a mask hung at the small of his back, the old man fitted the prayer beads around his fingers like brass knuckles.
“Namo Amitabha Buddha.”
Cursed whispers flowed from the red-stained prayer beads.
*
As soon as Ian finished preparing to go out, he hopped on his bike and headed to the bookshop with the owl.
It was a return visit sooner than expected, but the timing hardly mattered anyway. He parked his bike near the bookshop and, without hesitation, opened the worn door and stepped inside the used bookstore.
“……Not here.”
It was as expected, but Eric was indeed not inside the bookshop. Amelia was absent as well. Only a black cat sat plopped at the counter. The cat, dozing in a loaf position, widened its pupils upon seeing Ian’s face and slowly raised its body from the spot.
A glossy black coat and blue-and-orange odd eyes.
It was a familiar cat. Ian smirked and gently scratched the head of the cat stretching itself.
“Pleas.”
“Meow-meow-meow. I knew you’d recognize me, meow. Good eye indeed, meow.”
The cat rumbled and rubbed its head against Ian’s hand.
Pleas, owner of the general store situated in the Owl. She skillfully donned the witch hat for cats that she had carelessly tossed onto the sofa and swayed her tail gently.
“What brings you today, meow? Did you come to use the owl, meow?”
“That’s right. But what about Eric? Isn’t he the doorman?”
Ian leaned against the counter and asked calmly, as if he knew nothing. Pleas replied lazily.
“Eric is badly hurt right now, meow. So he is receiving treatment in the lounge underground, meow. He has recovered enough now to manage daily life, but the Clock Tower gave him leave, so he will probably focus on treatment for the time being, meow.”
“Then are you standing in as the doorman in Eric’s place for the moment?”
“Exactly right, meow. Sigh, no one can leave this cute and capable cat alone, meow. What can you do, meow? The capable me has to do it, meow.”
At her natural banter, Ian burst into a small laugh. Pleas skillfully washed her face with her front paw, looked toward the bookshop door, and cast a spell.
“Let those not permitted be barred from entry. Lock.”
Click-clack.
Following the spell, the bookshop door closed and locked itself. Ian let out a short exclamation at the door that did not budge.
“Is the magic circle engraved on the unseen side of the door?”
“Correct, meow. Any mage who has seen the location and shape of the magic circle even once should be able to use the locking magic, meow. Of course, since only the doorkeeper is told of the magic circle, most do not know, meow.”
“And you?”
“I’m a substitute, meow. I should know at least this much, meow.”
Plop.
Pleas jumped onto Ian’s shoulder, settled in as if familiar, and continued speaking.
“Anyway, if you plan to use the owl, let’s go down together, meow. I was bored anyway and was thinking of closing the bookshop and escaping, meow.”
“Is that okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be, meow? It’s all the doorkeeper’s authority, meow. If they don’t like it, let them give it to someone else, meow.”
At her cheeky reply, Ian laughed and stroked her head. He opened the door leading to the basement and asked about Amelia as he descended the stairs.
“What about Eric’s granddaughter? Isn’t she here separately?”
“You mean Amelia? That girl is with Eric, meow. She was in a coma for two days so I was worried, but she opened her eyes exactly forty-eight hours after passing out, meow. Her physical condition was, hmm…… aside from being slightly low on blood, everything was fine, meow. Now she has fully recovered and is nursing Eric, meow.”
“That’s a relief.”
Ian muttered in a soft voice.
He had been worried, but now that he had confirmation, he felt he could finally rest easy. As long as she was healthy, that was enough.
“Ah, come to think of it.”
Just as he was about to wrap up on that warm note, Pleas tilted her head and asked Ian.
“By the way, oppa, did you give Amelia that notebook you bought last time as a gift, meow?”
“……? What are you talking about?”
At the sudden remark, Ian slightly furrowed his brow. Pleas pressed her front paw against his cheek and continued.
“Last time, the notebook, you know, meow? The one Faust made? Amelia had it, meow. I naturally thought you had given it to her, but you didn’t, meow?”
“……What.”
Ian’s mouth twisted as if he had received word of a runaway child.