TFN C1

Chapter 1

It was the kind of cold that felt like a twist to the nose would make it snap off.

Thankfully, there was no snow, but the night air, which dimmed and then let pass the moon and stars, was biting.

Wonhyo looked down at the frozen leaves crunching softly underfoot, then lifted his head.

In the distance—no, not that far off—a wave of artificially made light was rolling in.

At an hour when the darkness should have thickened into pitch-black nothingness, the light stretched its hand even to this mountain path, as if unwilling to yield a single inch of its domain.

He narrowed his eyes at the streetlights lining the hiking trail.

Too late to call it night, too early to call it dawn.

Off the path, a single blue flame undulated.

What to do?

Wonhyo debated whether to head straight toward that light or ignore it and continue up the mountain.

He first checked how much time remained until the appointed hour. He had left in a hurry, so fortunately there was some leeway.

He soon turned his steps—then hesitated.

“No… go… like that. That! That’s why the world ranking….”

At the sound of voices drawing nearer, Wonhyo stepped to one side of the path.

After a brief wait, a line of hikers, conspicuous in the winter mountain in fluorescent reflective vests, came down in single file.

Rigid as a startled roe deer under the beams of the headlamps fixed to their hats, Wonhyo wished they would pass quickly.

It was a narrow spot where two or three people crossing would fill the path, so the hikers filed past in formation, brushing by in front of Wonhyo.

He held his breath and carefully kept his body from touching theirs as much as possible.

After giving him a sidelong once-over where he stood, one group of hikers descended at a brisk pace.

“Our country really… needs to change a bit.”

“Hey, it’s fine if things are going this well.”

“Going well? If we were doing well, would our world ranking have tanked this badly?”

“Good grief, there you go again. Does that precious world ranking put food on the table?”

When the one who quashed the complaint in a single stroke poked an elbow into a side, the rest chimed in, scolding in their own voices.

Only after the hubbub had settled a notch did Wonhyo let out a long breath.

With a wry smile, he wiped his sweaty palms on the hem of his clothes. The forecast said it would drop to minus six degrees; left alone, the sweat might freeze.

“Busy from the first day of the year, huh.”

Who knew how they got the idea to climb a mountain in a group on Lunar New Year’s night.

He, too, was on the mountain, but not by his own will.

After steadying his breath and confirming no more people were coming, Wonhyo moved toward what still crouched in the dark.

The moment he left the trail, his sneakered feet sank, squelching down through rotten leaves.

Wrinkling his nose at the acrid scent brushing his nostrils, Wonhyo shook out his sleeves down to the backs of his hands.

Maybe the breeze had scattered the dust, or maybe it just felt that way; either way, the smell eased a little.

He pursued the flame directly. Going deeper, he stopped in a suitable clearing to avoid slipping on a sudden slope.

From a place made darker by the shadows of trees, the blue flame that had been bobbing about revealed a hazy form.

Wonhyo rummaged inside his coat and pulled out something that crackled. At the sight of a vivid yellow talisman paper, the thing that emerged from the flame flinched and sprang up, but his hand was faster.

Black inked letters—not the cinnabar’s red gleam—flared as if set alight, glowing a bright crimson.

With a whoosh, a brief blaze blossomed and sent up smoke.

It was an unbelievable amount of smoke to come from a piece of paper smaller than a palm. The smoke billowed out and vanished in an instant.

Watching the blurred figure sharpen until it showed its true shape, Wonhyo spoke.

“Where are you trying to go?”

“Hrk hrk hrk.”

Though it had no eyeballs, tears of blood trembled there as if in deep sorrow.

A ghost—one that would rank high on the list of things not to meet on a night path—snapped its head up, showing off hair as coarse as a broom of twigs.

Thanks to that, its dangling neck gaped wider, revealing the inside plain as day.

“Who… are you?”

“The question was asked on this side first.”

Grumbling that it was supposed to be first-mover advantage in things like this, Wonhyo turned his head to check the “outside” of the smoke he’d raised.

The boundary made by burning the talisman wouldn’t last long, but the effect was certain.

Even though he was doing this inside the forest, no passerby on the path was looking this way.

People as brightly decked out as those earlier hikers were heading up toward the summit without a care.

“Anyway, why’s everyone hiking instead of relaxing for the holiday? Is this a trend?”

Pushing aside the distraction, Wonhyo cast his gaze back “inside.”

On the neck and shoulders where veins bulged up through the skin in grotesque relief, the flesh had peeled away enough to expose bone, and the right arm was twisted like a cruller, its blackened meat swollen as if it would burst at a touch.

The toes planted on the frost-rimed ground were black with rot, and the torn-off toenails stuck up in all directions.

Like frostbite, there was a mass of dead flesh that would slough off at a touch.

Not that it mattered—the thing was already dead.

“What’s your name?”

Wonhyo, having taken stock of the thing in front of him, asked again.

“Move… aside.”

Seeing the ghost try to proceed toward the path, he spoke again.

“Name!”

“…Don’t know.”

He’d suspected since the ears weren’t visible, but it seemed unless he raised his voice, it couldn’t hear.

Wonhyo flicked his hand in the air.

Seven small bells hung from a branch like fruits and shimmered brilliantly.

A set of spirit-summoning bells appeared in an instant, and the ghost twisted its neck as if bewitched. Blue sparks leaped from its empty eye sockets.

“…A shaman?”

“Yeah.”

Wonhyo answered while shaking the bells.

As if sending his voice to the gods, his voice this time seemed to reach where it should.

Staggering, with unstable steps, the ghost walked toward him.

“Good. Now, bring your name to mind….”

He broke off mid-sentence and swept his arm at the sharp nails jabbing toward him.

Thump!

With a sound like shaking out a big blanket in the air, the ghost went tumbling.

Whether it hadn’t expected a sudden attack to fail, or hadn’t expected to get thrashed, the ghost, at a loss for words, lifted a dazed face.

He gathered up his trailing hems and bent his knees to crouch.

Even in subzero weather, the breath of the thickly layered down jacket collapsed with a windy rustle, but he didn’t care.

Wonhyo brought the hand holding the bells straight down onto the ghost’s head.

Jingle!

“I.”

Jingle!

“said let’s talk.”

Jingle!!

“Didn’t I!”

After three punches, the ghost, still sprawled where it fell, rearranged its stiff body into an extremely polite posture. Seeing it kneeling in contrition, he let out a deep sigh and stood.

“Name.”

“I don’t remember.”

So it wasn’t that it couldn’t hear; it was just hearing only what it wanted.

“How old are you?”

Judging by the state, it seemed twenty-something, but the ghost counted on its fingers, then opened and closed its mouth, flinching.

“Seventeen….”

“Seventeen?”

“This is… second-year….”

It seemed it didn’t remember its name or age, but the dark red color embroidered on the tattered, ruined hem—and the identity of the pattern—had stuck.

Clicking his tongue at the ghost flicking a black, rotten tongue, Wonhyo revised his estimate.

He’d thought, since it showed itself on a road travelled by many, it had died recently; but judging by the rot, that hue only emerged after at least two decades.

So dead for at least twenty years.

The problem was the style of the garments. It was difficult to tell whether this was what it had worn at death or a shard of the period it’d obsessed over in life.

If only the form were more intact—but with the belly and buttocks half torn away and hollow, the shock at the time of death might have scrambled the memories.

Even when a body was mangled in an accident, the soul was usually close to its original form; to see it like this said a lot.

Should he just send it on?

To stabilize the soul’s form, more memories from life were needed, but this one was too unstable.

Wonhyo shook the bells and tallied the necessary verse in his head before letting it spill from his lips.

“Contact with ‘ghostly energy’ detected. (…in progress…98%)”

Even with his lids closed, clear letters surfaced.

“Damn!”

What should have burst out as a ragged wail, wrung from his body like an instrument, came out of his mouth as “oink.”

“Hic!”

Wonhyo scrunched his nose at the red warning window hovering in front of his eyes.

When he sniffed, it was as if every forest scent was being sucked in—the smell rushed in, filling him to the brim.

He exhaled a breath.

The problem was that it was “oink” instead of “phew,” but there were bigger issues.

Something had changed in his body, and he was facing a ghost—that was the biggest problem.

Snorting, Wonhyo steadied his breath, then fixed his gaze on the semi-transparent crimson window floating before him.

If he turned into a pig, wouldn’t he be unable to distinguish red?

He thought that, then paused. He was human—he should still be able to distinguish it for now.

He could do it now; given a bit more time, he obviously wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Exposed to powerful ‘ghostly energy’; entering penalty state. (Time remaining 23:55:12)”

Powerful ghostly energy? Could his body really change this suddenly without a prior warning? Still, there was much to do before quibbling.

Assess later; solve first.

Wonhyo nosed through the heap of collapsed clothing around his shrunken body.

He soon found his cellphone, wrestled it out using his snout, and used a stored pattern kept for occasions like this to unlock the screen with the tip of his nose.

Swipe, swipe. After a couple of strokes with his nose, a screen with only the icons he needed opened. One tap would connect him directly to the person he wanted—an emergency contact.

He tapped the icon, and it switched to a call screen.

A strand of classical music—unchanged despite the times—played, and someone picked up.

“Wonhyo?”

“Sis!”

“Oink!”

Footnotes:

• Blue flame: In Korean ghost lore, cold, blue-tinged flames often signal a spirit’s presence; the flame here is a visual marker of a ghost’s manifestation.

• Talisman paper (괴황지) and cinnabar (경면주사): Yellow talisman paper is traditionally used for charms, and cinnabar (mercuric sulfide) provides the red pigment for writing; here, the text is written in black ink, but the effect mimics a cinnabar-lit charm.

• Boundary by burning a talisman: Burning a charm to create a protective or concealment boundary is a common shamanic trope; it hides rituals from passersby and restrains spirits temporarily.

• Spirit-summoning bells (쥘새 방울): Small ritual bells used in Korean shamanic practices to draw or pacify spirits; their sound is believed to carry prayers or commands to the spirit realm.

• “World ranking” banter: Casual social gripe about national performance metrics; the exact topic is left vague on purpose, reflecting typical small talk/argument during group hikes.

• Penalty state and HUD-like messages: These game-system prompts are a LitRPG convention embedded in modern Korean fantasy, where supernatural encounters trigger status effects with countdown timers.

• Pig color vision note: Pigs have limited color discrimination, especially toward reds; the character’s worry about distinguishing red while transforming underscores the physiological shift.