TFN C31

by berry

Chapter 31

“So, a curse item was crafted into a talisman?”

Wonhyo pulled up his system’s main interface to check where his profession and status were listed.

It wasn’t as though he had deliberately chosen “shaman” (mudang) as his awakened class.

『Yun Wonhyo (*Rank Locked)

Profession: 무천(舞天) (Mucheon) – Unique Ability Class

백희가무 (Baekhui-gamu) [Locked]
– Complete the profession quest.
만법귀종 (Manbeop-gujong) [Locked]
– Complete the profession quest.』

Beneath his name, the profession field marked him as 무천(舞天)—which didn’t refer to some hermit obsessed with turtle shells, but instead meant “Dance of Heaven,” an archaic term for ancient rites offering sacrifice to the sky.

That was why above the skill 만법귀종 (“Craft All Talismans”) sat 백희가무 (“Dance of Festivities and Ritual”), themed around dancing.

But that wasn’t the important part. What mattered was the label “Unique Ability Class” next to his profession.

That notation was a system classification applied when no one else in the entire world shared the same profession. It meant every skill under it was likewise unique; no one else would ever have it.

만법귀종 came with the description “Craft all manner of talismans.”

Wonhyo stared at the interface.

Pressing the label “Unique Ability Class” yielded no further details. The system only displayed; it never conversed.

Still, if that designation remained, then talisman-making was limited to this skill alone. And now it had produced a cursed item?

“Well. Cursing has always belonged outside orthodoxy, in the realm of Left-Handed Path sorcery. It wouldn’t be unusual for some rituals to be excluded entirely from 만법귀종.”

Indeed, since the mythic Emperor era, malign techniques had branched off as separate disciplines. Perhaps even another profession line existed for them.

Wonhyo decided not to obsess further. The very fact that he had uncovered how such an abnormal, curse-laden vengeful spirit was born was already a significant gain.

The business card had already burned itself out performing its role, leaving behind only faint traces. But using this, he could continue digging deeper.

And another matter.

He finally identified the energy he had thought merely an echo smothered beneath the vengeful ghost’s presence.

Whoever owned those pants, it wasn’t the vengeful ghost. Another spirit was absolutely involved.

This wasn’t about the recently dead hunter either. This presence went further back, bound more intricately with the remnants of the curse.

“Which means there were more victims of this vengeful ghost.”

Wonhyo blinked, stopping his whirling thoughts, and began carefully preserving what little aura still lingered.

He slapped on a Sealing Talisman and pressed it into place, packed the trousers into a bag, and slipped them into his inventory so the qi wouldn’t disperse further.

Because of the inventory’s isolating property, it was the safest place for “haunted objects” or “cursed items.”

Once the pants vanished inside, the ghost-energy accumulation abated.

Moments like this made him wish he could simply shove whole apartments or the Bureau itself into his inventory. But living beings and objects too large were off-limits—it was a shame.

He buried his face in his palms, sighing.

“…I’ll need to report this, won’t I?”

He had to. No matter what, being tied to a vengeful spirit suggested someone else might have been killed. Whether or not it overlapped the hunter’s death, it needed Cheongmun’s attention.

“Who wants coffee?”

Officer Kim, nose buried in his monitor, raised his head.

“Oh? I’ll take one.”

“You want iced americano, right? How many shots this time?” asked Officer Lee, taking orders.

“About eight.”

Kim replied blankly, enthralled.

“…You’ll be okay with that much?”

“Hm?”

It was Officer Geungsik’s voice, not beside but from behind. Turning stiffly, Kim met the worried gaze of the head of Team 2.

“Didn’t you drink that much this morning already?”

“…W-what? Sir?”

“Your coffee. You poured eight espresso shots into an iced cup this morning, didn’t you?”

Flustered, Kim blinked at him.

Why in the world do you know that?

And why are you worried about me? Weren’t you the one glaring daggers for years, wishing me gone?

Biting back those words, Kim lowered his head, nearly in tears.

“…I’ll just have water.”

“Good. Smart choice. Want me to get it for you? I’ll fill a tumbler with ice, bring it over nice and cold.”

Once, those words would have been: “What does your thirst have to do with me? Stop chattering in the office. This isn’t a break room—use the team messenger.”

“…No, sir. My tumbler needs washing. I’ll get it myself.”

His old metal tumbler, black-stained with who-knew-how-old coffee, resisted even scouring pads. Seizing it, Kim rose abruptly, hurrying out before the transformed Team 2 head could detain him further.

Across the room, glances exchanged: Team 1, Team 3. With all their rivalry and infighting, they now shared sympathy.

Ever since the exorcism, the new personality of that man unsettled everyone. No one needed explanations.

Outside, walking toward the break room, Kim met a sharply dressed figure stepping in.

“Team Leader.”

Not just commander of Special Judicial Police, Cheongmun also handled international crime-prevention meetings on awakened criminal activity and cooperative counter-villain conferences. After a crowded morning, he had returned.

Cheongmun tilted his head at the dust-choked relic of a tumbler in Kim’s hands.

“I was just about to schedule a meeting. Are you busy?”

Kim lifted the thing half-heartedly.

“…Call it an escape item.”

Carrying such a mess made it plain he wasn’t aiming farther than the café downstairs.

“I see…”

Dragging fingers across his brow, Kim grimaced.

“I’ll book the room now?”

“Do so.”

Neither wanted to sit in the office, so that worked. This case in particular required closed-door, confidential briefings—they couldn’t risk letting “We’re investigating a ghost” slip into the media.

Kim swiftly secured an empty meeting room and messaged the team.

“Hhhhhh…”

The moment they entered, the others exhaled relief.

“I can’t take this anymore,” groaned one.

“It’s not like you can change it,” the deputy muttered.

“But he smiled at me earlier. Told me to hang in there. Do you know how terrifying that was?”

Officer Nam Juhyeon nearly sobbed.

The deputy rubbed his temples.

“Can’t we just bring that shaman in again? Shove the ghost back in him? The 2nd Team kids look about ready to weep.”

Though they were adjusting gradually, no one was used to the Team 2 leader’s drastic transformation.

Even Cheongmun sometimes felt chilled—it was the same face, but belonging to someone else entirely.

“Didn’t the Director, Support Division, and International Investigations all suggest exorcising half the Bureau?”

“Yeah, and honestly maybe they should. Some people don’t need ghosts for their personalities to be toxic.”

“…Let’s begin the meeting.”

Cheongmun drew their wandering eyes back to focus.

“Victim’s phone and computer, results?”

“No damaged data, nothing lost. But there’s no overlap between the victim’s activities and the spirit’s appearances. On days the spirit appeared, sometimes the victim was out. Checked destinations—guild office, supermarket, normal errands.”

Nam gave his brisk report.

If presence had matched perfectly, they would have pursued deeper. As things stood, the link looked weak.

“How about the facial composite?”

“No one in the victim’s circles recognized him.”

Officer Lee shrugged.

“Started canvassing the guild too, but all said he was a stranger. Strangely, some weren’t sure if it was a man or a woman.”

Cheongmun pulled up the ghost’s image again. Long hair and scrambled clothing, yes—but to his eyes, definitely male.

“It wasn’t a woman?”

“Eh? Definitely a man.”

Seemed the team itself hadn’t clarified, lumping it all under “ghost.”

“Forensics says biologically male. When first spotted at the apartment, print on the ceiling was over size 270 mm. Body proportions all pointed away from a female pelvis.”

Officer Choi, in charge of pathological analysis, gestured to the montage.

Shoulder span, hip width—male traits. Granted, physique and foot size weren’t absolute gender markers.

Still, his opinion went in the record.

“By the way, sir. Word is circling since there’s been no official cause-of-death announcement,” the deputy added.

“Normally they at least declare accident or homicide. Delay’s too long, people say.”

Eyes rolled here and there.

“If the cause was ‘non-human attack,’ should fall under accidental death.”

“Right… but do ghosts count?”

“Ghost-type, yes. Even dungeon monsters—people dying to phantoms or specters, always logged as accident.”

“Except that only happens with dungeon breaks, when monsters escape into the world.”

Footnotes

무천(舞天) (Mucheon) – Literally “Dance of Heaven,” an ancient term referring to ritual offerings via dance to the sky or heavens.
만법귀종 (Manbeop-gujong) – “All Methods Return to Root” – a skill allowing the creation of talisman items, unique to Wonhyo.
백희가무 (Baekhui-gamu) – “Festive Dance,” historically performed in royal courts as offerings; here, framed as a locked skill.
Ghost-qi (귀기) – Aura or energy residue left by ghosts, differentiated in Korean occultism from normal spiritual energy.
Wangsaengbu (왕생부) – A talisman ensuring safe passage to the afterlife; here corrupted into a curse that binds the dead to life.