TFN C23

Chapter 23

***

Cheongmun brought Wonhyo into the Special Judicial Police Team office, and people’s expressions turned bizarre.

A three-headed dog had already been made public by the press when a dungeon break hit Busan, so that wasn’t surprising; it was more like seeing a toddler, still counted in months, show up as the boss at work.

Half scorn, half a bewilderment that this could make sense at all mixed in equal measure.

It was a look quite familiar to Wonhyo, so he decided to ignore it.

Contrary to his intent, they seemed unable to ignore him.

“Team Leader Lee.”

A man who looked about ten years older than Cheongmun approached and spoke.

“Yes, Team 3 Leader.”

“Oh, is this the shaman who came as an investigative consultant?”

Someone laughed at that—why, who knew.

At the sudden snicker, Deputy Manager Kim flared his eyes and started forward, but the deputy behind him grabbed him at once.

Still, Cheongmun nodded without a ripple.

“Yes, an investigative consultant who can assist the case. Should an introduction be made?”

Who is this person here, who is that one there, and after exchanging names, should he say, “We appreciate your guidance”?

Wonhyo frowned, not keen on the idea.

Perhaps equally disinclined, the Team 3 Leader’s gaze narrowed.

“No, not that. I’m asking if you’re seriously using a real shaman as an investigative consultant.”

The sidelong looks could have drilled through skin.

Wonhyo raised his mask higher.

“Would it cause some problem?”

Cheongmun’s voice beside him remained even.

“Is this ignorance or obstinacy? It’s not only the team’s dignity—if word gets out that we brought in a shaman, what will the outside think of us? As it is, the live-streamed fiasco has the higher-ups in knots. Do you not want to catch the culprit?”

At that, Wonhyo tilted his head.

If it’s this case, there wasn’t anyone more suitable than him in Seoul; and what did his work have to do with the team’s face?

He glanced at Cheongmun.

With a face unlined by the slightest crease, Cheongmun spoke again.

“Have you said your piece? Then please step aside.”

Having let him talk, he answered as if that finished it, and looked to Wonhyo.

“Ha. Bringing in just a shaman—what great feat do you think you’ll do?”

Someone on Team 3 muttered loudly enough to be heard, apparently annoyed their own team leader had been slighted.

Wonhyo wondered why they were pestering the unflappable Cheongmun when picking on him would be easier—but he let it pass and looked around the office.

He’d heard it was a team investigating awakener-related crimes; seeing it in person was quite a sight.

Even if they couldn’t see what he saw, if they perceived one-twentieth of it, they wouldn’t say “What’s the point of a shaman?” but “Should we call a monk or priest to offer prayers?”

When three or four people gather, bad energy tends to follow and congeal; it seemed no one noticed and countered it here midstream, and the space itself was deeply ailing.

“Even in a blighted site, it shouldn’t be this bad. Why is the ghostly energy so thick?”

Murmuring so only he could hear, Wonhyo looked up at Cheongmun again.

“Start immediately?”

“Ah… Mm. Shall we?”

Thanks to the mouth-to-mouth earlier, his penalty gauge was still generous—good.

“Did you hear that? He said ‘ghostly energy’.”

“Called him a fraud and he’s already spouting all kinds of nonsense.”

“A fraud, he says?”

Wonhyo flinched.

How they caught words that barely turned in his mouth, he couldn’t guess.

But having been dismissed in every way while doing this work, he wasn’t angry.

That reaction, too, would pass.

Besides, when ghostly energy takes root in a government office, needless harm tends to multiply; better to douse the urgent fire.

Wonhyo shifted the ritual implement in his hand into a spirit-knife.

Shamanic spirit-knives come in many sizes and shapes; the pair he mainly used were about a finger-joint longer than a boot knife, each with a long paper tassel of divine script trailing nearly to his height from the hilt.

He normally used bells and a fan, but for purifying a site, an intense metallic clang was necessary.

He spotted a spot among clustered desks where a round table left space to stamp left and right.

As he approached with the spirit-knife, someone stuck out a leg to block him.

Seeing the big man’s crooked smirk, Wonhyo clicked his tongue.

“Exc—”

Just as he spoke, Cheongmun stepped forward.

“What, you really out of your mind? Going to stage a ritual in the office?”

Looking at the Team 2 Leader swiveling in his chair, Cheongmun removed his glasses.

And a leg lashed out.

Thud—!

Before the Team 2 Leader, chair and all, hit the floor, Cheongmun cocked his head and watched the Team 3 Leader charging fast toward him.

“Without the glasses, I can’t see—felt something at my foot and kicked it. The chair isn’t broken, is it?”

At that, the Team 3 Leader barked a laugh.

“Discipline from audit is coming.”

“Discipline, hmm. I don’t know what I did, but if anything happens within Special Judicial Police, command falls to me as Team 1 Leader—audit knows that well, so no need to worry. Ah, and as you’re soon retiring, all the less for you to worry—good for you.”

Smiling, Cheongmun put his glasses back on.

“Why would I retire…”

“Who knows. If I say I’ll resign because of the Team 3 Leader, those who’d remove you in my stead will craft reasons better than I could—why ask me?”

“What?”

Tuning out the squabble overhead, Wonhyo spread both arms and brought them together, clashing the spirit-knives.

Cheng—!

At the metallic ring, he moved his arms as if to cleave acrid air he could no longer bear.

Fight among yourselves if you like. The shaman here is suffocating—no duty-of-care for a visitor?

He poured out divine power; even without a patron deity, and though he was still an empty vessel, those who lent an ear to the sound he rang filled him, palmful after palmful.

With clean energy, wind spread outward from his center.

Round and round; a ring of energy swept even the office’s far corners.

Faces jittery at the sharp sound slowly took on a puzzled look, as if feeling something.

Perhaps because they were hunters, they reacted to this kind of energy.

He clashed the spirit-knives again, ringing them hard.

Site-purifying turboreum dance is usually done in pairs or fours; with no one to match him here, he had to press the ground alone in all directions.

Not a Dodang-gut, but a Jeju-style ditch-dance could be done solo—except that requires a “god-reception” to follow; not usable now.

He lifted the left foot, set it down, bent the knee; lifted the right foot, set it down, bent the knee.

Beginning with a slow beat and quickening, he rang the spirit-knives and cleared the site.

Tracing a circle to the left, he continued; as when releasing divine power, balanced energy shot outward on all sides.

“Proficiency in ‘baekhui-gamu’ has increased.”

“You have practiced the turboreum dance.”

“Ghostly energy is purified within a 10-meter radius.”

From the floor rose a halo of light—the kind in a game that would make someone shout, “AoE field placed!”

Cheongmun narrowed his eyes at the identity of that light, which the system announced.

“Uh… I just got a notice that accumulated ghostly energy was purified.”

“Me too.”

“For me, it says my light-attribute skill area increases under this effect…”

“A buff?”

“No idea about that. I picked up some weird curse in the Tower and it’s gone now.”

“A wide-area debuff skill?”

All around the office, everyone talked at once.

Meanwhile, having trod all four directions, Wonhyo exhaled a long breath and stopped.

“Gae-cheon-mun, sae-ji-ho, gae-in-mun, sae-gwiro… hwang-geum-ryang…”

Before the site could foul again, he chanted and drew talismans from his inventory.

At a flick of his hand, two talismans flew through the air—one to the office door he’d entered through, one to the window—where they halted in midair.

Red letters shifted to gold as the paper burned quietly.

A gray smoke rose and faded; eyes half-lowered, he rolled his tight neck and stepped again.

Soft, soft—his steps were as light as when dancing.

Having marked their destination, Cheongmun followed behind.

Team 2 members, who had been tending their team leader knocked over with a crash, raised their heads.

Moments earlier they had watched Wonhyo’s movements as if spellbound; now a layer of vigilance slid over their faces.

Seeing those faces, Cheongmun stripped the glove from his right hand.

At a small finger-gesture, Team 2 members signaled they wouldn’t attempt anything rash.

By then, Wonhyo had reached the toppled Team 2 Leader and flicked his wrist to change the implement’s form.

It was the plain white fan he had used earlier in the conference room.

People darted looks—if he meant to use a weapon, wasn’t a knife better than a fan?

Leaving those questioning eyes behind, he bent down.

With an air of nonchalance, he fanned wind over the Team 2 Leader’s face.

That was all.

A team member at his side had just opened his mouth, about to question what it meant, when—as if pushed by the fan’s wind—fingers burst through the fallen man’s facial skin.

“G—kp!”

It was a swallowed shriek, a breath that nearly broke.