TFN C36

Chapter 36

 

The boy’s body was tall, but his face still carried the pure lines of youth. He blinked.

Wonhyo turned toward where Cheongmun stood, then gestured for him to approach.

All this time, Cheongmun had only observed like a detached witness, but now, without taking his gaze off the apparition, he moved closer.

“If you have questions, hold this staff and ask.”

Standing before the tall bamboo pole planted upright in the ground, Cheongmun studied the child’s figure top to toe before laying his gloved hand on the staff.

“Do you remember your name?”

The staff resonated with a hum, vibrating faintly as though carrying an echo.

‘―Ye―es―’

The whisper was faint, like wind brushing his ear, laced with static but understood clearly enough.

“What is your name?”

‘―Jang―Hee―won―’

“How old are you?”

‘―Six―teen―’

“Do you remember your birthday?”

‘―Sep―tem―ber―E―lev―enth―’

Though drawn out unnaturally like taffy stretched on both ends, the child’s words remained precise.

“How did you die?”

‘―It―hurts―my―head―’

The boy rubbed the back of his skull with half-missing fingers.

‘―Hurts―boom―’

‘―Hurts―like―this―’

He didn’t need gestures to guess—struck, shattered, his body butchered, then hidden away somewhere.

Instead of clothed in his school uniform, this child’s form stood bare, blood-tears streaming, limbs grotesquely rearranged: thighs where a neck should be, a wrist sprouting from the knee, ankles lodged at elbows, a head perched at the top almost mockingly correct. Dark, sticky branches pinned his form together.

Cheongmun exhaled sharply at the sight, then turned his gaze to Wonhyo.

“Do you not need to ask more?”

“Knowing the name and age is enough. That’s the proper start.”

With that, Cheongmun released the staff. Wonhyo stepped forward again to seize it.

“Do you have anything else to say?”

The spirit nodded.

‘―Pock―et―’

The child seemed to point at his own clothes laid out upon the ritual table.

Wonhyo nodded.

“He’s already investigating that.”

Relief softened the boy’s twisted features. For a fleeting moment, he smiled despite the agony etched on his face.

Cheongmun now stood beside him in white Hanbok, having set aside his black overcoat.

Wonhyo gripped the bamboo staff in one hand, and from his inventory took a shroud garment in the other.

“Spirit, come now. Soul, come now. Homeless and wandering, drifting ghost—be gathered here, be healed here.”

As his chant merged into song, the boy’s body stirred. Wonhyo circled him wide, enclosing him in reverence, and the mess of limbs began resolving into their right positions. The massive bamboo staff shrank back into a jingling bell.

“Even when men live seventy or eighty years, so much is lost to sickness and sleep, leaving scarcely thirty truly lived. Death’s road is long, but the gate stands close outside one’s door.”

With the broken melody and dance, the boy’s body restored itself, whole again. He accepted the plain white garment Wonhyo draped across his shoulders.

Wonhyo wiped away the blood-tears staining his face, then noticed the jagged black branches dropping away at his feet—same as those that had reeked when first he faced a vengeful spirit. He pushed them aside with his foot.

Cheongmun flicked his fingers, sealing the tainted fragments instantly into a cube.

Wonhyo, glancing at him, resumed his task of sending the child off.

He replaced the wine in the ritual cup, then pulled from his inventory a banana milk and set it upon the table.

The boy’s face cracked into a faint smile.

Normally at this moment he would ask if the child had last words for family. But given the curse, there was no telling if another binding might drag his spirit back down again.

Better not to risk rekindling resentments into feeding him into a demon.

Now that the boy’s soul had been cleansed, the path could be opened.

“When you walk into the afterlife, do not be afraid. Do not follow any stranger. If a man in black greets you with three coins tucked in your heels, ask if he has received his due, then go with him.”

‘―Ye―s―’

“There, nothing will hurt anymore.”

The psychopomps had already been called ahead. It was now time for farewell.

Wonhyo drew forth a length of hemp cloth and spread it wide, hanging in the air like a river of white silk stretched between invisible hands.

He laid upon it the offerings for passage and drew a deep breath.

“First bow to the King of Judgment. Second to Chogang the Great King.”

Each intonation begged the rulers of the underworld to draw the path open. He pressed gently against the child’s back.

Mistlike, the ghost dispersed into vapor, flowing onto the cloth like water, streaming toward the road to the other side.

“By the mandate of the Ten Kings, grant escort unto Paradise.”

The hymn trickled like a brook, threading the mortal and afterlife together.

Wonhyo tore the cloth down the middle—severing return. Ragged lengths flapped in the dungeon’s breeze, like banners waving farewell.

『Skill proficiency of 지노귀굿 (Jinogwi Gut) has increased.』

『You have guided a lost soul to the afterlife. As a reward, a clue for your Job Quest has been granted.』

Though his body hung in exhaustion, his head lifted at once at the notification.

He wanted to check the reward now, yet duty pressed first—to cleanse the ashes, seal them in purified water.

He packed up the altar, dismantling carefully. Cheongmun folded the mat for him, flicked off dust, and handed it back.

“Finished?”

“Yes. The spirit has gone. But—the black fragments from before.”

He pointed at what had fallen when the child reformed.

Cheongmun opened his palm: within the cube, the spiked remnants churned.

“This feels the same as that card’s aura. Could you trace its origin?”

If someone could disrupt death’s borders, bind souls and birth such malign spirits, they posed grave risk. Wonhyo knew his mother and sister would never have turned aside from this. Even if not him, someone would have stepped in.

No one could ignore dung dumped at their door without choking on the stench.

Cheongmun nodded.

“I know little of cult churches. But villain groups—I’ve dealt with enough to know. They always need people. The moment humans join, their acts leave trails behind. Find enough threads, and the hidden eventually comes to light.”

That did explain it well enough.

“Let us leave.”

Earlier he had been scolded heavily for failing to observe safety rules entering. Now, exiting, he recalled nervously whether rules applied again. Nothing came to mind.

He ignored Cheongmun’s proffered hand and stepped gingerly out.

Reckless it had been, holding a Jinogwi Gut without proper date or rites. Yet much was revealed.

He now knew dungeon exposure did not accumulate ghost-qi, skills grew more quickly inside, and he had gained a Job Quest clue—it was fruitful beyond measure.

The scenery shifted; cold wind rushed in.

Already evening darkness draped down like a veil, temperature plunging steeply.

Shivering at the gulf between the dungeon’s tranquil weather and the frigid outer world, Wonhyo thought only of hurrying home to blanket and heated mat.

But then a red notification flared before his eyes:

『You have touched strong ghost-qi. Accumulated ghost-qi rising. (…Processing…116.5%)』

“Oh, no—!”

The denial barely formed before his vision twisted, wrenched cruelly.

Cheongmun was last to check, confirming the dungeon’s interior showed no further anomaly before stepping outside.

The bizarre distortion of human-body-to-other collapsed, dispersing, and his senses returned clear.

Whether due to sudden shift of environment, or scientific theory of the dungeon gate disassembling and reassembling entry bodies, he could not say—yet sharpened senses darted instantly to locate Wonhyo.

Yes, he had underdressed for today’s outing.

With perception flaring wide, the only living signal locked his eyes downward.

At Wonhyo’s usual height, he should not have had to tilt so far. But this… the angle to look was down, to the ground.

His eyes fell on the clothing. Then higher, at the security camera perched at the alley’s mouth.

If the dungeon had no mana reaction left, alerts would not be sent. But the recordings themselves posed risk.

He sighed briefly, flicked his fingers.

A cube shot like a bullet, enveloped the camera, and at once his designated skill activated.

Static crackled. Instructions carried out without flaw.

『□□□ carries out your command.』

With the footage swapped, Cheongmun crouched, lifting the discarded clothes.

There, beneath, a puff of yellow fluff lifted its head, small black eyes gleaming.

Cheep.

“Today it’s a chicken. A chick, actually.”

Unlike Wonhyo’s assurance of safety, the tiny body trembled violently in the chill air, burrowing into the folds for warmth.

Cheongmun glanced skyward briefly. Strange—more often these days, this boy left him with nothing but helpless, incredulous laughter.