TFN C53

Chapter 53

Cheongmun layered skill upon skill, conjuring a thick barrier of interwoven wards.

Into that barrier he embedded consecrated bullets once more, then detonated them.

Kwah—ang!

The cube shuddered violently as Wonhyo continued to chant incantations, his eyes fixed on the spectacle.

It would have been far better had the spirit been annihilated in a single strike, but his hopes were not granted.

Instead of exploding into dust like brittle branches, the specter shifted, becoming grotesquely like the monsters they had seen outside.

It boiled and churned like mud, swelling and collapsing, only to reform again into shape.

Cheongmun clicked his tongue. Perhaps the consecrated energy he had borrowed and stored had been insufficient to obliterate it at once.

“Have you any talismans left—ones that can make contact?”

He turned to Wonhyo.

Wonhyo pulled two slips of paper from his robes and cast them forward.

“Namu-bul, Namu-seung, Namu-beop—”

One of the talismans landed in Cheongmun’s palm, while the other ignited midair, smoke spiraling upward as it burned.

The swelling cloud of smoke gathered toward the spirit.

Its form was incomplete—its upper body half-melted, its head slumped and grotesque. Still, the specter leered, curling its lips into a grin.

So it’s you! You, the wretch who protected that cursed woman!

Its hands sharpened like stakes, and it lunged for Wonhyo.

Bang!

The cube interposed itself, but the spirit crashed against it again and again, frenzied.

Kwa-dudeuk!

The sound of walls cracking filled the air. Cheongmun removed his glasses and stowed them away in his inventory.

He gripped the talisman that Wonhyo had given him and strode forward.

Of the five cubes shielding them, two had already been rent apart. The spirit laughed in manic delight.

Pathetic! Was this all? You thought this could stop me?! Vermin, you dare to mock me? I will not forgive you!

It barked the words with laughter, then with rage, as Cheongmun kicked off the ground and leapt in.

In his bare hand gleamed a dagger—black as night, swallowing light, its edge without reflection.

The blade swept cleanly through the specter’s neck.

So—this is all?!

Thud!

Cheongmun watched the head cleave away under his blade.

『You have come into contact with a powerful malice.

By the authority of □□□, the malice is annihilated.』

The system window flashed, much as Wonhyo had described when encountering spirits under curse penalties.

Cheongmun grimaced, then vaulted higher, striking downward.

A single decapitation was not enough—no completion notice appeared.

The body, headless and staggering, split down the middle and collapsed in halves.

The talisman flared in Cheongmun’s palm, igniting.

Keuaaaaahk—!!

The spirit writhed like a salted fish, thrashing violently before beginning to crumble.

Slowly, too slowly, it disintegrated into ash.

Cheongmun narrowed his eyes. Was it truly finished?

But no system alert proclaimed victory.

He glanced briefly at Wonhyo.

Wonhyo, too, tilted his head, perplexed by the spirit’s fading form. Then he drew another talisman and cast it.

The charm sliced through the air, but passed harmlessly through scattering ash, as though to confirm it was gone.

Cheongmun withdrew, scanning the area with keen suspicion.

The system never lied. Within dungeons or towers, its messages were the only reliable measure.

If no alert had come, then the boss was not slain. It was hiding.

And he was right.

Though he sharpened his senses and scoured every direction, nothing was found.

He turned back toward Wonhyo—just as something shot out.

Instantly, Cheongmun summoned a cube to block the attack.

Deflected, the strike vanished, but before he could respond again, black thorns erupted from beneath Wonhyo’s feet.

“Mr. Yun Wonhyo!”

Golden radiance enveloped Wonhyo.

The talisman ward against slaughter had activated in time. He steadied himself and moved swiftly.

He swung his ritual implement, scattering the malignant force.

Such filth had no vessel to cling to here—it could not stain him.

He traced a charm into the air.

Clink!

The bell rang as he recited the Three Pure Ones’ chant, summoning divine spirits with solemn authority.

Golden power surged about his weapon, dispersing the malice.

Calmly, he sought the origin of the attack.

“Beware the corpse fragments,” Cheongmun warned.

Despite his efforts to gather them, small scraps of flesh had been overlooked—and now they sprouted thorns.

Wonhyo swallowed back a curse as he saw a piece of what once was flesh launch toward them like a projectile.

Bang!

His summoned force deflected it, but how many more fragments had been strewn about, and how far, he could not tell.

Bang!

The second strike came.

Wonhyo shut his eyes, focused his energy, and stamped the ground.

He spread his aura outward, tracing the dispersed malice, seeking its core.

His weapon transformed, the bell reshaping into a sacred blade once more.

He pulled the mask lower, covering his face, and swung.

Every clash of steel rang out, scattering the malignant haze, driving it toward a center.

Like a shepherd corralling sheep into the pen, Wonhyo stomped and slashed, severing foul remnants as they brushed against him.

The clustered energy wavered—then burst.

Die! Just die already!

Claws like needles clamped onto his shoulder.

Wonhyo struck them away.

Why do you interfere?! What wrong have I done?! It was their fault! It was those bastards who shamed me!

The malice surged back, clutching at him once more.

It was their fault I was disgraced! Why must I suffer?!

The stench of its voice made him wish he had plugged his ears, but he did not falter.

There were many ways to send spirits to the afterlife, and methods too for banishing malicious ones.

Some rites called upon reapers to take them away; others forced them down the road to the underworld.

Futile!

The specter laughed bitterly, vanishing.

And then—the corpses Cheongmun had gathered within his cube staggered to their feet.

Half-severed throats and broken ankles lurched, eyes vacant yet hostile, gazes fixed upon the living.

Three must die. One has perished. I will take your lives for the rest.

Cheongmun swiftly checked Wonhyo’s state, then aimed his gun at the spirit within his skill’s range.

Though he wished to preserve the bodies intact, he could not allow the spirit to escape.

Wonhyo, too, held tense, eyes narrowed upon the ghost toying with the dead.

It twisted their limbs, leering, and Wonhyo nearly gagged from the vile energy radiating.

From the ground, a severed finger shot upward, aimed for his throat.

“Block it!”

At Cheongmun’s sharp command, a massive shadow surged at Wonhyo’s side, its hand intercepting the attack.

Ah, so it still lives. Damn you. We’ll meet again.

The specter knew it had failed. It waved its mutilated hand mockingly—then fled.

『The Boss of has vanished.』

『The dungeon is deactivated. Collapse in 59 minutes.』

Cheongmun fired two more consecrated rounds into the collapsing form, then quickly scanned their surroundings.

The chamber, once a boss’s lair, was crumbling apart.

He pressed his lips thin and strode to Wonhyo.

The shaman still crouched, shaken by the sudden eruptions at his feet, blinking in confusion at the system alerts.

“…Did we defeat it?”

“No. It escaped.”

Even Cheongmun had never seen a dungeon boss abandon its dungeon.

From beginning to end, this place was unnatural.

“For now, we must leave.”

If the unstable space collapsed, there was no telling what fate awaited inside. The safest course was to flee quickly.

At his words, Wonhyo forced strength into trembling legs and stood upright.

He cast a glance to the side.

The grotesque figure that had shielded him had already vanished.

He looked to Cheongmun, but said nothing.

Cheongmun, too, held his silence.

He wanted to ask what Wonhyo had seen—but truthfully, he did not know what that thing was himself.

Wonhyo frowned, the stench still stinging his nostrils.

Though the system proclaimed the specter’s departure, something lingered.

He followed the foul trace, wrinkling his nose, forcing down nausea.

And then, the system alerted:

『You have discovered a trace registered in the All-Demons’ Register.』

Perplexed, Wonhyo tilted his head, ready to ask Cheongmun—when something fluttered down.

Instinctively, he snatched it from the air.

The texture was familiar.

He knew it instantly, having once found the same in the pocket of a murdered child’s school uniform.

It was a business card.

Wonhyo read aloud the words printed there.

“Bethany Evangelical Church.”

A hollow laugh slipped from his lips.

Cheongmun stepped beside him, glancing over his shoulder at the card.

His expression turned to ice.