TFN C71

Chapter 71

As the boundary between inside and out solidified and the earth beneath them was sanctified, the blackened, flame-scorched ground began to stir with life.

From the soil—charred and lifeless moments ago—tender green sprouted, glowing faintly in the light.

The cursed spirit trapped within the cube, thrashing madly without sense or reason, slowed visibly at the sight of new life blooming in a land once consumed by death.

The rippling green light surged forward like a wave, washing over the tree entwined with the spirit.

Stay away!

Roots spread wide, covering the earth.

Even such fragile signs of life seemed to threaten the spirit, and Cheongmun, realizing it, drew an empty bullet from his inventory.

He filled it with the divine energy of Pama.

The glyphs carved on the casing gleamed as the magic circle absorbed the power.

When the new bullet solidified, he loaded it into his shotgun.

BANG!

The shot detonated midair, scattering like rain. Pellets rained down, embedding themselves deep into the black trunk.

KRRRRAAAAA!

Both spirit and tree shuddered violently, writhing in pain as if the sacred energy burned them alive.

Wonhyo seized the moment. He poured more divine energy into the earth, coaxing the sprouts to spread—wrapping the tree in a shimmering green veil.

The spirit’s eyes flared, wide and bloodshot.

CRACK!

Its foot—previously fused into the trunk—ripped free.

A dark red filament trailed from its heel, oozing downward like molten tar.

Hisss—! The tendrils ignited, burning the newborn sprouts to ash.

You think you can stop me with this?

Now fully freed, the spirit stomped the ground. The soil caved under its feet; wherever it stepped, the greenery shriveled and died, drained of life.

It raised one elongated arm. Black branches wrapped around its fist, coiling until they formed a massive sphere—a weapon born of rage.

The air screamed as the giant fist hurtled toward them.

Cheongmun didn’t flinch. Calm and steady, he raised his hand.

The impact cracked the earth. The cube shuddered violently under the blow, the ground itself trembling—but it didn’t break.

He compressed the cube again, but the roots spearing outward kept it from shrinking further.

Glancing briefly at Wonhyo, he summoned another cube—smaller, sharper—and swung it like a hammer.

THUD!

The cube struck the spirit directly, tearing a chunk of its body apart with a wet, splattering sound.

A second cube followed, striking again and again.

Unbreakable barriers slammed into the spirit like iron mallets, pounding it relentlessly.

Wonhyo watched Cheongmun bludgeon the creature into submission, then flung talismans toward them to reinforce his strikes.

His gimyeong transformed again—this time into a roll of pure white cloth.

He unfurled it gracefully, stepping in rhythm as though performing a ritual dance.

So far, he had summoned only paper dolls, sprouts, and harmless cloth—but each was a step in the ceremony.

As Wonhyo purified the ground, blocking the spirit’s energy from leaking outward, the gokdu effigies noticed the drifting cloth and rushed to seize it.

The fabric stretched outward like the waters of the Samdo River—wide, pale, and endless.

Wonhyo lifted the spirits.

He had wanted to do this from the moment he first saw the vengeful soul.

KRAAAAAAA!

Mine! It’s mine!

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Wonhyo murmured coldly, eyes fixed on the rising souls.

One by one, fragmented spirits appeared—rolling, tumbling, drawn to the cloth.

The soul of a child, left behind though its body had gone to the underworld, skipped across the fabric.

The shattered remnant of a hunter who’d been slain in the night stumbled after it, still demanding to know why he’d been deceived.

A laborer swept away by a dungeon breach wept quietly as his spirit crossed over, while a man who’d died asleep on his narrow bed after long days of construction work wandered forth in confusion.

With every soul reclaimed, the vengeful spirit’s body shrank.

Cheongmun intercepted it whenever it lunged at Wonhyo, protecting him without hesitation.

Wonhyo kept pulling souls from the abyss, wrapping them in the flowing cloth.

Life blossomed amid death.

Each sprout that grew symbolized renewal, each passing spirit the end of suffering.

Death was not meant to take root in barren wastelands—it was a fruit born only of once-living soil.

The vengeful spirit had not understood: to open the Gate of the Underworld, one needed a place filled with life.

Wonhyo called to the final soul.

The twisted figure convulsed, rising again.

He wrapped the cloth around his arm and gripped it tight.

When he pulled, the spirit’s body tore.

Dry branches cracked apart, and from the wounds, black fire spilled.

No—!

Wonhyo’s voice rose with the chant, binding the cloth tighter.

“Come forth. Here, to this side. Did you think a dead thing could linger in the world of the living forever, devouring life and burying sin beneath sin?”

The more the cloth coiled, the closer the spirit was dragged.

Each time the roots tried to reclaim it, Cheongmun shattered them without pause.

The burning roots flared behind them. The spirit planted its hands into the earth, resisting with everything it had.

BANG!

Cheongmun shot both arms clean through.

You bastards!

The spirit’s voice cracked, baring its teeth.

Its curses spilled like bile—crude, meaningless.

Neither Cheongmun nor Wonhyo reacted. They simply continued their work.

AAAAAAAAGHH!

The spirit finally tore free, its connection to the roots severed.

At that instant, every talisman around them ignited.

White smoke rose, chaining the spirit’s limbs like shackles of light.

Cheongmun turned his gaze from the fallen creature to the remaining tree roots—wilted now, motionless without their core.

He closed his eyes and activated another skill.

The shadow at his feet stretched—and from it rose a massive, monstrous figure.

It swung a heavy club down on the tree.

THUD!

The blows rained down in a brutal rhythm, like an executioner at work.

Leaving the cleanup to his summon, Cheongmun turned back to the spirit.

I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!

The voice wasn’t even menacing anymore—thin, fading, pitiful.

BANG!

The bullet tore through its mouth, silencing it.

The earlier divine bullets had done little, but this time, it worked—the creature couldn’t even scream.

It gurgled, convulsing, eyes rolling back.

Cheongmun fired a few more rounds—precise, measured—just enough to keep it subdued.

The spirit twitched weakly, rolling on the ground like a crushed insect.

Cheongmun walked closer, his eyes—gleaming gold beneath his glasses—cold and steady.

The ghost stilled, trembling under his gaze.

Wonhyo, meanwhile, finished wrapping the last of the cloth and replaced it with his bell.

From where he stood, he could see the vengeful spirit quivering at Cheongmun’s feet.

Perhaps it had never imagined it could suffer as a ghost.

Wonhyo blinked twice and began the final rite.

Jingle… jingle…

The bell rang, sending ripples through the air.

The ground shifted.

From the cracked earth, where roots had already torn the land apart, a black gate rose like a loaf from a toaster—smooth and terrible.

Paper charms fluttered along its rope frame, whispering against the wind.

Sensing it, the spirit tried to flee.

“Open,” Wonhyo commanded.

The door creaked, screaming like a soul in agony as it swung halfway open—only to be halted by the golden cords of sacred paper.

Through that half-open gap, a white hand emerged.

Thick as a human torso, its fingers gleamed pale and sharp.

It shot forward, claws piercing the spirit’s neck in one swift motion.

No sound. No blood.

The hand stabbed again, and again—ensuring the thing could not move—before folding its crumpled body like paper and dragging it inside.

The spirit’s remaining arm clutched the doorframe, but the moment its fingers brushed the sacred cord—

CRACK!

Blue sparks exploded violently.

The hand paused, then crushed its skull between two fingers.

The eyes rolled free—then burned to nothing in the cursed flame.

And just like that, both hand and spirit were gone.

Wonhyo rang the bell again, closing the gate.

The latch clicked shut. Slowly, the gate sank back into the ground.

Silence.

The bell’s chime faded.

Still whispering his prayers, Wonhyo collapsed onto the scorched earth—one of only two living things left in this dead world.

His breath came rough and shallow.

“Drink this.”

A water bottle appeared before him.

Too tired to look up, he accepted it with both hands and drank deeply.

Cool water soothed his dry throat, his breath turning soft again.

“Haah…”

He rubbed his palm over a shriveled sprout, crushing the lifeless plant into dust.

『Boss defeated.』

The system message appeared quietly, signaling the end.