TFN C92

Chapter 92

The moment the barrier protecting the house fell away, a chill—an unmistakable yin energy—rushed up his skin, and he narrowed his eyes.

The dry, rasping air mixed with moisture, dulling it slightly, but it was never a scent that could truly be hidden.

“Did someone die here by any chance?”

Cheongmun cast him a glance.

“Do you sense something?”

Wonhyo shook his head.

“Not something present—more like a trace? It’s not something visible, but there’s this faint smell… like blood. And also…”

He rolled his eyes, struggling for the right words.

There was a particular scent he always noticed when entering places where spirits lingered—abandoned houses, accursed sites.

A mustiness unlike mold, a dampness unlike water rot—something closer to decay. Yet even that wasn’t quite right; it wasn’t the rancid odor of rotting food either—something different in nature.

Wonhyo flicked his hand and summoned his ritual implement.

He shifted it into the form of a fan, then gently waved it, dispersing the stagnant, malignant energy.

“It’s not that something is being concealed… it feels more like a faint residue left behind after something malicious passed through.”

Hearing this, Cheongmun tilted his head slightly.

“I see.”

With an expression suggesting that such things were to be expected, he crossed the small garden and unlocked the tightly sealed front door.

Watching him, Wonhyo flinched.

He still didn’t know what precisely this house had to do with their case—but seeing Cheongmun enter by scanning his fingerprint made it clear this wasn’t an ordinary connection.

Inside, another translucent barrier stretched across the shadowed interior.

Wonhyo’s mouth fell open.

He had no idea what this house meant to Cheongmun, but for it to be guarded with such strict, layered protections made even breathing feel perilous.

He glanced at the neatly arranged shoes by the entrance, then back toward the living room.

“Uh… should I take my shoes off?”

For the first time since arriving, a faint smile appeared on Cheongmun’s face.

“You may leave them on.”

He reached out and dispelled the transparent wall separating inside from outside.

Dust had collected on the shoes, sneakers, and slippers at the entryway, showing no one had entered for a long time—but the space sealed inside the cube was different.

It still carried the full sense of a place where people had only just left moments ago.

Though over that still lingered the unmistakable disarray of a crime scene—

Evidence collection materials left by forensics, strips of police tape marking restricted areas.

And the smell of blood he had caught outside was no lie—dried splatters stained several spots throughout the room.

Wonhyo scanned the floor, then the walls, then halted on something.

He turned to where Cheongmun stood in the living room.

“Do they look alike?”

“…He looks younger, but yes.”

The photograph showed a man clearly related to Cheongmun—much younger than him—but the resemblance was striking.

Beside him, a woman beamed with radiant happiness in their wedding portrait.

The man’s playful grin, the eyes curved mischievously—when he compared them again, the familial similarity was undeniable.

“He’s my brother.”

Wonhyo exhaled a long breath.

Then, quickly scanning the house again, he asked,

“What exactly… do you want to do here?”

“Asking what I want to do makes it sound like I have options.”

Cheongmun turned slightly, meeting his eyes.

Wonhyo swallowed, unable to look away.

“Before—when we first met. That day, you asked if I could see lingering thoughts at an old crime scene, like the remnants clinging to a vengeful spirit.”

Remembering that moment, Wonhyo sagged his shoulders and lowered his gaze.

“If there’s something you want to see—or something you want to let go of—you’d know that better than anyone. I can offer blessings for the departed, or check whether they’ve left any regrets, or help ease any grudges they carried. If… that’s what you want.”

Cheongmun looked at the smiling couple in the wedding photo and shrugged.

“I’d prefer if you helped the living, rather than the dead.”

“…The living?”

“Yes.”

His answer came sharp as an arrow, leaving Wonhyo silent.

Leaving him behind, Cheongmun walked toward a door near the kitchen—its surface crisscrossed with police tape.

He opened it without hesitation.

“For my sake. I want to know what happened in this room.”

Still uneasy about stepping into someone else’s home with rain-wet shoes, Wonhyo took courage from the fact that the homeowner himself wasn’t hesitating.

He followed him to the doorway and carefully peered inside.

The first thing he noticed was the furniture—bright, colorful pieces clearly meant for a child.

A wardrobe painted in different colors on every drawer, a blanket printed with a queen from an old children’s cartoon, wallpaper covered with hand-drawn monsters and hamburgers made using crayons and markers.

“Her name was Lee Sol. Kindergarten, Clover Class. She disappeared ten years ago. Since her life or death couldn’t be confirmed, she was eventually declared deceased. They said it was necessary for elementary school enrollment procedures.”

His calm voice wavered slightly before continuing.

“The day before she vanished—she was last seen at around 9:30 p.m.

The next morning at 8 a.m., I filed the report. Two bodies were found at the scene, but the child was missing. Her whereabouts remain unknown.”

Cheongmun turned his body toward the living room.

Wonhyo followed his gaze.

“My brother was found in the living room.

My sister-in-law in the bedroom.

Cause of death: exsanguination.

Over thirty percent of their bodies were missing.

“It was officially classified as a monster attack resulting from a dungeon break. A D-rank dungeon fissure at Mangwood Mountain had released Black Orcs at the time.”

A small cube appeared with a soft click of his fingers. It floated into the child’s room, retrieved a picture frame from the desk half-hidden by the barrier, and returned it to his hand.

He held it up for Wonhyo to see.

“If not for the fact that we never found a trace of the child’s blood anywhere in the house, it would be an unremarkable case.”

Ten years may not seem long, but technology had advanced at an astonishing pace.

Today, mana analysis and numerous detection methods could determine instantly whether a monster caused the event or something else did.

But back then, they couldn’t.

Still—

Wonhyo quieted his thoughts and looked at the photo inside the frame.

A younger Cheongmun sat with a laughing child perched on his knee—her smile so wide it felt like he could hear the giggles spilling out.

Wearing a princess crown over her pajamas, she smiled brightly while Cheongmun looked at her with a helpless but affectionate grin. The image was so vivid he couldn’t look away.

“…Isn’t there a skill for locating missing persons?”

“Administrator Lee Kangsan checked the system using his ability.”

“Oh…”

He remembered—Administrator Lee from the Special Investigation Team had a skill that allowed him to question the system directly. Guilt twisted in his chest.

“It’s fine. Her life status truly is undetermined. The system can’t tell whether she’s alive or dead.

That’s why I can’t let go of what happened here that day.”

A life or death unreadable by the system.

Wonhyo calmly assessed the lingering energies in the house.

Even he couldn’t replay a past scene out of nowhere—there had to be remnants, faint thoughts, a thread of emotional residue.

But strangely, the stronger energy wasn’t in the rooms where the murders occurred—

It was outside.

Even the foul smell he sensed earlier came from outdoors rather than the crime scenes inside.

“…Have you checked for mana reactions outside as well?”

“There was nothing up until last July.”

“Really?”

Cheongmun narrowed his eyes.

“You said earlier—you smelled the foul aura in the yard?”

“Ah, yes. But I assumed the smell coming from inside lingered outside.

But actually… it’s weaker out there.”

At that, Cheongmun turned back toward the yard visible through the glass door.

“The yard was sealed a month and a half later than the interior.”

“Why that much later?”

“When the investigation neared its end, I was in an accident.

I spent two weeks hospitalized. I sealed the yard right after I was discharged.”

Wonhyo’s eyes widened.

“You were a Hunter even back then, weren’t you?”

If he was S-rank, shouldn’t the car have been the one denting him?

Cheongmun gave a humorless smile.

“I don’t remember the accident. They said I must have taken a serious blow to the head.”

“…Let me check again.”

This was the first time he had stepped into a site so perfectly preserved—frozen outside of time.

If anything existed here at all, it would be faint—but it would exist.

He switched the fan into a bell and infused it with divine power, moving it slowly.

The sealed air was old—heavy and stagnant.

He could feel it clearly now.

As the bell swelled like a balloon being filled with air, a sharp crackling noise rippled at the edges of his hearing.

Not a visual trace—an auditory one.

Then came the stench.

The unique, sickening smell—like rotten meat buried beneath rotting mud, peeled back only slightly.

He fought the urge to gag and focused.

…It hurts…

A woman’s voice—not very old, but not young either—echoed faintly.

Then another voice overlapped halfway over it:

…Gone…

This one was deep, coarse.

Wonhyo pushed harder—but that was the limit.

He stopped the bell, exhaling a clouded breath.

Despite the cool, rainy day, the layers of clothing suddenly felt suffocatingly warm.

When he wiped his neck with the back of his hand, sticky sweat clung to his skin.

Footnote

1. Gi-myeong (기명) — A ritual implement used by shamans it often shapeshifts between objects like bells, fans, or whisks.