TFN C93

Chapter 93

He steadied his breathing, then turned toward Cheongmun.

The residual thought he sensed wasn’t visible, so naturally, the sound he had heard would not have reached Cheongmun at all.

He met the man’s gaze—those pitch-black, lifeless eyes.

There was no anger, no hatred, no hope, not even longing.

Perhaps what lingered there was nothing more than the dregs of emotions tangled together and slowly rotted over time.

“I’m not sure what it was, but… I heard voices.”

Cheongmun’s eyelids lowered slowly, then rose again.

“Voices…?”

“It wasn’t a monster.”

Even in a world where towers rose, dungeons opened, and people freely used strange supernatural abilities, there had never been a monster capable of speaking human language.

Or more precisely, no monster outside of towers or dungeons had uttered anything intelligible to humans.

He vaguely remembered reading that low mana density interfered with communication, but he wasn’t certain.

Stories from old movies and novels depicted orcs speaking human language, but the monsters classified as “Orcs” by the System communicated only with guttural, unintelligible sounds.

Linguists who studied them stated their speech did not align with any language humans could comprehend.

So if the sound had been recognizable as “speech,” monsters were automatically excluded.

“I thought I might see something else, but… something’s blocking it. I can’t see clearly.”

“Then it’s not because of the cube,” Cheongmun remarked.

Wonhyo nodded.

If only his mother or older sister were here—they would see far more clearly.

Shamans with guardian spirits attuned to their bodies were better at perceiving the past.

Unlike them, he did not possess a body-bound spirit; he only borrowed fragments of many divine entities, so his perception was limited.

When he explained that, Cheongmun quietly shook his head.

“That’s unlikely. You’re not the first shaman I’ve brought here. If what you said were the issue, bringing either of them wouldn’t have helped.

It was the same with Awakened individuals—and even Hunters with psychometry couldn’t see anything here.

However…”

However?

Confused, Wonhyo tilted his head.

Cheongmun opened his inventory and took out an old box.

He removed the lid, fished out something inside, and held it out carefully.

“It was found at the scene.”

Inside a transparent evidence bag was a torn scrap of a flyer.

Since it came from the scene, it should have been logged as evidence—so why was he showing it?

Wonhyo frowned in confusion—then froze.

“This is…”

Judging from the remaining corner, it was one of the four corners of a sheet.

On it were the words ‘…e-ni’ and ‘church’.

“I checked it again with the machine used to analyze cursed items. It’s just paper.”

“Wait.”

Wonhyo took the bag and slowly turned to scan the inside of the house before looking back at him.

“You said this happened ten years ago.”

“That’s correct.”

Receiving the immediate answer, Wonhyo gripped his bell tightly.

This time, he would not simply “sense” energy—

He needed someone who could answer directly.

Whether a General-spirit or the Seonnyeo herself—

Please, someone, answer me.

Is this truly connected?

He prayed, gripping the bell, pleading with the gods—

But no voice came.

They weren’t ignoring him—yet it felt as though speaking the answer aloud would disrupt something on a grand scale.

“Hello…”

The flyer she held out was rejected.

Lowering the rain-soaked sheet, the woman’s forced smile broke apart.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips.

While disentangling a strand of hair caught between her shoulder and the ribs of her umbrella, several more people passed—none spared her a glance.

There was a department store connected to the subway entrance, along with a shopping center. She had deliberately come all the way out to the main street so her flyers would reach more people—yet not a single one was being taken.

It was raining—fewer people were out.

The gloomy, damp weather made her body feel heavy.

“Sigh…”

Exhaling deeply, she trudged toward the store that had hired her for the day.

As she passed a narrow alley narrowed further by construction, someone reached an arm out.

Startled, she stopped—

Only to spot a man standing between parked cars.

She nearly snapped at him, thinking he intended something strange—

But seeing he held an armful of flyers exactly like she did cooled her temper instantly.

She felt embarrassed for being so startled.

He held out a flyer to her without even checking whether she meant to take it.

She thought it would be odd not to accept another flyer when she herself had been handing them out all day.

The man showed no disappointment—

No eagerness either.

A take-it-or-don’t indifference.

He didn’t even meet her eyes.

She slumped her shoulders.

After constant rejection all morning, she wondered whether being treated this indifferently might have been easier.

It was her first time doing this sort of work—she had tried bright greetings to lessen the embarrassment, but only her throat hurt for the effort, and the results remained the same.

After only a few steps, she turned back.

The man looked up at the sound of her footsteps and held out a flyer again.

The paper fluttered in his hand.

She took it with a small bow and hurried out of the alley.

When she later unfolded it, curious what shop it advertised, the first words she saw were:

“Wisdom of Eternity.”

She flinched.

She had accepted it thinking he might be a fellow worker braving the rain—but was he actually from a church?

He hadn’t deceived her, yet she felt strangely fooled.

Scanning the street uneasily, she clutched the flyer.

She wanted something—someone—to lean on, but churches made her wary.

There were too many cults.

The flyer in her hand suddenly felt hot.

She sought a place to throw it out.

She could have shoved it in her pocket and thrown it away at home—but she didn’t want it with her.

Fortunately, there was a trash can in the back alley behind the department store.

She cast one quick glance toward the alley where the man had been, then shoved the flyer deep into the bin.

Wiping her hand in the air as if ridding herself of something sticky, she continued on her way.

A few minutes after she disappeared, a man with his hood pulled low approached the trash can.

He nodded once, then took out his phone and opened a mailbox.

“Yoon Hyewon.”

Confirming the name and photo, he deleted the profile.

He tapped his foot lightly.

From within the faint shadow at his feet, something poked its head out.

…The curse…?…

“It seeped in.”

A split voice—two tones, one high and one low—came from his mouth at once, as if two people were speaking through him.

No one noticed, for no one was around.

“Follow her. Devour her.”

At his command, the shadow rippled—then darted toward the direction the woman had gone.

He remained perfectly still, watching.

“Only three more to swallow, and it will be done.”

Two months of prolonged work were nearing their end.

Strictly speaking, it had taken five years—

If he counted the previous attempt, ten.

But none of that mattered.

Only that everything proceeded smoothly.

The police had begun to sniff around, so he had changed his methods.

The reminder filled him with disgust.

They would never uncover his identity anyway.

“Foolish.

Foolish.

Pitifully foolish creatures.”

With a sneer thick with contempt, he clasped his hands together.

“The day of judgment draws near for the foolish.

May my Lord, who grants His eternal wisdom upon this land, accept the humble prayer of this unworthy servant…”

Rain and wind lashed his body as he chanted.

His clothes whipped violently.

His hood blew back, revealing part of his face—

But he continued praying without pause.

His face, neck, and wrists were covered in countless wounds.

The flesh of his head and throat was decaying, maggots burrowing into it—

Yet none of it concerned him.

Finishing his prayer of repentance, he moved his frigid, lifeless body and checked the information on his next target.

This work carried the tears and devotion of the Enlightened—

Failure was unacceptable.

A maggot crawled up his wrist; he flicked it away and touched his phone.

“Did I catch a cold? Why do I feel so chilled?”

Muttering to herself—something she did far more often since living alone—Hyewon rubbed her arms.

She wondered if the apartment was too cold and turned on her electric mat, but the air remained frigid.

She laid a thin blanket over the mat, put on a thick cardigan, and blew warm breath onto her fingertips.

They flushed pink—she couldn’t look away from the faint red tint in her skin.

Saliva pooled in her mouth.

“…I want to eat.”

The words slipped out blankly.

Snapping back to herself, Hyewon hurried to find the shopping bag.

She hadn’t earned much today, but she had bought meat because she felt she had to eat something immediately.

She couldn’t dream of pricey pork belly, so she bought a large cut of hind leg. With enough seasoning, stir-frying it would be fine.

“Should I just grill it?”

Salt and pepper would be quicker.

She tore open the bag.

Her stomach had growled embarrassingly the entire time she was buying it—but now, seeing the raw flesh, all she felt was hunger.

“I… have to eat…”

She grabbed a slab of raw meat wrapped in plastic and tore into it with her teeth.

Salt, pepper, marinade—none of it was necessary. It was delicious as it was.

As she filled her mouth and ripped a chunk free, blood spread across her tongue—

And her mind went hazy.