TFN C97

Chapter 97

He flicked his wrist and summoned his ritual implements.

Changing them into a bell, he held it carefully and did what he had meant to attempt earlier.

He shook the bell softly—just enough to imbue it with energy without making noise at dawn.

They had said the mana wavelength was similar to the cursed item that had anchored a vengeful spirit to this world, yet the system still showed no response.

Instead, what reacted was the residual malice lingering here.

As he slowly traced the threads of energy, he listened to the forensics team leader explaining.

“There’s a high chance of autocannibalism.”

Pointing toward the wounds on the corpse, the forensics leader elaborated.

The torn flesh on the limbs bore teeth marks—likely from the victim himself.

“We’ll need to make a mold to verify it precisely, but… it’s extremely difficult for someone else to bite like this. The posture required would be like holding someone tight against your chest.”

“If they were in that position, they could have subdued him,” Wonhyo replied.

“Right. We tested the blood and saliva for narcotics—it wasn’t that,” another forensic officer, Cho, who oversaw medical analysis, reported after personally checking the results.

Wonhyo listened absently before something tugged at his attention. He tilted his head.

“…Could you check if there’s any flesh in the stomach that isn’t his own?”

Cheongmun glanced away from the body and answered.

“That would require an autopsy to confirm. It’ll take at least another hour.”

“Time doesn’t matter. Just—let me know if you find pork.”

When he mentioned pork specifically, Cheongmun momentarily paused.

“…His eating habits might be relevant?”

“It’s possible. But the probability’s low—very low,” Wonhyo admitted.

A person consuming meat didn’t automatically attract an animal spirit.

“Uh, sir?”

Assistant Nam, who had been searching the shelves above the sink, lifted something from a plastic bag.

“We might not need the autopsy to confirm pork consumption. This looks like his grocery receipt. He bought one kilogram of pork hind leg.”

“Did you check the fridge and freezer?”

“Yes. We scanned and catalogued everything in the house. According to the receipt, he bought it before death—but none of it was there.”

So he had consumed it.

『Knowledge registered in Ten Thousand Ghosts’ Archive responds.』

『Category: Subtle Omens — Ja-hyeon Phase (19) — Gate-Sealing Evil Star…』

As if waiting for the cue, the system produced its answer.

Wonhyo narrowed his eyes as he examined the names of the talismans.

One matched his suspicion.

Gwi-mun-gwan-sal—a term from Four Pillars divination meaning a “Ghost-Gate Sealing Star,” a baleful omen describing spirits entering the body and closing its gates.

A talisman known as Gwi-mun-gwan-sal-bu suppressed that omen’s influence.

People born with such signs were more prone to possession—

And not only by human ghosts; animal spirits could also overlay them.

But having such an omen didn’t always lead to misfortune.

More often than not, these people grew sensitive, artistic, or eccentric rather than possessed.

“Can we get the victim’s birth date?”

“Oh—one moment.”

For full accuracy, he needed the time of birth, but that would take too long.

Even without it, the victim’s “ghost gate” was certainly open at the moment of death.

It was odd that the system hadn’t revealed these keywords earlier—such as during the prison incident—but it made sense.

At that time, the ghost gate hadn’t been open.

This case diverged from the previous ones in several ways.

The victim and perpetrator were the same person.

There was no animal spirit remaining in the body. Even if one had possessed him, the moment the host died, the spirit would have dissipated or escaped.

But the corpse was too clean—unnaturally so.

That alone made something stand out.

Why, in this case, had there been no familial violence—no pattern resembling the previous incidents?

What separated this victim from the others?

“Shall I read it to you?”

Perhaps the background check had been completed.

Cheongmun lifted his tablet.

“Yes—hold on… okay, go ahead.”

Wonhyo opened an astrology app and typed the information as Cheongmun recited the birth date.

“…There it is. Jin-hae-gwan-sal. Can I also get the birth dates of the other perpetrators?”

He thought it might be too much to ask—especially after they had just kicked out the Special Investigations Unit—but asking wasn’t forbidden.

Contrary to his concern, Cheongmun shrugged easily.

“It’ll take some time, but I’ll compile the birth dates of both victims and perpetrators and send them to you before lunch.”

Lunch? Why lunch?

Wonhyo nodded automatically—and then suddenly froze.

“Oh—can I step outside for a bit?”

“…Are you done?”

“For now, yes.”

He scanned the room again.

“There really isn’t much to see. It’s… clean.”

“Clean? This place?”

Cheongmun gestured at the blood-soaked, chaotic room, but Wonhyo didn’t retract his words.

“The man I saw at the detention center still had traces of animal spirits. But here there’s nothing—none at all.

It’s like someone wiped the place clean.”

Not even a lingering notion or fragmented thought remained.

Only an overwhelming, malignant energy—its nature still undecipherable.

There were methods of tracking spiritual residue, but attempting that now felt dangerous.

Not because of a system penalty—

but because he sensed that approaching unprepared would end badly.

And the prosecutor who had barged in earlier had left a foul trail from the doorway to the stairwell, contaminating everything.

Finding clean spiritual traces now would be nearly impossible.

“Cleaned up… the scene was cleaned.”

Cheongmun rubbed his chin.

Others wore similar expressions.

“Is that… a problem?”

Wonhyo asked, puzzled.

Administrator Lee gave a wry smile.

“If the perpetrator used ghosts to kill, they likely wouldn’t worry about leaving evidence.

But if the scene feels ‘cleaned,’ it means the perpetrator knows someone is chasing them.”

Wonhyo pointed at himself. Lee nodded.

He blinked in confusion.

“Even if they know I’m chasing them, there’s nothing they can do. Sending ghosts after me wouldn’t help them.”

Even if his curse penalty triggered and he turned into a beast, he wasn’t defenseless—he had talismans.

“If the perpetrator has skills, he’s an awakened individual.

You should be more wary of knives than ghosts, sir,” Nam whispered beside him.

“Oh…”

So that’s what it meant—body-to-body combat.

Wonhyo let out a long sigh and slumped his shoulders.

“I should increase my stock of protection talismans.”

His reaction—more annoyance than fear—made Team 1 exchange looks.

“You’re not scared?”

Wonhyo tilted his head.

“When you do this kind of work, you meet a lot of people.”

You learn that beneath the floor is always another floor.

Some people lived so recklessly it made you wonder how they survived.

Others worshipped ghosts as divine beings.

“People who believe in doomsday myths… well, knives are nothing to them.”

There had been those who barged into shrines shouting,

‘Awakening is God’s will. Those who worship false deities must be purged.’

“They’re practically a terrorist group,” Lee muttered.

Everyone seemed to understand, asking nothing further.

Wonhyo turned toward Cheongmun to confirm whether he could step outside.

The man finally lifted his gaze from the floor.

“Inside the house—aside from the victim—did you sense any particular concentration of malice?”

“…Pardon?”

Wonhyo reconsidered the room and shook his head.

“It’s spread evenly. Nothing stands out. Not… in this state.”

He tapped the cube around him, and Cheongmun nodded faintly.

“Can we trace the victim’s movements? I need to know his route before returning home.”

Turning toward Administrators Kim and Nam, Cheongmun asked,

“Can we track his phone location?”

“It should be on record. Shall we trace his movements?”

“Yes.”

After issuing the command, Cheongmun stepped outside with the cube containing Wonhyo.

Despite the hour—past 3 a.m.—many windows were lit.

Cheongmun glanced at them, then expanded the cube’s volume and stepped inside.

Wonhyo, surprised, flinched at the unexpected closeness.

Cheongmun stood before him.

“There are several questions I want answers to.”

“Oh—yes. Please ask anything.”

Suddenly, all sound was cut off—

the distant hum of cars, the insects chirping between concrete walls, the hollow echo of the alley — all vanished.

Wonhyo swallowed.

“When you mentioned sal-chinda—the curse that harms another—”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Is it instantaneous? Or does it unfold gradually over time?”

Wonhyo rolled his eyes upward, thinking.

“…Both. But for this case, I think it was instantaneous.”

“Because no medium for the curse was found at the scene?”

“That’s part of it.

But mainly because of the keyword the system gave me—omens like Peach Blossom Sha or Wandering Star Sha. They’re all variations of the same idea—traits one is born with, not something you alter.”

He frowned, annoyed.

“You can twist talismans or rituals into curses or killing arts—that’s easy.

Changing ‘Let them succeed’ into ‘Let them fail’ is trivial.

But altering something like Gwi-mun-sal—that’s impossible.

It’s like saying, ‘I don’t like my blood type being A, please make it B.’

It sounds ridiculous to me.”

Cheongmun nodded, clearly understanding.