Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Chant of the Mountain Sacrifice
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A horrific stench spread through the studio.
Striding out into the center of the lights was something bipedal with a pig's head.
An emaciated body.
Blood streamed from the eyes of the massive dead pig's head in place of its own.
Thirteen silver trays descended from the air on wires.
The round, massive silver trays were thickly and delicately engraved with decorations.
Screaming faces. Countless, hanging like clusters of grapes.
Lights came on at each podium.
The figures of pale-faced humans standing on the six podiums.
Waaaaah!
The audience seats were empty. But the recorded cheers mechanically filled the space.
The host stood before an unfamiliar employee.
The employee in the mole mask hunched his shoulders.
Question.
Which of the following has the longest lifespan?
1. Pig 2. Human 3. Rabbit 4. Flea
"H-Human. Number 2, human...!"
Relief washed visibly over the eyes hidden beneath the mole mask.
It made sense. If this had been the original broadcast of the Tuesday Talk Show, the segment would have simply moved forward amidst canned applause.
But this new, twisted segment featured a gruesome addition.
The conductor, bearing the bleeding, severed head of a pig, slowly raised its skeletal arms and slashed the air with a silver baton.
The mole-masked employee's head was violently torn from his neck.
Thud.
The headless corpse crumpled beneath the podium like a discarded, broken puppet.
"...!"
Meanwhile, the severed head floated upward, suspended by an unseen force, until it settled squarely onto one of the intricately engraved silver trays.
Its jaw was still working, silently mouthing words.
As the pig-headed entity raised its baton again, the gaping mouth of the severed head suddenly unleashed a piercing, crystal-clear shriek, perfectly in tune with the conductor's movements.
"H-Human. It's human, humaaaannnnn!"
The voice was warped and unnatural, as if an invisible hand was brutally wringing the vocal cords to produce the vibrating resonance of a woodwind instrument.
The macabre choir practice had officially commenced.
The severed heads were condemned to endlessly loop the final, panicked words they had spoken before their deaths.
Chorus of the Sacrificial Lambs
This anomaly consists of one central conductor and 13 summoned silver trays.
The severed heads of the talk show contestants are placed upon these silver trays. The specific selection criteria dictating who is chosen is governed entirely by the rules of that day's broadcast segment. Once fused to a tray, each head emits distinct, looping phrases and instrumental resonances, culminating in a grotesque a capella performance.
The highest recorded number of active heads collected in a single instance is 7.
Exposure to One (1) Head: Induces minor localized headaches, general anxiety, and unpredictable mood swings.
If you were simply reading this ghost story from the safety of a cozy armchair, you might rationalize the danger.
'Just one head? For a scenario this horrific, that's surprisingly manageable.'
But if you were actually trapped in the middle of this blood-soaked studio, such comforting thoughts would evaporate instantly.
They certainly didn't comfort the employee who was next in line.
"Aaaaaagh!! S-Siyeon, Si...!"
Incineration.
The spotlight above another podium abruptly snapped off. A blackened, charred husk collapsed onto the stage floor, fusing with the tiles. The head, completely unscathed, floated up to join the grisly ensemble, adding its voice to the eerie melody.
"H-Human. Number 2. Humaaaan!"
"I don't know! I don't know the fucking answer!"
The employee in the jellyfish mask broke down and shrieked before the host could even finish speaking.
His terrified instincts had likely convinced him that failing the quiz upfront and enduring whatever punishment followed would be vastly preferable to 'succeeding' and joining the choir.
It was, admittedly, a remarkably astute judgment call.
...Albeit an entirely meaningless one.
His head detonated.
Like a gruesome, wet firecracker, blood and bone fragments sprayed through the air, mixing sickeningly with the glittering confetti and blinding flashes of the studio's mirror ball.
A canned track of collective, disappointed sighs blended seamlessly with rapturous applause, echoing mechanically off the studio walls.
"......"
I realized the horrifying truth.
'There are no actual survival punishments in this segment. If you fail the quiz, you are simply executed via disqualification.'
I blinked, my mind struggling to process the carnage.
It felt utterly surreal.
Half of the participants had been slaughtered within the first five minutes of the recording.
And there were no exits.
Only three of us were left standing.
The assistant manager and the supervisor of D-squad.
And me.
"......"
A grim fact I had been desperately trying to suppress suddenly pushed its way to the forefront of my mind.
...The names of these senior supervisors were never mentioned anywhere in the official wiki entry.
It was the exact same situation as Go Yeongeun, my fellow rookie. I vividly recalled the chilling realization that had hit me when I first heard her name.
– Either she resigned early on after narrowly surviving the initial ghost stories...
– Or she was killed immediately.
Supervisor Park was the next target.
Park Minseong.
Standing at the podium furthest away from mine, his complexion had turned the color of ash.
It was a localized death sentence, and the executioner's gaze would invariably shift to me next...
No.
'Pull yourself together!'
Concealed behind my podium, I drove a fist hard into my own stomach.
The sharp, sudden pain forced my hyperventilating mind to clear.
'Being paralyzed by terror isn't an excuse for inaction.'
This wasn't a scenario where cowering achieved anything.
'It's a disaster.'
It felt exactly like standing helplessly in the path of a tsunami—the sheer, overwhelming scale of the anomaly's power.
I had been dragged blindly into a catastrophic event. But... if I succumbed to panic now, the game was over. I wouldn't even have a fighting chance to survive.
I couldn't afford to forget my one advantage. Out of everyone trapped in this room, I possessed the highest probability of walking out alive! I just had to think critically.
'Right.'
I had intel. I had items.
Could I exploit this tiny window while the host and the camera crew were focused entirely on him? Was there truly no angle I could leverage?
I frantically cataloged the items hidden in my inventory. I mentally reviewed every established rule and quirk governing this specific ghost story.
'I'm not aiming for a miracle, but...'
If I could just create a momentary opening.
I wasn't delusional enough to think I could force this deranged talk show to cancel its programming. But if I could just halt production for a second... just for one brief moment...
Ah.
I snapped my head up.
The host's broad back was positioned directly in front of my podium.
He was currently leaning in, preparing to deliver the fatal quiz question to Supervisor Park.
He was incredibly close.
'...If that's the case!'
I kept my trembling hands hidden below the lip of the podium. Crouching slightly, I smoothly extracted two items from the inner pocket of my suit. A cheap, cheerful Smiley Sticker and a small beverage can clearly labeled 'Drink Me'.
'Move, move, move.'
I popped the tab on the can.
Then, I slapped the Smiley Sticker directly onto the cold metal of the container.
Hurry. Faster.
"...Ah. Before I submit my answer, is it permissible to address the viewers at home?"
Supervisor Park turned toward the primary camera lens, maintaining the facade of addressing an audience, but his eyes darted desperately toward me and Assistant Manager Eun.
He was locking onto our positions.
"...I currently have a family member recovering in the hospital. If... if at all possible, I would be eternally grateful if someone could check in on her after this broadcast concludes."
Supervisor Park forced a stiff, terrified smile, sweat visibly beading on his forehead. "I... I don't know the answer..."
"Excuse me for a moment."
I boldly thrust my left hand into the air.
"Mr. Host."
In the exact same fraction of a second that his attention snapped toward me...
I shot my right hand forward and rapidly slapped several liquid-soaked Smiley Stickers directly underneath the retro TV that served as the host's head.
"......"
Splat.
A single drop of liquid fell, hitting the studio floor.
Did the cameras catch that movement? Did the faceless crew notice my interference?
No. If they had registered it as a hostile act, my skull would have already detonated.
They completely missed it.
I swallowed the lump of terror in my throat.
Glancing to my side, I saw Supervisor Park staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. He was clearly stunned that my spontaneous interruption hadn't resulted in my immediate incineration.
It was a massive gamble.
'But I had a solid operational theory.'
Hadn't the host explicitly stated it during the intro?
– We're pre-recording this session, so the atmosphere will be much more relaxed than usual! Haha!
By his own admission, this was not a live broadcast.
'Therefore, as long as I don't aggressively sabotage the set or actively refuse to participate, a minor interruption shouldn't trigger the penalty for disrupting the broadcast.'
Merely raising my hand to make a polite, personal request shouldn't cross the threshold into a fatal violation!
My theory held.
"Yes."
I subtly shifted my gaze toward the damp spot beneath the host's TV monitor.
Then, lowering my voice so only the host's audio receivers would pick it up, I murmured, "I'm experiencing severe vertigo. Would it be possible... to take a brief intermission?"
The cocktail I had just applied...
The 'Smiley Sticker'—an item that artificially induces a mild, agreeable sense of friendliness when affixed to any sentient entity.
And the 'Alice Picnic Set / Canned Drink'—a consumable modifier that exponentially doubles the effect of the primary item. I had saturated the sticker in the liquid and adhered it directly to the host's physical form.
...Granted, the core premise was highly debatable.
– Does this anomalous host qualify as a 'sentient being'?
He was objectively a monster, not a human.
But he had to possess some underlying framework of intelligence, right?
No, he must have it. I had staked my life on that assumption.
And there was no rewinding the clock now.
If I was flagged for incineration due to broadcast interference? Well, if death was inevitable, I'd rather face it having actively tried to survive, rather than waiting passively like a lamb.
The shirt clinging to my spine was drenched in cold sweat. The host let out a sharp burst of static...
"......"
The glowing display on the host's monitor suddenly went pitch black.
He grandly raised his right hand...
The jaunty studio band immediately ceased playing.
The faceless staff broke into a low, buzzing murmur.
The harsh, glaring camera lights were abruptly extinguished.
A faceless crew member, laden with assorted maintenance tools, sprinted onto the stage and began vigorously polishing the glass of the vintage TV screen.
Once the host deemed the touch-up satisfactory, he gently caught the makeup artist's arm and gestured in my direction.
With that, the host flashed a massive, winking emoticon on his monitor exclusively at me, followed by a fleeting string of text.
"...Thank you."
I had pulled it off.
'At least temporarily.'
I stumbled down from the podium, my legs feeling like lead as I trailed behind the makeup artist.
Despite the official pause in production, the grotesque, pig-headed conductor remained rooted to the center of the stage, its skeletal arm rigidly swinging the baton in total silence.
The horrific silver trays hovering above continued to project their warped, agonizing melodies from the severed human heads.
'Keep it together.'
I forced myself to stare straight ahead.
Moving on stiff, mechanical legs, I navigated past the center stage...
As I squeezed past the opposing podium, Assistant Manager Eun deftly pressed a small object into my palm.
"...!"
I shot a quick glance at her face.
I could read the silent command on her lips.
– Check it. Alone.
What had she given me?
The faceless guide deposited me at a heavy door situated just behind the main stage.
The interior was styled like a classic, old-Hollywood green room.
Except, of course, for the unsettling quantity of vintage, black-and-white broadcast posters plastered haphazardly across every available surface like warding talismans.
"Thank you."
The makeup artist offered a jerky, silent nod before vanishing into the corridor.
Click.
I locked the door.
"Huu..."
...I was still breathing.
I had only bought myself 30 minutes, but I had successfully delayed my execution.
'I have to maximize this window.'
And I had been given a new asset to work with.
I immediately uncurled my fist to inspect the object Assistant Manager Eun had covertly passed me.
The item she had deemed critical enough to risk her life transferring in that bloodbath was...
"...A button?"
It was a small, innocuous button, identical to the type sewn onto a standard company suit jacket.
But it wasn't just decorative; it was tactical. It possessed a slight give, indicating an internal mechanism designed to transmit a signal when depressed.
"......"
There was only one way to determine its function, and the clock was rapidly ticking down.
'She handed this over because she believed it could save us.'
I firmly pressed the button.
Beep... beep... beep...
......
Click.
[This is Lee Jaheon speaking.]
"...!"
[Identify yourself. This signal is registered to Assistant Manager Eun Haje's emergency beacon.]
Section Chief Lee Jaheon.
The squad leader of the Field Exploration Team's D-squad, the man who was currently supposed to be deployed on an active field operation, was answering on the other end of the line.