Revisit: The Path of the Kaeyi Craftsman
Seojun examined the hanji. It simply read The Path of the Kaeyi Craftsman, offering no other information. Even when he injected mana, the paper showed no reaction. Instead, it absorbed the mana as if devouring it whole.
Ordinary methods won't work.
Seojun recalled the habits of the kaeyi. They clung to instinct over reason, symbols over logic. So the way to consume this hanji had to be symbolic as well. The shamans' ritual of burning talismans, dissolving the ashes in water, and drinking it down—the most primal, certain way to embody the target.
"It's insane, but..."
No other ideas came to him. Seojun filled a bowl with water and flicked on his lighter.
Tsss.
The moment the flame touched the hanji's corner, bluish smoke curled up. The paper burned away without scattering ashes. The black cinders clumped together, drawn like iron to a magnet, and plopped into the bowl. They dissolved into the water, thickening into inky sludge. An acrid metallic tang mixed with the musty scent of ancient hanji, wafting a nauseating aura.
"Whew."
Seojun held his breath and lifted the bowl. Gulp, gulp. He downed it in one go. The liquid scorched down his esophagus like a fireball. The instant it hit his stomach, searing energy flooded his body.
"Kuuk...!"
Seojun clutched his throat. This was no ordinary pain. Agony like his soul being wrung out slammed into his head. His vision flickered red, and tinnitus tore at his eardrums. The floor seemed to drop away, his consciousness plummeting into a fathomless abyss.
When he opened his eyes, the world was monochrome gray. Like stepping into a faded black-and-white photograph. Sky, earth, even the air—all ashen. In the midst of this barren expanse stood a dilapidated forge. Nothing like his own. Just a rough dirt floor, an anvil hewn from a massive boulder, and a furnace roaring with fierce flames.
This place...
Seojun instinctively knew it wasn't reality. A realm of the unconscious, or perhaps shards of memory guided by the paper.
And inside the weathered forge stood a man.
Clang. Clang.
Back turned, the man hammered away. Disheveled white hair, tattered hemp robes. Not a large frame, but the aura radiating from his back overwhelmed like a towering mountain range.
Seojun approached cautiously. The man should have sensed him, but he didn't turn. Utterly focused on the metal before him.
"Excuse me, are you Master Sintanjae?"
No response. Only the steady rhythm of hammer strikes.
"Master Sintanjae?"
Still nothing. Not ignoring him—it was as if he simply couldn't hear.
Seojun stepped into the man's line of sight. Only then did he look up.
Facing him squarely stole Seojun's breath. Burn scars ravaged half his face, his eyes still as a deep well, radiating an uncanny dissonance. Unlike the chilling otherworldliness of the Hahoe Mask or Taejagwi. This was an intensely human scent—rotting with the stench of a corpse.
"......"
The man regarded Seojun, then set down his hammer. He pointed to his ear and mouth, shaking his head.
Deaf and mute?
Seojun's brow furrowed. Kaeyi could communicate through thoughts alone, without voice. Yet this man was bound by physical limits.
—Are you Master Sintanjae?
The man read the words and grinned. A scarred, twisted smile, yet oddly hearty.
He traced a reply with his index finger.
=Nice to meet you.
The script was archaic, but Seojun grasped the meaning. Whether due to this special space or the man's ability, it didn't matter.
—Are you human?
=Half-human, half-kaeyi.
—What's that?
=A realm only those not born kaeyi can enter.
—If one becomes half-human half-kaeyi, the kaeyi transformation no longer erodes you?
=Yes.
—Can I learn it too?
Sintanjae scanned Seojun with a flat expression, appraising him like a piece of merchandise. After a moment, he wrote again.
=Impossible.
—Why?
=The way to wield kaeyi transformation is unique to each; you must awaken it yourself.
He tapped his chest firmly.
—Then why did you summon me?
=I merely found the kaeyi smith.
Sintanjae smeared the words away and rose. He grabbed a basket of charcoal and tossed pieces into the furnace. Even methodically, the flames held steady size.
What changed?
As Seojun stared puzzled, Sintanjae beckoned him closer.
Seojun approached, but nothing seemed different. Or rather—
This...
Facing the raging flames, no heat reached him. Were those flames even hot? But when a spark leaped out, blistering, suffocating heat erupted.
The flames' heat is contained.
Sintanjae casually extinguished the ember with his straw-sandaled foot. Then scrawled on the floor with the poker.
=What I'll teach is the path of the kaeyi smith.
The way to live as a blacksmith for kaeyi. Crafting what they need. Harmonizing with kaeyi to survive the hidden world.
=Open your eyes.
Seojun caught on and hesitated. Trauma from kaeyi transformation lingered like a scar.
=This is illusion; it's safe.
Unable to hide his unease despite the reassurance, he turned inward. Gradually, his inner voice grew clear, and the world shifted. The black-and-white scene gained red warmth, color blooming.
"Ah..."
At last, he truly saw the flames. Destructive as the sun, yet warmly embracing. He wiped away tears he hadn't noticed falling.
=Charcoal is the bones of those devoured by kaeyi, fire their souls, ash their liberation.
Poetic words, but no poem. Sintanjae set down the poker and added more charcoal. Endless from the small basket, like a cycle.
"Ah."
Watching the process, Seojun understood. This kaeyi smith soothed those killed by kaeyi in this illusory world, forging tools for the kaeyi.
Not guilt.
Mutual aid, in a way. Tales said souls wandered the nine heavens if devoured by kaeyi.
=Watch and learn.
Sintanjae drew a glowing metal lump from the furnace and set it on the anvil. It writhed like a living beast, exuding red energy.
Boom!
The hammer fell. Seojun expected thunder, but only a deep vibration rippled through the floor. From the impact point, the red aura vanished inward instantly.
Heat contained even in the metal.
Seojun watched, holding his breath. The lump shaped without cooling—skipping reheatings saved vast time. Maintaining ideal forging temperature ensured consistent crystal structure.
This is kaeyi smith forging.
Sintanjae's movements were precise yet swift. No wasted motion. He read the air as he raised the hammer, crushed the metal's resistance on the downswing.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The heavy thuds grew clear and crisp. The metal yielding to his will.
A nail?
A crude nail lay finished on the anvil. Laughable next to factory ones. But the true value was worlds apart.
=A gift.
Seojun took the crude nail offered to him. Cold metal, yet strangely warm.
—Thank you.
Sintanjae smirked at the thanks, then wrote with the poker.
=Trust nothing.
"What?"
The abrupt words slipped out aloud. He scrambled to write on the floor, but something seized his nape, yanking his consciousness away.
"Huuk!"
Seojun bolted awake, gasping ragged breaths. The familiar ceiling swam into view. Freed from the illusory world, back in reality. Hazy as a dream, yet memories sharp as crystal.
[Hello?]
A masked woman suddenly thrust her face close. Startled for a split second, he recognized the familiar mask. He shot up from his seat.
[Nice to see you.]
The egg ghost—no, Haran—removed her mask and greeted him. Her voice rang clear and bell-like in his mind, affectionate as ever.