Return as a Shaman — 2

A mudang is a female cleric who has undergone Spirit Descent. Through negotiation with the native gods of the land, she performs a religious rite known as a Gut.

To cut straight to the conclusion:

Shamanism is real.

Shamanism is a kind of religion, and debating whether a religion "exists" is strange even by my own standards — but still.

At the very least, shamanism is not something that exists only in a spiritual sense. It can exert its influence on the material world as well.

I did not become a shaman for no reason after tumbling out of the twenty-first century. And no matter how unhinged a tyrant he was, the king did not place his trust in me for nothing either.

So if I performed a divination Gut and cast my own fortune, I would at least be able to grasp exactly how I ought to act from this point forward.

…There was one problem, however.

Whether the native gods even existed in this world.

I had spent ten years rolling around the palace of a tyrant, and my ability to read a situation was second to none. Different world or not, this place was clearly not the twenty-first century I knew. The fact that I was a woman instead of a man was strange enough on its own.

Because the world was different, I had to prepare for the worst possibility from the start — that the native gods simply did not exist here.

Baridegi. Cheoyong. Bihyeongryang.

Lend your ears to my voice.

To perform a Gut, a medium is essential. But I had lost every mugu I once possessed. No shinkal. No mudang-bangul. No gyeongpan.

With nothing left, the only option was to open a dance floor in a wide-open space — which was why I had come outside in the first place.

Fortunately, the streets were empty. The dictator's control, no doubt. I needed to finish the Gut quickly and get back home.

"Hss… haaaaa…"

I drew a deep breath and checked for any sign of people nearby.

Good. No one.

If I cast the fortune and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠returned home within a quarter of an hour, I would not end up hauled off by the police.

I was just about to begin the divination Gut when a smell drifted in from somewhere — strange, and intensely strong.

Sniff. Sniff sniff.

This was… the scent of modern sweets!

The source was a closed street stall.

Hss.

Hssssssssss.

Clear, sticky drool began pouring from the corners of my mouth.

Naturally enough, food had been scarce in Joseon, and sweet food scarcest of all. As the king's master shaman I had leveraged my station to taste every delicacy under heaven — yet not a single dish could even be compared to modern food. For thirty years I had ached for the cuisine of the Republic of Korea.

And now the purest crystallization of modern food sat right before my eyes.

That food's name was, if I remembered correctly, bungeo-bap.

"…"

Should I steal it?

In Joseon, thievery earned you a flogging. It was an extremely heavy punishment — no one would even dream of stealing unless they were either suicidally bold or on the brink of starvation. I knew that well enough from experience. The flesh of your backside splits open until scraps of it stick to your clothes.

But as I recalled, modern penalties for theft were absurdly light compared to Joseon's. One little bungeo-bap…

…I could always find the owner later and perform a divination Gut for them. That would settle things somehow.

I made my way to the stall and shook it this way and that.

"Bungeo-bap, come forth!"

I even tried giving it an order, half-wondering if it was some kind of giant machine — but the closed stall door would not open ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no matter what I did.

…I would deal with it after the Gut was finished.

I began the divination Gut at once, stepping through the dance. For the chant — yes, the Cheongsin-gyeong would do.

I was chanting with everything I had, deep in the divination Gut, when—

"…"

"…"

"…Damn."

I had been mistaken. I had assumed this world was different from the one I knew — that there were no evil spirits here.

There was something foul.

And not just any foul thing: a powerful evil spirit radiating a sinister aura strong enough to make the curtains tremble.

I had purged countless evil spirits during my years in Joseon. But I had never imagined one would be wandering so brazenly through the middle of a street — a modern street, no less.

"Tsk. A sight that would enrage the Ancestral Shaman Gods themselves."

In Joseon, skilled mudang had been as common as dirt — myself and my master among them. Unless a spirit radiated truly overwhelming power, it would not even dare show itself in public.

But in this modern age, had every capable mudang been suppressed by the dictator? For an evil spirit like that to stroll the streets… as the king's master shaman, I could not stand by and watch.

The street was closer than I thought. It was nearby.

This was no time for a divination Gut.

I stopped the ritual, sat down on the spot, and began reciting scripture. This was not a spirit that simple exorcism verses could drive off. For purging evil spirits, scripture-chanting was supreme — and supreme among those was the greatest of all spirit-hunters' arts:

The Cheoyong-ga of Cheoyong himself.

As I chanted the Cheoyong-ga, I felt a quiet relief. Cheoyong existed in this world too — I could feel his sacred power.

And the voice of this body was not half bad. A weak voice meant a weak Gut, so I had been worried… but if anything, the force of this voice was far stronger than it had been when I was a man.

Even without mugu, even without channeling a body-guardian deity, I would be more than capable of purging that evil spirit.

As the Cheoyong-ga continued, the spirit's foul aura grew thinner and thinner. If I finished the song to the end, the spirit would dissolve cleanly — no need even to fling a curse-bolt.

But.

It seemed Lord Cheoyong intended to test me.

From somewhere, a sky-rending roar began to thunder through the air.

I knew that sound.

…The roar of a running machine-carriage.

The exhaust of a motor vehicle, heard for the first time in thirty years, was louder than I had ever imagined. I had no choice but to break off the Cheoyong-ga mid-verse.

Damn it.

The evil spirit's aura was fading — not because it was dissolving, but because it was fleeing…!

Ah, damn it all!

I tried to refocus and resume the Cheoyong Gut—

But it was already too late.

Before I knew it, men in black clothing had begun to surround me. Even to my eye, their movements were remarkably well-coordinated.

The man who appeared to lead the group bellowed:

"Unranked entity! Preliminary intel was wrong — prepare for variables!"

"Excuse me. I do not know what this is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about, but…"

"Hell, it's sentient! This one can talk!"

…Hm?

I could read the attitude of the man in front of me perfectly. It was the way one treated something that was not human.

I opened my mouth calmly.

"Indeed. I, too, am human."

"…"

The man mulled over my words for a long moment, then issued an order to the attendant beside him.

"Take a reading."

"Specter Energy level: five hundred…"

"No — one thousand…"

"I-it's still climbing!"

"…Damn it, get that thing out — now!"

The attendant pulled a strange device from the bag he was carrying. It did not look like a gun. Even after all this time, I had not forgotten what a gun looked like. If anything, it resembled a writing instrument.

The man leveled the gray pen-like device at me and spoke.

"In accordance with the response manual for unidentified sentient entities, we will now execute protocol."

Click.

He pressed the device, and a blinding light spilled from its tip.

"Anomaly who claims to be human while wearing a woman's body."

"Have you ever caused harm to a human being,"

"or do you intend to cause harm in the future?"

"Th-that is preposterous!"

"As I said — I am human!"

"For a human to harm another human is a violation of the natural order!"

"…"

"…If I am to be fully honest! I did plan to steal a bungeo-bap!"

"B-but I have not yet done so, so it is not theft!"

The man cut me off.

"…It's true."

"Fine. Then cooperate with us."

"No — you cooperate with me!"

"This is no time for this!"

"I believe I have a fair idea why you lot appeared here!"

"I do not know the details, but you must have been tracking that powerful evil spirit yourselves!"

There was no other reason for these suspicious men to materialize out of nowhere. They were clearly not mudang… and yet they possessed some special ability that let them track evil spirits all the same.

I smiled brightly and spoke again.

"I shall offer you my assistance."

The reply was not what I expected.

"Dialogue protocol terminated."

"Subdue it."

The instant the words left his mouth, the black-clad men around me fired something.

Pssh.

…Did I just get shot?

A bullet to the chest means death. That was ordinary common sense I had not forgotten.

Ah. How hollow. Had that brilliant old mudang grandmother foreseen that my life would end this emptily as well?

And yet, strangely, there was no pai—

"Ghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—!"

Electricity surged through my body.

"Urghhhhhhhhh—!"

"Gyaaaaaaaaah—!"

"You son of a biiiiiiiiitch—!"

"Grade-3 non-lethal round impact confirmed."

"Specter Energy concentration decreasing."

"Current Specter Energy concentration: two hundred."

"Entity neutralized."

"Per manual — initiating Grade-3 restraints."

As my consciousness faded, I realized the foul presence had vanished completely. And as a bonus, the result of the divination Gut I had started earlier stamped itself into my mind.