Political Statement (9)
As soon as Ju Kang-rim's words dropped, Kangryeong Daegun screamed like a rabid animal in its final throes.
He tried to flee from the black core, distancing himself desperately, but translucent chains erupted from the Saingeom, snaring him in an instant. Bound by those chains from the Saingeom, he was dragged behind Ju Kang-rim like a mangy dog, forced into position.
This was the formal authority of a grim reaper to conscript spirits in times of crisis—the Gyeopgeup Yeoyeollyeong.
Becoming a "formal grim reaper who can converse with the dead" wasn't just about chatting. It meant communicating with the departed, coercing them, even exploiting them at will.
The Gyeopgeup Yeoyeollyeong was typically used to flush out stubborn ghosts hunkered down in their haunts, but in dire situations like this, it could forcibly conscript them into service. Refusal meant submission through the power of the underworld.
[No! Please, don't send me there!]
Kangryeong Daegun gasped and groaned, his body trembling uncontrollably as if the terrors of his living days had resurfaced. Ju Kang-rim didn't know what horrors he was seeing, but he knew the man had died in a frenzy of fear.
"If you don't want to look like a sniveling wretch, do as you're told."
Kangryeong Daegun quivered, rooted in place. Even his grudge against Ju Kang-rim paled against his terror of the afterlife.
Having an immortal like Kangryeong Daegun groveling at his feet felt good, but Ju Kang-rim couldn't savor it long.
I've gotta wrap this up quick.
The black core was crumbling away bit by bit. Since this wasn't powered by a soul contract but raw forced conscription, the spirit was taking real-time damage—and even Ju Kang-rim, the grim reaper wielding it, felt his own spiritual energy wearing thin.
Once the Gyeopgeup Yeoyeollyeong was activated, it was best to end things fast.
[Ugh... uh... What... is this place...? Who... am I...?]
Kangryeong Daegun muttered in confusion, gradually regaining his composure. Meanwhile, the Death Knight had noticed Ju Kang-rim up to something and kept its distance, watching warily.
A regular zombie would've charged headlong, but this Death Knight understood tactics, strategy—and wielded weapons with skill.
"─────."
The Death Knight muttered something like an unintelligible whisper. Ju Kang-rim's ears pricked up. He couldn't make sense of the words, but they carried rhythm and structure—a language, unmistakably. Even to him, fluent in twenty tongues, it was alien.
French? Sounds European-ish...
The Death Knight ripped off a flipped car's door and hurled it like a discus. The mangled metal whistled viciously toward Ju Kang-rim.
He ducked effortlessly, but the Death Knight was already closing in—silent as a shadow, the instant the door left its hand.
Bam.
Ju Kang-rim barely blocked the Death Knight's body slam with his shoulder. It hit like a truck. Park Tae-hyeon was barefoot in tattered suit pants, yet his body felt forged of steel.
"No way—it's actually steel?"
Through the black mist clinging to him, the silhouette gleamed: armor of iron. Park Tae-hyeon's form was slowly sheathing itself in ancient, weathered medieval plate, emerging from the smoke.
If not for my uniform, my elbow would've snapped.
Ju Kang-rim pulled back before the second strike could land. The Death Knight lunged to follow up, but when he swung the Saingeom, it retreated—instinctively sensing the danger.
Watching this, Kangryeong Daegun muttered:
[Struggling against mere rabble like that...? Did I really lose to trash like him?]
With his confusion fading, Kangryeong Daegun was back to his haughty commentary. But Ju Kang-rim fixated not on his state, but his words.
"Rabble? You know what that thing is?"
Ju Kang-rim asked, genuinely surprised. The Death Knight's true nature was murky, but tied to necromancy for sure. He'd summoned Kangryeong Daegun for countermeasures, not expecting instant recognition.
[Of course. It's not even a proper spirit general—just lowly soldier scum.]
Ju Kang-rim agreed the Death Knight's caliber was grunt-level compared to a Knight Order commander. But its raw power and speed demanded an A-rank awakener at peak form.
[Complicated backstory or not, trash bows to authority. Just flash your rank, and it'll fold.]
My rank?
Ju Kang-rim had no clue what he meant and stayed silent—just long enough to think, without awkwardness—then brushed it off.
"If I planned to handle it myself, I wouldn't need you. Kangryeong Daegun—time to test your skills."
[A test? Fine... This is getting old anyway. I'll play along.]
"And your speech's gotten awfully curt. You know your place, right?"
[...What do you take me for, some kid...? Cut me some slack.]
Kangryeong Daegun grumbled meekly. The chains binding him seemed to cramp not just his soul, but his mind too.
"Do it right, and I'll overlook the informal talk."
Relieved, Kangryeong Daegun puffed out his chest. The chains rattled as he pointed at the Death Knight.
[No altar, no sacrifice—but you don't need a rake to weed the garden.]
Tinkle.
A bell rang from empty air. Ju Kang-rim felt a chill wind and eerie aura creep over his back.
He realized Kangryeong Daegun was cursing it. The spirit's ghostly laughter echoed.
[Wandering soul clinging to the living world—come with me. Join us!]
Screeeeech.
Wind whipped Ju Kang-rim's uniform wildly. Kangryeong Daegun's robes and hair thrashed like in a gale. But the actual breeze was mild—a mere zephyr to the living Ju Kang-rim. Even the flames leaping from the burning car swayed lazily.
The Death Knight...?
Park Tae-hyeon's Death Knight, however, flickered like a candle in a storm. He hunched against an invisible gale, resisting fiercely.
Then Kangryeong Daegun's sharp voice cracked out:
[What're you waiting for? Time for some physical therapy!]
"Physical therapy?"
[That's how you exorcise possessions—beat the ghost out!]
Ju Kang-rim nodded at the sound logic. He'd dealt with possessed folks before; a few whacks with the Saingeom always did the trick.
He gripped the Saingeom tight and charged the immobilized Death Knight. It reacted late, shifting to defense. A hand axe whirled toward him with a savage howl.
Clang.
The axe smashed his wrist guard brutally. The Saingeom brimmed with vengeful spirits, snapping the guard and biting flesh.
But that was it. For an immortal, a mere scrape.
The real shock hit the Death Knight. Boom! The instant the axe struck its wrist guard, it flew back like caught in an explosion.
As the black smoke thinned, Park Tae-hyeon's pallid face regained color. He twitched, his dazed eyes slowly returning.
"────!!"
The Death Knight surged back into Park Tae-hyeon like a specter. Linked by smoke, it wouldn't detach easily.
Ju Kang-rim didn't miss a beat, swinging the Saingeom again.
Whoosh, bam. Crunch.
The hand axe savagely struck Park Tae-hyeon's neck, head, and heart in rapid succession. Lethal to any mortal—but mere stuns for immortals. Especially with a Death Knight.
"───, ─! ─!!"
The Death Knight writhed, chanting nonsense, but each blow from Ju Kang-rim ejected it from Park Tae-hyeon's body. Kangryeong Daegun's amplified curse kept dragging it out.
Kangryeong Daegun cackled sinisterly at the tumbling Death Knight.
But Ju Kang-rim's time was short. Even Kangryeong Daegun couldn't curse forever.
He had to end this now.
"Park Tae-hyeon!"
To grant him true death, Ju Kang-rim attempted the saja chohun. Park Tae-hyeon had one last use left.
But the Death Knight seeped back in, reclaiming control. Ju Kang-rim smashed its "head" again, banishing it.
Park Tae-hyeon's face was unrecognizable, but his ears remained intact.
"Park Tae-hyeon!"
"────!!"
Ju Kang-rim and the Death Knight roared in unison.
That was the timeline the doctor had given when Park Tae-hyeon received his terminal diagnosis.
It came as no shock. His father and grandfather had died of the same illness, and he'd always assumed he'd follow suit someday.
So instead of surprise, rage boiled up. He'd anticipated it, prepared meticulously, gotten checkups every six months without fail.
Millions poured into hospitals—pointless expenses, needless vulnerabilities exposed. Yet all for naught with this sudden death sentence.
Storming out after trashing the hospital director's office, he encountered a young Arab woman.
On this crucial checkup day, no appointments scheduled; his family, who should have been home, was absent.
She sat on the darkened living room sofa, whispering fluent Korean.
"Don't make a scene. Come in and sit."
Her voice twisted something in his chest like a vise. Park Tae-hyeon staggered, collapsing by the shoe rack unbidden.
She continued, ignoring his state.
"Park Tae-hyeon, I will grant you life."
"Wh-what...?"
Shock faded to suspicion—how had his info leaked? A sitting assemblyman with a terminal verdict wasn't trivial. He'd told no one, not even aides.
The hospital was suspect, but mishandling a VIP's health data would ruin them. And it wasn't some back-alley clinic.
He replayed her words.
"Who are you?"
"Who I am doesn't matter."
Somehow, it rang true. She spoke like a mere messenger.
"Your life, your ambitions, your values—all will continue unbroken."
Park Tae-hyeon wondered if she was hooking him up with a miracle doctor. His genetic disease was incurable. Extension possible, maybe—but without political viability, empty promises.
But if real...? With health lost, he had nothing left to lose. Even if she demanded he sell out the country, he'd hear her out.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing."
He doubted it. No one offered favors without strings. He'd assumed she'd use this as leverage.
But now, he knew: she truly wanted nothing.
Or rather, she didn't need to voice her desires.
"Just live. Live to survive. Give it your all to live."
Her goal matched his—his mere survival sufficed.
"Praise life, give thanks for today. Bow to yesterday's order, pray to tomorrow's hope."