The Thorny Path to Seong Ha-yeon

The path to Seong Ha-yeon was a brutal one. Riding Bade's winds, I got sliced by leaves more times than I could count and even jabbed in the eye by a stray branch. The cuts weren't deep, but they stung like hell. Maybe because of the medicine Kang Ji-a gave me that morning, but they hurt way more than they should have. On top of that, there was no proper entrance, and with the situation so urgent, I just smashed through a window. I figured crouching down would do the trick, but glass shards still embedded themselves all over my body. That hurt way more than it should have, too.

As I brushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the glass off my clothes, too dazed by the pain to think straight, a bizarre scene caught my eye.

"Ah... ugh...."

First off, a female student collapsed against the wall, covered in blood... The girl Seong Ha-yeon always kept close, though I couldn't recall her name. Next to her, Seong Ha-yeon sat huddled with her head bowed, eyes squeezed shut and ears plugged. Taxidermy dolls danced around her, singing some eerie song. There were three of them: an upper body, a lower body, and...

"A head."

The moment I saw the head rolling around Seong Ha-yeon, Baron Samedi's prophecy flashed in my mind. I was dead certain that thing was the head he warned me about.

I recalled Baron Samedi's prophecy. Today, he'd warned me to beware of screams and wails. When the screams echoed from the Holy Training Ground, So Do-jin vanished and the taxidermy dolls appeared. Then he said not to believe the words of the head. I had no idea what it meant exactly, but letting that head speak seemed like a bad idea.

Crunch!

So I stomped on it first, crushing it underfoot. Once the head burst, the upper and lower bodies deflated like punctured balloons and slumped to the floor. Targeting the head first had been the right call. Relieved things hadn't gotten more complicated, I approached Seong Ha-yeon and pried open her hand.

The scar was right there.

"Who'd you show this to?"

"W-what do you mean, who...?"

Seong Ha-yeon blinked stupidly. She was trembling. Whatever the taxidermy dolls had done to her, it must've shaken her badly. But now wasn't the time to coddle her.

"This scar. Who'd you show it to besides me?"

I asked again. Seong Ha-yeon stared blankly for a long moment, lips sealed—whether deep in thought or just dazed, I couldn't tell. I was about to press her when she finally spoke.

"N-no one."

"No one? That can't be right."

"Ra-hee knows, but the others..."

Ah, so the collapsed girl's name was Kim Ra-hee. Glancing her way, I saw her gasping ragged breaths through bloodied lips. She didn't look fatally wounded, but the blood loss was severe. I'd have to grill Seong Ha-yeon for more info, then hit Ra-hee with a restoration spell or some healing.

"You two been together all day?"

I asked, ignoring Ra-hee's pleading eyes.

"Probably..."

"Be specific."

"Y-yes. Yes, we were together the whole time..."

Seong Ha-yeon's shoulders shook as she backed away. Every time I spoke, she flinched like I might strike her, trying to put distance between us. I grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

"Did you skip class yesterday?"

"P-pardon? Y-yes. Huh? How did you..."

I'd just had a hunch and tested it—my instincts were spot on. Two days ago, the day after the scar appeared on her hand, she'd skipped with some excuse about a hospital visit. The scar on her palm was fresh, only two days old. According to Seong Ha-yeon, besides me, only Kim Ra-hee knew about it. And with her skipping yesterday, the odds of anyone else spotting it by chance were low.

But Kim Ra-hee had no connection to Jeong In-ah. They probably didn't even know each other existed. Ra-hee couldn't be a Satanist.

"..."

Then who the hell was it? I met ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jeong In-ah this morning, but I hadn't seen Kim Jin-seo lately. Someone who knew about the scar on Seong Ha-yeon's palm. No clue. Zero.

I thought we'd gotten close, but she felt farther away than ever.

"...Oh, one more person."

Seong Ha-yeon spoke up then.

"Who."

"A guy... Is that okay?"

"What does it matter?"

I shot back, incredulous. Part of me wanted to yell, but she'd just cower again, so I held back and waited for her to continue.

Seong Ha-yeon hesitated forever before murmuring,

"Y-yesterday, someone came to my house..."

She darted her eyes around, fumbling her words. The story went back to yesterday—the day after the scar appeared on her hand.

*

Florence Academy's main gate was bursting with flowers. Tradition had graduates planting them as they left, and they bloomed just as freshmen arrived in spring. As the blossoms swayed in the breeze, welcoming new students, the teachers would finally feel the new semester's reality sink in, reflecting bittersweetly on those who stayed or left to forge their paths.

Now those flowers were soaked in blood. Every colorful petal drowned in red. The blood was thick, unyielding even to the rain. The flowers bobbed their heads with each droplet, an eerie sight.

The battle between the holy knights and the mercenaries had been that fierce.

"...Can't you handle a weapon?"

The man leveled his pitchfork at Han Dae-ho and asked. During the fight, Han Dae-ho had taken a steel ball to the ribs, cracking them, and a spear had pierced his thigh clean through. Injuries that would've killed anyone else, yet he stood firm. A holy knight doesn't bow before mercenaries—that was his stubborn pride. He called it honor, but to the man, it was just irrational obstinacy.

"You think I need a weapon to chase off mercenary scum?"

Han Dae-ho glared. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Looks like you tried covering individual incompetence with training and gear... Must suck that it didn't pan out."

"Shut your trap. Say one more word, and I'll rip your mouth off."

"If you'd picked up your subordinate's gear instead, the outcome might've been different."

The man glanced around. His holy knight subordinates were either unconscious or combat-ineffective from wounds. Some mercenaries were badly hurt too, but far fewer than the knights.

The Eastern Holy Knight Order had boosted their combat power through training. It had worked somewhat, turning a ragtag bunch that died scattered or clumped into a unit that could survive together. Still, they'd been crushed by the Crow Mercenaries—stronger than their rumors suggested. They fought by jabbing strange drugs into their own arms or thighs mid-battle instead of blessings.

"We won't kill you, so no worries."

The man raised his pitchfork. The Crows' contract was to block the gate—no one in or out. They didn't kill holy knights, sticking strictly to orders without needless murder. That infuriated Han Dae-ho even more. Defeated by mere mercenaries wasn't enough; he owed his life to their mercy. The ultimate humiliation for a holy knight.

"If you won't kill me, why hold that?"

"You're thinking of ambushing me the second I slip, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"Instinct."

"All you blind bastards got good instincts?"

"The ones who don't are all dead."

The man smiled, resignation in it. Han Dae-ho forced his bent, unyielding knee straight and stood. A grotesque crack sounded from it, pain exploding through his body. His knee had been worsening; now it acted up again. No time to collapse—he ignored it.

"Better stay down."

"Fuck off."

"Push it, and you might end up crippled."

"How thoughtful of a mercenary. I'm touched."

Han Dae-ho sneered, flicking blood from his eye socket. Through his half-blocked vision, he glared and raised a fist. He swung with everything left—slow, then dropping. No strength remained to strike. He braced against the ground to keep from falling.

Crunch!

"Gah, aaagh...!"

In that instant, the man slammed the pitchfork onto Han Dae-ho's hand, pinning it to the earth. He ground it in, securing it. Each twist drew a sharp yelp from Han Dae-ho.

"Pull it out, you fucking bastard..."

"Can't. You'd kill me."

Han Dae-ho tried yanking free, but it held fast. The man stared at his agonized glare with milky eyes and slumped to the ground. His own state was dire—no visible wounds, but his gut screamed like ruptured intestines from Han Dae-ho's blows. Organs damaged, probably.

Still, Han Dae-ho strained to free his hand.

"Give it up."

The man mocked.

"Shut up."

Han Dae-ho's bloodshot eyes bored into him. Creak, creak... He tugged again. Even if freed, he couldn't fight—too battered. Yet he kept trying, intent on standing to battle on, crippled or dead. Not pride this time. Just wounded ego.

Watching, the man rasped,

"Move anymore, and that hand's done for life—"

Squelch!

His mocking concern cut short. Han Dae-ho had wrenched his hand free. Clatter—the pitchfork hit the ground as he rose. Divine light—blessing and healing—flowed from his massive frame. Not just him; light poured over all fallen or unconscious holy knights.

Dozens of massive divine power circles hovered in the sky. Light enveloped them, mending wounds, filling limbs with new strength. Minds cleared. Knights stirred, rising one by one.

The sublime light from heaven healed and empowered them—a miracle. Fear etched the mercenaries' faces; madness gleamed in the knights' eyes.

"...Adonai watches us."

Han Dae-ho muttered amid the glow.

"Adonai watches us! Rise! In Adonai's name!"

His mutter became a roar. With each shout, rain and blood trembled on the knights' faces. They reclaimed weapons, reformed ranks, quaking as they gazed at the light, tears streaming.

"For Adonai's kingdom!"

"In Adonai's name!"

"For Adonai's kingdom!"

Crying out God's name, faces alight with faith, they charged. Mercenaries who'd routed them backed away in terror. To the knights, it was conviction; to mercenaries, rabid madness.

"...They're completely insane."

The man muttered. Han Dae-ho strode toward him. The man looked up with milky eyes. Han Dae-ho loomed, fist clenched—the glowing punch massive, heavy.

"Don't worry. I won't kill you."

Crack!

Han Dae-ho's fist smashed the man's jaw. He flipped back, out cold.

Swift scouts on trees took down javelin throwers and slingers. Blessed in light, they overwhelmed them. Rifle squads bashed mercenary heads with unloaded guns. Sickles and clubs clattered down.

The sudden light reversed the tide instantly. Scouts cuffed downed mercenaries; rifle squads reloaded rubber bullets, aiming at the rest.

"O Hui-jin! Support requested from rescue?"

"Yes, sir! They'll be here soon!"

Wheeee!

Perfect timing—knight vehicles arrived. Rescue teams poured out. Assault teams loaded captured mercenaries; rescuers loaded the unhealed wounded.

The knights moved like clockwork. Han Dae-ho's training, fruitless in battle, now shone.

"Captain! Here...!"

A rescuer loading patients yelled urgently. Han Dae-ho snapped to and approached. A middle-aged man knelt vomiting blood—nosebleed, bloody tears. Blood poured from every orifice: eyes, nose, mouth, ears.

"...Chairman!"

It was Kim Chang-won. Former Central Priest Order captain, archbishop-level priest, he'd retired abruptly for health reasons. Unused divine power faded from his fingertips. Han Dae-ho realized too late: the sky's light was Kim Chang-won's blessing and healing circles.

"Cough, urgh..."

"Rescue! Emergency medics assemble! Critical patient!"

"N-no. I'm fine. Students first... hospital... hospital!"

"Understood! Leave the rest to us!"

Kim Chang-won urged amid blood. Han Dae-ho nodded—prioritize students and hospital patients. Two rescuers loaded him; the vehicle sped off.

Kim Chang-won had severe backlash from overusing divine power. It forced his retirement. Even carted away, he wallowed in self-loathing for failing to protect the school.

With captures and triage wrapping up, Han Dae-ho eyed Florence. Black clouds swirled over the main building's spire. Wind howled, thunder flashed. Florence gleamed under light, but chilled under shadow.

"Rescue to hospital. Scouts, sweep the fence—send injured to gate. Watch for demon toxin poisoning. Rifle squads cover rescue; assault with me."

Knights formed up. Amid their fear-glazed eyes flickered resolve. As all eyes turned to him, Han Dae-ho commanded,

"Forward."

*

"So Do-jin."

Kim Bok-dong said. Or rather, the taxidermy doll wearing his face.

So Do-jin looked down at the fallen doll, sword raised. Blood and a resigned smile stained his lips. The smile dropped with a blood droplet.

"So Do-jin. My fault. Spare me."

"'Spare me'... haha..."

The doll's pleading voice matched Kim Bok-dong's perfectly—pitch, tone, speech. But the words didn't fit. So Do-jin swung down, smashing the head.

Crunch!

A hole gaped; sawdust sprayed his face, cotton oozing from cracks. Killing his old friend's double left So Do-jin calm, more enraged than disgusted as he stabbed and twisted.

"If you're gonna mimic, do it right, you worthless shit..."

Kim Bok-dong was foolishly merciful but never begged enemies. He'd resist to the end, crying Adonai's name. This doll begged and quit at defeat. So Do-jin didn't equate them—a pathetic fake wasn't his friend. Wearing his face made killing it easier.

"Behold, brothers and sisters..."

Squelch!

So Do-jin yanked the sword free, muttering. A hymn Kim Bok-dong loved. He mangled the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tune and lyrics but spat what he recalled, lest he collapse.

"King of heaven, king of glory."

The ceiling's black magic circle was gone—all beasts and demons slain. Corpses littered the place. His fingers still severed, sword grip's bandages soaked. He limped—both ankles shattered maybe. Each breath stabbed his chest; ribs cracked?

"Hoo, hoo..."

Steadying, he limped from the Holy Training Ground. Painful, but bearable. Life-threatening? Unsure. Grateful he could still grip sword and move. Enough to kill Satanists.

—Keep spinning. Good work.

Grind.

So Do-jin clenched teeth, recalling the Satanist's voice through quivering aspen branches. Familiar. Whose? Slow to surface amid slaughtering beasts, demons, dolls. Then it hit.

"Around 216 beasts... no, about 200."

The first reporter from the barn outbreak that day.

"Back from the dead, huh..."

So Do-jin smiled. Blood-and-sawdust-caked face, but grin sharp. He exited into rain, staggering as it washed sword blood away.

*

"It's been exactly two years since you transferred? Right?"

"Huh? Yeah... spring two years ago."

He arrived spring, two years back.

"Back in Incheon, my nickname was 'Lone Wolf'—"

"Used to go to the sea all the time, right in front..."

"Hasn't changed address recently."

Until two years ago, he'd lived in Incheon. But he never shared it.

No desire to broadcast it—or risk exposure. The Satanist caused Incheon's Tower of Corpses two years ago and vanished then. He arrived here around the same time. He'd hide it, but I remembered his slip.

"Gonna do stocks, crypto. Oh, lotto too."

"That all-white kid. Seong... Seong... Seong Myung-jun?"

Asked what you'd do with the past, you gave the obvious answer. You forgot names easily. Me too.

"Same boat, so habits overlap."

We were outsiders among the chosen. To hide it, we gave bland replies; as outsiders, no need to memorize chosen names.

Crack.

A dry branch snapped. Sound echoed between trees. Demonic energy choked Eden Hill. Each inhale scratched my throat, dizzied my head. I wandered.

"That box is the Satanists' goal—and the elders'."

When I used Granbwa's power here, I glimpsed the buried box deep in. Baron Samedi called it both their aims. No clue what's inside, but you'd be there.

Screams from Holy Training Ground, collapsed gym. Hospital bombing broadcast. Gate-blocking mercenaries. Those sites opposite Eden Hill. You lured me away. To keep me from interfering.

I retraced memories, heading box-ward. Taxidermy nailed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to trees: crude kid-and-mom, grotesque birth, hanged suicides. They eased navigation.

Nearing the goal, Seong Ha-yeon's words resurfaced.

"He came to my house himself. Two days ago, to thank me for that thing. At night."

"...What time?"

"Around 8 PM... I think."

Yesterday evening, after dinner with us, you went to her place. Sudden visit flustered her; scar visible. She added you might've seen it.

Not might've—definitely did. You knew Jeong In-ah's usual outfits. Two-year classmate. But no run-ins with Kim Jin-seo lately, so unaware of my bracelet on her wrist. No sparring since gym fire.

"..."

In thick, murky demonic haze, we locked eyes from afar, recognizing instantly. Your gaze duller, cloudier than usual. Sloppily worn uniform blackened, demon-dyed.

"Ah..."

Gu Jun-hyeok sighed. Black tears streaming, he raised a finger—inhumanly pointed, long—aimed slantwise at me.

Thunder rumbled, storm raged. Hanged taxidermy gnawed ropes with teeth. Squelch, squelch... Wet steps of hill taxidermy familiar. They bared fangs, approaching. Necks all snapped, lolling.

Gu Jun-hyeok commanded them coldly. His usual goofy grin and teasing greets? All fake. This—shrouded in black magic, blacker eyes glaring icy—that was truth.

No Florence student. A Satanist. Bearing Envy and Pride.

Taxidermy closed in; I advanced on Gu Jun-hyeok.

"Ogoun, Loa of iron and war. Let your power dwell in my body."

Calling Ogoun vibrated everywhere. Speakers scattered, metal debris trembled in fear. Clang, clatter! Metal screamed. Lightning paled against it. Thankful for rain masking my grimace, I forced my stiff jaw open, gazing where Ogoun watched.

"As Voodoo Cult Leader and prophet, I beseech you."

For the first time here, we faced each other's true selves.

(To be continued)