Fewer Offerings, Rising Doubts
When I arrived at the Worship Hall, the first thing to greet me was a mountain of piled-up offerings. They were tributes sent by the executives while I was in the hospital. The next to greet me was Kang Ji-a. She hurried over and stared at me wordlessly for a long time.
“……Why?”
“It’s nothing.”
She shook her head slowly and began tidying up the scattered offerings on the floor.
“These are tributes from the executives. I made a list while they were piling up. Shall I read it for you?”
“A list?”
“Yes. It details who sent what tributes.”
“Ah. Go ahead.”
Kang Ji-a read off the list. Yun Chang-su from the Gangwon Diocese had sent this and that, Yeom Man-geun from the Jeolla Order had sent this and that…… It was all the same. I listened without much thought at first. The sense of unease hit me when she reached the tributes from Ha Pan-seok of the Chungcheong Order.
“Fewer tributes than the other executives, huh?”
It wasn’t about the quantity. The others had sent tributes twice, once a month. Ha Pan-seok had sent only once.
Kang Ji-a nodded slightly and replied, “Yes, that’s right.”
“Any reason?”
“No, there was no word from the Chungcheong Order at all. Not even a letter.”
“Hm.”
Ha Pan-seok had a history of plotting rebellion before. I’d thought I’d fully reformed him at the last executive meeting. People can’t change, after all.
I scanned the offerings strewn across the floor and spoke up. “Sis. The Chungcheong Order was in Cheonan…… right?”
“Yes. No word on them moving the chapel recently.”
“Good.”
I’d been planning to head down to the Jeolla Order to meet Yeom Man-geun about the factory anyway. Might as well check on Ha Pan-seok’s face while I’m at it. If he’d skipped tributes because he was plotting another rebellion, I couldn’t let it slide anymore. If he betrayed us after all those words, he was the type who’d betray even in death. Once rebellion was confirmed, Ogoun—the one who’d served as witness—would cut him down on the spot.
“Oh, sis. Can I have a sheet of paper?”
As I pondered Ha Pan-seok’s punishment, Mun Yo-seop suddenly came to mind. I took the paper from Kang Ji-a and jotted down everything I knew about him: info from his business card, plus details from our conversations. Then I handed it to her.
“Can you look into this guy? He’s a heretic inquisitor who keeps bothering me at the hospital.”
Writing it out, I realized I didn’t have much, but it should be enough to get a rough profile, even if not detailed.
Kang Ji-a looked over the paper and nodded slowly. “Heretic inquisitors are tough to dig into. Their security is different……”
“I’m not after classified stuff. Just the basics—who he is, that sort of thing. Possible?”
“Yes, that much…… Understood.”
“Thanks.”
I moved the strewn offerings toward the warehouse with the altar. I offered them through the altar, but no Loa voices came. Even Legba stayed silent.
*
For a while, I avoided going out, wary of tails or trackers. After a few weeks of watching, I concluded there were none, and immediately got moving. First, I set up a meeting with Yeom Man-geun and called my uncle. We rode down to Damyang County.
Yeom Man-geun’s business was booming lately, so he was considering factory expansion. Before building, he’d bought land in a near-wasteland spot in Damyang. Land he couldn’t have afforded without cult funds, so he said we could build Voodoo facilities or expand the chapel there. We agreed to meet at the wasteland.
I wanted to see the land he’d bought, and meeting in the city center would draw too many eyes. Back then, it wouldn’t have mattered, but now I was under suspicion—every little thing counted.
“You tired?”
My uncle spoke up as I stared out the passenger window at the passing world.
“Nah. Why?”
“Your eyes look dead. If you’re not tired, keep me company.”
“Now I’m tired.”
“Good. Tired or not, talk. That’s the passenger’s fate.”
Grinning behind the wheel, he continued. “Your hand still not healed?”
“Nope. You can see that.”
“Yeah? What about your gut?”
“Healed. Scar’s still there, though.”
“Scars can be hidden……”
Frustrated, I cracked the window. Wind rushed in fiercely. It felt blunt against my face—just contact, no real chill or warmth. I knew it was summer wind only from the scent.
“You’ve been to the hospital too much lately, haven’t you? Twice or three times since starting at Florence Academy.”
“Yeah. Keeps happening.”
“Be careful. Every time you go, I get the hassle.”
“I’m the one going—why you?”
“I forged your ID. Have to tweak it more each hospital visit. Their records are tighter than most.”
“No clue what you mean.”
“Like how they ID unknown bodies from dental records. Hospitals add junk to your profile. I clean it up.”
Still didn’t get it. Uncle chuckled. “Didn’t get it?”
“Nope.”
“Then don’t worry. Just be careful. Too many visits could draw eyes—for both of us.”
“Hm…… Got it.”
I nodded vaguely. The scenery shifted from plains to mountains. Uncle yawned.
“Ah…… Getting sleepy. Didn’t sleep last night.”
He widened his eyes to fight it, veins bulging in the whites. He was beat. If Kang Ji-a were here, she’d hand over some wake-up gum, but sadly, no. She was probably eating at the chapel now.
Reason I didn’t bring her today: one. Meeting executives nationwide meant leaving the Worship Hall empty for days. Someone had to guard it and care for Jeong Yun-ah. She’d insisted on coming at first, but understood once explained. Alone, she looked a bit lonely. I promised fun stories if bored; she replied stiffly, “Take care of yourself, Cult Leader.” Sounded annoyed.
Meanwhile, we passed through a tunnel. Uncle shook his head to stay awake, chatting at me.
“Hey, you’re kinda famous now. Your name pops up online.”
“Figured.”
“Saw your interview—sounded like a total Romanica zealot. Won’t get eaten by fanatics?”
He teased with a grin. I just laughed along without answering.
On incident day, taxidermy dolls in demon shapes popped up everywhere, killing or injuring countless clerics. Five near-dead ones miraculously revived—including witnesses claiming “angels from heaven bestowed blessing light.” Famous theologians and high clerics called it a miracle. No other explanation.
I was one of the five, the only deacon. The lowest rank among the other four was bishop—huge deal. Not going viral would’ve been weirder.
“No reporters sticking around now?”
I nodded. They’d swarmed during my stay, requesting interviews. I gave vague answers; they spun them gold—or madman. Interest faded with time. They cared more about the other four anyway: “Saw heaven briefly,” “Heard Adonai’s voice.” I stuck to “saw nothing.” Papal office suppressed info—no reporters knew I fought Satanists directly. Only Mun Yo-seop and his two underlings did.
“Good. You need extra caution. Know that?”
“Yeah. Reporters aren’t Papal anyway…… No biggie if caught.”
“……What’s fine? Memory Crush if needed?”
“If no choice.”
Reporters weren’t Papal. Crush memories, or if not, faint them and bury in Taebaek Mountains—accident or lost hiker. Papal wouldn’t hunt hard.
“Kidding.”
Of course no real plan. They’d lost interest; Florence Foundation and Mun Yo-seop handled aggressive ones. Uncle sighed in relief.
“Scared me, punk. Joke with a smile next time.”
“Gotta be serious to fool you.”
“You’re getting too good at lying.”
After the tollgate, road emptied; he continued. “Too famous is risky, though.” Self-directed tone.
Car sped steadily; nav said 31 minutes to go.
“Why? Fame means promotions.”
“Sure. But…… say you sneak into Papal underground prison, meet your mom—what next?”
“Then……”
Stuck. Never thought that far.
“This fame makes vanishing hard later. And even if you get in, no way out without spells or Loa powers.”
“I’ll use ‘em if needed. Why hold back?”
“So reveal yourself then? Second Holy War?”
“Reveal and dip. No war needed.”
“That amps persecution tenfold. Starless Night massacre scale. You gonna watch?”
“……”
“Worse, no economy for believers. Funds dry up—cult crumbles anyway. Just time.”
“Then win a Second Holy War. Occupy regions at least. Believers base there.”
“Win and done……”
Uncle’s face hardened, repeating me.
“You know why we lost the Holy War?”
“Cult Leader and Prophet split—internal fractures.”
“That too, but Romanica’s too big. State religion everywhere. Few regions mean nothing to them.”
“So?”
“We scrape by fighting for scraps; they crush us sitting.”
He sighed deeply, licked dry lips. “Never been Prophet, but Loa powers seem near-omnipotent. To me.”
“Not quite. From my view.”
Mom’s maybe. “Close enough. Spells too—draw line, faint or mad. Easy power.”
“Fair.”
“Yet we lost. Badly. Prophet captured, Leader burned publicly. Remnants hide. Why lose with godlike powers?”
“Executives betrayed—short on fighters.”
“Battles we won. Air: lightning; sea: waves; ground: plants. Lose to disasters? No. Dad surrendered. Attrition favors them.”
“Fuck…… What’s your point? Fight?”
“Not fight, punk.”
He waved calmingly, bitter smile. “……Give up saving Mom. Sneak in, if dead leave body; if alive, chat and leave.”
“Worst shit you’ve said.”
“Live like this. Cleric pension’s nice. Hide moderately, sustain cult minimally.”
“Leave living Mom in prison? Rather die.”
“Why? Hang with Ji-a, me, some execs. Florence friends too. What’s bad?”
“Better start war and die cool.”
“Not cool. You die first; innocents massacred.”
“……”
“Don’t wanna see that again. Quiet mouse life’s safe, comfy.”
“You live that. I’ll handle mine. War or not, get Mom. Corpse if dead. Somehow.”
“Forgot? She’s my sis too. Your issue’s mine. Miss her too. But long-term, I’m right.”
“Long-term safe way exists. Will.”
“If so, best. No way? My plan. No war—sure loss,惨 defeat. You know best.”
Holy War. Endless gunfire outside, screams nonstop, inescapable dark, daily terror. It took everything. I lost all, gained nothing. Second wouldn’t differ. Me as Cult Leader/Prophet—pathetic, inadequate—would lose worse. Hate admitting, but true.
“I’ll consider.”
“You’ll do your thing anyway.”
“Yeah.”
“Kid who ignored Mom won’t hear me. Fine.”
We arrived at Yeom Man-geun’s spot. The land was true wasteland—no homes, barely paved roads. We got out, scouted. Center: Yeom Man-geun waddling, peering at ground.
“Why’s that here?”
Uncle frowned, muttering. Look closer: someone else beside him. Familiar. Unexpected.