Even Damballa Takes Time
Damballa was fast, they said, but covering that vast distance still took a lot of time. No matter how we rode the waves, we couldn't arrive in an instant. The waves usually moved in the direction of the wind, but not always. Sometimes they veered off in completely unexpected directions.
[Little one.]
By the time land appeared faintly in the distance, Damballa spoke up. I grabbed the edge of my poncho, which was flapping wildly in the wind, and pulled it down tighter over my head.
"Yes."
[Sorry to Bade, but wouldn't it have been better to call a different Loa instead of him?]
[What? What's that supposed to mean about me!]
[It's not your fault, Bade. I just... questioned the prophet's choice.]
"……."
Damballa and Bade's voices overlapped in my mind. I clamped my mouth shut and gripped Damballa's scales even harder. Her massive body twitched, nearly sending me slipping into the sea. Her yellow eyes glared at me reproachfully.
[Little one, that hurts!] Damballa said, flicking her tongue. I'd squeezed on purpose to make it hurt, so I didn't respond. Bade, offended by Damballa's earlier words, whipped up even stronger winds. The waves grew fiercer. Damballa's movements roughened to match. I clutched the scales tighter to avoid being thrown off.
[Indeed, there must have been a better choice.]
That's when Legba chimed in. I said nothing, just bit my lip. I knew Bade wasn't the best for this situation. Time was critical, so even at the risk, I should have called another Loa. La Siren. The queen of the sea. The Loa who appears as a mermaid, a whale, or sometimes the ocean itself. She could have gotten us to Yuk Eun-hyeong's base in minutes.
Yet I hadn't called her. No, I couldn't.
[It's understandable to be afraid.]
"……."
[Even your mother, the previous prophet, couldn't control her.]
Legba said. La Siren was dangerous. My mother, who commanded all Loa like servants, couldn't control only her. With the Retrograde Staff, Poteau Mitan, maybe I could manage her now—but the risk if I failed terrified me.
[To surpass the previous prophet, you must overcome that fear.]
"……Yeah, I suppose."
I replied curtly to Legba. My mood soured. "Surpassing my mother" sounded like she was already dead—like I had to step up because she was gone. I knew Legba didn't mean it that way. Even if she were alive, I'd still have to take the prophet's role. Still, my thoughts kept drifting negative.
Crash! Waves shattered against rocks. Land was right ahead. Damballa accelerated. In a blink, we reached the beach. I released the scales and slid off her body.
Two figures emerged from the darkness. Mercenaries standing watch on the beach, it seemed. They aimed long spears at me and backed away.
"Wh-who goes there!"
"Can't you tell?"
I stroked Damballa's coiled body beside me. It shrank in an instant, transforming into a staff. Gripping it, I approached them, expelling Voodoo magic. A chilling purple glow lit the darkness. I removed my poncho.
"Take me to Yuk Eun-hyeong."
"Ah……!"
They gaped at my mask, the staff, and the violet Voodoo magic, then lowered their spears and bowed apologetically.
"Right away, Cult Leader!"
They led me quickly somewhere. The thick darkness blanketing the ground began to lift. Following them, I glanced back. Beyond the calming waves, the sun peeked over the horizon.
*
They took me to the infirmary. It was a makeshift tent on barren land, nothing more. No beds—just blankets on the floor where patients lay, treated with crude disinfection and bandages. Facilities were abysmal. Wounds looked severe at a glance: too deep for bandages to staunch bleeding, joints grotesquely twisted. Some had amputations. Screams of pain and convulsions echoed everywhere.
"……Baron Samedi."
It was a scene straight out of death's domain, and at its center stood Baron Samedi, as if it were natural. He'd arrived before me, smoking a cigar amid the horror. He turned at my call, face devoid of his usual smile.
[I wondered who it was. The prophet, eh.]
Cigar smoke drifted low, obscuring the patients. He parted the haze and approached. The cigar stench was thicker, more acrid than usual.
"Someone's dying here."
[Some already have. More will soon.]
Baron Samedi stated it matter-of-factly. Not vaguely "might die"—he said it with certainty. If he said so, it was beyond my power to stop.
"Cult Leader, this way!"
The guides called from a tent. Eyes turned to me at "Cult Leader." Fear and suspicion mixed in their gazes. Ignoring it, I entered.
"……You've arrived, Cult Leader."
Yuk Eun-hyeong lay receiving treatment, shirtless. Bandages covered more skin than bare flesh. Exposed areas bore scars and gashes. His left arm had multiple bullet holes. His right hand was severed, lying on a table in the corner. A squad member was still extracting bullets with forceps. Yet Yuk Eun-hyeong only sweated coldly, no sign of agony. A faint smile even played on his lips.
"Yuk Eun-hyeong, what's the situation."
I removed my mask as I spoke.
"Not good. We've lost most of the base to the enemy, casualties mounting—"
Tchk.
Another bullet extracted, flecked with flesh. Yuk Eun-hyeong squeezed his eyes shut in silent scream, then opened them. Fierce resolve burned in his gaze.
"……Hoo. Sorry. Anyway, casualties are heavy... Frankly, no chance of victory. We're evacuating the wounded and squad members by sea as best we can."
"You sent Kang Ji-a back that way too."
"Yes, as HQ staff, we prioritized her."
Yuk Eun-hyeong nodded. I went to the corner, picked up his severed right hand. Fresh wound—maybe half a day old. Clean cut. Holding it, I spoke.
"You should have reported to me first in this situation."
"Sorry. But things were too dire... I thought abandoning Gyeongsang Diocese best for you, ugh!"
I pressed the hand to his wrist stump. He yelped. I expelled Voodoo magic, drawing a spell circle. For certainty, high-grade restoration spell would be ideal, but time since amputation was short, cut clean—mid-grade would suffice. Plus, many others needed treatment.
"Whether to abandon Gyeongsang Diocese is my call. You just report the situation."
"Yes, sorry... Ngh, ugh……!"
"Bear the pain a bit."
I forced hand to wrist. He trembled, groaning. Mist from the spell circle enveloped them, bubbling like boiling froth as they fused. I roughly treated his residual wounds with low-grade restoration.
"Move your right hand."
"……My right hand... it's attached."
Yuk Eun-hyeong flexed it in disbelief. Fingers wiggled. Seemed successful. The treating squad member gawked, eyes flicking between hand and me. I addressed him.
"Gather the wounded and bring them to me. I'll treat them. Yuk Eun-hyeong, rest here."
"I'm fine. Thanks to you, Cult Leader. Whatever you need……."
"Just rest. I'll have tasks later."
"No!"
Yuk Eun-hyeong shot up, voice raised—uncharacteristic for his usual calm. He lifted the tent flap, glanced at the sky. Dawn was breaking.
"……At daybreak, the enemy will attack again."
He wiped sweat from his brow with the reattached arm.
"Romanica clergy always strike by day. They know our squad favors night ops... They'll hit at first light. We must prepare……."
"Over half are wounded, and the able-bodied seem non-combatants. How do you plan to prepare?"
"……."
Yuk Eun-hyeong fell silent, eyes dropping. No real plan, as expected. Too many wounded for one. Not despairing—it was predictable. Fingering my staff, I spoke.
"After treating the squad, I'll handle the enemy alone. Tell them that."
Chance to test Poteau Mitan's power. Alone would suffice.
*
Near the mercenary suppression site, in a barracks tent for paladins' rest and maintenance. So Do-jin, eyes closed trying to sleep, gave up as dawn fully broke. Planning sword drills instead, he spotted a familiar face.
"……Ha Ye-jin?"
Ha Ye-jin strolled between tents in priestess robes. At first he thought he was seeing things, but no—only she had that aura. She turned at his voice.
"Ah, there you are! Finally found you."
"……Why are you here?"
"What, can't I be?"
"No, why is a priestess……."
So Do-jin recalled if priest corps joined this op. No mention. Some clergy might join individually, not as units—but her?
"Filling in for Mun Yo-seop. Dumped it on me, said he had stuff to do."
"Ah, got it... But Mun Yo-seop? No honorifics?"
"No one's around to hear, so casual here's fine, right?"
"Fair."
So Do-jin nodded, eyeing the sky. Fully bright now. Perfect weather, cool breeze. Ha Ye-jin sniffed the wind.
"……Smells like blood on the breeze."
"Yeah? Can't smell it."
So Do-jin sniffed—no blood. Glancing toward the mercenaries' base, he continued.
"Mercs took heavy casualties... Bound to smell."
"Any on our side?"
"Some. Barely any. Anyway……."
He trailed off. Romanica side dominated in numbers, gear, training. Mercs resisted but half-heartedly, minimizing losses. Clergy struck mercilessly. Many hurt, some critically. They'd survive with timely care, but mercs lacked facilities.
To him, this op was less suppression, more massacre.
"……Good we're just rear support. Front handles it all—no work here."
So Do-jin phrased it mildly. Ha Ye-jin nodded.
"Relieved it's rear for me too. Can't stomach blood. Weak stomach."
"Right, yeah."
"When's this op over?"
"Dunno, today maybe. Tomorrow latest……?"
So Do-jin froze, staring. Ha Ye-jin followed his gaze—nothing. He expelled divine power, drew a blessing circle into his eyes. Clear vision pierced to the merc base entrance. Someone emerging. Not Yuk Eun-hyeong—too big. This figure average build, poncho, mask, staff.
"……."
Mask and staff. So Do-jin looked again.
"……The Cult Leader."
Mask and staff. Unmistakably the Voodoo Cult Leader.
(To be continued)