Please Explain in Detail.
I channeled Voodoo magic and drew a spell circle in the air as I asked. What had been a messy, distorted mess just moments ago now formed perfectly without a single flaw. My dazed mind had cleared up at some point.
[There's nothing more to explain. You've already been using skills like So Do-jin's without realizing it.]
Legba said. His tone was as flat and emotionless as ever.
"That's why I'm asking you to explain it in detail."
[By now, you should have some inkling. When you use low-grade restoration spells, do you really need to draw a spell circle?]
I tapped my forehead. Come to think of it, I didn't draw a spell circle for low-grade restoration spells. I knew how to activate the spell without one.
[Don't you feel something?]
Right then, I had a faint scar on my ankle from brushing against grass leaves while fleeing a brushfire on Eden Hill. I used a low-grade restoration spell. A barely visible mist rose faintly from my fingertips. The mist slithered toward the scrape on my ankle. The wound vanished cleanly upon contact.
I did feel something.
[If you must know—though I'd rather not say—you've used low-grade restoration spells frequently since the Holy War.]
"Yeah... you're right."
[Through that repeated training, you've internalized the spell.]
I nodded, even if I didn't fully get it.
[If you don't understand, just say so.]
"I don't."
[Fine, I'll explain more kindly. Casting a spell involves three steps.]
Legba continued. To cast a spell, you go through three processes. First, channel Voodoo magic. Second, draw the spell circle with it. Third, designate a target for the circle and activate it. They're called "ejection," "manifestation," and "activation" in order.
"Who came up with those names? They're kinda lame."
[Your father.]
"On second thought, they're not that bad. Pretty intuitive, even."
[Continuing. Once you've internalized a spell through repeated use, you can skip "ejection" and "manifestation."]
There was also something called the "realm of internalization." By repeatedly casting spells on yourself until the spell's mist "seeps" into your body, you reach internalization. Once internalized, you can activate the spell without drawing a circle.
I nodded, but something still didn't sit right. Leaving aside whether mist could seep into the body, skipping "ejection" and "manifestation" even after internalization—did that even make sense? And what was the principle behind it?
[I don't know.]
I let out a hollow laugh at Legba's response.
"You don't know?"
[This is something your father discovered, not me. I can't grasp the principle.]
Legba went on. My father had devoted his life to researching Voodoo magic, while Legba had only observed from the sidelines. He vaguely knew the results but nothing about the underlying principles.
I asked where my father's research notes—like papers—were, but he didn't know that either.
[They're probably somewhere. I just don't know where.]
"No guesses?"
[Maybe among his belongings.]
Legba said. I glanced at the dresser. Father's relics sat there: a small wooden box the size of my palm, and a simple bone ring. That was all.
No research notes.
[Could be inside that box.]
"Doubt it."
The box was too small. Nowhere near enough space for research records.
[Who says he recorded on paper?]
"What else is there?"
"There are many ways to record." That's what your father said. He wouldn't have used paper like everyone else. Probably something more unique.]
Legba muttered. It didn't click for me. What else besides paper for notes? No matter how I racked my brain, nothing came.
"Maybe saved on a USB."
[Possible.]
"But Dad was computer-illiterate."
[True.]
Legba just agreed, offering no real help. I gave up and put the box back. I wanted to open it right then and check, but I couldn't.
"Open the box when you become an adult."
Father's dying words, said a week before he passed, as if sensing his end, when he handed me the box. I didn't know why, but it was his will, so I honored it.
[You'll learn in time. Focus on what I told you for now.]
"Internalization and all that?"
[Yes. Test it on other spells besides restoration first. If you gain insight, try applying it to blessings too.]
I silently drew illusion spell circles. "Faint," "Nightmare," "Intoxication," and so on. From low-grade to top-grade, all types and intensities. Then I cast them on myself.
The mist enveloped me, and my vision spun like vertigo for an instant. But it passed in a flash. I got headaches or dizziness sometimes, but no fainting, nightmares, or loss of reason to pleasure.
The spells activated but had no effect.
[Your resistance outstrips the spell's power.]
I knew resistance varied by person. But even top-grade illusions didn't work on me. Something was off.
"Is my resistance too high? Or am I just bad at handling spells?"
[Yours is far stronger than most. You're the cult leader, after all. But you don't handle them as well as previous leaders. So, both.]
"I'm pretty good, though."
[Sure. But compared to your father, you're lacking.]
Legba said. Father never used spells in front of me except when teaching. I had no idea how skilled he was. And I never would. He was dead.
I shelved the question and drew more circles. Time flew as I repeated it, but I didn't reach internalization. No regrets, though. Expecting results in a day was greedy. With steady effort, I'd get there eventually. I stood.
"Ow."
My legs were numb, so I sat back down.
[Two hours sitting still. Of course they're numb.]
"Two hours?"
I peeked out the window in shock. The sky was already dark. I'd been so focused I'd ignored my hunger. News to me—my concentration was that good.
[Eat dinner. Nutrition matters in your growth years.]
"Think I've outgrown that phase."
[Don't talk back.]
Typical old fogey, I thought. My tingling legs recovered, so I hopped up and headed to the fridge. Nothing edible: expired milk, blackened eggs, moldy bread. Pantry check: rice gone too.
One edible thing...
"Cat food."
[How the tables have turned. No human food, but pet chow aplenty.]
"Yeah."
I grabbed the bag and stepped onto the terrace. Cheap rundown villa, but it had a terrace. Yellowed tiles, mold between cracks—embarrassing to call it that, but whatever.
Nyaang.
Shaking the bag drew a cat up the tree onto the terrace. I filled the bowl; it devoured it eagerly.
Crunch crunch. Eating well. It nudged my hand for pets.
[Cute.]
"Yeah."
Amid my hectic, complicated days, this cat was my sole comfort. No name—didn't plan to keep it, no point getting attached. Just "the cat."
I petted it as it licked its lips post-meal. It rolled, belly up, stretching. Eyes half-closed. Silly smile crept on me.
[You're already attached.]
"It's cute."
No use fighting it. On exhausting days battered by events and people, I couldn't help leaning on this stray.
People's hearts are unknowable; strays' aren't. Sometimes I relied more on animals. They stayed constant.
Tired of petting, I stood. The cat startled, leaped the railing, tree to ground. Green eyes stared, then vanished.
[Cats are cute but rude.]
"That's the charm."
I turned off the light and left. Legs shaky on stairs—hunger, spell-drawing fatigue, leg day two days ago.
"The ultimate trinity..."
[Quit babbling and go shopping. I'll tell you what to buy.]
"Sounds good."
Handy having Legba—no shopping lists needed. He listed essentials perfectly.
*
[No green onions. No garlic either.]
[Buy fruit. You'll eat it eventually.]
[Chicken breast wouldn't hurt. Your diet lacks protein overall.]
I loaded the cart as Legba directed. Way too much for one, but it wasn't just for me. Also for Jeong Yun-ah.
Cart full. Pricey, but I had cash—Uncle's laundered funds, first batch settled.
Checked out, exited. Baskets crushed my arms.
[Use Bosu's power?]
"Nah."
Waste for groceries. No spare offerings. Heavy as hell, shoulders screaming, but good workout.
"Ah."
Someone oncoming sighed at me. Black hoodie, mask, slacks, even slippers black. All black.
I tensed, narrowing eyes. Familiar yet strange. Seen before, yet new.
They stared long, then pulled hood low, hiding face.
Pat pat pat.
Turned and fled. Instinct kicked in—I chased. No clue who, but had to. Maybe that Satanist from before. Why run otherwise?
Baskets too heavy for pursuit.
"Bo—"
Splat.
Just as I called Bosu, they slipped and fell flat. Lay still. No movement. Arms limp.
Onlookers gasped.
...Dead?