Open Your Eyes.
"Open your eyes." Baron Samedi's voice. It wasn't echoing in my head. He wasn't possessing me right now. Not in the form of a spirit, but as a distinct living being with a physical body, standing right in front of me.
"Can I really open them?"
"Open them. What need is there for such petty formalities between us?"
"For real?"
"I said open them, didn't I?"
I opened my eyes. The room was filled with purple mist. Candlelight faintly revealed Baron Samedi's figure. Immaculate tuxedo, silk top hat. Beyond the darkness, his red glowing eyes stared at me with chilling clarity. He was incredibly tall and gaunt. That was Baron Samedi's manifestation. It had been ages since I'd last seen him like this. Seven years ago, maybe?
Whoosh. In that instant, the candle went out. The faint light that had pushed back the darkness vanished completely, filling the room with pitch black. Baron Samedi's red eyes remained vivid.
"What are you staring at so intently? It's embarrassing. Even like this, it's not inconvenient for conversation, is it?"
"No problem. It'll be over soon anyway."
Baron Samedi nodded.
"Right, a plea. What did you summon me here to plead for? I'm a very busy man, you know. I was just in the middle of something very important."
"Oh? I figured you were off seducing women."
"Tsk. Don't insult me with such vulgar words."
"So you were seducing women. Anyway, I have three pleas."
Baron Samedi could manifest in any form—animal, human, mist. Naturally, he could change his face too, and he made a hobby of dazzling women with his flashy looks. It was a nasty habit, but he seemed utterly unburdened by guilt. Not that I planned to stop him. He wouldn't listen even if I tried.
I got straight to the point.
"First plea: Make your visits regular. Once every three days, or every four. Something like that."
I would interpret Baron Samedi's prophecies. Through them, I'd glimpse the future and prepare in advance for coming crises. Until now, I'd been scrambling to clean up after disasters struck. From here on, that changes. I wouldn't be swept up in events—I'd be the one wielding them.
This first plea was the foundation. Regular meetings with Baron Samedi would increase the number of usable prophecies.
"No. I'm leaving."
"You'll regret it if you go now."
As he turned away with blunt refusal, I provoked him with somewhat insolent words. His red eyes pierced my face like daggers.
"'Regret'? Regret? Sorry, but I'm not human. Regret is for foolish mortals. Know your place. You're the one serving me."
"If you won't even do this much, I have no reason to serve you."
"Fine? Then don't. Do you even know who kept you alive?"
His tone was uncharacteristically serious. He seemed genuinely angry. His red eyes glowed threateningly, as if boring into my heart.
"One flick of my finger, and you'd vanish without a trace. Your soul would wander lost, eventually turning into a ghost. Is that what you want?"
"If that's what you wish."
"...For real?"
"Yes."
I nodded firmly. His eyes trembled slightly. Just a bit, but he seemed flustered. I met his gaze clearly. I wasn't scared. I couldn't be. Right now, I stood on equal footing with Baron Samedi.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"No human fears death not. Among the countless souls I've claimed, none were free of that fear."
"Of course I don't want to die."
Baron Samedi let out a hollow chuckle.
"Then your words just now were mere bluff?"
"I said them because I know you can't kill me."
"..."
He fell silent for a moment, at a loss for words. In the room tangled with darkness and silence—like the afterlife itself—I continued.
"Just as I need you, don't you need me too?"
No answer. His red eyes stared blankly at me. I could borrow the Loa's powers. Bosu's for superhuman strength, Granbwa's for plants, Sobo's for lightning. The Loa's might is incomparable. So why lend it to me? Simple: I'm born as a prophet's vessel, heir to the cult leader's blood. No body is more suited to host them. Without me, the Loa can't even wield half their power, nor feel satisfaction. I'm not parasitic on them. They lend me power; I lend them a body. An exchange—a symbiosis, a contract.
Hahaha, haha! Ha, hahaha!
Suddenly, Baron Samedi burst into mad laughter. It was as if the room's darkness itself was cackling. An uncanny chill washed over me. His red eyes still fixed on me.
"Right. We need bodies—'vessels.' But it doesn't have to be you."
"Ah, is that so?"
"Any vessel will do. Clay pot or golden chalice. We don't care."
"Wouldn't a golden chalice be better than a plain clay one?"
He pondered briefly.
"Hm. A compliant clay pot beats a finicky golden one."
"Then go find a compliant clay pot. Smash this finicky golden one."
"No need to go that far."
"Possessing someone else would make seducing women harder too."
Baron Samedi could manifest in many forms—mist, animal, human. But possessing another would make human form difficult, if not impossible. The difference in vessels was that vast. He mulled it over in silence. I knelt before him, staring unwaveringly at his faintly glowing red eyes.
"...Five days."
"Pardon?"
"Every three or four is too much. Every five days."
I pretended to mull it over. Every five days—not too frequent, not too rare. Perfect. And I still had two pleas left. Better to respect his stance than haggle now.
"Every five days. Good. Next plea—"
"Wait, hold on. This a plea? Feels more like negotiation or blackmail."
"Negotiation sounds better than blackmail."
"You rotten bastard... Fine, what's the next negotiation? Never thought I'd be bargaining with a human. Live long enough, I guess."
He grumbled, displeased, but I ignored it. I had to stay firm—make him have to agree.
"Second plea: Tell me how to restore Jeong In-ah's sister, Jeong Yun-ah, to human form. And about the Satanist hiding in Florence."
"First question first. There is a way to restore Jeong Yun-ah. And you'll learn it soon. But that's all I can say."
"Can't you just tell me?"
"No. More would disrupt causality."
"Ah, fine."
I nodded reluctantly. A way exists, and I'd find it soon. Hopeful enough. Whether real hope or torment, time would tell.
"Now the second question."
"Too vague. Specify exactly what you want to know, and I'll answer just that."
"You planning to answer?"
"Do I seem that stingy? I can handle a question like that."
He seemed petty to me, but no need to say it. I pressed on.
"Specifically, what's the name of the Satanist hiding in Florence?"
"Can't name names."
"Why?"
He'd demanded specifics, but dodged when I gave them. Absurd.
He stared at me quietly.
"It'd bring your death closer. Haste ruins things."
Cryptic. He wouldn't name them outright. But he said he couldn't name them—implying other clues were possible.
"Then can you give another clue besides the name?"
He chuckled softly, as if waiting.
"Clues are just as risky... But if I must: Beware those around you. Especially those like you."
"Like me? No one."
Anyone resembling me? My uncle, by blood, maybe. But not a Satanist.
"Not looks. Habits."
"Habits..."
"You're both infiltrators. Same position means shared speech, mannerisms."
This was unusually helpful from him, but still vague. No one matched—not Jeong In-ah, Gu Jun-hyeok, Kim Jin-seo. None. I stared blankly at his eyes. He sighed, exasperated.
"One more hint. Know the trait of the prideful?"
"How should I?"
"Kid, fix your mouth. Anyway, if you don't: The prideful envy someone. Pride masks it."
"...What does that have to do with Satanists?"
"One day you'll slap your knee and cry, 'Ah! The words of the infinitely great Baron Samedi held this meaning!'~"
I scowled involuntarily.
"I'd never say that."
"The moment will come. My prophecies never fail."
He boasted, laughing. I pondered his words in the deep darkness. Beware those like me. Infiltrators share habits, speech. Pride masking envy... No matter how I turned it over, no suspect emerged. My head throbbed. Too much thinking.
"...One more question?"
"I'll judge after hearing it."
"There was a box buried in Eden Hill. Is that the Satanist's goal?"
The box I'd glimpsed with Granbwa's power—deep in Eden Hill, coated in glowing oil. Related to their purpose? I wanted certainty.
He eyed me half-lidded, pondering.
"You know the 'Elders'?"
"Just the name."
Elders. Florence's real power alongside the chairman. What they did, why—unknown. I only vaguely knew they existed.
"That box is the Satanists' goal—and the Elders'. No more explanation."
"...Understood."
He'd shut it down. No further prying would yield answers.
"Then, my final plea."
I moved straight to it. The prior two were sideshows. This was the true reason I'd summoned him. Steadying my trembling heart, drawing breath, I forced the words out.
"Be my insurance."
"Insurance? Not sure what you mean."
Playing dumb. He feigned ignorance coolly. I bit my lip, steeling myself. To win an unwinnable fight, I had to embrace sacrifice.
"I'll form the 'Contract of the Dead.'"
(Continued in the next chapter)