"It's Creepy."
"It's creepy." Han Dae-ho was descending the stairs. It was the path leading underground into the Basar Shopping Mall, where the fire had broken out. Beside him walked O Hui-jin, the religion otaku subordinate Holy Knight, clutching a clipboard under his arm. It was filled with summaries of doctrines and characteristics from the Satan Cult, Voodoo Cult, Sem Clan Cult, and various other religions.
"U-um, Captain." O Hui-jin, following behind Han Dae-ho, suddenly spoke up.
"What? Spit it out already, you punk. Don't beat around the bush."
"About that incident last time... is it really okay?"
It was a vague question. Han Dae-ho belatedly grasped O Hui-jin's intent and nodded.
After suppressing the fire, Han Dae-ho had immediately identified the impostor apprentice Holy Knight. His name was Do Seon-woo, a Florence Academy freshman—nothing else noteworthy. Since he'd only intended to learn the name and school, he hadn't dug deeper.
Right after, Han Dae-ho contacted Kim Bok-dong, a friendly teacher at Florence, and heard that Do Seon-woo had provided major assistance in the fire suppression, rescuing a whopping twelve civilians. It was thanks to Han Dae-ho that Do Seon-woo's exploits became known among the teachers.
However, he hadn't heard that Do Seon-woo was hospitalized, teetering on the brink of death.
"It's fine. I didn't lie or anything."
Han Dae-ho brushed it off casually.
"But Captain, he's not even a real apprentice Holy Knight—he's a student impersonating one. Giving equipment to a guy like that, and then getting major help from him... it could seriously damage our Holy Knight Order's reputation—"
"You're worrying about the weirdest shit. I've got it all figured out, so just shut up."
Han Dae-ho chuckled lightly as he said it.
Spreading word of Do Seon-woo's heroics everywhere might indeed tarnish the Holy Knight Order's image, as O Hui-jin said. But Han Dae-ho figured their reputation couldn't sink much lower anyway. Public criticism was one thing you could shrug off, but missing out on talent like Do Seon-woo would be a massive loss.
Han Dae-ho planned to recruit him to the Seoul East Knight Command for the upcoming commission training and dispatch practicum. Spreading the word to Florence staff was all part of laying the groundwork.
"If you say so, Captain..."
O Hui-jin nodded reluctantly. He lifted the clipboard from under his arm and scanned it meaninglessly—a habit whenever he had a spare moment.
Squelch...
Then, an ominous sound echoed from somewhere.
Han Dae-ho and O Hui-jin's gazes snapped to the same spot. There, a man with his lower body severed was crawling across the floor on his arms. He looked half-corpse already. Trailing behind him like a thread were his intestines, stretched out long from the path he'd crawled.
G-g-ghost...!
O Hui-jin's face drained of color.
"Get a grip, man!"
Han Dae-ho smacked the back of O Hui-jin's head and hurried to the man. He could be a ghost, as O Hui-jin said—or just an innocent civilian who'd lost his lower half in the explosion.
...Though four days after the blast, no survivor should still be alive.
"I'm Seoul East Knight Commander Han Dae-ho. Are you alr—urk!"
As Han Dae-ho approached, a sudden stench made him stagger back. It emanated from the man's body—a truly foul reek.
"C-Captain... C-Commander... save... me... C-Commander..."
The man called out for the commander as he crawled endlessly forward. From afar, he'd seemed to lack only his lower body, but up close, his head was cleaved in half too. The cross-section reeked of rotting flesh and strong chemicals.
"Formalin..."
From behind the stunned Han Dae-ho, O Hui-jin murmured lowly.
Formalin—the preservative commonly used in taxidermy.
Taxidermy?
A chill and disgust suddenly washed over Han Dae-ho.
"C-Commander... save me..."
Then—
His severed head swelled up.
The bulge shifted into a lumpy form, then began inflating like it might burst any second.
Han Dae-ho felt an instinctive sense of crisis.
"...D-down!"
Boom!
Han Dae-ho lunged toward O Hui-jin. With the explosion, chunks of flesh, teeth shards, sawdust, and stuffing sprayed everywhere. It wasn't a huge blast, but flying sawdust and teeth fragments embedded in Han Dae-ho's body here and there.
He grimaced in pain but didn't make a sound.
"C-Captain! Are you okay?!"
O Hui-jin finally snapped out of it and jumped up. His hands were drawing a healing circle, but it kept collapsing halfway—his shock hadn't worn off yet.
Han Dae-ho stood with a grin and stopped O Hui-jin's arm mid-drawing.
"I'm good, I'm good. Why bother with something that won't even work."
"No, your wounds..."
"It's nothing. Not burns or anything—sleep it off and it'll heal."
He brushed it off casually, flicking debris from his body. Blood welled from the punctures, soaking his clothes. It kept flowing without stopping. Soon, his outfit was thoroughly bloodied.
The exploded man had left countless traces as he crawled. Sawdust, stuffing, blood, hair, and slimy fluids marked his path.
Han Dae-ho and O Hui-jin followed the trail. Past a dark corridor thick with the smell of char, down slippery stairs coated in slime.
The room they reached reeked of the same chemical from the man.
"...What a godawful stench."
Han Dae-ho pinched his nose, leading the way and glancing around. Pale flesh chunks were scattered about, the floor pooled with unidentified liquid. Walls were scorched black from blasts, ceilings collapsed in spots.
O Hui-jin, trailing behind, scanned his clipboard.
Han Dae-ho tapped the focused man's shoulder.
"Smells like Satan Cult to me. What do you think?"
"Looks like Satan Cult to me too. That guy from two years ago."
"Yeah, I get it's that guy from two years ago, but..."
Han Dae-ho looked around. No taxidermy dolls—just remnants of what had been.
Two years ago, during the taxidermy incident, the culprit had cherished his creations like an artist with his masterpieces—more than his own life. So why blow them all up now? Or rather, why did he have to?
The question suddenly struck Han Dae-ho.
"Captain! You need to see this!"
O Hui-jin's urgent voice pulled him from his thoughts. Han Dae-ho hurried over, nearly slipping on the slick floor amid squelching sounds.
But when he arrived... nothing.
"What? Why'd you call me over?"
"Th-there. Can you see it?"
O Hui-jin pointed at the floor. Amid the liquid, glowing powder floated, faintly purple.
Han Dae-ho tilted his head.
"What's that?"
"Bone dust. That glowing bone dust we saw back then."
"Back then being when? ...You don't mean the Holy War, do you?"
During the Holy War, the Voodoo Cult prophet had suddenly scattered bone dust into the air mid-battle. Purple mist poured from it. The papal forces who inhaled it collapsed unconscious one after another.
Han Dae-ho, conscripted into the papal army then, remembered the scene vividly: the prophet dancing sinuously as he spread the dust, the soldiers slumping like jelly in response. Even he had blacked out helplessly.
"Yes, the bone dust from the Holy War. Looks like the Voodoo Cult Leader came through here."
"...You sure about that? Not just sawdust from the taxidermy or something?"
"You know too, Captain. Voodoo bone dust feels different. And for it to still be here after the explosion..."
O Hui-jin's lips trembled as he trailed off.
As he said, Voodoo bone dust felt unlike ordinary dust. It wouldn't burn in fire, would gather no matter how scattered, and its purple glow was chillingly cold—like death ground to powder.
"So Satan Cult and Voodoo Cult..."
"..."
Han Dae-ho trailed off. A grim but certain deduction formed in his mind.
A battle between Satan Cult and Voodoo Cult had happened here. He didn't know why they'd clashed. But cornered, the Satan Cult had detonated all their taxidermy dolls in a last stand. It fit.
"Means the Third Cult Leader made a move."
In other words, the Voodoo Cult Leader—who'd lain low for seven years since the Holy War, sharpening his blade for revenge on his parents' killers—had finally drawn it.
Not good news at all. It meant a three-way war among Satan Cult, Romanica Church, and Voodoo Cult.
Is the Second Holy War starting...?
Staring at the scattered bone dust, Han Dae-ho felt a cold, eerie dread.
*
'The fire's fine now. The fire...'
'We can still make it if we go now. We can go.'
[Still sleeping? Time to wake up already.]
'Just once more, it should be okay to use it—'
Thud.
A sound like something crumbling jolted my eyes open. The emotions from the dream and the scenes I'd seen lingered vividly in my mind.
In the dream, I'd charged into flames. My body trembled in fear. The fire itself wasn't scary—but something else was.
Amid the billowing smoke and fading consciousness, two images surfaced: my father burning on a torture rack, and a cat dying with guts spilling from its burst belly.
Chased by terror, I'd rescued people; chased by time, I'd rushed to the auditorium. When pain hit, I'd used the intoxication spell to forget it. Darkness fell in the auditorium, and I dove back into flames to save more. All the while, visions of my father and the cat haunted me.
The cycle repeated endlessly in the dream.
I awoke drenched in cold sweat. My heart thudded dry and hard, echoing through my body.
"Uh...?"
A voice—startled, but clear and pure.
Forcing my stiff neck up, I saw Kim Jin-seo. She scanned me head to toe, as if disbelieving her eyes.
I looked around past her. Hospital, probably. She wore a gown too, so we'd been admitted together.
No idea how many days since the mall explosion.
"What... day is it?"
Seeing her face stirred an inexplicable rush of complex emotions, but I forced calm and asked the date.
Kim Jin-seo stared silently for a long moment before burying her face in the bedsheet.
"The 19th."
Her clear voice muffled into the fabric.
Not May 19th, surely—April 19th, then. About a week since the appointment ceremony.
I slept a hell of a long time, I marveled.
She jerked her head up, glaring at me with narrowed eyes.
"Thought you were dead."
"Lucky me, I'm not."
"...I said I thought you were dead."
I couldn't tell what response she wanted. I met her gaze. She glanced away as if avoiding it, then whipped back to stare piercingly. Her shoulder-length hair was messy, unkempt; her eyes were red-rimmed. They glistened like she might cry any second.
"You cried?"
"What? Why would I cry."
"No, even now..."
Tears beaded in her eyes like dew.
She noticed belatedly and buried her face again to hide them.
When she lifted her head, the dampness had dried, but her eyelids stayed red.
"I didn't cry."
I hadn't even asked.
"Yeah... But the 19th means..."
I mentally calculated the day—Monday, probably. The wall clock read 10 a.m. School started at 8:15...
Late.
I forced my groggy body up. Even lying down I'd sensed it, but upright, my state was worse than expected: bandages everywhere, IVs in my left arm.
Yet it didn't hurt as much as it should. I could probably discharge right away.
Grab.
As I rose from bed, Kim Jin-seo seized my wrist. With surprising strength, she shoved me back down.
"Why get up? Where you going?"
"School."
"Don't push yourself. Rest if you're hurt."
"Not hurting anymore. So let me discharge—"
I tried rising again, but she stopped me. She stared blankly, sleepily, her half-lidded eyes vacant.
Crunch.
Suddenly, she bit my wrist.
"Wh-what?! Hey, that really hurts—!"
"Yeah. Hurts, right."
She smiled at me—pure and transparent. Her voice was normal, but the tone felt mystical, like something from a dream, utterly detached from reality.
"If it hurts, just lie there. Don't think about going anywhere."
"..."
Her teeth marks stood out clearly on my wrist. She stroked them with an innocent smile.
But her shoulders trembled faintly beneath that bright expression. She was afraid of something.
"Okay..."
Reluctantly, I flopped back onto the bed and closed my eyes.
Kim Jin-seo wanted me to stay put, finish healing properly before discharge. She was genuinely worried—maybe even nursed me devotedly during my week unconscious.
Realizing that brought an unbearable wave of self-loathing.
I pulled the blanket over my head and squeezed my eyes shut. Memories of that explosive day—smoke and flames surging—flashed vividly in the darkness.
"What're you doing."
Kim Jin-seo poked my body through the blanket, like checking if I was alive.
"...Nothing."
I answered without lowering it. No confidence I could face her calmly right now.
More precisely, no strength to endure the guilt surging every time I saw her face.
Because the reason I'd saved her was too filthy.
(To be continued)