The Visitor in Room 202
Yeom Man-geun of the Jeolla Order was staying in Room 202. For someone who'd come alone, it was a pretty decent room. Rooms 301 and 302 were the largest and best, followed by 202 and 201.
"Well, gotta skedaddle outta here on the cheap," he muttered.
There, Yeom Man-geun was on the phone with someone, receiver in hand. No need to ask who—it was Ha Pan-seok of the Chungcheong Order. Their plot to assassinate or impeach the cult leader and install Ha Su-yeong as the fourth cult leader had fallen apart spectacularly, leaving both men sweating bullets.
"We gotta live our own lives, so enough with the rebellion and coup talk already…."
When Ha Pan-seok, cornered after their conspiracy was exposed, asked about next steps, Yeom Man-geun said running was the best option.
A bellowing shout erupted from the receiver.
"Damn, you're gonna bust my eardrums. Ah, but anyway, there's gotta be some empty room somewhere…."
Yeom Man-geun trailed off, freezing and holding his breath. Footsteps sounded beyond the door. In the darkness, his eyes darted left and right.
"I'll call back."
Click. He hung up, stood, and hid behind the door, unleashing voodoo magic. The presence outside stood stock-still.
Knock knock….
His heartbeat thundered. Hackles rose, knees buckled, cold sweat poured. It couldn't be Ha Pan-seok, or Yun Chang-su, or Yuk Eun-hyeong… so it had to be a ghost—or worse, the cult leader.
"You in there?"
A voice came from outside—exactly as feared, the cult leader's.
Damn it, that bastard's come to kill me!
Yeom Man-geun lamented inwardly, pressing against the door and frantically drawing a spell circle with voodoo magic.
"Saw you head in earlier…."
Crack, zzzt! As the cult leader muttered to himself, something shattered beyond the door. Terror made his hands tremble.
He's gonna rip the door off!
Crunch! The door opened—no, was torn open. Yeom Man-geun aimed his spell at the man entering.
Fainting spell. Crude and hasty, it might not work, but nothing beat it against a human.
"…."
But no mist emerged from the circle. It hadn't activated at all. Some immense, alien force—like the cult leader's power—had dismantled it.
Yeom Man-geun swallowed hard. An unfamiliar, chilling dread slithered down his spine.
"Fainting spell's a bit predictable."
Click. The intruder flicked on the light. Yeom Man-geun shielded his eyes from the sudden glare, unable to make out the face. His vision cleared gradually.
"…Cult Leader."
"No need to be so on guard. I'm not here to harm you."
The cult leader strode in confidently. He claimed no harm intended, but Yeom knew better. As a key figure in the rebellion plot, there was no reason to let him live from Do Seon-woo's perspective.
Yeom unleashed voodoo magic for another circle. One final stroke would complete it—but somehow, he doubted it'd work. That mystical power of the cult leader's dismantled circles and manipulated mist.
"P-Please spare me!"
Finally, he abandoned the circle, dropping to his knees. Spells were pointless; they'd only provoke him further. Best to grovel for mercy.
"I was just runnin' errands! Please spare me!"
"Errands… you mean lackey work?"
Yeom spilled it all: everything was Ha Pan-seok's orders; he'd just been a frontman, never directly involved… a rambling self-defense.
"…."
The cult leader nodded silently, pulled up a chair, and sat, crossing his legs casually, gazing down. Every motion screamed opening, yet Yeom dared not resist. Voodoo magic trickled from the cult leader's fingertips—pure, unadulterated violet, flawless. Its intensity promised devastating spells.
"Executive Yeom Man-geun."
"Y-Yeah…."
"Why kneel like that? Stand and sit comfortably. Makes me uneasy."
The cult leader smiled warmly—yet chillingly. Grateful yet wary, Yeom awkwardly took a seat.
"Factory running well?"
He cracked his knuckles. Yeom nodded meekly, fists clenched on his lap.
The cult leader rummaged in his pocket. Yeom swallowed. Zombie drug? Dagger? Worst fears.
Instead, a smartphone emerged. He shoved the screen forward.
"Lee Jin-seong's laundering funds via coins. After order expenses, this is my cut."
Coins. Yeom knew them—dozens around him had lost everything gambling on them, vanishing into thin air.
He tallied the digits: hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands…. Even at 100 won each, a fortune.
"One coin's about 1,000 won."
"Th-One thousand!"
Yeom echoed unconsciously. At 100 won, impressive; 1,000 was unimaginable.
But worse followed.
"I'll give you half."
"…."
Yeom scratched his buzzed sideburns. Chill up his spine, like ice creeping vertebrae to nape. Yet his gut boiled with greed.
Half meant a bribe: ditch Ha Pan-seok, join him. Maybe even eliminate him.
"I getcha. I'll handle Ha Pan-seok, so you…."
Mercy alone was blessing; money sealed it. Betraying Ha stung, but dying for loyalty was foolish.
"No need for such grim talk."
The cult leader chuckled lightly, like a joke. Yeom gaped, dumbfounded.
"W-Well, the money's nice, sure."
The smile vanished. His gaze burned coldly—paradoxical fire.
"I'd like to borrow your factory for a job."
"Th-The factory's…."
Yeom hesitated, eyes squeezed shut. Betraying Ha was fleeting guilt; the factory was his livelihood.
"That's a no…."
A polite but firm refusal. The cult leader's lips thinned, eyes downcast, nodding twice.
Gurgle, grrr….
Beyond the torn door, something writhed—darkness-shrouded, like dozens of massive serpents.
Whoosh!
"Gahk!"
A gesture summoned one; it coiled roughly around Yeom's throat, squeezing slowly.
"Sp-Spare me! I'll do whatever you say—!"
He clawed at rough bark scales, pleading desperately.
The cult leader's gaze remained pitiless, a smirk forming.
"So, you'll lend the factory?"
Lending meant ruin. Refusing meant death now. Die now or later? Later, always—as long as alive, a way out.
He nodded.
Thud! The branch loosened, slithering free. Yeom collapsed, gasping.
The cult leader loomed unmoved.
"Why so startled?"
His inhuman ruthlessness chilled Yeom to the bone. But honesty was suicide. He scrambled for an excuse.
"N-No, it's just… heard you reclaimed the altar or somethin'…."
Blurt of panic. Instant regret.
The cult leader's icy eyes ignited. Fury pierced him.
"…'Reclaimed'?"
Branches surged like serpents in response.
"How'd you know?"
"I-I'm just repeatin' what Ha Pan-seok said!"
Exact words from Ha—no idea why it enraged him. Truly innocent.
"Ha Pan-seok said that."
"Y-Yeah! I'm innocent, really…."
Yeom nodded frantically, clueless to his offense.
"Hahaha…."
The cult leader laughed madly. Yeom shut his eyes. Massive blunder; branches poised to strangle.
"Makes sense."
Cryptic murmur. Yeom peeked. Branches writhed, but harmlessly. No threat.
"Anyway, business first."
He raised his hand.
"Decent terms for both of us."
*
Whatever "job" required Yeom's factory, other executives' input was needed. Final decision at the 11 a.m. meeting.
Yeom seemed reluctant—understandable, fortunate even.
What do you plan to do with Ha Pan-seok?
Legba's voice carried anger.
"…By the book."
You seem reluctant.
Naturally. If Ha were alone, easier conscience—but he wasn't. Leaving him threatened me.
Thus, by the book.
Wise judgment.
Legba sounded pleased. More profit-loss than right-wrong, but I kept it to myself.
Left Yeom's room, descended stairs. Darkness thickened toward the ground floor. By first floor, pitch black.
Pushed through into deep woods. Eyes adjusted swiftly.
Caw, cawww….
Crunch, rustle….
Nightjars cried, leaves screamed in wind. Not scary—cozy.
Marinette's fire could light the way. Or summon ritual candles.
I shook my head at Legba's suggestion.
"Darkness has romance, especially in wild mountains."
I was used to it—like Kang Ji-a preferring warehouses and attics.
Hmm… who knows.
Ignored his sigh, trudged silently. Phone for emergencies, but no checking time. Darkness devoured time and space, blurring senses—blissful.
"This good?"
Not bad.
After unknown distance, a fine spot: flat, tree-free clearing, near-perfect circle—manmade?
Looked up: stars poured through round sky-hole. Trees rustled edges.
No time for scenery. I came for practice.
Unleashed voodoo magic: recreation spell, ritual candles. Dozens summoned, circled around me.
Violet flames seeped into darkness, filling my surroundings.
Very stable. Nice atmosphere.
Post-succession changes: two major. First, multiple recreation spells simultaneously—mid-level like candles, up to ten.
Second, intensity control. Adjust power freely—even for illusion, restoration, recreation. Candle flames dimmable.
First leader mastered control. Kept marriage harmonious.
"Huh?"
Joke.
Legba chuckled. Joke unclear.
Move on. Not here for spells, right?
Odd, but okay. Here for specific practice—only possible here.
"Sobo, Bade, Dan Wedo."
Controlling these erratic Loa.
Bosu and Granbwa obeyed well, potent—but heavy side effects limited use.
These differed. Sobo: thunder/lightning. Dan Wedo: water/rain. Bade: Sobo's brother, wind.
They ignored prophets, immense power, milder backlash. Double-edged without control; allies with it.
Rumble!
Thunder heralded Sobo and Bade. Bade matched Sobo: flippant speech, capricious. Brothers in temperament, tone, voice.
Pour! Clear sky clouded; rain fell. Sharp winds scattered drops. Flashes pierced clouds—lightning prelude.
Rumble….
Thunder echoed mountain ridges, eerie as mountain wails.
Rain, wind, thunder, lightning swirled violently, poised to obliterate.
Can you handle it?
Amid layered din, Legba whispered. Headache building, skull-splitting.
No whining. Must control this storm. No time for pain.
"Sobo, Bade, Dan Wedo!"
Shouted storm's heart.
Rumble! They amplified instead.
Candles flickered perilously. Hair soaked, whipped messy.
"───!"
Soon, voice drowned. Slack, and wind would hurl me. Rain pelted; lightning fractured sky. Trees bowed, rose; mountain quaked.
"──, ──, ─ ──!"
Called again. Voice lost; no reply. Fear surged: could I control? Reckless?
Steadied. I'd not start if crumbling here.
"────!"
Chanted prayer. Storm shredded voice. Yet persisted.
Voodoo born of oppression. Slaves' cries of freedom became doctrine. Prayer: defiant roar.
Crack, splinter! Storm uprooted trees, charged me. Prayer shattered by howls, body lashed by rain, flayed by gale.
I chanted on. Faced storm.
Voice fragmented, scattered. Rain drenched, battered. Flash!
Boom! Bolt split tree; debris rained.
Prayer unending.
Terror of unstoppable disaster. Frail human defiance.
Voodoo prayer incarnate.
(To be continued in the next installment)