The Shadow of the Hidden World: Dark Monarch Grusdae (Part 2)
It was an incident that had occurred about a year earlier. Even though nearly a full year had passed since she became a fox yokai, Miho still had no will to live. And for good reason. She was living on borrowed time, after all.
Of course, she could have prolonged her life a little by draining the vital energy of human men or devouring their livers. However, because her sense of identity as a human was still stronger than her identity as a fox yokai, she couldn’t even bring herself to consider laying a hand on them. She believed dying would be better than committing such an act. From the depths of her heart, Miho utterly loathed the “yokai energy acquisition methods of fox spirits.”
Once she crossed into the “acceptance” stage of the five stages of grief, Miho’s behavior lost all restraint. Facing imminent death from yokai energy deficiency, she told the yokai who lived in the Hidden World:
“Don’t pay any attention to me. Don’t speak to me, either. Just treat me like I’m invisible. When I die, just bury me in a sunny spot or whatever.”
…Since the Hidden World was a place where the sun never rose, no sunny spot existed. Her final request was not granted.
Naturally, the other two requests were ignored as well.
The talkative Depo and Mangtae Grandfather—who adored children to the point of obsession—began visiting the nest where Miho slept every single day, chattering nonstop.
The squirrel yokai Depo said, “Squeak, squeak squeak, squeak squeak squeak!”
Miho let Depo’s words go in one ear and out the other. The definitive proof that she was tuning out his grand tales was the way she reduced the entire thing to mere “squeaks.”
The child-loving Mangtae Grandfather said, “Heh heh heh. Miho, won’t you come inside this old man’s sack?”
Miho let those words go in one ear and out the other as well. In truth, Mangtae Grandfather had never actually said “won’t you come inside my sack” to her. It was simply Miho’s own assumption, imagining what that perverted old man would probably say.
While the daily routine of Depo and Mangtae Grandfather talking and Miho ignoring them continued, even her ears—which had accepted death and given up on life—could not easily dismiss the story that flowed from their mouths.
“Miho! Grusdae is back!”
Her fluffy fox ears perked up. At Depo’s words, Miho asked back, “…Grusdae?”
“Whoa, Miho actually answered! How long has it been since she last spoke?”
“Heh heh heh. About a month, I’d say.”
The fact that the two of them were cheering like they had won the lottery just because Miho had given a single response showed exactly how dire her condition had become.
Grusdae. Miho had heard about this yokai from Depo before. If Sangun represented the light (明) of the Hidden World, then Grusdae was its shadow and its darkness (暗). He was a yokai who embodied darkness itself. For reasons unknown, he frequently left the Hidden World vacant, so during the past year Miho had never once encountered him inside it.
Miho, who had responded with complete indifference to everything, violently wagged her tail at Depo’s words—“Grusdae has returned”—and asked again.
“Where is that yokai right now?”
“Where else? The darkest place in the entire Hidden World.”
“…Thank you, Depo. Grandpa.”
“Whoa, Miho just thanked me!”
“Heh heh heh.”
At this stage, Miho believed she had fully accepted death. In reality, that wasn’t true. She simply had no means left to survive.
The yokai named “Grusdae” possessed the greatest power in the Hidden World after Sangun himself. A yokai that strong might know another way to obtain yokai energy.
Clinging to that single thread of hope, Miho set out to find Grusdae.
Before long, she stood before him. No one knew what conversation passed between them, but—
“Miho, what’s wrong? What did Grusdae say?”
“…It’s nothing. I’m going to sleep, Depo.”
The expression on Miho’s face when she returned was so steeped in chaotic emotion that even the endlessly talkative Depo clamped his mouth shut.
“Can you see anything? I can’t see a thing…”
“I can’t see anything either.”
“Miho, you’re a dog, right? Don’t dogs have better eyesight than humans?”
“I’m not a dog. I’m a fox. And a fox’s eyesight isn’t much different from a human’s.”
“Dog, fox, same difference.”
“…”
It’s not the same. Dogs and foxes are clearly different animals.
The vision of beasts is rooted in their sense of smell. What that means is this: canine beasts have far superior noses compared to their eyes, so they smell something before they ever see it. Only after identifying its identity through scent do they finally perform the act of “seeing.”
In that sense, now that smell had lost all meaning, my vision wasn’t functioning properly. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I had essentially gone completely blind.
I relied on memory to walk forward along the path. Our destination was the center of the Hidden World—the space where Sangun resided. I had a strong hunch that if it was Grusdae, he would be sprawled boldly on Sangun’s spot, waiting for me.
The distance from the Hidden World’s entrance to its center wasn’t particularly far, but since I couldn’t see anything and no scents reached me, we moved at a snail’s pace. It took a full three hours of blindly groping through the darkness.
“Haa, this is suffocating… Miho, is this Grusdae yokai really a good one?”
“Probably… yes.”
“‘Probably’?! You said he was a good yokai earlier!”
“The standard for ‘good’ differs from person to person. From my perspective, he is a good yokai.”
Originally, if someone’s intentions align with yours, they’re good. If they don’t, they’re bad. In that sense, Grusdae was indeed a good yokai to me. Because no one other than Sangun trusted him. If Sangun hadn’t trusted him, he never would have been allowed into the Hidden World in the first place.
I recalled the conversation I’d had with Grusdae a year ago.
‘Do you perhaps know a method to obtain yokai energy?’
‘!@#$%^$’
…As expected. I couldn’t remember.
Every time I tried to recall our conversation, the words he had spoken seemed hidden behind a dark curtain. I couldn’t remember them at all.
I didn’t remember exactly what we had talked about, but it had been unpleasant. Confusing. And yet, somehow, it had also felt strangely reassuring. That kind of chaotic conversation.
How much time had passed like that?
After wandering while relying on memory, we luckily managed to reach the center of the ‘fake Hidden World.’
I examined the area around the center with great care. It was so dark that objects were indistinguishable, yet there was one unique point visible to the naked eye.
The spot presumed to be Sangun’s throne was exceptionally dark. No—simply calling it dark wasn’t enough. What is darkness, anyway? Darkness is a concept that can only exist because light exists. Darkness and light are inseparable, powerfully interdependent concepts. Without darkness there can be no light, and without light there can be no darkness.
Yet this fake Hidden World contained not even the faintest trace of light. Therefore, the darkness writhing like heat haze before my eyes was nothing less than a massive contradiction.
An existence that completely denied everything I knew about “darkness.” That was the yokai named Grusdae.
Gurgle… gurgle…
The darkness moved. I could see it with my own eyes.
“What is that…”
It seemed visible to Ha-neul’s eyes as well.
Soon the darkness began forming a single shape. The sight was both familiar and strangely alien to me.
One tail, two, three… …eight.
Grusdae had taken the shadowy form of a fox with eight tails.
“M-Miho, that’s you!”
“No. It’s not me. That’s…”
A fox yokai with eight tails. There has only ever been one in history.
“Dalki…?”
That wasn’t me. It was Dalki’s shadow.
The moment I realized that fact, something astonishing happened.
Hssssssssssss.
A strange sound rang out, and the dark curtain enveloping the area slowly began to lift.
What…? There was only one way to drive away darkness—light. But I had definitely not used foxfire. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Ha-neul. It was Grusdae himself.
As the darkness receded, the location was revealed. It appeared to be the royal palace of some kingdom, but the architecture clearly evoked China rather than Korea.
In the center of the palace stood a golden throne radiating brilliant light. Upon that throne, the shadow of a woman with nine tails reclined in a seductive pose thick with yin energy. Only her body’s outline was visible. Since she was nothing more than a shadow, I could not see her face.
Ha-neul, who had been beside me only moments ago, had vanished without a trace. Strangely, I wasn’t particularly alarmed. I didn’t believe Grusdae would have harmed her. It seemed he wanted to speak with me alone.
I asked him, “You’re… Grusdae… correct…?”
The woman’s shadow opened her mouth.
“Indeed. To be precise, one could say I am Grusdae who has taken the shadow form of Dalki. Ahahaha! I would have preferred the form of nine tails, but it seems that would have gone against the heavenly laws.”
“How…”
“Do not ask about the cause. This lady has no intention of giving you an answer. Simply accept the result.”
“…Understood. Then why did you choose to take Dalki’s form…?”
“It is simple.”
I couldn’t see his expression, but—
“This lady, Dalki, was the one and only natural enemy of the dokkaebi.”
For some reason, I had the distinct impression that Grusdae was wearing an extremely arrogant smirk.