The Crow Sorcerer
Whispers from the Magic Grimoire slithered through his mind.
[There is a way to send them back, my lord. Only through the 'escape coordinates' hidden somewhere on this stage. You can lead them there.]
"Why bother with all that hassle?"
[Invest in it, my lord. My true power is bound to the very concept of 'domination'. The more the world sees you as a 'savior' or 'conqueror', the more your name becomes an object of fear and awe—that very fame is the key to unlocking the chains binding me. The higher your renown, the more powerful chapters of authority, now sealed, will open. They are your cheapest 'megaphones' to spread word of your feats. Sending them back alive is the surest investment in your future self.]
The Grimoire's proposal was irresistibly compelling. Jinwoo nodded, and a chill seeped into the tip of his tongue. From behind the mask, he spoke fluent, mechanical English without a hint of hesitation.
"Stand up."
At his voice, the wailing man flinched and looked up at him. "You... you speak English?"
"Your weeping won't save you from this hell. Your friends are already dead."
The man's words failed him at Jinwoo's merciless declaration. Jinwoo nudged a skinwalker's corpse with his foot and continued.
"You asked if this is the 'Eternal Nightmare'. It is. A stage built from your world's worst fears."
"Then... we're trapped forever?" another man muttered in despair from the side, still dazed.
"Forever is a long time." Jinwoo lightly shook the bloodstained Magic Grimoire in his hand. "I know the way out of this stage. But it's not close, and it's not safe."
"A way out? Really?" Hope flickered in the eyes of the first man who'd spoken.
"Please! We'll do anything! Just get us home!"
Jinwoo gazed down at their pleas with cold eyes from behind the mask, then made his final proclamation.
"I am not your savior. Merely a passerby who finds these beasts distasteful. Your survival depends on your own two feet."
"Follow me if you wish to live. Get left behind, and you'll become food for the next beasts to arrive. The choice is yours."
Jinwoo didn't wait for a reply. Without looking back, he began striding toward the direction the Grimoire indicated, across the Red Wasteland.
The two men hesitated briefly, offered a short prayer toward their comrades' corpses, then supported each other and desperately stumbled after him.
Jinwoo crossed the Red Wasteland, using the Grimoire as his compass.
The book's cover faintly glowed under the blood-red moonlight, like a lighthouse beacon ceaselessly pointing the way forward across the endless sea.
Behind him, the two Americans staggered desperately in pursuit. They could no longer even converse.
Exhaustion and terror crushed their minds; only the instinct that the eerie masked man ahead was their sole lifeline kept their legs moving.
How long had they walked when they entered a canyon lined with bizarre rock formations like the jagged teeth of some massive beast? Jinwoo's steps suddenly halted.
A far thicker, more repulsive beastly stench rode the wind blowing through the rock crevices.
"Grrrrr..."
It was the signal.
Shadows writhed atop the rocks on both sides and in the darkness ahead, revealing three skinwalkers in perfect unison.
Far more cunning than before, they had formed a flawless encirclement. Their hollow eyes gleamed with clear murderous hunger.
"Oh, God, no! More of them!" One survivor nearly screamed in tears.
His legs buckled, but his companion barely caught him.
Jinwoo clicked his tongue in annoyance.
He pointed the hand holding the Grimoire toward the ground and murmured lowly.
Enslaving Mud
Once more, sticky mire engulfed their feet. But these ones were different.
The two on the sides flailed as the mud trapped them, but the largest one ahead used its grotesquely long arms to grip the cliff, launching itself like a cannonball straight at Jinwoo.
He dodged by leaping aside, barely evading its razor claws. But in that instant, every hair on his body stood on end—a transcendent, overwhelming gaze beyond dimensions.
It wasn't mere sight.
Like a scientist peering into a petri dish under a microscope, coldly, impassively analyzing his every existence and action. Someone from the sky above—or higher still—was watching this play.
"This feeling...?"
[An outer god, or one of their minions, no doubt.]
[Disgusting spectators watching how well the actors perform on the crude stage they've made. Ignore it. They're not at the stage of intervening directly to ruin the fun. Rather, it's proof your presence has piqued their interest.]
The word 'spectators' made Jinwoo grit his teeth.
He regripped his hammer and dagger, charging first at the two flailing in the mud. Dispatching foes immobilized by magic was routine now. He crushed skulls with the hammer, stabbed hearts with the dagger—clean, efficient motions felling them in seconds.
Meanwhile, the last one recovered from the cliff leap and lunged again. Jinwoo reversed his dagger to parry, then smashed its knee joint with the hammer in his free hand.
Thwack!
A dull crack of shattering bone, and its leg bent unnaturally.
Mounting its collapsing neck, Jinwoo plunged the dagger deep into its eye without hesitation.
As the battle ended, the oppressive gaze vanished like a lie.
After harvesting needed organs from the corpses and marching in silence for a while, an unbelievable sight finally appeared before them.
In the midst of the barren red plain stood a single dilapidated phone booth—paint peeling, glass shattered—like something out of a surreal painting.
"A... a phone booth? What the hell is that?"
"Your exit." Jinwoo said from behind the mask. "Enter one by one and pick up the receiver. You'll return to where you came from."
The two men exchanged glances.
Doubt and confusion outweighed hope in their eyes. But they had no other choice. One stepped forward with resolve, staggering to the booth.
He creaked open the door, entered, and hesitantly lifted the dusty receiver. His body blurred like a noisy video signal, then vanished without a trace.
"Dave! He's... He's gone! It worked! Oh my god, it actually worked!"
The remaining man shouted in ecstasy at the sight.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his face and sobbing.
Not tears of sorrow, but an agonizing wail of profound relief and joy at surviving death's door.
After weeping long, he rushed to Jinwoo, nearly kneeling in gratitude.
"I... I don't know how to thank you. You saved us. You truly, truly saved us. Our friends... they're gone, but you... you gave us a chance to live."
Overcome with emotion, he couldn't continue, then unstrapped the gleaming Rolex from his wrist.
"It's not much... I know it's just a thing, but it's all I have right now. Please... take this. A token of our gratitude."
Jinwoo silently accepted the watch. The hefty metal weight. This alone should cover months of that damn semi-basement rent, he calculated pragmatically in his mind.
Before heading to the booth, the man asked desperately one last time.
"Who are you? We have to tell people who saved us. The world needs to know there's hope."
Jinwoo paused, recalling the Grimoire's advice, then answered lowly.
"Tell them... the Crow Sorcerer sent you back."
The man repeated the ominous yet mystical name 'Crow Sorcerer' several times, bowed deeply, and finally vanished into the booth.
Perfect silence returned to the wasteland. Alone now, Jinwoo tossed a casual question at the Grimoire.
"One thing I'm curious about. Can't they just wake up in reality like it was a dream if they die here? Did they really need to be that desperate?"
[Ha.]
[That was merely the 'prologue', my lord. The outer gods tested how entertainingly their human toys would break and perform plausible terror on their stage before the real fun began. A sort of 'open beta test'. Child's play with safety nets even on death.]
[But the test is over now. With your unexpected variable appearing, even the bored spectators must be intrigued at last. The prologue curtain has fallen. Now begins the true 'game', the true 'performance'. Death here now means complete annihilation of the soul. No return, no waking morning.]
Jinwoo swallowed hard at the cold chill racing up his spine. Wordlessly, he tucked the Grimoire to his chest. The landscape warped violently, and his consciousness returned to the cramped, musty semi-basement room—which now felt utterly comforting.
