The Witch Fortune Teller
“Young Master Wayne, where are you headed this early in the morning?”
“To the city.”
“Pardon? If you leave the mansion again, Sir Cassnet will have your hide.”
“Just shut up and follow me. Besides, you'll take the beating for me anyway, right?”
“......”
Even when Wayne messed up, no one could lay a hand directly on the blood of nobility. The whipping always fell to the body servant instead. John had no choice but to trail after Wayne.
The two, hoods pulled low over their faces, rode hard for half a day until they reached Manhat, the largest city nearby.
They slipped into the back alleys.
“Fuck, it's creepy as hell even in broad daylight.”
“So... what business do we have here?”
“There's a witch fortune teller in these alleys who's supposed to be the real deal.”
“A witch?”
John's face twisted in terror.
“I heard witches eat little kids.”
“You idiot! You're eighteen, for fuck's sake.”
“W-well, even so...”
Wayne halted in the street.
“Ah! Here it is.”
Checking his rough map and the sign, Wayne shoved the door open without knocking.
The inside was dim, thick with a cloying incense that stung the nose.
“Nobody home?”
Wayne glanced around and bellowed.
“I heard there's a witch here with the sight to see the future! That right?”
“Have a seat over there.”
A young woman's voice drifted from the shadows within.
Wayne and John sat. The woman lounged on a bed behind a white silhouette screen, faint light leaking through the window cracks to illuminate her in a haze of mystery.
“So, what brings you three here?”
“Three?”
Wayne cocked his head, then stood and yanked the screen aside.
Her eyes were closed.
“What the? You're blind?”
“For fortune telling, eyes aren't necessary.”
“Well, fair enough...”
As he spoke, Wayne's gaze roamed her body. Tall, curvaceous, and a rare beauty to boot. Lust flared hot for a moment, but that wasn't why he'd come.
“Mind stepping back a bit now?”
“Oh! Right.”
Wayne licked his lips regretfully and returned to his seat.
Clink!
He tossed a gold coin into the silhouette space.
“Alright. How long am I stuck hiding in the woods? That's what I want to know.”
“The visions I see can't be pinned to any specific time. Could be the future, the past... or even further back. And the vision itself might change the future. Still want to see?”
“Huh.”
Wayne eyed her suspiciously.
“What's your age and name?”
His gaze turned icy in an instant.
“Do I really have to give my name?”
“Names are ancient words of power. Even the gods who shaped heaven and earth did so with speech. Your name is the time you've lived and the time yet to come. Without it, I see nothing.”
“Hold on a sec.”
Wayne glanced at John and beckoned him over.
“Let's start with my servant, then.”
“Pardon?”
“Tell her, John.”
John stepped forward hesitantly.
“I'm John. Eighteen this year.”
“No family name?”
“Conner. John Conner.”
As John gave his full name, the witch stuffed blue herbs into her pipe and lit it. Smoke billowed from her mouth and the pipe, filling the room.
Suddenly, she twisted her body in eerie contortions, her eyes snapping open—pure white.
“I see something. A rural village. A crumbling house swarming with children.”
John swallowed hard.
“My future kids?”
“No. It's you as a child. This is your past.”
John's face soured. He barely remembered his own past. Born to dirt-poor parents with seven siblings scratching out a living on a farm, always starving and exhausted—or so he'd heard. To save the others, they'd sold him off at five. At least now, with his rich master, he didn't go hungry.
“It's pitch black now.”
“Heh!”
Wayne couldn't hold back his snicker.
“Darkness for John the Pitch Black? Must be your future, eh?”
“This feels much older. Ah! This is... a previous life!”
“Previous life? Witches can see that too?”
“It's my first time seeing one. It's night, but the streets are lit like day.”
“What? Lit up? The capital?”
“Buildings scrape the sky. Crowds everywhere. Ah! It's all so strange, unfamiliar. A man steps out of a building, walking. But he looks unhappy, scowling.”
She described John's past life in detail—the modern salaryman Han Sang-tae—but to her, it was all alien.
“A strange steel monster races up at terrifying speed and swallows him whole. He dies horribly.”
“Steel monster? A Gigant?”
Wayne tilted his head.
“Enough on this guy.”
“My future! What about my future?”
John cried out desperately.
And then!
“A gruesome death.”
“What?”
“And it's very near.”
“M-me? I'm gonna die?”
John's face drained of color in horror.
The witch shuddered violently, then closed her eyes. The vision faded.
Wayne clutched his stomach, bursting into laughter.
“Puhahaha! You're a dead man walking—guess I need a new servant pronto!”
He flung two more gold coins at her.
“Now do mine. Vision or future, whatever.”
“Your age and name, please.”
“Sixteen. Wayne Stein.”
She began the ritual again.
“A huge crowd. People riding giant puppets.”
“Gigants for real this time.”
“They're... followers of Wayne Stein.”
Wayne swallowed.
Gigants were the pinnacle of magical weaponry in this era. The knights who piloted them were the elite of elites. How could he not get excited?
“So I'm taking over the Stein Marquisate?”
“I can't say. But...”
“But?”
“Countless people cheering the name Wayne Stein.”
“Oh yeah!”
Wayne grinned. A bright future? Who wouldn't love that?
“But... I also see great hardship.”
“Hardship? I'm suffering now—more ahead?”
“You must endure that trial to succeed...”
Bam!
“What a load of bullshit!”
Wayne slammed the table and shot to his feet.
“Overcome hardship and succeed? Fuck! I could say that myself.”
“I'm only relaying what I see...”
“You bitch! Trying to scam my gold?”
Wayne lunged, pinning her down.
“Two gold coins—that's your body price.”
“Aaaah!”
John rushed in.
“Young master! Please, stop!”
“Huh? You gone mad?”
John had never defied him once. Not even when Wayne raped a passerby earlier that year—he'd just looked away. Now he was grabbing his arm, intervening actively. Wayne was baffled.
“Get lost!”
“I-I'm scared the witch's curse will fall on you.”
“What? Witch's curse?”
Wayne paused mid-rip at her clothes.
“I heard witches can rot your flesh. Please, stop.”
John looked genuinely worried for his master.
“Fuck it, too damn creepy.”
Wayne pulled back, smacking his lips.
“You go ahead. I'm gonna unwind a bit.”
“But Sir Cassnet...”
“Shut it! One more word, and I'll kill you!”
Wayne kicked the door open and stormed out.
The woman straightened her clothes and hair.
John picked up the three gold coins from the floor and placed them by her bed.
“Thank you for helping.”
“What's your name?”
John's tone shifted suddenly.
“I'm Irene.”
John rummaged in his pouch, pulling out six silver coins and nine coppers.
“All I have. Here, on the bed.”
“Why give this to me?”
“Thanks to you, I remembered my past life.”
“Pardon?”
Thanks to the witch fortune teller, John had recalled his reincarnation as the Hell Joseon salaryman Han Sang-tae.
“Now, tell me—how do I die?”