The Great Serpent

"Thank you."

I bowed with the burlap sack still in my hands. Shaman Chuyeon waved me off and bent even lower than I had.

"What are you saying...! Teacher...! Next time I'll be sure to send you off with even more...!"

The moment you take hundreds of millions of won from someone else and buy a farm with it, you fall into one of the textbook patterns of tax evasion. Becoming a mage hadn't made me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠afraid of the National Tax Service. I simply didn't want the hassle. So for now I had borrowed only a few tens of millions and written out a promissory note, at the lowest permissible rate of interest.

"Please come again, Teacher...!"

Chuyeon kept waving until I was out of sight. Mm. Being good to her had been the right call after all.

I got straight onto a bus.

Vroooom.

It sat a fair distance from the office, but I was headed for Goyang in Gyeonggi Province, close to my place in Yeonsinnae. With all the new-town development lately, land across Goyang had risen in price as well. Even so, for something cheaper than Seoul and still easy to reach, nothing beat Goyang. It was developed enough, quietly dotted with empty lots, and the transit in and out of Gwanghwamun was good. The ideal location.

The moment I stepped off the bus, I found the real estate office I had arranged to visit. A male agent who looked to be in his early sixties greeted me.

"Oof, you're the boss who called a little while ago, aren't you?"

"Hello."

"Right. You're looking at a field or something, to turn into a farm?"

"That's correct."

"Hmm. About how much is the total budget?"

I had roughly fifty million won on hand. I deliberately named a lower figure. There was no need to lay every card I held on the table.

"My budget's around thirty million."

"And the size?"

"I'd like to start at about a hundred pyeong and expand little by little."

A hundred pyeong came to a little over three thousand square feet. If I could, I wanted somewhere to test things first, then nibble up the surrounding land a piece at a time. The agent stroked his chin as if the request troubled him.

"Hmm... Even the cheaper lots these days run six hundred thousand a pyeong... With the budget you've got, fifty pyeong is about the best I can see..."

I looked at the agent without so much as a flicker. The Red Lines above his head began to fidget, uneasy. The moment blue lines seeped from my body, a cold sweat beaded across his brow.

So it worked on people, not only on ghosts. A new use. Right now the agent was probably pinned under a heavy pressure from head to toe. This would be handy for threatening someone, wouldn't it?

Uncomfortable, he jerked his eyes away from mine and cleared his throat.

"Ahem... The truth is... there's a place where a hundred pyeong is possible for thirty million. No—even for twenty..."

Just as I'd thought. In a real estate deal, you couldn't afford to lose the battle of nerves.

A hundred pyeong for twenty million won was an excellent deal. In the capital region, a price like that ought to have been flatly impossible.

What, land beside some ghost-ridden wreck of a house? All the better. I could catch the ghosts and turn them into fertilizer.

"Where?"

"Hmm... but the people listing that land... tsk... haah..."

The agent hesitated a long while before he finally managed to open his mouth.

"It's... how do I put this... a cult...? That's what it seems like to me."

"A cult?"

He kept rolling his eyes, visibly anxious, as if he feared someone might be listening in on him in secret.

"Ahem. I—I'm only saying that's how it looks to me... On the outside they've stuck a Protestant label on it... but no matter how I look, they aren't like any Protestants I know."

"In what way?"

"It's a little awkward for me to explain it myself... How about it? Want to go take a look? J-just don't blame me afterward..."

I nodded readily. Cultist or ghost, a Laser Beam through the head worked just the same.

"Sure. That sounds good."

"I—I've already called the seller, all right? When you're finished talking, contact the office! I—I'll just be..."

The agent dropped me in front of the church and scurried off. I turned my head back.

From the outside, the church was ordinary. Nothing set it apart from any other.

Only two things were different: the sign, and the emblem fixed at the very top.

The name reeked of a cult. And where a cross ought to have stood at the church's peak, an emblem shaped like an Å hung instead.

"Hello. I hear you've come to see the land?"

A middle-aged man in a suit approached from a distance. Neat suit, polished dress shoes—presentable enough, on the outside.

"Hello. Yes. I'm looking at about a hundred pyeong."

He asked with careful courtesy.

"Forgive me, but may I ask what you mean to use it for? The lot sits directly behind our church, you see, so if things get too noisy it interferes with worship. We're being a little particular... but we've set the price low with those conditions in mind, and we'd be truly grateful if you could understand."

He even dipped his head in a small bow. I drew a fleeceflower root from the bag I'd brought and held it out for him to see.

"I'm planning to put in a farm. Things like sweet potatoes."

The man's face brightened.

"Aha. Sweet potatoes and the like won't smell. That should be fine. Would you follow me for a moment?"

He led me past the church and showed me the land behind it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It had been neatly turned, with nothing like rocks in the way, and looked like the perfect place for a farm.

"What do you think? Nice and level, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠isn't it?"

"Yes. It's good."

It did look good—aside from the earth being steeped in yellow lines. The ground was like a lake brimming with yellow water. Across its surface the lines squirmed this way and that, like tadpoles.

These were absolutely not yellow lines that had arisen on their own. The ones on the Preta King and the tiger had been aggressive, impossible to predict, alive with the rough vitality peculiar to wild things.

The yellow lines before my eyes, though, moved in regular patterns, as if they were keeping time to someone's command.

I brushed a fingertip against the Dokkaebi Club in my bag. At once Kkaebi's voice rang straight into my head.

Wait a little longer, and I'll let you have your fight.

Lately I had been wiping the club with clean bottled water and polishing it neatly with a dry cloth. Perhaps because of that, Kkaebi had at some point started listening to me reasonably well. Fair enough. If someone kept the house you lived in spotless, you'd be grateful too.

Kkaebi was sensitive to the energy around him. A dokkaebi who had lived more than a hundred years, he was especially sharp at reading it, and he could grasp even places I still couldn't see. Judging by his reaction, my guess had been right.

This land had been made by hand. I didn't know the method, but someone had crammed yellow lines into it until it became a yellow lake.

To think this many yellow lines could be gathered in one place. I wanted to learn how. If I could make another yellow lake like this, I wouldn't stop at a fleeceflower farm. I could build a factory.

"Excuse me."

At my call, the middle-aged man smiled politely.

"Yes. Please, go ahead."

"Would it be all right if I sat in on a service for a moment? I have to pray a little before anything important, and if possible I'd rather do it inside the church."

He laughed, easy and open.

"Oh, so you're a brother in faith. By all means. This way."

"Thank you."

Black Lines darted this way and that above the head of the man walking ahead of me. For all his courteous smile, the inside of him was packed with pitch-black malice. Tsk. If he doesn't get rid of those Black Lines soon, he's going to regret it badly.

The inside of the church was ordinary. A few people sat apart from one another, praying. For a weekday afternoon, there were quite a few of them.

I sat in a chair just as naturally, pressed my hands together, and pricked up both ears.

It was slightly different from an ordinary prayer. I wasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a Christian, but even I knew a revelation wasn't something that could keep coming down. A revelation that continued to arrive? It smelled far too much like a cult.

Learning how they gathered the yellow lines mattered, but I had no wish to pick a fight with a cult church over nothing. Unlike the Preta King or the tiger, a cult church was made of people, not ghosts. I had talked a big game earlier, but putting a Laser Beam through a human skull was certain to spiral into a considerable nuisance.

And then it happened. A prayer sank straight into my ear.

A tower? A book of truth? A gate of enlightenment?

No way. I whipped my head around.

A man was kneeling before the church platform, deep in prayer. He had a hood drawn up, so his face was hard to make out.

"Who is that?"

When I pointed at the hooded man, the middle-aged man seated beside me smiled, showing his teeth.

"Oh, remarkable. To recognize such singular devotion at a single glance. That is our pastor."

I looked again at the hooded man they called pastor. Above his head, yellow lines and blue lines tangled together, writhing like a great serpent.

He was no ghost. He didn't seem like a whole person, either.

That man—no. What was that thing?