The Returned Saintess’s Exorcism Broadcast - Episode 2: The Returned

I knew the first sighting of the serial killer, the man who had murdered four women and managed to slip away from every net the authorities set, had to be him. The moment I laid eyes on Kang Sangdae, the black-haired woman in her late twenties who had just bought a snack at the convenience store, a chill ran through me. This was the monster who had evaded capture for months, the psychopathic monster who hid behind an ordinary office-worker facade in his early forties.

His first kill had been pure accident. One drunken night, he had knocked into a woman sleeping on a park bench and, in a rage, driven a kitchen knife straight into her heart. He had thought he had gotten away with it. But when the news spread, he realized the police would come knocking. His panicked mind had gone to work immediately. He cleaned the scene, wiped every trace of evidence, and waited for the storm to pass. It never did. The killer instinct had already taken root in him, and he decided to feed it again.

That was when the rush came. The forbidden high of feeling alive while every cop in the city hunted him like a dog. He did it again. And again. Until five women lay dead and the city itself began to tremble. He had been cocky, almost smug, when the police chief stood before the cameras and reporters, bowing his head in shame. The city had roared for justice, and the monster had watched from the shadows, laughing inside.

Now, as I walked down the narrow alley behind the convenience store, I carried no weapon. I needed none. This man was mine. His final hunt had begun, and I would end it here.

The alley was perfect for a killing. Dim, deserted, lit only by the occasional flickering streetlamp. Too perfect, in fact. A trap set by a predator who had learned to fear the law but not the dark. I let him think he had the upper hand. I let him close in.

Kang Sangdae stepped out from behind a dumpster, his face twisted in triumph. The long kitchen knife he carried gleamed under the orange streetlight, its edge already stained dark with the promise of fresh blood.

“Come on, you bitch,” he sneered, voice thick with the stench of cheap alcohol and greed. “Beg me. Beg and I’ll make it quick.”

I smiled, slow and serene. “You don’t get to choose how I die.”

His eyes widened. “What the hell are you—?”

I moved faster than thought. My fist connected with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠side of his temple. The crack echoed like thunder in the narrow space. His head snapped sideways, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he roared and swung the knife at my throat. I ducked, grabbed his wrist, and twisted until bone gave way. He howled.

With my free hand, I drove my elbow into his face. Cartilage crunched. He staggered back, blood spraying from his shattered nose. Then he went down, face-first onto the cracked pavement, unconscious before he hit the ground.

“Hah…” I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. “You really should have stayed still, Kang Sangdae.”

The man who had terrorized the streets for months now lay at my feet, pants already half-pulled down in his desperate scramble for survival. I had torn them away without mercy. The alley was dark enough to hide what I was doing. No one would come. No one would see.

I crouched beside him. “You thought I was a cop, didn’t you? The way you attacked me like I was a threat… pathetic.”

He groaned, eyes fluttering open in pure panic. “Who… who are you?!”

“An inquisitor,” I answered calmly. “The one who hunts demons, cultists, and heretics. And you, Kang Sangdae… you are both.”

His ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face drained of color. “D-demon? What are you talking about?!”

I stood, circling him slowly. “Your eyes. Red, even without contacts. The way you’re bleeding from every orifice. And that knife… it’s not a normal kitchen blade. It’s carrying something unnatural. You’re host to a demon, aren’t you?”

“No! No, you’re wrong! I’m just a normal guy! A salaryman!” His voice cracked with desperation as he tried to crawl away, only to collapse again when his broken arm gave out.

I laughed softly. “Normal? You murdered four women and laughed while the police chief bowed on television. You’re a demon worshipper. A heretic. And the law of this world has no power over you… yet.”

He lunged at me again, screaming. I sidestepped, grabbed his hair, and slammed his face into the concrete. Once. Twice. Three times. His nose flattened, blood pouring freely.

“Stop! Please! I’m sorry! I’ll never hurt anyone again! Just let me go!”

“You don’t get to beg after what you did to those women,” I said, voice cold. “You will answer for every drop of blood on your hands.”

His eyes bulged. “D-demon! This is a demon! It’s wearing you! You’re not human!”

I smiled. “And you’re the one wearing the demon. The curse you carry is unmistakable. But the Holy Kingdom’s judgment still applies. Even here.”

He kept babbling, tears mixing with blood on his face. “I didn’t want this! It was an accident! The first one was an accident! I just wanted to live!”

“Lies,” I cut him off. “The thrill of it already called to you. You chose the second kill because it felt good. You chose the third because it felt better. And the fourth because you couldn’t stop. You’re a monster. And monsters burn.”

Finally, I drew the weapon I had carried since the day I returned to this world. The long, slender blade I had used for centuries. I held it up to the weak light. Its edge was razor sharp, humming with latent power.

“No… no, please!”

“Begging again?” I asked. “How original.”

He grabbed my leg desperately. “Don’t do this! I’m sorry! I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” I tilted my head. “Then you must be truly sorry.”

I pressed the blade to his chest. He screamed, a high, animal sound that echoed off the walls. The knife sank in slowly, deliberately. His body jerked, back arching. Blood soaked the concrete beneath him.

“This is for every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠woman you took,” I whispered. “This is for every scream you stole.”

He thrashed once, twice, then went still. The demonic energy in his veins twisted and died under the holy blade. His eyes rolled back. The grotesque, mutated form that had begun to emerge beneath his skin—tentacles, scales, horns—dissolved into ash. What remained was only a man, a broken man, bleeding out on the ground.

I stepped back, wiping the blade clean on his shirt. The air smelled of copper and terror. Somewhere far away, sirens began to wail. The city was waking up.

“Hah…” I exhaled again, calmer now. “One less demon in the world.”

But the police would come. They always did. And I had no intention of hiding what I was.

I tucked the blade away and began walking toward the main street. The sirens grew louder. A brown trench coat, neatly combed stubble, and a face that looked equal parts relieved and exhausted stepped out from the alley mouth. Detective Seo Minjae, I would learn later.

“Detective,” I greeted him with a small bow. “You’re late.”

He blinked, then straightened. “Lady… no, ma’am. Are you… all right? That man… he was the serial killer, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. He’s gone now.”

“But how…?” His eyes widened as he took in the blood on the pavement and the faint ash drifting in the wind. “Wait. You ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weren’t there when he attacked. You’re… you’re not human, are you?”

I smiled. “Not in the way you mean. I’m the Inquisitor Hanai. And I’ve been watching this city for a long time.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still processing. “Inquisitor? Like… church exorcist? But you speak Korean like you were born here. And you just… one-shot the biggest serial killer in years without a gun?”

“Years of practice,” I said lightly. “Plus, I have my own reasons for being here.”

Before he could ask more, another squad car screeched to a halt. The serial killer’s body was still twitching slightly. Uniformed officers rushed over, weapons drawn, faces pale.

“Holy crap, what happened here?!” one of them yelped.

“Ma’am… you did this?” another asked, voice shaking.

I turned to the detective. “They’re going to want answers. Go ahead and tell them I found him already dead. You can say I saw him attack and… intervened.”

Seo Minjae looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll… I’ll handle it. Just… stay out of trouble, okay? The city doesn’t need another holy warrior showing up every time a demon slips through.”

“No promises,” I replied. “But thank you for your understanding, Detective Seo.”

He handed me a card. “If you need anything—anything at all—call me. I’m with the Seoul Metropolitan Police. Lights and sirens, just in case.”

I took the card and slipped it into my pocket. “Thank you. May your New Year be filled with peace and protection.”

“Same to you, ma’am.”

As I watched the squad cars pull away, I felt the familiar weight of power settle back into my bones. The world was still burning. Demons still walked among us. But one less monster meant one less soul lost tonight.

I turned toward home, the distant wail of sirens fading behind me. Somewhere in the city, the broadcast would begin again. The world would watch. And I would be ready for the next one.