The Sorcerer's Harvest
Harvest sorcery is a discipline that demands a great deal of money. Invest little, and the requirements remain negligible. Invest heavily, however, and the costs spiral without limit.
Simple rituals for love, safe childbirth, or folk blessings tied to good fortune do not require much outlay. The Korean jeung ritual for blessings and disaster prevention can be performed with nothing more than straw and three coins. Talismans need only paper, a brush, and ink. Even the most beloved charm of all—carrying a rabbit's foot—shows how cheap and accessible everyday sorcery can be. Basic talismans and practical household magic are genuinely inexpensive and easy to use.
But the moment one steps beyond these simple workings into sorcery that produces visible effects, everything changes. Lightning-struck jujube trees, ancient dolls, the blood and entrails of freshly slaughtered beasts, spring flowers blooming in winter, desiccated mummies… The required materials suddenly leap to an entirely different level. Items once obtainable for free or pocket change now demand crisscrossing the country, and the difficulty skyrockets. Prices range from tens of thousands to hundreds of millions—sometimes billions—for a single component. Even talismans, to achieve noticeable results, require high-grade cinnabar and meticulously prepared special paper whose material cost alone frequently exceeds millions.
Ritual ceremonies? It hardly needs saying. Every expensive ingredient is poured in without restraint to reduce the risk. Still, even this is tolerable. Grand sorcery rituals require committing the national budget itself: erecting altars, consuming materials more precious than their weight in gold as if they were water, and enlisting the help of countless people. The Fengshan ceremony performed at Mount Tai cost an astronomical sum even in vast China, undertaken only with absolute determination. The Dangun Offering Ceremony demanded years of accumulated budget even from South Korea, an economic powerhouse. The Wicker Man ritual in Ireland is relatively cheap, yet it carries the drawback of correspondingly weaker effects.
Therefore, sorcery always requires money. A great deal of it. An extraordinary amount.
The profession of sorcerer carried a strong image of being approachable to ordinary people, making it easy to blend into any community. With determination, one could find employment anywhere, and major corporations would practically bow and scrape to recruit them. Moreover, Jinseong possessed genuine talent for reading fortunes, making him a prized prospect even among the wealthy. After World War III erupted, he had received several offers to become a live-in guest at their homes.
Yet he had still chosen the path of a mercenary precisely for the money, the materials, and information on new sorcery. Money. Materials. New sorcery. These three things shared one common link: money. Materials were literally lumps of wealth, while new sorcery was often buried in ruins or ancient texts. Naturally, exploring and excavating ruins cost money, preserving and deciphering old books cost money, and even after acquiring a new technique, the materials required to practice it cost yet more money.
It was an ironic truth. Despite using sorcery that did not cost much, he needed more money than anyone. But new sorcery demanded new materials, unfamiliar sorcery required unfamiliar ingredients, and there was no helping it. On top of that, in the world of World War III where infrastructure was barely maintained, the prices of those materials had soared into the stratosphere. Therefore Jinseong had no choice but to become a mercenary. The advantages were numerous.
Traveling across the globe made it easy to obtain materials that would be impossible to find while stuck in one region or that would require a fortune to purchase. He also frequently encountered reclusive hermits or retired masters living quietly in seclusion, which provided opportunities to gain information on sorcery. It was an excellent way to elevate his level. Another reason was that sorcerers received especially preferential treatment among mercenaries. Mercenaries walked only through the most dangerous places where superstition ran rampant and a single mistake meant death; the mere presence of a sorcerer gave them courage. To them, a sorcerer was a living totem, a living talisman, a lucky mascot that protected their lives. If that sorcerer also possessed real skill? They could earn a fortune.
Thus Jinseong had been able to command some of the highest fees among mercenaries. Though later he became someone to be avoided.
Even though such a lucrative profession existed, Jinseong was forced to go through this cumbersome process because only adults could join a mercenary company—otherwise known as a PMC, or private military company. Verified identity. Age above adulthood. These two conditions were the common requirements, though each company varied slightly. No matter how outstanding one's ability, without proof of identity one was rejected. If one was not of adult age, rejection was certain. This stemmed from the Convention on the Rights of the Child established after World War II. Any company that violated it by accepting minors faced immediate and severe penalties. The mildest was a massive fine and suspension of operations for years. In worse cases the company itself would be destroyed. Therefore PMCs would never accept child soldiers under any circumstances.
Therefore Jinseong had chosen the easiest method. One far faster, more efficient, and more familiar than finding employment at a major corporation, joining the government, asking his family for help, or seeking assistance from the Guardian Association or patriotic groups.
DAEMO CAPITAL
SAMBON MONEY
Jinseong walked toward the building. Tap. Tap. His light, narrow footsteps sounded as though he were riding a hobby horse.
Stars twinkled in the sky, streetlights twinkled on the ground. Gold, too, twinkled. Three lights shining together.
The number three appeared so frequently in mythology that it carried special meaning. It symbolized mystery and balance alike. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit were three. The minimum number required to form a group was three. Heaven, earth, and humanity together made the world—again, three. In Greek and Roman mythology, Zeus of the sky, Poseidon of the sea, and Hades of the underworld maintained the world's balance. Once more, three.
Jinseong smiled as he watched the man emerging from the building.
Bulging muscles. A smile spread across his entire face. Small lumps near the jawline. The man with his distinctly unusual appearance approached Jinseong while clutching an unimpressive-looking cat as if it were a priceless treasure and shouted,
"Sorcerer! You've arrived! I'll guide you myself!"
The time had come to reap the fruits.
Jinseong followed the man, who was so overjoyed at hosting a sorcerer that he hardly knew what to do with himself, and entered the building. Contrary to its exterior, the interior was clean and sophisticated. It appeared to be a deliberate design choice by the loan company, which needed to inspire trust in customers who came to borrow money. The elevator, however, had apparently been left untouched; it was an old model with outdated windows.
"Here—this is where I work. What do you think?"
Jinseong smiled at the man who began boasting the moment they reached the second-floor Daemo Capital office.
"It is very good. Truly, truly excellent."
White wallpaper and marble floors. European-style paintings whose meaning was impossible to discern. When the man guided him to the president's office, the sight became even more ridiculous. The office, with its wood-patterned wallpaper and marble flooring, was filled with antique-style furniture. The problem was that it did not feel like genuine antiques but rather clumsy imitations. At first glance it seemed European, yet closer inspection revealed the work of someone who knew nothing of Europe yet had crammed the space with pretentious affectations. Expensive items lacking any sense of unity were displayed alongside more European paintings, exactly like the ones outside. Nouveau riche. It was the very picture of nouveau riche.
Jinseong normally disliked such displays, but today was different.
There were different varieties of nouveau riche. While they might all appear equally vulgar to true wealthy families, their styles differed noticeably by country. Korean nouveau riche such as Lee Yanghoon displayed a mix of secular transcendence and power-oriented attitudes. They preferred things that looked expensive and refined while simultaneously advertising how exceptional they were. Consequently they favored oriental paintings that appeared sophisticated or artworks that inspired awe and reverence at first sight.
American nouveau riche tended to emphasize history and tradition alongside modern sensibilities. One might easily mistake this for a simple love of expensive new yachts, cruises, sports cars, mansions, or skyscrapers, but Americans harbored a complex about "history" and unconsciously exerted every effort to compensate for it.
Chinese nouveau riche leaned heavily toward the belief that money was everything. Given their strong pride in their long history, one might expect otherwise, yet the opposite was true. Their desire to stand out overpowered everything else. Since ancient times the people of the Central Plains had been the most suited to commerce, and they enjoyed displaying wealth through every kind of luxury. Unfortunately, the mindset and refined tastes appropriate to true merchant princes had been severed during the Cultural Revolution. All that remained among modern Chinese nouveau riche was the worship of money. Looking at them made one truly understand the expression "plastered with gold."
And Japanese nouveau riche looked exactly like the scene before Jinseong's eyes. Their longing for Europe—embodied in the phrase Datsu-A Nyu-O, "Leave Asia, Enter Europe"—while simultaneously clinging to history and tradition, all of it leaking out in clumsy imitation born of incomplete understanding.
"As expected of a Japanese-run loan company. Excellently done. Most excellently decorated."
There could be no better place to plunder. Jinseong turned his gaze to one particular spot as he spoke.
"Heh heh, I'm glad it pleases you. It is a shame the boss isn't here; I would have introduced you otherwise."
Jinseong's eyes were fixed behind the man who scratched his head in apparent regret. A middle-aged man lay collapsed on the president's chair that looked as though it had been drawn from a picture, beaten into a bloody pulp.
"Still, since no one's around, it should be easy to look around. Hehe, please feel free to examine everything."
The middle-aged man who had been beaten to a pulp was strangely twitching. His muscles repeatedly contracted and relaxed as though in spasm. He kept letting out thin, painful breaths—heuk, heuk—while staring into empty space. The pupils of the man gazing at nothing contracted and dilated over and over, constantly changing shape as if witnessing something invisible.
"Ah, and… this is a secret, but since the sorcerer has come all this way, we can't send you back empty-handed, can we?"
The man went to a corner of the president's office and returned carrying a large bundle.
"I'm not sure if you'll like it, but… I prepared some chocolate. It was stuck in the corner and about to pass its expiration date…"
Thud.
The surprisingly heavy bundle landed on the floor with a deep sound. Inside the cloth sparkled an abundance of things. They could not be eaten, yet they were sweeter than chocolate and had no expiration date. Very sparkling things indeed.