Prologue

— Before We Begin

Please note in advance that the concepts of the yeong (spirit), the hon (ethereal soul), and the baek (corporeal soul) described in this work are, it must be said up front, the author's own original settings.

Episode 1

Prologue

The tranquil waters of the Han River, flowing west, had steeped in the red afterglow of sunset and now gleamed a thick, molten gold.

A middle-aged man stood at the window of his office, gazing down at the gently rippling river below. He wore a navy pinstripe suit fitted precisely to his frame, his hair — streaked with salt-and-pepper gray — neatly combed and swept straight back. The place where he stood was the 102nd floor of Shinseung Group Headquarters, along the banks of the Han River in Mapo-gu.

Behind him, a man who appeared to be a subordinate stood respectfully in wait. Horn-rimmed glasses lent the man's face a touch of distinction; he wore a deep navy suit matched with a narrow navy tie, and the Shinseung Group badge was pinned to his left lapel.

Whether his subordinate waited or not, the middle-aged man showed no sign of opening his mouth. For a long while, silence drifted through the office. The horn-rimmed subordinate swallowed, silently — the oppressive presence the man before him exuded pressed the air from his chest.

Thus some ten minutes passed. Then the middle-aged man, who had been looking down over the Han River in silence with his hands clasped behind his back, slowly turned around.

"You called for me, Director?"

Only then did the horn-rimmed subordinate breathe a sigh of relief, keeping his head and spine in a straight line as he bowed some twenty degrees in deference.

The middle-aged man indicated the desk with his chin.

Those very words were engraved into the crystal nameplate resting atop the desk of deep chestnut wood. Beside the nameplate lay a single sheet of luxurious hanji paper, folded twice, crisp and even.

The horn-rimmed subordinate stepped forward carefully and took the paper in hand.

Only now, at last, did the middle-aged man — Lee Myungwoo — part his lips.

"HR Team Lead."

"I'm listening, sir."

"The date written there is the Day of Silence — handpicked for us by the shamaness."

The shamaness. The Day of Silence.

At those two unexpected words, the horn-rimmed man — the HR Team Lead — reacted. Lee Myungwoo watched with sharp eyes, letting none of the man's subtle shifts in expression slip past, and continued.

"And not an ordinary Day of Silence, I'm told. It is what they call the Swamp's Day — a day that arrives perhaps once in a century — and everything that happens during that period slips past every manner of probing or divination."

"Director, then you mean……"

"Exactly. I intend to bring the boy here on the Day of Silence."

"Ah! Finally."

At Lee Myungwoo's words, the HR Team Lead's eyes trembled. He promptly unfolded the hanji and committed the date written there to memory.

In the center of the paper, those characters were inscribed in a soft, rounded hand.

So today is April 13, 2055……

The HR Team Lead counted inwardly. Barely half a month remained until the Day of Silence the Group's shamaness had designated.

I'll need to move quickly if the young master's arrival is to be timed properly. As it happens, the Group's recruitment drive on the surface is underway — convenient. I'll run everything to match it.

The HR Team Lead was a man of the Lee Myungwoo faction, acknowledged as such by everyone in the Group. If he meant to survive within Shinseung Group, then Lee Myungwoo had to rise first.

The HR Team Lead spread his thumb and middle finger wide, gripped his glasses on either side, slid them up his nose, and answered with firm resolve.

"Understood. I will see it through without a hitch."

Lee Myungwoo added in a deep baritone.

"Naturally, there can be no hitch. The shamaness's warning was that a stretch of Days of Great Misfortune will continue on either side of the Day of Silence. So have the boy brought here on the 28th."

Days of Great Misfortune!

At the ill-omened word, the muscles of the HR Team Lead's face went rigid.

"……I will keep it foremost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in mind, Director."

The HR Team Lead bowed with measured precision, laying bare his resolve.

Only then did Lee Myungwoo withdraw his piercing gaze, slowly turning to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look out at the sunset spread beyond the window. The HR Team Lead inclined his head once more toward the Director's back, then withdrew from the office without making a sound.

That night, at midnight.

The HR Team Lead of Shinseung Group — the ruler of Midland Seoul — and one of his team members descended to Earth aboard a Transit Tube.

Midland Seoul (Mid-Land: the Middle Realm)

Chapter 1

Twenty-five years ago — just past midnight on January 1, 2030 — a colossal Great Cataclysm erupted across the entire Earth.

The world's major cities tore loose from the crust all at once, ripping free of the ground to rise 36,000 kilometers into the sky. In South Korea alone, Seoul and Busan were scooped up whole and carried to the very top of the heavens, into geostationary orbit. All that remained where the nation's first and second cities had stood were sinkholes of staggering size.

The aftermath of cities being torn out whole was horrific. Buildings straddling the boundary between Seoul and Gyeonggi Province split miserably into halves; roads and water mains severed, their cross-sections laid bare. An estimated two million people died across the Seoul-Gyeonggi region that day alone. Add the devastation around Busan, and the dead alone exceeded three million.

It was as if some god had taken a colossal shovel, scooped up Seoul and Busan, and replanted them in space.

Nor was the phenomenon confined to South Korea. In the United States: New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles. In China: Beijing, Shanghai, Chongqing. Paris in France, London in Britain, Barcelona in Spain, Tokyo and Osaka in Japan……

Countless other great cities across the globe likewise broke away from the Earth and soared into the dizzying heights. And then, they began to orbit. The foremost cities of every nation became a kind of satellite, circling the planet in time with its rotation as though so many geostationary satellites.

Ordinarily, citizens hauled into space against their will should have died on the spot, their bodies bursting apart — no human being can survive a vacuum where even air is absent.

But in Seoul and the other risen cities, every established law of physics lay broken. Though these cities floated 36,000 kilometers overhead, they remained subject to the very same gravity as the surface. Oxygen and nitrogen lingered in the atmosphere exactly as before, and citizens breathed without the slightest difficulty. Clouds even formed above the cities. Rain fell from those clouds now and then, with thunder and lightning in its wake. Typhoons arose despite the absence of any nearby sea. And above each city's clouds, an ozone layer took shape like a protective shield, holding off the harm the sun's ultraviolet rays would do to human bodies.

In 2031, one year after the Cataclysm, humanity began calling the great cities risen into geostationary orbit "Midland."

Twenty-five years had already passed since Midland first came into the world.

When a convulsion on the scale of Midland's birth turns the world upside down, the old order is bound to hit a violent inflection point. After every metropolis that had cast its enormous influence over global politics, economics, and culture was absorbed into Midland and vanished, those left behind on the surface fell into great chaos. The decline of civilization. The collapse of law and order. Looting and arson as anarchists ran rampant. Wars with neighboring states that erupted as though they were the most natural thing in the world. Over the past twenty-five years, the surface population had dwindled to some four billion.

While the Earth — its official designation now Old Earth, the "old Earth," quite literally — sank into destitution, Midland advanced by the day. The credit belonged to the discovery of Highland (High-Land: the Higher Realm), another dimension connected to Midland. Through their explorations of Highland, the residents of Midland had obtained staggering new materials and energy sources beyond anything humanity had ever imagined, together with astonishing knowledge.

But a greater change still had overtaken the people of Midland. Some of those mobilized to explore Highland began to undergo "DNA mutation." Scientists advanced the hypothesis that the mutations had arisen as humanity was exposed to Highland's alien environment. The hypothesis was soon proven fact.

The results of the mutation, however, varied enormously from person to person. Of the humans exposed to Highland's environment, roughly two-thirds saw their bodies twist into something monstrous, their intelligence regressing precipitously. Stripped of human reason, they fell into beasts that answered to nothing but instinct. Thus appeared the so-called Degenerates. The pitiful Degenerates were barred from returning to Midland and left behind in Highland.

The remaining third, by contrast, acquired astonishing abilities through their DNA mutation. People called this Blooming. The abilities that bloomed differed endlessly from one person to the next — some Awakened came to wield fire, while others held power over ice, wind, water, or lightning, and still others were granted unheard-of physical strength or agility. And even among those who bloomed the same kind of ability, the raw power was never quite alike. For some, the sum total of their gift was a charming little match-flame at the fingertip, while the Summer Queen, ruler of Osaka, was rumored to unleash catastrophes like an entire active volcano detonating at once.

Gaps like these created class. In Midland Seoul, for example, the founding family of Shinseung Group enjoyed power that outstripped even the royal clan of the early Joseon dynasty. Power, wealth, honor — all of it converged on the owner's family. Beneath them, the Group's board of directors formed a rank of its own, and the uppermost of those directors might fairly be compared to a Chief State Councillor or a high minister of the Joseon era. And so the hierarchy ran on down the line: full-time employees of Shinseung Group headquarters ranked as mid-to-low officials or soldiers of the central army, while the employees of the Group's subcontractors ranked as minor local officials and guardsmen. Told this way, the class map of present-day Midland Seoul was easy to grasp.

In any case, barely ten years after the Cataclysm, humanity's political systems had effectively returned to the age of dynasties. And yet people could not bring themselves to complain. Unlike the old days, when enjoying power required nothing more than being born of a king's blood, this was a structure of rule rooted in mighty abilities. The owner's family, too, had to keep entering Highland without pause — securing new materials and energy sources, honing their own abilities — simply to survive. In a democratic world, the many can divide power among themselves bit by bit through parliamentary politics; in a monarchy, power concentrates in one person alone, and that person's rivals must needs be slaughtered to the last.

The result was that the owner family's internal politics within the Group grew vicious. The heirs who wished to become the next owner each gathered as many capable Awakened inside the Group as they could, then drove them hard to wring out as much of Highland's new materials, energy, and knowledge as possible. Lee Kanghyun, the current Chairman of Shinseung Group, was himself an Awakened who had taken the throne by purging every one of his uncles and brothers — men formidable in their own right. What his descendants saw and learned from that example could hardly have been anything else.

Chapter 2

Haneul was fourteen years old. With only days left until his birthday on April 28, he would soon rise from fourteen to fifteen. But he had tacked two years onto that. Early last year, the orphanage had capitulated to Haneul's dogged lobbying and amended his year of birth in the resident registry.

The megacorporations of Midland only take you once you're past seventeen, right? I want to leave Old Earth and rise to Midland the very first second I can.

That was why Haneul had thrown his tantrum. From the orphanage's standpoint, it was no bad bargain either. If the orphanage produced a full-time hire for Midland, a handsome subsidy would come flowing in — so the director accepted Haneul's whimpering without pressing too hard.

And from that day on, Haneul looked up at the dark sky every night.

The naked eye can't see it, but Midland must be floating out there among those faraway stars. Aaah, I want to go there — the sooner the better.

The more he yearned for that distant height, the hotter something seethed up inside Haneul's chest. But nowhere was there any guarantee that his dream would come true.

For one thing, the Daejeon region saw little recruitment by Midland's megacorporations. This was buffer territory between Shinseung Group and Geosan Group. Second, Haneul's build was slight for his age, which lowered his odds of being selected. That, of course, was not Haneul's fault. In this dizzying world, it was a tall order to expect children who had lost their parents young and been thrown onto the streets — children like Haneul — to grow up tall and robust.

Even granting all that, my build is nothing to brag about.

Haneul bit down hard on his lower lip.

I'm not strong, and my agility is poor.

Haneul had grown up early — and, by the same token, had become adept at seeing himself objectively. No; beyond adept, Haneul discounted himself to a punishing degree. In this treacherous world, the careful outlive the bluffers, after all. Haneul's dream was simply to live safe and sound while guarding his own hide as much as possible.

Yet two reasons existed for why this same Haneul could not let go of the dream of a full-time ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠position at a Midland megacorporation — that rare hope clutched by only the smallest fraction of the world's billions. First, public order on Old Earth was worsening by the day; in the Yuseong district of Daejeon alone, some ten people died daily. If Haneul wished to live long and in safety, he had to leave this dangerous Earth and rise to Midland, the city of dreams. Indeed, most people on Old Earth — Haneul very much included — carried the vague conviction that this place was hell and Midland must be heaven.

As for the second reason Haneul dreamed of Midland—

There's no doubt I have the talent to bloom an ability. Otherwise there would be no explaining the strange things I see.

It was a secret that no one in the world knew — the truth was, Haneul could see what others could not. To put it more concretely: the shape of the soul dwelling in another person's depths imprinted itself clearly upon Haneul's retinas. Nor did it stop there; through shifts in the color of that soul, Haneul could read the changes in a person's emotions as well.

Haneul had discovered his ability when he was very young. Thanks to it, he had developed an uncanny talent for stroking the people around him the right way. A person in a towering rage, for instance, had a soul that blazed an intense scarlet in Haneul's eyes — the moment he spotted someone like that nearby, Haneul put plenty of distance between them and stayed clear of the blast. Nor was that all. The soul of anyone harboring hostility toward him glistened a blackish red, like blood. In those cases Haneul did his utmost to dissolve the misunderstanding, or worked to turn the person's attention elsewhere. This, too, had served his survival enormously. Meanwhile, the soul of a friend who envied him swirled in violet mist — and then Haneul took care that the friend's jealousy never ripened into hostility. Those who felt nothing toward him at all had souls close to colorless; frankly, those were the people Haneul found most comfortable. Conversely, someone with a soft spot for him tended to show a soul in pastel greens or yellows — and truthfully, that wasn't bad either.

Either way, Haneul's peculiar ability had been an enormous help to him. In the ten years since he had first transferred into this orphanage at age five, he had put it to shrewd use. Thanks to that, he had won the trust of the director and the teachers, while with the rough older boys who lorded over the orphans he had settled into the role of an obliging junior who kept their moods sweet. In exchange, the other children of the orphanage cursed Haneul as "stooge," "scheming traitor," "human garbage."

Haneul did not much care about the backbiting. He knew all too well that children who only muttered behind his back could do him no harm. For all their chorus of insults, those kids were too frightened of the fearsome older boys at Haneul's back to actually lift a finger.

Chapter 3

That same Haneul stood before a mirror today. His dark chestnut hair caught his eye first. Then his round face came into view. Haneul rose onto the balls of his feet without thinking. His disappointing height was a standing grievance; he was nearing the age when his growth plates would seal, and he still fell short of 170 centimeters. But there was no forcing a body to grow.

Tsk.

Haneul clicked his tongue once, then turned his gaze to the 'R' pendant hanging at his throat. The old bronze pendant had been with him since the day he first came to this orphanage — though its original owner had not been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Haneul, but some other child.

His gaze left the pendant and roamed back over his face as a whole.

What a scruffy mess. Haaah.

Haneul swallowed the sigh. Reflected in the full-length mirror stood an unimpressive teenage boy — neither muscular nor particularly quick on his feet, just ordinary. Haneul deliberately flexed his arm with all his might, trying to raise a bicep. He had been killing himself with push-ups lately, yet there was still hardly anything to show for it. Next to the muscles of the delinquent older boys — who spent every day stoned out of their minds — his were truly dismal.

Haaah, honestly.

Haneul sank into bottomless gloom. Even so, there was no need to despair quite yet.

Hm.

After studying the mirror for a while, Haneul abruptly thinned his eyes and gathered his consciousness not on his outward appearance but on his own interior. At once, a soul of near grayish-white came into view.

My body may be weak, but that's fine. My soul is sturdy — so there must be possibility in me.

Such was the consolation Haneul offered himself. And in truth, the soul reflected in his eyes looked far stronger than the delinquent boys'; it even felt firmer and more substantial than the director's own.

But this was not all. When Haneul concentrated a little deeper, four images slowly revolving within his gray soul revealed themselves one after another. Mental Image was a name Haneul had coined himself, and even he could not vouch that it fit. In any case, the first of Haneul's Mental Images was a 'hand' — a gray right hand with no spark of life to be found in it. Next, his second Mental Image was a 'needle & thread': a slender thread strung through the needle's eye, and even these could not shake off their melancholy gray. The third was 'plaster dough' — the gray dough sat packed inside a square mold, and even the mold was gray. Haneul could not for the life of him guess what the plaster dough might be for. And last came his fourth and final Mental Image: a pair of 'tightly clenched lips'. The drab gray lips were pressed together with force, and somehow that lent them an inexplicable weight.

A hand. Needle & thread. Plaster dough. Tightly clenched lips.

Since childhood, Haneul had tried to work out what function his four Mental Images might serve. Unfortunately, his results had been close to nil. All he had learned was a single fact: not one person around him carried a Mental Image within their soul. Neither the director — the orphanage's supreme authority — nor the ringleader of the delinquent pack possessed any image inside their souls. And so Haneul harbored a sliver of hope.

Am I the only one who's special? Could those images have something to do with Blooming an ability?

That was Haneul's hope. And to learn whether it was true, he would have to escape this fetid Old Earth by any means necessary and climb to Midland in those lofty heights.

How am I supposed to seize the chance?

Haneul was still mired in his formless worries when—

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!

The bell clamored. The orphanage director was summoning the children to assembly.

It's not mealtime yet, so what now? Could it be…… no, surely not?

Haneul's heart abruptly began to pound. He bolted from the little back room with the mirror and sprinted for the orphanage yard. And there, waiting for the orphans, stood a man in a crisp suit and horn-rimmed glasses — and a beautiful blonde woman.

Ba-dump!

In that instant, Haneul's heart gave a great beat. His pupils dilated as wide as they could go. He had just caught sight of the Shinseung Group badge pinned to the blonde woman's chest.

The Soul-Harvesting Puppeteer

Author | Junon

Publisher | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd.

Managing Editor | Editorial Department

Published by | Samyang C&C Co., Ltd. — Dream Books

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