Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 012
Chapter Title: Reunion with My Dead Mom Was the Worst.
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An Young-hee's doll was an entry-level item that even total beginners could whip up with ease.
Devilishly overpriced for a starter product, though.
Kim Se-yeon had said it ran about four million won, but the listed price was easily double that.
Scams were scams, whether from this side or that.
It wasn't your standard site either. Infuse a touch of Death Qi into your smartphone and internet connection, and the shopping mall's hidden sections popped right up.
Most big sites had that kind of concealed content triggered by Death Qi.
The fact that Purgatory Surface was woven so deeply into everyday life was both astonishing and terrifying.
'Even megacorporations have departments handling Purgatory Surface.'
The government at least pretended to keep things balanced.
Corporations?
Make bank and call it a day.
'Steer clear of corporate entanglements if possible.'
Get mixed up with them, and you wouldn't just lose your body—you'd wake up strapped to a slab in some anonymous lab.
With the doll prepped, the actual spell for heading to Purgatory Surface was a breeze.
Lay the bone dust—bought for 100,000 won from some unknown critter he didn't care to dwell on—onto a printer-printed magic circle and pump in Death Qi.
Smoke the color of Purgatory Surface's sky meant success.
Bathe the doll in that smoke, and the anchor kicked in, shipping the doll straight to Purgatory Surface.
The anchor kept you from getting dragged to Dobong Mountain, served as life insurance if the doll link snapped, and doubled as a literal lifeline for remote entry into Purgatory Surface.
'Doll check.'
Here, An Young-hee cashed in on a tiny perk.
Normally you'd need a whole ritual to verify the anchor had taken hold, but since he could eyeball Purgatory Surface, peeking at the floor did the trick.
Shape Death Qi into a thread and thread it into the talisman inside the doll, and boom—the Purgatory Surface portal spell was complete.
Just the final step left, An Young-hee shot a glare at his pants pocket. At the smartphone tucked inside.
Smartphones were physical objects from the real world.
In shamanic terms, built from life force.
Purgatory Surface stuff was all Death Qi. No life force allowed there.
Smuggling items in required dedicated spells and magic, and smartphones—the bleeding edge of tech—were infamous even among those for being a nightmare.
No phone didn't mean death. Still, having one versus not was night and day.
Back during the MacArthur Shrine Maiden chaos, wiki and chat tips had been lifesavers.
"There's a way. There is, yeah."
Simple.
Grab the smartphone and ship it straight to Purgatory Surface yourself.
Clink.
Chain rattle.
The Binding Demon slithered out from the doll, eyeing An Young-hee's consciousness.
The Binding Demon's mouth twitched.
"More tools in the kit are always better? Can't argue with that."
What good was a shaman's workshop if your spellbook was empty?
An Young-hee hadn't slacked off. No downtime amid nonstop action, crises piling up endlessly.
The smartphone had been his one reliable crutch.
"Might as well snag some tools too."
The Binding Demon nodded.
Head out, snag a tool kit.
Dump the sports bag stuffed with talismans, repack the lining with gear.
Not heading into a brawl, but last time he'd tested a finished doll's specs and gotten swept into a Purgatory disaster.
Better safe with extras.
An Young-hee stomped the sports bag loaded with his smartphone and Purgatory gear.
The bag slurped into the floor and vanished.
Confirm it landed safe on the flip side, then he drew Death Qi and jammed it into the doll.
Death Qi hit the inner talisman, and the world flipped upside down.
An Young-hee had barely spotted people or ghosts in Purgatory Surface so far.
Dobong Mountain vicinity was a ghost town. Ghosts scarce too.
City hall area locked down under layers of barriers, they'd said.
Disasters made street spotting tough.
Now with disasters somewhat cleared, Seoul streets hosted a fair crowd of ghosts.
This was the turf of a fading civilization's remnants.
If prior glimpses were forsaken ruins, this felt almost civilized.
Engine-powered rides were rarities in Purgatory Surface.
Hence the rickshaws tooling the roads.
Some pulled by humans, others by ghosts or beasts.
'Ride the Binding Demon around?'
He didn't test it out.
Binding Demon was Kim Cheol-su's old haunt.
Recognition spelled trouble.
Hailed a ghost-pulled rickshaw and hopped on.
"Where to, sir?"
"Gwanghwamun Square."
The rickshaw jolted along.
Never imagined riding one in the 21st century.
The puller piped up.
"Off to protest? Which camp? Red? Blue?"
"Protest?"
"Whoops, ghost life killed my patience. Forget I asked."
Dropped the prickly line and clammed up.
Considered wiki-searching, but the rickshaw hauled faster than expected. Would sort itself out on sight.
Rickshaw hit Gwanghwamun Square.
An Young-hee opened his mouth, but words jammed. Speechless.
"Execute 'em! Hack necks, gut 'em!"
"Execute! Execute! Execute!"
"Enlighten the swine with knowledge! Clubs up!"
"Raaah!"
So.
Not a protest. Full-on war.
Red-clad, red-flag ghosts bashing blue-clad, blue-flag ghosts.
"Unit 1, fall back! Unit 3, plug the gap!"
"Unit 2, too far out! Shields, escort 2 and brace! Cowards popping buffs!"
"Buff in 3... Special ops, charge up! 3, 2, 1!"
"Smash the left flank!!!"
No meager numbers. Square was one giant melee pit.
"Uh, sir. Fare?"
"Why the hell that?"
"Spells run on emotions, yeah? Resentful spirits pack grudges."
"Channel that hate into spellwork?"
"Word is. Lowly ghosts like me stay clueless. Infection risk up close."
Puller kept distance from the square.
"Sir, fare time."
"This cover it?"
"Cheers."
Paid up, and the ghost rickshaw bolted without a glance back.
An Young-hee had handed over Death Qi.
Purgatory brimmed with it, but wiki said life-touched Death Qi was special.
Living body filtered it, laced with life force traces—kept ghosts lingering.
Battle raged on brutal.
Weapons swung, but ghosts shrugged off normal blades.
Pain lingered though; struck ghost flew into frenzy. Rage dwarfing human fury washed over.
An Young-hee gawked at the carnage.
How many lifetimes for a real battlefield packing Gwanghwamun Square?
His own pulse hammered vicariously.
Tap. Footsteps, presence.
Voice from the side.
"Hyungnim? Knew staking out here would pay off."
"Yoo Shin-hwa?"
"Adapted folks swing by once. Ministry spot, plus spell boosts."
"Hunting me down?"
"Life debt. Gotta settle."
Yoo Shin-hwa sidled up casual, spectating the fray.
"Miss that gig."
"...Gig?"
"Most grunts ghosts, but commanders? Some human. Ghosts suck emotion control, lose it mid-fight. Shamans fill PT slots. Paid sweet."
"Past tense?"
"I'm that good? My side steamrolls, PT cut."
Protests masking pitched battles. Shaman PT commanders.
An Young-hee figured post-disaster adaptation, but owned the overconfidence.
'Too good for PT, canned.'
Yoo Shin-hwa's true name: Shin-hwa.
Myth-hero command? Normal-led mobs get crushed.
Battle wrapped.
Ghosts pulled back, party-chanted slogans, kicked off round two: proper protest.
"Prime event done. Next wave incoming."
Crowd materialized at the square's empty fringe.
"Hannam to hell! Scum Hannam to hell!"
"Hell!"
"Bloated Hannyeo to the slaughterhouse!"
"Slaughterhouse! Slaughterhouse!"
Politics out, gender wars in.
Age no bar, guy packs and gal packs closed spewing curses unfit for print, weapons whirling into the tangle.
"...Dizzy already."
"No tears sans sorrow, no laughs sans joy. Happiness? Elusive grasp. But envy winners, loathe outliers? One word suffices. Gwanghwamun proverb, source unknown. Likely the human who trashed the place."
"Lunatic."
"Beats live sacrifices. Frame it so."
"Rickshaw dude mentioned infection—what's the deal?"
"Emotions spread. Basic?"
"Military stint teaches."
"All-boys high too."
"Engineering track here."
The bros snickered.
Laugh only vets of male idiocy muster.
Yoo Shin-hwa spoke.
"Ghosts catch feels easiest. Fresh soul drops unlucky into Purgatory, hits square... right there."
Dazed ghost shambling into Gwanghwamun.
Drifted to chanting political demo, veered mid-stride into gender brawl.
Ghost's mug shifted fits: greed, wrath, revulsion, oni cocktail.
One oni ghost now, kicking gal-ghosts, biting, scooping dropped weapons for wild hacks.
"An Young-hee! Filial failure!"
An Young-hee whipped around on reflex.
There: the one he'd longed for.
"Mom?"
"Hyungnim's mom?"
Yoo Shin-hwa gulped air.
Watched the reunion unfold.
An Young-hee ate a slap. Fist, not flat palm.
Gut punch next. Loaded body shot.
"Years gone, you show already? Rack 200 first!"
Kept coming.
Aaah.
Chill to the soul.
That solo iron-fist rule on mischief.
"W-wait, Mom."
"More where that came!"
"Didn't die! Swear!"
Beating halted.
"Alive?"
"Shaman gig? Yeah, I'm one now."
"How?"
"Kinda snowballed?"
Yoo Shin-hwa spectated the heartfelt(?) mom-son meet.
This the dead-mom reunion?
"...Whew. Alive's win. Shamans bank, right? Skip hazards. Long, lean life."
"Sure. Uh, Dad though."
"Special talent?"
"Yeah sorta."
"Dad? Pretty-boy trash. Skip manga blood quests."
"Surname's his."
"Kid back then. Name means payback. Guilt jab for trash."
"Mom? Own kid's name?"
"Flowerbrained 20yo? Underestimate not. Your 20yo fuckup?"
"Flowerbed? Poison patch."
"Poisons bloom."
20, cut parental ties, solo-parent resolve.
Knew she was firecracker, not this level.
"Time's up, Mom's out. Skip next visits. No re-seeing hell-brink son."
"Pop in when nostalgic."
Slap. Fisted.
Eyes on fleeing mom's back and path, An Young-hee scowled hard.
"Hyungnim? Figures—mom exploited by outsiders...."
"Wrong camp."
"Eh?"
"Not her living pick. Curses she heaped on 'em. Damn curs."
"...That's the beef?"
Yoo Shin-hwa pondered.
Blood ties confirmed. Dead ringer.