Fortune
His consciousness returned.
The agony that followed was so savage he could not even force out a sound. It dragged him straight back into blackness.
How much time passed after that, he could not say.
He woke again. Once more the pain hammered through every inch of him, and he lasted only moments before his mind snapped free.
The cycle repeated. Only after several such bouts, when his body had finally improved enough that the torment became merely unbearable rather than annihilating, did he manage to take stock of where he was.
“Ugh… where…?”
His voice came out raw and shredded. Recovery, such as it was, remained far from complete.
He forced his eyes open. The landscape around him swam into focus.
Grass? Is this a meadow?
His last clear memory was of plunging off Manjang Cliff. How he had ended up here was a mystery, and the headache that came with trying to solve it only made him more irritable.
Even the effort of thinking set his skull throbbing. He was just beginning to wonder whether he should simply wait until he felt better when a long, hollow growl rolled up from his stomach.
Hunger hit him like a physical blow. Judging by how empty he felt, a considerable stretch of time had already slipped by.
Every tiny movement—no, even lying perfectly still—hurt enough to kill him, yet he still needed to eat something. The situation could not have been worse.
If the fall from Manjang Cliff had simply finished him cleanly, he would have been spared all this. Whether his cursed luck had struck again or not, the boy could only sigh, grit his teeth against the pain, and dig through his clothes.
What he expected to find was not there.
It did not take long to realize the emergency jerky he had carefully stashed was gone. Accepting the fact took longer.
Lost it in the fall?
Of all the things that could have gone wrong, it had to be the food. Perfect.
As a stopgap he would have to chew whatever grass grew nearby. But if he ate the wrong plant and his stomach rebelled, things would only get uglier.
Better than starving to death… right? No—getting even sicker would be the real problem. And my throat’s dry as dust.
He hated the world. He could not understand why these things kept happening only to him.
I don’t want to do anything. Maybe I should just die here. Wouldn’t be so bad. I’ve lived long enough. I’ve had enough. I’m done.
For a while only black thoughts circled. Yet the human will to survive proved stronger than expected; without conscious decision his hand moved, closing around a fistful of grass.
When he tore it free, dirt clung to the roots. He would have liked to shake it clean, but even that small motion was a luxury he could not afford.
No choice, then.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved the clump into his mouth. The blades were startlingly fresh against his tongue. Water would have helped.
He forced himself to swallow. His throat felt coated in grit.
Time passed. Nothing terrible happened.
No—more than that. The pain is actually easing. Did I just eat medicinal herbs? If my bad luck somehow flipped into good luck for once, I’ll have to admit it exists. Bad luck is real enough, after all.
A little longer and his body felt noticeably better. His limbs still creaked when he moved them, but compared to before it was night and day.
Could he stand like this?
He tried to plant his feet. They slid out from under him and he pitched forward, driving his nose straight into the dirt.
Thanks to the herbs it did not hurt as much as it should have. Whether his nose now sat slightly crooked was probably just his imagination.
One thing, however, was clear.
Walking’s out of the question. The pain’s gone, but the body’s still wrecked. So no pushing it. Still… I saw something just now.
He lifted his head to confirm what he had glimpsed while trying to rise. Far off, something stood alone against the horizon.
No idea what it is. But at least this place isn’t nothing but grass. …I’ll have to check it myself.
If he could not walk, he would crawl. No one was around to see him, so there was no dignity left to lose.
Thought became action almost at once.
Ssshk—ssshk—
His progress left a long, thick trail through the grass, as if a giant earthworm had dragged itself along. He could not help a bitter laugh at the absurdity of it, yet the method proved efficient. Before long the distance closed and the object’s identity became clear.
A cabin.
It looked dilapidated, but not on the verge of collapse. A light film of dust coated everything. From the outside there was no sign of recent habitation; he doubted anyone lived there.
That might even be for the best. He could not assume any resident would be friendly.
Anyone living out here is more likely to be a crank than a saint. I’ve been out long enough for my stomach to stick to my spine and no one’s shown up. Odds are good this place is empty.
No people, no animals, nothing. The emptiness only deepened the mystery. By every memory he possessed this had to be Manjang Cliff, yet a place like this existing here should have been impossible.
I’ve got a rough idea, but no certainty. Need a closer look. If there’s a clue inside the cabin, even better.
Hoping for something perfectly convenient was probably too much. Unless, of course, fortune rather than misfortune was at work. He had long since stopped expecting the world to hand him free gifts.
The thought drew another sigh. Still, his steady crawling eventually brought him to the cabin without further mishap. That, at least, counted as a small mercy.
The moment he dragged himself inside, a cloud of dust billowed up and set him coughing hard for a while.
“Cough, cough…”
Ordinary enough. Or is it?
Nothing spectacular leapt out at first glance, yet a subtle wrongness lingered. He soon pinned it down.
It’s huge. From the doorway I can’t even see the far wall. Outside, this cabin looked barely big enough for one or two people. Is some kind of art layered over it? Spatial arts would explain it… but on a shack like this?
Only spatial techniques could produce such an effect, and those arts were vanishingly rare. To pull this off required mastery few ever reached. Perhaps the place was more special than it appeared. Curiosity about who might have been involved began to stir.
He knew the danger. Getting tangled in something this unprecedented almost always meant crossing paths with some unknown expert. Before he had even fallen from Manjang Cliff he had already run afoul of the black-clothed man. Pretending he had never seen the cabin would have been the safer choice for his health.
On the other hand, it could be a fateful opportunity. No one seems to be around, and as long as I don’t touch anything that looks dangerous I should be fine. I’ve got nothing better to do. Might as well take a quick look.
In the end curiosity won. What was the worst that could happen—death? He had already died once, or close enough.
I’ll count the fall as my first death. This time, let fortune ride with me instead of misfortune.
With that grim resolve he crawled deeper inside. The posture still looked ridiculous, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Quite a few books. Was this a library?
Books were not the only things present. Among the clutter sat wooden boxes containing snakes, toads, and other creatures—all of them long dead.
Dead?
A second look changed nothing. They had been dead so long most had crumbled past recognition. Only a few lingering traits let him identify them at all.
Why keep these here?
He gave a dry chuckle and moved on. As long as they were not alive, they held no terror for him.
Strange place, though.
Farther in, more oddities appeared: a cauldron larger than a man, and scattered heaps of debris so thoroughly decayed he could no longer tell what they had once been. Someone had definitely lived here, and the assortment of objects made it plain that person had been anything but ordinary.
Interesting.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he pressed on until he reached the far end. There he found a single book that was ordinary—no, rather special.
Its cover was pure black. Omen and sanctity seemed to coexist within it. Instinct alone told him the volume held some kind of power, and that knowledge put him instantly on guard.
A suspicious object in a suspicious place.
Everything about it screamed wrong, yet nothing immediately happened.
If I want even a clue about what’s going on, I’ll have to look inside.
Should he open it? It was a book; it would contain writing. Still he hesitated, imagination throwing up every dark possibility.
Chaos. Destruction. Oblivion. Negative thoughts rose without end. Sitting there forever would solve nothing, so after more than the time it took to drink a cup of tea he finally stretched out his hand and touched the cover.
The world changed at once.
For a heartbeat the boy was startled; then he forced himself calm and began to analyze.
Unlike the library-like cabin, this was an empty plain. His first thought was that some force had simply thrown him back outside. He quickly realized that was wrong.
Above him stretched a sky dense with stars. Their beauty was nothing like the bright grassy field he had left behind. This place was clearly linked to the book.
While he was still turning that over, a dry, aged voice reached his ears.
“Heh heh. You look surprised.”
He flinched and turned toward the sound. An old man stood there alone.
The old man’s appearance was wrong. His body was half-transparent, his face a lattice of unexplained scars. The boy narrowed his eyes in wariness, then remembered the state of his own body and could only sigh.
The corners of the old man’s eyes crinkled.
“You seem to be in considerable discomfort. That will only get in the way of conversation. This old man shall take care of it for you.”
“What do you—?”
Before the sentence finished, the old man flicked a finger. A moment of confusion, then the boy felt the change.
It doesn’t hurt.
The herbs had reduced the pain to a dull ache, but pain was still pain. Whatever the old man had done, every wound was now gone as if it had never existed.
“This is no fundamental cure. I have merely restored you to your original state while you remain here. Step outside and the injuries will return. Do not grow too accustomed to this. The gap between this place and reality is not a healthy thing.”
The boy carefully rose from his sprawl, tested his arms and legs, and let out a small breath.
“……Who are you?”
“Hmm. Perhaps another question would serve you better.”
“No. My own curiosity comes first. If you prefer not to answer, that is your choice.”
The old man laughed, as though he had found something genuinely amusing.
“Very well. I shall answer. Gu Mang-gyeol. That is this old man’s name. Remember it.”
The words were spoken lightly, yet their weight was enormous. Standing before him was a figure from the distant past, known throughout the world as the Lord of Ten Thousand Poisons.
One impossible event after another. This felt like the final stroke that underlined them all.