Baptism of the Soul-Devouring Worms
Han Yujin’s reaction didn’t faze the middle-aged man in the slightest.
He raised his hand and gave it a casual flick. A silvery-white radiance flickered in a strange pattern, and an instant later a ferocious gale slammed into Han Yujin, hurling him skyward.
The scream rising in his throat was crushed by the suffocating pressure enveloping his entire body. The howling wind roared like heavenly thunder, blurring his consciousness.
Even so, Han Yujin registered that he was streaking across the forest canopy at terrifying speed. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the middle-aged man standing beside him with his hands clasped behind his back, flying through the air as if it were nothing.
To fling a person like a rag doll and still soar alongside him—how was that even possible?
While shock still gripped him, he thought he spotted a massive, ornate palace ahead. Before he could confirm it, the ground rushed up and he tumbled across it in a violent heap.
“Ugh…”
The pain was among the worst he had ever felt in his life.
It was a miracle he hadn’t died from a fall at that velocity. The middle-aged man must have applied the bare minimum of protective measures.
“Stop whining and get up.”
The icy tone made Han Yujin forget his groans. His body moved on pure instinct, scrambling upright. After being handled so ruthlessly once, fear alone was enough to command his limbs.
He knew that death here would simply wake him in reality, yet he could not stay calm.
As if reading his inner turmoil, the middle-aged man let out a soft, mocking laugh and strode forward. Han Yujin hesitated only a moment before hurrying after him.
The palace halls and corridors were decorated in every conceivable style, each one eye-catching. Yet Han Yujin barely registered any of it.
The persistent ache in his body, the fear it bred, and the shame and rage slowly rising within him churned through his mind like a storm.
That son of a bitch…
He couldn’t voice the curses, but they swirled inside him like poison. The pain alone was enough to detonate his hatred. If he had the strength, he would beat the man until he suffered twice as much.
Yes—only after delivering twice the agony would he feel satisfied.
Once I gain power, I will definitely…
Lost in those seething emotions, he walked without noticing the distance.
The place they finally reached felt less opulent, carrying a bleak, oppressive air. At the end of the corridor loomed a massive ash-gray door that somehow felt suffocating, as though it would never open easily.
Instinctive dread made Han Yujin falter. The middle-aged man, however, moved without hesitation and threw the door open.
The scene inside was dark and filthy. The moment Han Yujin registered roughly forty people, the stench rolling out forced him to stagger backward.
It smelled worse than a gathering of vagrants. The reek of excrement and urine mingled so thickly that simply breathing felt like it could make him ill.
“Enter.”
“…You want me to go in there?”
His voice dripped with refusal as he scanned the interior again—specifically, the people within it.
Nearly all wore rags. Their postures, whether sitting or lying down, were unnatural. Even those who appeared relatively normal carried dark, gloomy auras that screamed rock bottom.
“It’s dirty, but endure it. The baptism is only a few days away.”
Han Yujin suddenly realized how unnaturally courteous the middle-aged man was being. Wondering what scheme lay behind the words, he turned—and met the man’s eyes.
In that instant the familiar illusion of wriggling bright-red worms unfolded within those pupils. This time it did not stop there.
His vision warped strangely. The middle-aged man’s eyes seemed to swell endlessly, and the wriggling illusions inside them grew larger, sharper.
Before he could even register the danger, they burrowed straight into his mind.
He screamed and collapsed, thrashing across the floor.
Every attempt to think or reason summoned the red worms. They devoured his brain, his thoughts, his very soul, silencing everything. No matter what he tried, his head was packed full of their writhing bodies.
Looking down at the struggling Han Yujin, the middle-aged man let out a contemptuous laugh.
“Count yourself lucky. If you produce good results in the baptism, that power will become yours.”
A wind rose and flung Han Yujin into the stench-filled chamber. Even as the door slammed shut and dozens of eyes pierced him, he registered none of it.
Time flowed on.
Having ceased even his struggles and fallen into a near-catatonic state, Han Yujin only trembled intermittently in time with the convulsions of the worms filling his skull.
Fortunately, the people already inside left him untouched. They clearly feared him because the middle-aged man had delivered him personally.
Of course, Han Yujin was in no condition to deduce any of that.
Time continued its merciless march until at last the baptism day the middle-aged man had mentioned arrived.
The door that remained sealed except when newcomers were thrown in swung open. Figures wearing mage-like robes entered—similar to the middle-aged man’s but far simpler in design.
They wrinkled their noses at the stench, cursing under their breath, yet still herded the waiting people onward. Those too broken to walk, like Han Yujin, were levitated by magic and carried directly.
After roughly thirty minutes they reached a vast hall. At its center stood an enormous object that seized every gaze.
It was a dull, dark brown overall, yet it radiated a subtle violet luminescence that made it feel profoundly mystical. Even in his near-vegetative state, Han Yujin could not look away from the sphere.
The middle-aged man had appeared at some point and now took charge, directing the proceedings. He suddenly stopped before Han Yujin, who was staring blankly at the sphere, and clicked his tongue.
“Start with this one.”
Soon Han Yujin found himself walking with creaking, magic-driven steps toward the dark-brown sphere at the center of the hall. His hand rose weakly, driven by instinctive dread, and touched its surface.
The sphere rippled, flashing with bizarre colors. An overwhelming suction force immediately dragged him inside.
Excruciating pain crushed even the writhing worm illusions that had filled his mind. He screamed uncontrollably, thrashing with nothing but raw survival instinct.
Then, in the next instant, an overwhelmingly transcendent gaze fell upon him—something so absolute it froze all resistance.
It sees me.
It is looking at me.
Something so vast that even a fraction of its edge defied comprehension was staring down at him.
His soul felt crushed, pulverized, ground into dust. Every spiritual structure that formed the person named Han Yujin shattered alongside it.
Only the gaze remained. It pressed down again and again, shrinking him into a minuscule point, then continued pressing until even that point vanished completely.
You have been completely incapacitated.
Select your harvest.
“Aaaaaaaaagh…!!”
Han Yujin woke with a scream that tore from his soul. He was once again in that dark void where one chose their harvest.
He pushed himself up from a lying position, breathing hard. The nausea surged too violently to suppress; he doubled over, retching as if his stomach itself might come out.
Surprisingly, the panic did not last long. The memories—more than enough to leave lasting trauma—faded quickly to a level he could barely endure.
Even so, the experience had been so horrific that full composure remained impossible. He could only manage to grasp his situation and steady himself.
“Ugh…! Hnnngh…”
Rage and hatred toward the middle-aged man who had inflicted such agony erupted like a volcano. The fury was so intense that no curse or shout could even escape his lips.
I will kill him.
I will definitely kill him.
Someday I will tear him apart limb from limb.
He ground his teeth until they felt ready to shatter, repeating the vow over and over. Only after a long while spent hunched over did he finally calm down.
“Haa…”
With a deep exhale he slowly rose and stared blankly at the harvest floating in the air.
Even though he had been utterly helpless, there was still a harvest—the very illusion of those bright-red worms that made him flinch at a glance.
I was lucky.
Despite the revulsion the vision inspired, Han Yujin forced himself to keep looking at it.
It’s a good thing my awakening ability is exceptional. If it weren’t…
His soul would have shattered. He would have been used as a blood provider for countless years, his lifespan drastically shortened. Or, even if not, the trauma might have left him a broken wreck.
He rebuked his own carelessness while feeling genuine gratitude for the level of his ability. That was why he forced himself to stare at the blood-colored worm illusion despite the horror it evoked.
He had to engrave this lesson into his bones.
No more relying on luck. Even if something seemed perfectly safe, he would exercise extreme caution every single time he used his power.
He never wanted to experience anything like this again. If it happened repeatedly, negative aftereffects might linger despite the memory-fading effect.
For a long time he continued staring at the worm illusion, whipping himself with the memory.
When exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, he longed to return to his shabby but safe studio apartment.
The moment he wished it, he opened his eyes once more on his bed in reality.
“……”
He sat in a daze, then checked the time on his smartphone. About six hours had passed since just after lunch.
Both body and mind felt drained as if he had fought a fierce battle, yet he rose and prepared lunch with meticulous care. He had wanted this meal more than anything.
He would eat slowly and think carefully.
What kind of wish would let him safely visit a world rich with possibility? What approach would thoroughly eliminate risks like the one he had just faced?
They really weren’t lying when they said nothing in this world comes easy.
He couldn’t hold back the sigh that escaped him.
It truly wasn’t easy at all.