KTC | Chapter 8

It was clear that Seo Jihan would quickly lose his soul to evil spirits again if someone like me wasn’t there to act as a breakwater. Although it wouldn’t be difficult to exorcise him each time, the problem was that even if expelled, the blood-soaked history imprinted on the evil spirits would still inflict cumulative damage, small or large, on the possessed’s soul.

The fact that other evil spirits could easily inhabit him after an exorcism, and that frequent possessions made the possessed more susceptible to corruption, was precisely why Chairman Seo’s proposal was indeed the best way to protect Seo Jihan.

Man, this is a hard offer to refuse. I can’t just say it’s too much trouble or that it’s impossible.

Choi Seonwoo pondered with a grim expression when a man came down from upstairs and entered the dining hall.

“Chairman, Jihan has woken up.”

“Oh, really!”

Chairman Seo immediately sprung from his seat, showing Choi Seonwoo a carefree smile for the first time.

The old guy, living so dirtily but still knows how to smile like that.

“Will you come too, Father?”

“…Let’s go see him. I need to check his condition.”

Dinner was over anyway. He hadn’t touched the dessert plate brought by the live-in staff, as his stomach couldn’t possibly hold more.

Following Chairman Seo, Choi Seonwoo entered Seo Jihan’s room. Jihan was sitting up awkwardly, blinking blankly. Chairman Seo rushed to him and tightly grasped his hands.

“Jihan, it’s Grandpa. Do you recognize me?”

“…Grandpa.”

His voice was low and resonant, though weak.

“What happened to me…”

Noticing Choi Seonwoo standing by the door, Jihan abruptly stopped talking. Then, as if remembering something, he slowly nodded.

“Ah, it’s the priest.”

“Yes. Do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces…”

Clutching his forehead as if it hurt, Jihan grimaced. Startled, Chairman Seo quickly laid him back down on the bed.

“Don’t strain yourself; just lie down. I’ll bring some porridge, eat that, and then get some more rest.”

“Okay.”

Jihan obediently responded and turned his head to look at Choi Seonwoo again. Beneath his sunken eyes, his deep and clear eyes sparkled brightly. Any trace of blood tears had been cleanly erased.

“Thank you.”

Even uttering that seemed to drain him of energy, and he soon fell back into sleep. His face, after struggling for so long, was still marred with anxiety and fatigue.

Choi Seonwoo sighed deeply in his heart.

I just can’t leave him like this, pretending I don’t know.

At the same time in Jeonan County, a grand ritual was taking place. Every year in September, before the anniversary of the Unknown Cult massacre, a large-scale communal ritual was held to console the spirits of the children horrifically sacrificed in Yunseul Village and to cleanse those still wandering with strong resentments.

Even though ten years had passed since the incident was resolved, Yunseul Village was still known as the ghost village. Although not completely deserted, most who moved in after the original inhabitants fled suffered unexplained illnesses or went mad, purportedly possessed, leading civilians to avoid the village.

That wasn’t all. Construction companies attempting to buy the devalued land cheaply and develop it into a coastal tourist destination were forced to abandon their plans after a series of fatal accidents killed several workers.

There had even been an incident where online broadcasters entered the village for a “haunted experience,” but a minor altercation during the broadcast escalated into a knife fight, leading to several deaths. After that, no one dared enter Yunseul Village.

The original plan was to conduct the ritual inside Yunseul Village, but even the most respected shamans turned pale and backed away at the village’s entrance, leading to the plan being abandoned. Hence, the rituals were now being held in neighboring villages on a grand scale.

The final ritual of this week-long event was led by the shaman High Shaman Yuksun. As she aged and her spiritual power waned, she had stopped conducting rituals herself and focused on training new disciples. Her participation in today’s event in Jeonan County was her first, and she planned to officially retire from active duty after conducting this large-scale ritual in front of her disciples.

Following the memorial service, a ritual to appease the gods commenced. Local officials, including city council members and the mayor, gathered like clouds, praying for the safety and well-being of the village.

“Gasp!”

The atmosphere of the smoothly progressing ritual changed dramatically when High Shaman Yuksun climbed onto the ceremonial knife. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back, and she started to bleed from her eyes, collapsing beneath the knife. Before her disciples could rush to her aid, her chilling laughter broke the tense air.

“Hahaha! Finally, this day has come!”

It wasn’t High Shaman Yuksun’s voice. It sounded like dozens, hundreds of people, men and women, children and adults, singing in chorus. A murmur spread rapidly among the gathered crowd.

“The vengeful spirits are claiming that the Ghost King is stirring again!”

High Shaman Yuksun, now on her feet, bled from her shins as she raised her arms high. She spun around, dancing a dance of ecstasy, her lavish skirt fluttering through the air. Even her groin, long past menopause, was wet with blood.

As people from the village, including the mayor of Jeonan County, watched in horror, they quickly fled in terror. They ran mindlessly, tripping and piling up in screams, creating a scene reminiscent of a battlefield.

“Let’s go to him who will make us strong, let’s go, everyone!”

High Shaman Yuksun, unfazed by anything, just kept shouting. A black wind from Yunseul Village wrapped around her body, swirling upward.

The young disciples, whose eyes were already open to the spiritual, watched in horror as ghosts swirled out of High Shaman Yuksun’s entire body like fireworks. The younger disciples, still untouched by spiritual power, urinated themselves in fear and collapsed trembling.

“Where, where! Ah, ah! It’s so fleeting! It has disappeared again! Find it! Find it wherever it is on this land!”

Spinning around the altar and scattering blood, High Shaman Yuksun continued her ecstatic ritual alone for a while before suddenly collapsing to the ground. Her plump body, despite her advanced age, shriveled as if burned.

Her blood-soaked eyes, up until the last moment, laughed as they watched the spirits tear through the sky and disappear. No matter how much her disciples clung to her and cried out, she never rose again.

High Shaman Yuksun’s mysterious sudden death brought yet another shock to Jeonan County. And the repercussions of that shock soon began to resonate throughout South Korea.

In Ongjin County, Incheon, located on Shindo, one of the islands known collectively as the “Three Brothers” along with Sido and Modo, connected by bridges. Shindo’s total area is about 7 km², not even half the size of a district in Seoul. One could easily cycle around the entire island quickly.

The total population is under 400 people, with no schools—no primary, secondary, or high schools. Naturally, the population is concentrated among the middle-aged and elderly. If a baby is born, families usually have to leave the island eventually to educate their children, so young couples rarely settle there.

For Choi Seonwoo, it was sadly a place with more Protestants than Catholics, and even more who relied on shamanistic beliefs than Protestants.

“Sister, there’s one small hope I have for Shindo Church, do you know what it is?”

After a morning meeting, Choi Seonwoo looked out the window. Next to him, as always, sat the black cat Angela, snugly pressed against the windowsill.

Sister Catherine Jung Yoonyoung, in her mid-thirties but still looking like she was in her twenties, found the scene behind them quite endearing. She smiled and responded.

“What is it, Father?”

“I wish to perform a baptism for an infant at Shindo Church.”

“Ah… ah…”

Sister Jung Yoonyoung sighed with dismay and squeezed her eyes shut. Seeing young children on the island was rare except during holidays or vacation seasons, so Father Choi Seonwoo’s small hope was unlikely to be fulfilled.

Choi Seonwoo gazed wistfully at the churchyard swirling with fallen leaves.

“I visited Myeongdong Cathedral last week. It’s really busy there with Sunday school and everything. The church is bustling even on weekdays… I’d like to teach catechism to adorable kids, play with them, and perform baptisms.”

Sister Jung Yoonyoung gently patted Choi Seonwoo’s shoulder.

“It would be faster just to wait for a reassignment to another region.”

“…That’s true, and it hurts more because it’s true. It’s like being skinned alive.”

Sister Jung Yoonyoung’s blunt yet compassionate advice struck home again today. But her gentle truth-bombing was still underway.