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The words he uttered in invocation were truly grave.

The deep sound resonated from the ground, vibrating rather than echoing in the ears, conveying its meaning through the body. Yet even that sound was seemingly blocked by divine power and couldn’t escape the golden thread, instead causing the talismans placed around to vibrate, weeping black tears.

Black tears.

Drip, drip.

Tiny drops of darkness pooled, as if condensation forming on a winter wall, like beads of moisture appearing when a drink with an inappropriate temperature is poured into a glass.

And one drop.

Two drops.

The black, pearl-like droplets fell silently, staining the ground black, as if the black tears were crying out in a silent scream of anguish that bore no sound, instead delivering a scent that tickled the nose.

The odor wafting forth like a desperate struggle.

The scent tickling the nose, the aroma of mold.

The dark, contaminated tears fell, blackening the earth.

And as the mold spread, coloring the ground black, it seeped outwards like a creeping shadow.

Black.

And more black.

Jinseong watched as the mold-infested tears stained the ground and spoke again.

“Please heal the Dutch elm disease.”

As Jinseong’s invocation resonated, vibrations spread anew. This time, the vibrations crawled across the land, moving through the trees, reaching the golden threads that defined territories.

The thin golden threads trembled as if held by invisible hands, writhing weakly, as if the hands belonged to a newborn incapable of forming a fist, trembling pathetically, desperately trying to assert its existence.

And that fervor soon became tears.

The golden threads collected the black liquid, turning into streaks, drops, and black paint that stained the earth.

The paint fell, darkening the ground, forming black lines between the trees, and began ‘contaminating’ the simple shrine.

“Heal the chestnut blight.”

As the golden thread wept, even the trees, which were its pillars, were not unscathed.

Delicate lines began to etch across the trees, and a network formed with fine threads quickly engulfed the trees, pushing itself deep inside them. Once it had infiltrated sufficiently, it erased all signs of its outer network, making its dwelling exclusively within the wood.

Slowly.

But swiftly.

What should have moved slower than a grub, propelled by the power of magic, created a perfect habitation for them, even before the mold could form hyphae.

“Illuminate the darkness with the panellus stipticus.”

The darkened soil began to undergo strange transformations.

Like sprouts bursting forth in the arid desert after a torrential downpour, or like flowers blooming with a single drop of life given to the withered grass.

Like that, mushrooms began to stealthily rise from the earth.

They were not extravagantly beautiful.

They did not sparkle in the sunlight.

There was no delightful fragrance that tickled the nose.

But the mushrooms exhibited a humility, hiding among the decaying leaves, and even without the feeble sunlight, showed resilience, possessing uniqueness without being as beautiful as flowers.

“Bestow upon us the psilocybe cubensis, so we may reach ecstasy and bring the insignificant humans closer to the divine.”

Jinseong intoned among the rising mushrooms.

“Subdue and control the pests with ophiocordyceps, and from the fear and awe that arises there, embrace mankind with psilocybin, revive the wild grasses and blooming flowers that dwell in the shadows, unnoticed by the gaze of Apollo.”

As the invocation was uttered, the earth grew darker, and Jinseong’s vibrations spread through the fallen leaves and the dampness that lay beneath them.

And.

“Great god, the very embodiment of nature, influencing everything from the smallest creature to humankind. You, who surely exist amidst the grand forest, a being whose kin shall never fade as long as life persists. From the shadows to the sun, from the winds of the sky to the damp depths of the earth. From Apollo’s gaze to Ploutos’ domain, we offer this sacrifice before your magnificent presence.”

Finally, the words of invocation and blessing, the signal that the ritual has begun, came to a close.

Jinseong pulled a bundle of silk from the burden and placed it on the ground, dousing it in gasoline.

Then, igniting the Samādhi True Fire, he flicked his fingers to set it ablaze.

Whoosh.

The small flame began to dance greedily on the silk, and the acrid stench and choking smoke rose toward the sky like a snake. However, thanks to the divine power, the smoke didn’t ascend high but suddenly stopped midway, burning what had been offered unseen by anyone.

The offering.

A sacrifice made to the god.

It should have been the most precious and esteemed gift that a human could give.

But as the silk that had been merely the shell turned to ash, what remained was the complete opposite.

Mold-covered, vibrantly colored remnants, grotesque little potatoes sprouting nasty eyes.

What sort of madness had taken place, with the pork riddled with mold, appearing all twisted, and the black-bread mold literally overflowing from the loaf?

Fruits that had all but rotted and teemed with mold.

Each one repulsive at first glance, exuding a dreadful stench, and just the thought of tasting them would make one wretch and send them to the hospital for a stomach pump.

For they had turned into food so foul that not even a homeless person starving for three days would deign to look at them.

As a return for the sacrifice, instead of blessings, horrors descended under the name of divine punishment, and the monstrosity was unveiled.

“Oh no.”

But Jinseong felt no fear of divine punishment.

He rather shone with excitement, eager for the inversion of effects that the spell would yield.

And finally.

Whoosh.

The divine punishment descended.

The punishment was clammy and instantaneous.

What was meant to block rust and decay, the blessing of Robigus turned into a curse, falling upon the earth, staining the ground black, creeping into the trees around him. The trees, which had resiliently thrived despite the lack of sunlight and narrow spaces for nutrition, began to wilt at once, afflicted by the curse.

Brown spots appeared on the leaves, which had been painted bright green in search of even a scant amount of sunlight. The leaves transformed into shades of yellow and brown, taking on a look distant from health, wrinkle-folding like the visage of a dying old man, losing their vitality.

Yet aside from the leaves, no noticeable changes occurred.

Thanks to the mold that had already burrowed inside, the branches appeared intact.

If one looked closer, they would witness the mold creating a network within, having settled like tenants in an apartment, but that was a mere detail.

And with Robigus’ divine punishment, the earth began to reclaim its color.

The ground, once drenched in black tears, transformed into a vibrant yellow, the ash from the offering sinking into the earth as if melted away. Mushrooms blooming in various places absorbed the color from the black soil as if drinking it in, and the black tears falling away from the talismans and golden threads finally ceased their weeping.

And when the musty smell from the mold dissipated completely.

All the preparations he could undertake were done.

Now, the realization of his task hinged upon the help of the heavens and the will of the people.

And the mold’s network spreading underground would accomplish its mission.

“Heaven, earth, and humanity. This too makes three. Truly auspicious.”

 

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