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Jinseong looked at Thomas with warm eyes.

Not only that, but there was also a palpable excitement on his face, like a young person just stepping into society, revealing a hint of impatience and emotion in hopes that Thomas would see him as more than just a promising newcomer. Plus, he wasn’t just flexing his muscles, but also shifting the embers and coldness within him, causing his face to slightly flush with color.

It was like seeing a celebrity by chance.

“Sir William mentioned that he sees quite a promising talent in you.”

“Oh dear, that’s too much praise.”

“Not at all. Although he is a bit of a mood-swinger, he does have an eye for talent. If he said that, it means Jinseong Park possesses that much talent. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

After saying that, Thomas glanced at him with a slight hint of worry.

“However, the path of a shaman is not an easy one. While it’s certainly a good thing to have another shaman in a world with few of them… the hardships of that path can be likened to walking barefoot across a thorny road.”

“Becoming a shaman… it won’t be easy, will it?”

“That’s right. It will likely be a path filled with trials and tribulations, pain and endurance. The types of magic are numerous, and so are the hardships, each bringing its own kind of suffering. Perhaps there will be times when one might want to give it all up and sit down, just like countless others have done.”

What Thomas said was the truth.

Most aspiring shamans often gave up due to the uncertain pain and the heavy cost of magic they had to bear.

Magic and pain are inseparable.

Magic inflicts pain, and one must pay that price to wield it.

Enduring the tearing apart of one’s organs, the shattering of bones, the coughing of blood, the spread of illness throughout the body, the rotting and decaying of skin, the pulverization and regeneration of bones, the loss of limbs, and the pain of being consumed by flames, one also must endure the physical disintegration at the cellular level sometimes.

And that was just the physical aspect.

The mental and spiritual toll was even more serious.

One could be devoured by ghosts while trying to manipulate them, completely losing their body, or suffer from the side effects of magic and remain trapped in the unconscious, leading to the crumbling of one’s spirit. Some might abuse narcotic painkillers to forget the pain and end up living a pointless life like those sprawled as drug addicts on the streets. Besides, even if one manages to endure such hardships, a bright future is not guaranteed.

Unlike a warrior, one cannot undergo a transformation to gain a new body, extend their lifespan, or regain their health.

One can only drag a body worn down by the cost of magic through suffering until they find peace in death.

“Jinseong Park is still young. That’s why I’m particularly concerned. Ah, I’m not saying you should give up being a shaman. What I want to say is… there might be moments when you want to give up but don’t. So, when you feel you can’t endure any longer, allow yourself to lean on something.”

Thomas spoke sincerely.

“Whenever you’re feeling weary and worn out, come find me at the church. Visiting the Anglican Church would be best, but any place will do. Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, even a mosque will be fine. I hope you can gain some strength by visiting when you feel exhausted.”

He told Jinseong this with warm eyes, like encouraging a junior who is about to tread a difficult path, and didn’t stop there; he rummaged through a small bag he had brought along. Then, he placed a coarse fabric pouch into Jinseong’s hands.

“This is a gift. Please accept it.”

“A gift? I feel too guilty to accept this…”

“Not at all. Just… right. You can think of it as a present from a senior who’s walked a painful path to a junior, or as a congratulatory gift for becoming an adult. It’s nothing precious, so please take it without feeling burdened. They’re just things useful for everyday life, after all. Oh, feel free to check inside.”

Inside the pouch, as Thomas had said, there was nothing special.

A few small bottles containing a transparent liquid.

A small notebook with beautifully handwritten Bible verses.

A few bags of black tea.

That was all.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest… Matthew, isn’t it?”

The phrases written in the notebook seemed to offer comfort, urging one to endure through pain, and the black tea bags exuded a fragrant aroma. The small bottles appeared transparent yet strangely contained something that set them apart from ordinary water.

“This is holy water made by mixing a bit of my blood. It has the effect of repelling evil. Use it when your mind is cluttered, and your body and spirit feel weak. It should prevent ordinary ghosts from getting too close.”

He explained the gift with a bright smile.

“The notebook was made by a monk in a British monastery. Since it’s made with care, it should withstand wear and tear until the end. And that one….”

He pointed to the tea bags with a soothing voice.

“I prepared it for you to try some tasty British black tea. Isn’t it true that black tea and scones are famously delicious British treats?”

Thomas made a joke about his country’s food and laughed heartily. Then he handed Jinseong a piece of paper with his contact information and told him to reach out anytime he felt troubled before taking his leave.

He mentioned that Sir William was probably waiting outside, so he had to go.

And after Thomas left, Jang Young-cheol also got up from his seat.

He claimed he had to meet with others and that he had wasted too much time here.

As Jang Young-cheol moved, Maurice naturally followed suit.

Maurice greeted Lee Yang-hoon with a warm remark and turned to Jinseong with…

“Do we have a connection?”

“Perhaps we do, or perhaps we don’t. But since we’ve met face to face, wouldn’t that make our connection clearer next time?”

He posed a question that felt almost like a Zen riddle.

Jinseong accepted such a riddle with ease, and upon hearing the response, Maurice nodded once with a puzzled expression before turning away.

So, once again, the once crowded place was left with just the two of them.

Lee Yang-hoon and Park Jinseong.

Just those two.

Lee Yang-hoon paused in silence before asking Jinseong.

“And other shamans? What do you think?”

“It was interesting.”

Jinseong smiled at Lee Yang-hoon’s question about ‘Maurice,’ a smile that conveyed genuine intrigue.

* * *

“Ghosts deceive people and disturb the world.

This is because ghosts flaunt their paltry skills, deceiving others into thinking they are divine.

Yet even the smallest of skills can have their uses, as long as one isn’t deceived, they can certainly gain something from it.”

Since ancient times, ghosts have been utilized effectively.

Using necromancy to summon the deceased to ask for knowledge one lacks, borrowing the strength of powerful ghosts to enhance the accuracy of divination, or controlling them to carry out malicious deeds.

However, even if one can gain information from ghosts, it doesn’t necessarily mean it is accurate.

Ghosts are neither deities nor prophets.

Even a prophet’s predictions are variable; how remarkable can a mere ghost’s foresight be?

They are just small tricks, the kind of tricks that ancestors spoke of.

Simply put, they are nothing more than trifles.

But that doesn’t mean they have no value.

The perspective of a ghost is certainly different from that of a human.

They can see what humans cannot see, feel what humans cannot feel, and awaken thoughts that humans cannot conceive.

Thus, one must abandon the belief that ghosts are omniscient, discard the idea that they possess extraordinary skills, and simply use them as tools for advice, which can make them quite useful.

Maurice had been using ghosts in that very way.

Like an extension of the internet.

Like help files to consult when something is curious.

Or like a dog that warns of danger.

In this way, he was using them “usefully.”

And today, Maurice heard a warning from that tool.

[ That guy… his hands look like a cat? ]

His hands look like a cat.

What a cute expression that was.

Yet within that cute expression lay a clear warning.

Claws are being hidden, and it’s a warning that one never knows when they might come out.

‘Korea, they say it’s a magic desert…’

Maurice recalled the incessant chattering of ghosts when he encountered Jinseong.

[ A human that evokes memories of being in a sarcophagus. ]

[ Ah, the scent deep within the grave. ]

[ A human yet a corpse, a corpse yet not dead? ]

[ I feel insects. Those horrid things that once gnawed away at my flesh and crawled out! Ah! Aah~! ]

[ Coldness and heat. I feel both, reminding me of the time I just entered the crematorium. Cremation? Crematorium? Fire? Crematorium? Oh, excuse me! Staff! Staff~! I’m not dead! I’m alive! I’m awake! My spirit is still intact; please don’t burn me! I’m not dead yet— ]

[ The smell of ghosts, the smell of tombs, the smell of sarcophagi, the smell of corpses, the smell of insects. ]

[ The smell of insects? No. The presence of insects? No. What is it? What is it? ]

[ No. I dislike that. ]

Ghosts felt an uneasy mix of familiarity and wariness towards Jinseong.

Maurice was constantly warned to keep his distance from Jinseong, and when trying to observe him, as soon as Jinseong’s gaze reached them, they swiftly hid away inside objects, as if they had seen a moving tomb coming to catch them.

 

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