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“Divine Object, you say?”

“Yes.”

Jinseong spoke calmly to Kim Cheolsu, who looked surprised at hearing the third possibility.

“Since ancient times, mountains have held various meanings. They can be a homeland for people, a final refuge for the homeless, a sanctuary for those seeking enlightenment away from the mundane, and due to their grand and majestic forms, they often become objects of worship.”

The indifferent demeanor of Park Jinseong gave off some… strange vibes.

It felt as if he was implying that you, and the one behind you, would choose this ‘third possibility.’

“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘going into the mountains to cultivate the Way’? That practitioners go to Jirisan or Songnisan to train and become Taoists… something along those lines?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it.”

“Then the conversation becomes easier. Just like that example you know, mountains have often been used as places for training. And it’s obvious that the more people flock to such places… there would naturally be many traces left behind.”

Jinseong said that those ‘traces’ are precisely the Divine Objects.

“There’s a work called ‘Fengshen Yanyi.’ Have you heard of it?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard of it.”

“In ‘Fengshen Yanyi,’ there’s talk of tools that can wield divine powers, known as treasure talismans. These are a kind of artifact, a type of Divine Object. And the ancient shamans enjoyed making these ‘treasures.'”

Jinseong paused for a moment, then smirked subtly.

“Of course, I don’t know much about shamans in Korea. But countries adjacent to China tend to have such things. It’s reasonable to presume that in the past, people in Korea who were called Taoists or shamans also created ‘treasures.'”

“So, what’s happening now, is it because of those treasures?”

“Ah… not necessarily.”

He briefly closed his mouth before opening it again.

“If it were a typical incident, we could suspect that the commotion stemmed from treasures left behind by seekers or practitioners in the mountains…”

“But right now, this isn’t something we can categorize as typical.”

“Yes, indeed. Almost everything is Japanese yokai… it’s quite strange. If something had emerged from the ‘Shan Hai Jing’ or ‘You Ji Zhi,’ or even Korean tales, we could consider it the work of ancient shamans, but every single one is a Japanese yokai… it’s just bizarre, no matter how you think about it.”

*Tap, tap.*

Jinseong tapped the desk with his index finger.

“The countries of the Korean Peninsula rarely interacted with Japan. The likelihood of a shaman sneaking in among the invading pirates is low, and even if they did manage to enter, it’s improbable they explored mountains all over South Korea. So if this were happening due to a Divine Object…”

“It would most likely have been when the Japanese were coming and going as if it were their own home.”

“Yes, that’s right. During the Japanese occupation. If a Divine Object were established, it would be a remnant of that period.”

He ceased his words there and whispered softly.

“Or it could be after that.”

“After that…”

Kim Cheolsu pressed his hand to his forehead, looking as if he had a headache just from listening to Jinseong.

Each of the three hypotheses he raised made sense, and each alone could trigger tremendous repercussions.

‘Well then.’

Kim Cheolsu moved the muscles in his face, contorting it into an expression that suggested he was somewhat uncomfortable. As if the matter was too significant for someone of his rank to handle.

Though internally, he thought differently.

‘Huh. Every single one is a chaotic mess, but it doesn’t sound too bad overall.’

It was true that the situation was considerable.

That backlash would surely be powerful.

But that was not Cheolsu’s concern.

‘Just let those lazy bastards sitting comfortably and manipulating public opinion deal with their mess, while the higher-ups get a little headache without their heads rolling. Plus, maybe I can find some evidence amidst all this and give the Japanese bastards some swagger… it shouldn’t be too bad.’

Kim Cheolsu belonged to the category of agents who actively engaged on the ground.

His specialty lay in bloody jobs like assassination and infiltration.

He took considerable pride in his work and was relatively satisfied with the benefits and rewards the government provided.

However, not everything could be satisfactory.

If work was all too perfect, wouldn’t there always be an eyesore among colleagues, as the world goes?

The eyesore that Cheolsu saw were the agents manipulating public opinion.

He thought of them like this:

They don’t get their hands dirty, they don’t run around… heck, they don’t even train in martial arts or magic properly, yet they sit on their chairs all day, fiddling with their fingers and making phone calls, acting as if they accomplished something monumental.

Moreover, when they spoke of achievements, they always listed their names while shoving the names of field agents into the background—oh, it drove him nuts…

‘What a bunch of bastards.’

Though he didn’t feel an urge to kill them or even beat them on the verge of death, a little discomfort wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Kim Cheolsu chuckled internally as he imagined the eyesores groaning and whining in distress.

‘And hey, those high-ranking folks who coddle such idiots should sweat a bit to acknowledge the ground realities too.’

The rope would be sturdy.

The frenzied blade of madness wouldn’t slice their necks without direction, merely swaying with the cheers.

Besides, after this chaos, they’d definitely conclude that their surveillance net needed to be tightened.

If that were to happen, it was certain that those active on the ground would receive more favorable treatment.

So, how could he not be happy about that?

However, Kim Cheolsu didn’t let that sentiment show on his face.

Isn’t it strange to smile in the current situation?

So instead, he wore a visibly frustrated and troubled expression.

To amplify that perplexity, he circulated his qi, slightly raising his body temperature until he broke a little sweat, even pulling a handkerchief to wipe it in front of Jinseong.

“Seems like this is an issue I can’t resolve by myself. I apologize for inconveniencing you, but I believe further details should be reported…”

“Yes. Understood.”

“Ahem. Honestly, I didn’t expect this to be such a big deal…”

“Not at all. Though these were my words, even speaking them, I feel a weight from this assumption, and I apologize for that.”

With that, Kim Cheolsu and Park Jinseong wrapped up their conversation and prepared to part ways.

Cheolsu quickly packed his things and tidied his clothes before rising from his seat.

He glanced at the table and spoke.

“Ah, Park Jinseong, Shaman. I’ll leave what’s on the table for your reference.”

“Hmm.”

“Regardless of how things unfold, your help will surely be needed… there’s no point in me taking it now. But it contains confidential documents and things that mustn’t be disclosed, so I hope you can manage it thoroughly.”

“That sounds right. If a Korean sees what’s written in that document, they will undoubtedly fly into a rage. I will pay close attention.”

Thus, Kim Cheolsu and Park Jinseong parted ways, agreeing to the next meeting.

Upon returning, Kim Cheolsu reported his encounter with Jinseong and the three hypotheses he raised without omitting a single detail.

And unsurprisingly, such ‘reporting’ was more than enough to give the high-ranking officials a headache.

“All three of these assumptions make complete sense.”

“They possess too much realism to be merely called assumptions. Especially the one about using it as a means to dispose of calamities feels very tangible.”

“Hmm. Honestly, if it’s the Japanese, they would easily pull something like that.”

It wouldn’t be odd at all for them to carry out the actions that Jinseong mentioned if they knew the Japanese well.

Disposing of a calamity onto another country?

That’s the sort of thing they’d do without a second thought.

“Realistically, it’s teeming with possibilities and that’s the issue.”

“Yes. Disposing of a sacrificed object carrying calamities to another country isn’t particularly difficult.”

If they were on good terms, it might be different, but Japan and Korea didn’t share a good relationship.

Moreover, they were separated by a barrier of sea.

That meant…

“Honestly, there’s no need to sneak in and dispose of it or drop it from the skies; they could just dump it in the sea, right?”

“Exactly.”

Like throwing trash into the ocean, they could simply discard the sacrificial object into the sea.

Once it left Japan’s hands, there would be no guilt or responsibility, and the currents would naturally carry the object to some suitable place.

“Honestly, we can’t know if they were targeting us or not.”

“Exactly. Since there’s a trash can up there.”

Moreover, disposing of it wasn’t burdensome since Korea had a giant trash can in the form of the land left unscathed by the puppet regime.

A deathly land, where a monstrous mess had been left unattended.

A land overflowing with defilement, rife with evil spirits and evil ghosts.

A space where survival was absolutely impossible.

A sacrificial object?

Carrying calamity and misfortune?

What’s the big deal about that?

In North Korea, that kind of misfortune was worth less than a few drops of ink in the river.

“Supposedly trying to toss it into the ocean flowing toward North Korea and it ended up reaching Korea…”

“That holds some possibility…”

“Hmm. In that case, the Japanese would vehemently deny it.”

Besides, the denial would come quite easily.

It arrived in Korea by traversing the sea?

Did it come from Japan, or was it washed ashore from some unknown island?

If Korea protested, Japan would likely respond with:

“There’s no evidence it came from Japan.”

Since it drifted across the sea, how would they identify whether it was from Japan or from an unidentified island, evading accountability. And if Korea expressed outrage, Japan would yell about how “Korea is unjustly provoking the peace-loving Japan.”

Next, the second possibility: the chance that it was sent with intent to terrorize?

The same logic applied here.

Japan would never, under any circumstance, admit it.

The moment they even partially acknowledged it, their catchy phrase of “the peace-loving Japan” would come crashing down.

They would go to any lengths to bury the incident.

Depending on the circumstances, they might even resort to staging a false flag operation.

What if they summoned Korean yokai using Onmyoji within Japan, causing chaos, and then declared a mutual blame narrative?

What if they started spouting all sorts of convoluted arguments, dragging Korea through the mud?

In such a scenario, the incident would likely end up being muddled and unresolved.

The third option was arguably the best.

The possibility of a Divine Object.

“Honestly, if it comes down to the third assumption, that would be the best case.”

“Yes, indeed. It provides clear evidence, making it easy for us to raise a fuss.”

“We could negotiate using the Divine Objects as leverage, too.”

 

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