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The three entrusted with Park Jinseong found him just as quickly as they had confidently declared. It wasn’t that Jinseong had ever kept his whereabouts a secret, but they attributed their discovery entirely to their own capability.

Because they viewed themselves as so competent, they looked down upon Park Jinseong without a second thought.

“He’s just a rookie, after all.”

“Usually, a shaman’s dwelling is well hidden.”

“Haha. No, no. This could actually be that pesky shaman hiding in plain sight.”

“Hahahaha! That could be true. Isn’t it like how children stuff themselves under blankets, thinking they’re perfectly hidden? This rookie shaman might be the same!”

They jeered at Jinseong.

They deemed him a fool for not even properly concealing his dwelling and dismissed him as a rookie lacking in experience. In contrast, their confidence soared with the belief that they were remarkably superior and capable enough to handle such a lowly shaman from a Magic Desert.

Did they seem to be in danger so fervently?

One warrior attempted to rein in their arrogance.

“Hey. A shaman is still a shaman. They can do things we can’t imagine. No matter how rookie he may be….”

This warrior was among the older members of the group.

Although lacking notable accomplishments, he had gained some minor experiences through the years.

He might not have commanded reverence from everyone, but he deserved respect as a senior.

However, his concerns were swiftly brushed aside.

“Hah, you’re worrying too much, Watanabe. We appreciate your concern, but we’ll handle this.”

“A shaman is a dangerous being? We know that. But look at this! From a Magic Desert, a lowly ethnicity like a Korean, a kid who just became an adult, and I hear he learned magic on his own without a master. Is there a reason to be concerned?”

“Simply finding this kid’s home so easily proves that he lacks even the basics required of a shaman. Are we supposed to freak out and tread carefully around a guy like that? That’s inefficient and downright ridiculous.”

“I understand what Watanabe is saying. Isn’t there an old warrior’s saying? Be wary of the elderly, children, and women. But there’s a limit to that. No warrior would be scared of a kid drooling while sucking on candy. To us, this shaman is just a child. A child. Not even five years old.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll finish the job quickly, so you can just focus on your duties, Watanabe.”

They dismissed Watanabe’s worries as mere trifles.

They paid no heed to his words whatsoever.

In their eyes, Watanabe was a mediocre warrior who relied on connections to cling to an aristocratic family. In reality, Watanabe was among the weaker ones in this group, and, given his age, it was questionable whether he had ever been socially adept, let alone politically savvy.

Moreover, the family he belonged to wielded little power.

They hailed from a baronial clan—one of the lowest ranks in the aristocracy—and lacked any genuine connections or noble bloodline. Their lineage had begun when they earned a medal for their efforts in the war during the Empire and became barons.

You’d think they would have soared high if they had such a commendable record.

But since then, they’ve faced continuous failures, being unable to build connections and even getting pushed into a position where they couldn’t earn new accolades. Thankfully, due to some luck, they weren’t prosecuted as war criminals after the war finished, but that was about it.

Still, among their offspring, there was someone with a knack for making money, so they had some level of wealth, albeit far insufficient compared to other aristocratic families. They couldn’t really be labeled upper class; they were merely wealthier than the middle class.

They had vague money, no connections, and no noble blood.

Unless they participated in aristocratic gatherings, their clan could fade into obscurity at any moment.

“…I understand.”

Watanabe grimaced at their condescending attitude and stepped back.

“Even though I was only trying to offer good advice….”

No matter how good a word might be, if no one would listen, it was meaningless.

Watanabe’s advice was, without a doubt, sound, but due to his background and shortcomings, it was dismissed as mere nagging.

A mediocre clan.

An inconsequential warrior.

Watanabe sighed, feeling their disdain for him was justifiable.

Being underestimated was something he had grown accustomed to, after all.

His life had always been characterized by being overlooked.

Since he began his path as a warrior in his youth, he was often disregarded due to slow achievements, faced humiliation every time he fell during sparring, and was looked down upon by capable individuals from other aristocratic families.

Indeed.

Being underestimated was nothing new.

Yet, despite that, he had survived all this time.

He hadn’t died foolishly, unaware of his place in the world, nor suffered debilitating injuries.

Though he hadn’t achieved great feats, he had managed to avoid serious blunders, receiving sufficient recognition from those in his clan, such as, “While he may lack in skill, his loyalty surpasses anyone else’s,” and “If asked who among us is most reliable, Watanabe would be named without hesitation.”

His survival was due to his careful observation of his surroundings and unwavering preparation against danger.

This trait allowed him, despite his lack of talent, to earn his family’s trust.

“Still, I wish they’d listen to me, being colleagues during this task….”

Typically, they maintained a subtle rivalry, acting friendly while keeping a watchful eye on one another, which was characteristic of an aristocratic family. Naturally, the warriors from that family were forced to follow suit, so their current behavior was not altogether surprising.

However, no matter how much they had feuded in the past, they were colleagues during this operation.

While they might return to their previous rivalry afterward, at least in this moment, they were supposed to support and trust one another.

“But it seems they don’t consider me a colleague….”

Unfortunately, it seemed that Watanabe was the only one harboring such sentiments.

He silently observed the trio who rejected the idea of being his peers.

“Right. I hope you’re right about this rookie.”

Watanabe prayed.

That the shaman they were pursuing, one named Park Jinseong, would indeed be a rookie.

So that things could go smoothly as they had hoped.

* * *

There was a place shrouded in darkness.

Despite being high up, the darkness descended from the sky like it meant to stay, wrapping everything in black, while, from the ground, darkness spread out as if blooming.

Though there was nothing to cover the transparent glass, darkness formed shapes as if veiling the outside of the window, with vague strands resembling spirits obscuring the inside.

Even in a high location, the descended darkness felt comparable to standing in the deepest pit, creating a contradiction.

Although the moon hung in the sky, its light could not penetrate the darkness, exerting no influence whatsoever, and even though countless people and countless vehicles roamed outside, utter silence prevailed, retaining a reassuring calmness.

It resembled a tomb created from deeply dug graves, showcasing the deep underground where great ones lay in slumber.

This calmness, which did not end with simply crawling into a coffin in a grave, was reminiscent of the profound darkness one might encounter in an expansive cave, conjuring visions of the deep abyss and the unseen realm of the dead known as Sheol (שְׁאוֹל).

In that pitch-black darkness sat a figure in a lotus position.

He sat up straight, like one meditating, surrounded by something swirling around him.

The faint, ghostly forms seemed to be watching the shaman as if waiting for something, writhing and squirming like insects scratching at the earth.

“I speak to the souls that left the fence of teeth. You who shall never return, you who die without a rite. You who are to be desecrated and can’t escape the abyss. Can you feel the stirring of Sheol below? I ask you in the radiance of the One who exists. Whom do you await?”

As the shaman spoke, the swirling souls responded.

[ The specters of those who once ruled the world have awakened. ]

[ The kings of all ethnicities rise from their thrones to whisper. ]

[ Those who buried themselves in the scent of unavoidable death crawl to the graves; how can this not be joyous? ]

[ They will be as drained as us. ]

[ They shall meet the same fate as we have. ]

The souls whispered.

Expressing a glee that seemed to overflow, they spoke in chilled breaths.

[ The number is three. Three it is. ]

 

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