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How many living soldiers are left?

How many individuals have managed to survive against the ghost army?

How many could even resist that sudden appearance of the ghost, unable to draw their weapons and left helpless?

In a cramped cabinet, a soldier hid, tears welling as he recalled those who had been devoured alive by the ghost. His body trembled uncontrollably, the jittery knees tapping softly against the wall, creating a faint clattering sound.

Seeing that, the soldier jolted and gritted his teeth, forcing strength into his legs, constantly reminding himself that he must not move. He kept his posture, as if he were a scarecrow, as if he were a wooden doll.

“Please, oh God, please.”

In one hand, he clutched a pendant.

It was a gift from parents who had half-cut ties with him.

His parents were deeply entrenched in a cult, spreading their fanaticism to friends, relatives, and colleagues alike.

Because of this, some had joined the cult after being led by his parents, falling into the depths and sacrificing all their wealth, causing massive problems. It led to his parents receiving a disownment declaration from the clan. Furthermore, at work, their act of dragging a colleague into the cult had resulted in a recommendation for resignation, and borrowing money from a friend to give to the cult had caused a fallout and even lawsuits.

If the word ‘zealot’ were to be pulled into reality, surely his parents would fit that description.

And naturally, no household with these zealots could function properly.

Since childhood, he had often been neglected, and as he grew older, he was almost forcibly drawn into the cult for brainwashing. After running away, he ended up bouncing from one friend’s house to another, enlisting in the Self-Defense Forces as soon as he was of age.

But they say you can’t break the bonds of blood.

His parents, somehow aware, had come to visit and left him the pendant as a gift.

Those humans he could barely even call parents claimed it was a “precious item made by the cult leader” when they said they were visiting their son after a long time.

“Damn it, damn it.”

Naturally, he wanted no part of that and attempted to throw it away.

But that attempt failed.

His senior, oddly fascinated by the pendant, snatched it away, reasoning that if he was going to throw it away, it might as well be him who took it.

At that moment, he regretted not tossing that disgusting pendant into the sea, yet thought that if he was going to discard it anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad for someone else to have it. Thus, the ownership of the pendant transferred to his senior.

No, it had transferred.

Until he acquired it from his senior’s corpse.

“Damn it…!”

His senior was dead.

And tragically so.

If he had died at the hands of a ghost like others, he wouldn’t feel this way.

His senior had died after hitting his head while trying to escape, ending it there.

If he were to classify deaths, his senior’s would fall into the category of “accidental death.”

Looking at his senior’s corpse, he felt sorrow.

Dying from cracking your head while fleeing… how could that not be tragic?

But then he noticed something.

Unlike the other corpses, his senior’s body was intact.

Although it was bleeding from the head injury, it appeared the ghosts hadn’t touched his senior’s corpse, as it was remarkably clean.

Seeing this, he picked up the pendant his senior was wearing, as if entranced.

And he hid with it.

Why he picked up the disgusting item from the cult, he didn’t know.

It could have been instinct or perhaps guidance from his ancestors.

Or maybe it was a desperate struggle to find any means of survival in this hellish situation.

And that struggle succeeded.

Even as the ghosts approached the cabinet where he hid, they passed by without noticing him. Even then, his body had been quaking, and yet the ghosts seemed to ignore any sounds he made.

“This pendant… helping me? Damn it. Damn it.”

He knew what had protected him.

It was the fact that his senior’s corpse hadn’t been devoured.

What kept the ghosts from noticing the spot where he hid.

The only thing he tightly gripped was the pendant.

He felt anger at having to rely on the help of that cult that had ruined his family, but still, he felt joy at being able to survive.

He closed his eyes in the dark cabinet, praying that the ghosts would disappear before the pendant’s effect wore off, holding his breath while waiting for someone to come save him. He bit down hard to keep his body from making any noise, maintaining his strength as he waited and waited.

How long did he wait?

“Wow… this is serious.”

“What in the world happened?”

Voices echoed from afar.

Thud.

Thud.

It wasn’t just voices.

He heard footsteps.

Not the familiar sound of soldiers’ boots, but a different kind of step.

Just hearing that made it clear what it was.

Humans.

Humans had come to save him.

“Ah….”

He felt hot water running from his eyes.

A tickling sensation touched his face, and salty water entered his slightly opened mouth.

He couldn’t help but hold back tears, possibly fearing that ghosts might still be around, trembling as he expressed his emotions all over his body.

“The rescue team, the rescue team is here….”

With his eyes closed, he had no idea how much time had passed.

It felt long if it was long, and short if it was short.

He was too consumed by the instinct to survive to grasp the passage of time.

How long had passed?

A day?

Three days?

He was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by how long it took.

Instead.

Instead… he wanted to shove white rice, miso soup, and pickles into his mouth in a frenzy.

And he wanted to forget every nightmare and sleep soundly in a safe place.

“Is there anyone here? We’ve come to rescue you!”

“If you’re here, please respond! We are safe! We’ve come to rescue you!”

He could hear it.

The calls of the rescue team.

The desperate voices looking for the living.

That earnest hope wishing to find survivors in this hell.

Clank.

He moved his frozen body, bumping into the cabinet.

Summoning all his strength, he opened the cabinet door and stumbled out.

What he saw as he emerged was the pungent odor of blood, the smell of rotting filth, darkness with no light.

And the shadows of two people standing in front of the door.

The shadows were calling out.

“Is there anyone here?! Don’t worry! We’ve come to save you!”

Human-shaped shadows.

Dressed in rags, with no flashlights, and lacking any tools necessary for a search.

No tools to fight off the ghosts, nor any medical gear to fend off potential infections or contamination.

Wearing rags… regular clothes.

“We’ve come to save you! Yes, we’ve come to save you!”

And next to them was another shadow.

A grotesque figure that looked as if it was made of disgusting seafood and seaweed.

Even standing still, the surface of it jiggled, dripping the stinking sea water from the seaweed wrapped around it.

And from the mock human head in the center, a voice imitating people endlessly flowed out.

“Is there anyone here?! We’re looking for a person, a person! We’re saving people!”

A ragged human.

A creature resembling a person from the sea.

And deceived by their voices, one soldier rushed out from his hideout.

“Ha, ha….”

The soldier felt the weight of hope plummeting into despair, awkwardly smiling.

In that smile lay resignation.

Click.

When the ragged man pulled out his rifle from his possession and aimed it at him.

“Disgusting… damn yokai….”

Bang—!

He surrendered to death.

* * *

The rifle fired, spewing metal and making a hole in one person’s head.

That was the only story here.

“Hmm. It seems Japanese guns aren’t completely useless.”

Soldiers dying were a very common tale, not an uncommon sight.

Nothing particularly special about it.

Jinseong observed the soldier while keeping his rifle aimed, checking if perhaps he might not be dead yet and was just pretending.

He ignited the Samādhi True Fire in one hand and threw it at the soldier, watching as the flames consumed the soldier’s upper body, confirming with satisfaction that he was indeed dead.

Jinseong, using the soldier’s body as firewood to fuel the flames of the Samādhi True Fire, reached for the oil can he had brought into the hallway, splashing it around the room.

Letting the flames spread naturally and engulf the entire room.

This was for confirmation of death.

In case there was someone else hidden in the same room, who hadn’t come out until the end.

If no one was hiding, it’d be just excessive confirmation of death, but if someone was, they would die in the flames or reveal their presence and be hunted down, making it a win-win.

One of the lessons he learned during his time as a mercenary was that thorough confirmation of death was essential.

“Let’s see. The oracle says there are four living beings on the ship, and one has just perished…. Let’s see. Three remain….”

Jinseong moved while holding his rifle.

“Is there anyone here?! We’ve come to rescue you!”

Searching for survivors that even the ghosts had overlooked.

 

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