Chapter 26 - The Alteration-Type Magic System

I was unimpressed with military scrip, the revamped Gyeonggi local currency introduced to combat the advancing fog in 2028.

Couldn't the military just print off a whole stack of it whenever they wanted? I'd received seventy units for completing a single mission as a civilian Operator. Inflation looked right around the corner.

So I figured I'd get my money's worth while I could. That turned out to be harder than expected.

The people who introduced the scrip economy had clearly put some thought into it. They were remarkably good at clawing currency back out of circulation to curb inflation.

I should start with the civilians. I wandered over to a ground-floor window and glanced outside.

A truck stood loaded with boxed supplies, like the mobile PX trucks the old military supposedly used to have. In front of it, armed military police glared menacingly at the crowd. A supply officer held the center, flipping through a file.

A whiteboard in front served as the menu.

People waited in line holding tickets—military scrip bearing the approving commander's rank, name, signature, and seal. They handed these to the officer, who then instructed the soldiers to give them the corresponding goods.

Here was what I knew about the scrip economy.

Ordinary civilians received an average of two units for labor that helped the military. One unit bought the standard daily supply package.

That package contained two two-liter bottles of water, five packets of instant noodles, and three bowls of Hetbahn instant rice. If you brought along your dependents and proved you were supporting them, they added a small, hundred-gram convenience-store pack of kimchi, another bottle of water, and another bowl of rice.

A tub of kimchi from a side-dish shop also cost one unit, while a set of household medicines, such as cold remedies, cost three. Two shirts cost one unit, and so did a pair of jeans. They'd set fairly cheap and... reasonable? prices for essential supplies.

The finishing touch was cigarettes and alcohol.

A pack of cigarettes cost one unit regardless of brand. A bottle of soju or a can of beer also cost one. Smokers and drinkers were screwed even in times like these.

But the most expensive item was, of course, priority evacuation.

Gyeonggi Province formed the second cordon, with Suwon and Gapyeong serving as its main supply hubs. Military units had begun controlling logistics and supplies along the major roads to stop people from bolting into Gangwon or Chungcheong Province. Anyone attempting to cross the boundary without military authorization was to be treated as a suspected Amalgam and shot dead.

They called it priority evacuation, but it was really permission to evacuate.

And that permission cost a hundred units per person. According to First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi, there were reasons for those prices.

["You need order to maintain infrastructure, recruit people to help with military logistics and supplies, and control any refugees who might genuinely be infected. It might be a little... obnoxious, but it's better than nothing, isn't it? At least the criteria are clear."]

In short, the crime of Gyeonggi's residents was living in Gyeonggi.

Just as the crime of the Seoul residents currently rubbing cheeks with Amalgams and dating predatory spines was the mere fact that they'd lived in Seoul. And fuck, our crime as Koreans was being born in Korea and becoming the first people on earth attacked by these fucking monster bastards.

In this ruthless military-scrip economy, this wartime economic system, even civilian Operators couldn't escape the logic of capitalism.

With a sigh, I turned away from the world beyond the glass, from the people hauling boxes with drooping shoulders, and headed for the cafeteria.

The cafeteria entrance was no different.

The food-service officer lounging and yawning behind a desk and chair held out his palm the instant he saw me.

"Operator Baek Je-min. One unit of scrip buys three cafeteria meals."

"I risked my life for this scrip. The food's good today, right?"

"Well... that depends on the cook."

Civilian Operators earned more scrip than ordinary civilians. The ROK–U.S. Joint Command had given that some serious thought.

They took meticulous care to encourage Operators to participate in operations, even giving us top priority for supplies. Wouldn't it sting if an Operator did one big job and then sat around fucking off?

So they made us pay dearly for our autonomy and independence, for receiving military supplies and, on top of that, extra scrip.

At least my situation was a little better.

I picked up a tray, helped myself buffet-style to spicy stir-fried pork, young-radish kimchi, and seasoned bean sprouts, then ladled out some radish soup. Once seated, I brought out my secret weapon: the Richam left over from yesterday. I scooped a spoonful onto my rice, gently broke it up, and put the lid back on.

A can of Richam or Spam cost one unit of scrip.

Thank heavens the colonel without a name tag liked me enough to supply two cans a week for free. While I was feeling relieved about that, my turban-wearing friend came up beside me.

"Mr. Baek. Could I have a spoonful of Spam?"

"..."

"I miss Spam..."

At that moment, I became convinced that Angel's Guidance—the doctrinal magic Hamza was suspected of possessing—was real, and scooped him a spoonful of Richam. Respect welled up in me for a man who let not even an offhand remark slip by.

Come to think of it, this guy never even showed his face anywhere genuinely dangerous.

I could have argued that the deal didn't count because this wasn't Spam, but I wasn't about to antagonize someone with such an incredible ability.

Having strengthened our bond over a spoonful of Richam, we had a brief conversation as we shoveled down our meals.

"Hamza. Do you sense anything from me?"

"I'm not sure I should say this..."

"Say whatever you like. I'm not petty."

"You're dangerous, Mr. Baek. I have a feeling it's safer not to go with you when you go to earn scrip."

"What? Why? Isn't that angel leading you astray?"

"No. This intuition... it's definitely the angel guiding me. You're not a bad person, Mr. Baek, but it tells me spending too much time with you is dangerous."

Still, as our conversation demonstrated, Hamza's Angel's Guidance apparently wasn't perfect either.

We eventually took our trays away and finished cleaning up, then said goodbye and parted ways.

Walking down the corridor, I took out my cracked phone to calculate how I'd spent my scrip, checking the time first.

February 22, 2028, 12:52 p.m.

I'd eaten at the cafeteria for ten days, so I'd spent ten units. I set aside about twenty as an emergency fund for future meals and drew up a shopping list for the remaining forty.

I was about ten short of buying an AR-15. After a brief discussion, command had finally set its price at fifty units. Even aside from the shortage of scrip, I was understandably reluctant to buy an AR-15 on impulse when I had a K2 I was at least somewhat more familiar with.

According to people who'd shopped there before me, though, handguns were relatively cheap...

I ambled into the former social welfare office, now a military gear shop, where First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi greeted me with a yawn.

"Oh, Operator."

"I'm here to check handgun prices."

"Hmm. A sidearm isn't a bad thing to have, but... a rifle would be better, wouldn't it?"

"Aren't handguns cheaper?"

"Ha ha..."

He led me to the weapons rack and gave me a few demonstrations. Parts clicked into place as he mimed loading the weapons, checked their chambers, and explained various things. The conclusion was shocking.

"Even a handgun eats up forty fucking units?"

"Well, having too many guns in circulation makes things awkward for the military, so the entry price ended up a little steep. There's concern that Operators might smuggle firearms. But!"

"But?"

"If you buy a reliable handgun like a Glock 19, the military-standard K5, or a SIG, the promotion includes a box of fifty FMJ rounds and a box of twenty-five JHP rounds suitable for actual combat, both in the appropriate caliber. Complimentary gifts."

Was this the American way?

Speechless, I covered my mouth and cast my eyes around. Shin Han-gi put the handgun back and lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Ha ha, harsh, isn't it? Still, at least we're not asking for foreign currency. Of course, we also have a range of products and services that can be genuinely helpful."

"Let's hear them."

"First, upgrading your standard-issue twenty-round K2 magazine to a thirty-round magazine costs five units. Two grenades cost five. Our magazine-loading service, which provides replacement ammunition already loaded rather than boxed, costs three per use. A CBRN decontamination kit costs three, and a first-aid kit costs three..."

I thrust out my palm and shook my head.

Was this really the Republic of Korea? Still, scrip was nothing but an illusion if I didn't spend it. After a moment's thought, I folded my fingers, leaving only my index finger raised.

"All right. Upgrade me to a thirty-round magazine, six grenades, and one decontamination kit and first-aid kit each."

"Twenty-six units. Excellent. Would you like a gas mask and filters, too? You'll receive standard-issue ones, of course, but if you spend scrip, you'll get better equipment."

"How much are those?"

"Ten units for a K-5, and two per filter."

"Then add one gas mask and two filters. That makes the total..."

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP...

With his file tucked under one arm, Shin Han-gi applauded to express his delight, smiling contentedly.

"Forty units. I'll send them to your quarters."

"..."

"Don't worry. We don't charge scrip for that. I'll have the soldiers deliver everything by tomorrow, so you'll be able to collect it."

Seeing my expression, he tapped his file and gave a wry smile.

"We do issue the basic supplies. Standard military 5.56 mm ammunition is supplied free. We only charge scrip if you can't be bothered loading your magazines yourself."

"Can't you just issue everything?"

"Operator Baek Je-min. Think about it. Suppose we give Operators all these American guns and ammunition for free. Wouldn't some claim they'd lost them and ask for replacements? The military doesn't want firearms circulating indiscriminately among civilians. What guarantee do we have that every Operator will work as honestly as you do?"

"Ugh."

"Besides, you are civilian Operators. We'd come under fire for giving civilians guns and military supplies for free. You're not soldiers. You enjoy freedom and considerable autonomy, and in exchange, being authorized to access and purchase military equipment is privilege enough. Of course, there is a way to get all your supplies one hundred percent free."

"There is?"

"If you volunteer as a specialist soldier on the front line, at the Seoul cordon..."

"Fuck this. I'm leaving."

"Take care."

I left the beaming Shin Han-gi behind.

The scrip economy spared no mercy even for Operators. And I wasn't the only one feeling the sting. As I approached a room from which prayers could be heard, I saw Pastor Park Yo-han and monk Cheong-hwi sitting opposite each other in a serious discussion.

"Pastor, what are you doing?"

"Oh, Baek Je-min. Here to study again, are you? Monk Cheong-hwi happens to be here, too."

"I'm glad to see you looking well."

It was truly remarkable.

Who would have thought the pastor who smashed even Grandfather Dangun as an idol would one day sit face-to-face with a Buddhist monk? That was how fucked the world had become. I brought over a chair and looked down at the strange symbols and patterns piled on the desk between them.

"Are we going on about weird numbers again?"

"It's called numerology, you brat. It's nonsense, heretical and fanciful knowledge, but the Lord might have left clues in it."

"Fanciful though it may be, attributing meaning to numbers is something all people have in common."

Anyone quick on the uptake would have realized it by now.

The three members of our Supreme Mages boasting the most extraordinary achievements and intellect were independently investigating whether alteration-type magic might be a system of occult, sorcerous secret arts.

* * *

Between February 12 and February 22, I hadn't merely eaten and shuddered at the viciousness of the scrip economy.

Under the leadership of Pastor Park Yo-han, who'd brought back knowledge of all sorts of primitive sorcery from Pyeongtaek, and monk Cheong-hwi, who could calmly exercise sound judgment, we'd been pursuing knowledge with me as their adviser. I currently knew the most alteration-type magic.

February 22 was the first meeting for which all three of us had coordinated our schedules.

I couldn't pass up an opportunity to share and debate magical knowledge, building one plausible inference on another.

The problem was that, contrary to my expectations, it was full of utter fucking bullshit.

"Pastor, I shot my left hand because I'm right-handed. Let's not read too much into it."

"You ignorant fool. Omens, revelations, and signs don't manifest as clear-cut phenomena. Interpretation is what matters. Of course, if you firmly believe in and follow the Lord, you don't need any of that, but you don't, Mr. Baek!"

Park Yo-han jabbed the desk repeatedly with his index finger, shouting in frustration.

Cheong-hwi, by contrast, calmly soothed him and offered an example.

"You dismiss it as coincidence, but you called it the hand branch, did you not? You also said it symbolized human intelligence."

"Yes, that's right."

"Hey, why are you only polite to that sham monk?"

At the pastor's sulky remark, I couldn't hold back a retort.

"Get Shin Na-in under control first."

"He's not a member of my church! What do you mean, control him? A pastor is no different from a layperson!"

"Tsk. He says he wants to join. What are you doing, letting a promising man who wants to lead the youth group go to waste?"

Ignoring the pastor's fit, I turned to Cheong-hwi. With an awkward smile that suggested there was nothing to be done, he demonstrated a mudra.

"In Buddhism, hand gestures and postures, known as mudras, also hold important meanings. Let me give you an example. Raising the right hand to shoulder height with the palm facing outward is called the gesture of fearlessness. It dispels the fear and anxiety of sentient beings.

"The left-hand posture usually adopted with it is called the gesture of granting wishes. The palm faces outward and the hand is lowered. It expresses the Buddha's declaration that he will fulfill wishes."

After demonstrating the posture, Cheong-hwi pressed his palms together again and gave one slow nod.

"In Buddhism, the right hand is usually associated with skillful means and is used to emphasize salvation and practice, while the left is regarded as wisdom and often emphasizes meditation and spiritual cultivation.

"Not only Buddhists, but those who worship Great Brahma and heavenly deities also frequently assign separate meanings to the right and left hands... Considering these examples, the fact that the Stage One hand-branch magic you awakened harmed a monster with blood from your right hand certainly seems to suggest some causal connection."

Only then did I nod, take out my notebook, and begin jotting things down.

In this goddamn scrip economy, I'd obtained the pen and notebook by submitting a complaint asking them to at least give me those for free.

-Buddhism. Often uses the right hand to emphasize salvation and practice. The left hand is often used to emphasize spiritual cultivation and meditation.

"The right side and right hand have important meanings in Christianity, too. Even the Lord's Prayer, which the Lord left us, refers to his right side. The right hand often symbolizes the Lord's power and order. You can see it in the accounts of his healing. It can also signify his blessing and might.

"The left, on the other hand, often has negative connotations. Matthew 25:41, which speaks of Judgment Day: He will say to those on his left, 'You who are cursed, depart from me into the fires of hell prepared for the devil and his angels.' Naturally, the left hand carries strong negative connotations, too."

I scribbled away.

-Christian nutjobs. Often uses the right hand to emphasize the Lord's power and order. Nothing much about the left hand itself, but there's an implication that those standing on the left on Judgment Day get dumped into hellfire.

"You brat! What do you mean, 'Christian nutjobs'?!"

There was a minor incident, but in any case, some kind of connection did seem to be emerging.

Both Buddhism and Christianity shared the meaning of putting something into action, whether it was the Lord's power or the intention to save others. Salvation also felt like an active word, so if you forced the pieces together, that was the general idea.

The biggest problem, though, was how to empirically verify Stage One hand-branch magic.

Thanks to the protection of the colonel without a name tag, I'd escaped being shoved straight into a laboratory or turned into a blood bag to help the desperate front-line situation. Put another way, however, drawing too much attention to myself was likely to invite unnecessary surveillance.

I therefore decided not to supply the military with blood from my right hand.

Fortunately, Cheong-hwi quietly nodded in support of my decision.

"If one seeks to do good despite being unable to care for oneself, one seeks not to save others but to satisfy a misguided desire for glory. That is not spiritual cultivation, but captivity to worldly afflictions. I respect your judgment."

"Besides, what if the effect has a time limit? What did the soldiers do to deserve getting eaten because they trusted your blood, charged a monster, and then the effect wore off?"

The trouble was that it had no visual effect and looked exactly like ordinary blood, so there was no way to tell it apart. It didn't give off any special fragrance, either. Just in case, I lightly pricked my index finger with a needle I'd brought, in front of the pastor and monk. The result was exactly as expected.

"It's really just blood. It doesn't glow blue or bright fluorescent green or anything. Just ordinary dark-red blood."

"Hmm..."

Neither of them could detect anything, either.

In other words, the only way to verify its effects was to face a monster and experiment directly. Needless to say, that bordered on insanity.

"More importantly, that capillary monster bastard burrowed into your skin and tried to attach itself to your blood vessels, then stopped? And you let it?"

"That was how I could grab it and get this blood on it."

"You really are a fucking lunatic."

"It got me a one-turn kill, didn't it?"

"Baek Je-min, when that moment comes, more people will pull a grenade pin and blow themselves up than offer the bastard their hand."

"Homage to Amitabha Buddha..."

Even amid the pastor's and monk's fussing, we kept asking questions and making inferences about what had happened.

These were the conjectures we arrived at after our discussion.

1. Since gripping it with my blood-soaked right hand damaged the entire blood-vessel web on the ceiling, contact probably inflicts some degree of damage throughout a monster's body immediately.

2. However, since it didn't die instantly, this is presumably damage over time. If it was still dying when First Lieutenant Baek Han-seong looked up with his action camera, the damage might vary with the degree of exposure or its bodily fluids—how much the monster depends on its own blood to function.

3. Whether splattering blood works is unknown, but assuming that its potency decreases at least once it dries would probably improve our chances of survival.

4. Whether refrigeration preserves its potency is unknown. However, in both sorcerous and doctrinal terms, blood often symbolizes life. Once it loses its warmth, it may be regarded as a cold corpse or death, making it highly likely that its potency weakens considerably or disappears.

After considering those practical effects, we moved on to the hand-branch magic script: two sets of five lines crossing vertically and horizontally.

Looking at it while recognizing it as magic script would induce retching and prevent a proper discussion, so we each imagined it instead.

Fortunately, merely imagining it seemed to be all right. Unlike when looking at it directly, both the pastor and monk remained perfectly fine as they looked my way and asked questions.

"Sounds like it would look just like some kind of table."

"Two sets of five lines, crossing horizontally and vertically..."

We hadn't drawn it, but we were all picturing much the same shape.

Then the pastor, who'd learned heretical knowledge in Pyeongtaek, began searching through his notes.

Despite wearing glasses that gave him a sly look, he seemed to have trouble seeing. He repeatedly brought his face closer, wetting his thumb as he turned the pages one by one.

It looked like it would take a while, so I was pressing my pricked index finger to stop the bleeding when he spoke.

"Oh, found it. Numerology. What you're describing is basically a five-by-five table, isn't it, Mr. Baek?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Looking at this, that intuition that hand-branch magic symbolizes human intelligence might be roughly on the mark. The meaning of its script looks significant. In numerology, five symbolizes dynamism and change... and humanity itself. Five times five gives twenty-five... Let's see. What does twenty-five mean...?"

I frowned, wondering whether I should believe such fanciful nonsense, but soon had no choice but to sigh.

Yeah, fuck it.

With Seoul covered in fog, Amalgams and predatory spines roaming around, and even an as-yet-unnamed capillary-web monster on the ceiling, maybe this bullshit of splitting numbers apart and sticking them together really did fit.

It would be foolish to dismiss possibilities while claiming to investigate magic.

I, Baek Je-min, decided to become a more open-minded person.

That was when Cheong-hwi spoke first.

"In Buddhism, five also represents the five aggregates: form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness. These are regarded as the elements that constitute a human being. Twenty-five, moreover, refers to the twenty-five forms of existence, which divide the three realms inhabited by sentient beings into twenty-five domains. Thus, the hand-branch script pointing to five and twenty-five would be a causal connection we cannot dismiss."

"What the sham monk says... isn't entirely wrong."

The pastor spoke with a reluctant expression, his eyes fixed on his notes.

"In numerology, twenty-five is the seeker's number. Two often represents relationships and intuition. Adding two and five gives seven. These people praised seven as the most perfect number, the spirit settled within the flesh, because it's the sum of three—the spiritual pinnacle, the Trinity—and four, as in the four elements or the four cardinal directions. Dragging the Trinity into this sort of thing... Anyway!"

I was starting to think there might be something to it, too.

The three of us exchanged looks. After a moment's consideration, we added an examination of the eye-branch magic script I knew.

"That eye-branch script looks like a warped square crammed inside a triangle, right? So you called it seven-corner. Good grief. You're a lunatic, and this sounds insane, but..."

"Perhaps some form of intuition was at work. Seven can refer to the seven steps Shakyamuni Buddha took immediately after his birth, as well as the seven factors of awakening, the seven qualities cultivated to attain enlightenment..."

"Multiply humanity's number, five, by humanity's number, five, again, and you get twenty-five. Split twenty-five apart and add two and five, and you get seven, the number of Buddhahood or perfection."

The three of us faced one another and moistened our dry lips with our tongues.

None of us said it aloud, but by this point, we all felt there was something here.

The first to voice a conclusion, however, was me, Baek Je-min.

"According to a numerological interpretation of the hand-branch script, alteration-type magic is a system of secret arts intended to perfect the five elements constituting a human being. Preparation for advancing toward perfection."

"Hand, ear, eye, heart... We should probably assume there's one more branch that hasn't been discovered yet."

"Then there is a strong possibility that the stages also extend to five. With numbers bearing such elaborate meanings arranged this way, it is difficult to imagine anything beyond that."

It was still only conjecture, but at least the fact that alteration-type magic was connected to humanity seemed certain.

And amid our leaps of logic and numerological coincidences, we had managed to guess how its stages were structured.

Five branches. Five stages.

As a glimpse of the whole emerged, my heart began pounding.

Thrilling excitement and shivers of exhilaration made the corners of my mouth twitch. Was this what it felt like to pursue the mysteries? The joy of knowing that even if the world ended, you could advance toward omnipotent power?

I still had...

Twenty-two more magical abilities to learn!