Chapter 34 - A Noncombat Power-Up Event

There is a saying that makes the rounds when times turn harsh.

Good people do not come to you, and those who come to you are not good. It fits present-day Gyeonggi Province perfectly. After all, any visitors we got here would be monsters like the Amalgams coming down from Seoul.

Today's visitor, however, seemed to enjoy the enthusiastic welcome and support of Gyeonggi Province's residents.

March 13, 2028, 11:43 a.m.

It had been four months since the fog appeared and monsters began running rampant—if you rounded up pretty generously—and Mr. Anderson, a reputed American tycoon, had come to Suwon as a private citizen. The news was already busy giving his visit headline coverage.

The anchor's polished voice and crisp diction delivered the following hymn of praise to Mr. Anderson:

["Mr. Anderson Mackenford is a successful CEO currently engaged in oil refining and energy businesses in the state of Texas. He is regarded as an ethical business leader who provides employment security for local residents, and has stated his firm belief in the historical importance of the ROK–U.S. alliance. Having recently expressed concern over the unrest near Seoul, Mr. Anderson..."]

Of course, some disgruntled people might wonder what was so special about Mr. Anderson coming here. Wasn't he just another guy living the good life across the ocean in the United States?

But the residents of Gyeonggi Province, trapped inside the second cordon under the pretext of maintaining a buffer zone, with movement and deliveries restricted, had good reason to welcome and support him.

I yawned in the dining hall, watching the news video through my phone's cracked screen.

["...has announced that he will work with the ROK–U.S. Joint Command in Pyeongtaek to stabilize local livelihoods in Gyeonggi Province and facilitate more effective supply deliveries. He is reportedly persuading the U.S. Senate to allow trade to resume through Pyeongtaek Port."]

Anderson Mackenford. Fifty-six years old.

A man with graying blond hair and an impeccably tailored suit that gave him a conservative air.

A devout Christian who had once belonged to the Mormon Church, he reportedly still abstained entirely from alcohol, tobacco, and drugs. His disobedient eldest and second sons sometimes gave him headaches and landed him in the gossip columns, but only briefly.

He was amassing enormous wealth through his oil refining and energy businesses in Texas, but his relationship with his employees was relatively good. The distinctly American flexibility in hiring and firing remained, of course, but he apparently even provided follow-up support, referring them to available local jobs and putting them in touch with employers.

He also worked hard to maintain his image, reportedly making substantial donations to churches and local communities. Perhaps he truly was an ideal, ethical businessman.

For the Republic of Korea, where the monster outbreak had brought overseas trade almost to a standstill, could anything be more moving than an American tycoon with political and business influence lobbying lawmakers to resume trade?

People might call it a kindness that had saved the nation, saying they didn't care what ulterior motives he had.

He was practically a lifeline for the Republic of Korea right now. With that same Mr. Anderson Mackenford coming to Suwon under tight security, it was only natural that Gyeonggi Province's residents were cheering like mad.

But knowing a little of the truth, I found it hard to welcome him wholeheartedly.

I turned off my phone, sighed, and headed for the makeshift chapel. Our Supreme Mages were already gathered there.

Pastor Park Yo-han was leafing through his Bible, peering through glasses that had slipped slightly down his nose.

Monk Cheong-hwi sat in quiet meditation, eyes closed and palms together.

Hamza was tucked into the least conspicuous corner possible, idly examining his fingers.

Shin Na-in had decided to save his headset for missions and stick with earbuds in everyday life.

Lee Se-jun, who said he'd recently gotten really into lifting, was raising a dumbbell with one arm.

And finally, there was me, Baek Je-min, the spiritual pillar and vanguard of our Supreme Mages. Everyone was present.

"You're here, Baek Je-min."

"Yes."

Even I did not dare take the seat of honor.

Seven seats had been set up in the makeshift chapel. The six of us occupied the others, leaving the seat of honor empty.

Knowing why, I could only frown and grumble.

"Why's a man with that much money interested in magic?"

"Once a person has satisfied every desire, only one aspiration remains. In Buddhism, we seek to sever worldly afflictions and become Buddhas. Elsewhere, people seek salvation from God or dream of union with Him."

While the residents of Gyeonggi Province praised Anderson Mackenford as the economic savior who would restore trade, we Supreme Mages were waiting for him in a different capacity.

Anderson Mackenford.

He was a member of the mysticism advisory committee currently organized in the United States, and also a staunch advocate for Korea who was firmly opposing a nuclear strike against it. Officially, he was visiting Suwon City Hall to cheer up the troops, but the reality was different.

Had about thirty minutes passed?

Just as Pastor Park Yo-han began dozing and snoring against his chair, Bible still open, overlapping footsteps reached us from the hallway.

Shin Na-in pulled out his earbuds, twisted his brows, and shrugged.

"He's incredibly excited."

Sure enough, he was.

Given Anderson Mackenford's reported age and appearance, I'd expected him to speak calmly in a dignified voice. Instead, the voice coming down the hallway was unmistakably brimming with excitement.

He was chattering away in English, unable to contain himself. Unfortunately, I was a man who couldn't even properly speak one language, so I couldn't share in Anderson's joy.

A moment later, bodyguards flooded into the makeshift chapel and began inspecting us one by one.

Some even approached us, gesturing for us to stand so they could search us.

We would have found ourselves getting felt up out of nowhere if Mr. Anderson hadn't waved them off.

The bodyguards obeyed immediately, silent and professional.

With the chapel door closed and his bodyguards stationed outside, Mr. Anderson naturally took the seat of honor and produced a handkerchief.

He lightly wiped the sweat running down his cheek and looked at us.

Just as I wondered whether he was arrogantly going to babble in English again, he spoke.

"I can converse in Korean."

His pronunciation was slightly awkward, but the Korean coming from Mr. Anderson sounded much more native than Hamza's.

Despite looking a little tired, he surveyed us all with sparkling eyes.

"You are the best of the best. I hear you are the mages who have achieved the finest results to date."

"The best?"

At Lee Se-jun's bewildered response, Mr. Anderson blinked and asked,

"Isn't that what Supreme Mages means?"

Every one of our members belonging to Aphorism turned their gaze on me.

Pastor Park Yo-han looked at me, enjoying the full range of human emotions minus joy and delight, then answered Mr. Anderson in a calm voice.

"It is probably true that our organization has achieved good results among the civilian Operators. That young man over there, Baek Je-min, has even learned three branches through his passion for magic."

"Oh... Baek, that is truly remarkable. I understand that most of you lived lives unrelated to the occult. Are Korean sorcerers called male shamans? I salute what you have accomplished without a shaman."

We'd had one... once...

Remembering Madam Geulmun's end, I could only nod uneasily. I thought I finally understood why gifted shamans invariably hid or fled rather than answer the draft.

The others seemed to feel much the same, clearing their throats and glancing away.

A cultured man, Mr. Anderson apparently sensed something in the suddenly awkward atmosphere. He straightened his collar and changed the subject.

"In any event, the very fact that you survived such dangerous field experiences without sufficient prior knowledge suggests that your spiritual eyes have opened. Would that also allow access to the magic sigils?"

"It will be difficult to learn them without the fog. Besides, outside the fog, the original patterns turn into bizarre symbols or scribbles, making them difficult to comprehend."

"But you can draw them, can't you?"

Mr. Anderson seemed only more delighted by Pastor Park Yo-han's helpful explanation.

Knowing the side effects of magic script, we Supreme Mages exchanged glances, communicating without words.

'What do we do? Try drawing one?'

'It won't be our fault if he throws up, right?'

Just then, Mr. Anderson took a small necklace-like object from inside his jacket. It looked like an ordinary decorative necklace, but a closer look revealed a pendant engraved with a recessed star.

"Don't worry. I have a pentagram that has undergone a purification ritual. If my ritual was performed correctly, it will provide spiritual protection."

Of course, the result was disastrous.

"Bleeaargh!"

Since I knew the most, I started by successfully drawing and showing him a distorted square inside a triangle—the so-called seven-corner. Mr. Anderson promptly vomited. The situation only settled down after the bodyguards rushed in and subjected us to a round of icy stares.

Once the bodyguards had left again, Mr. Anderson sighed, his face pallid.

His eyes were dripping with disappointment.

"I thought I was finally about to encounter the mysteries of Hermes Trismegistus..."

"But you have plenty of money. Some people would rather have money than magic."

If a man with that much money could use magic too, what was a mage born dirt-poor like me supposed to do?

I quickly tried to rein him in for the sake of balance in the world, but Mr. Anderson's enthusiasm showed no sign of fading.

"What use is wealth if one cannot reach divine providence? The Lord Himself said it was difficult for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven. All the more reason to strive harder."

"Matthew 19:24. Very eloquently put, Mr. Anderson."

Pastor Park Yo-han apparently had already awarded him full marks for being a devout Christian.

I could see him failing to suppress the twitching corners of his mouth.

Unfortunately, Mr. Anderson's attempts were not entirely worthless. To my surprise, he managed to withstand the hand branch's magic script.

He did gag as though he might vomit at any moment, but what mattered was that he held it in.

After taking a moment to settle his nausea, Mr. Anderson rejoiced with the shining eyes of an innocent boy, despite what must have been utter exhaustion.

"Five by five. The magic square of Mars. I can't speak for the other sigils, but this one seems to cause less backlash because it originates from a magic square!"

"A magic square? Urp..."

"Yes!"

Having accidentally peeked at it and retched as well, Lee Se-jun asked with his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Delighted, apparently, that his occult knowledge could finally shine, Mr. Anderson began chattering like a little boy.

"Traditionally, people believed these magic squares could repel evil curses. Since ancient times, mysticism of this kind has regarded numbers as the archetypes of all things and expressions of divine providence. The seven celestial bodies were also divided astrologically and linked to individual numbers. According to the sefirot of Jewish mysticism, known as Kabbalah, Mars corresponds to the fifth sefirah, Gevurah."

Do you know what I thought the instant I heard Mr. Anderson's explanation?

Shin Na-in probably caught it.

I turned my head slightly, met his eyes, and saw his brow furrow.

We. Are. Fucked.

"But while the grid itself relates to the magic square of Mars, it is puzzling that no numbers have been filled in. It doesn't seem to be a traditional magic square. I understand that you, Pastor, and you, Venerable Monk, considered whether there might be a numerological meaning?"

"Yes. That five is the number of humanity..."

"I also mentioned the Buddhist concept of the five aggregates."

"That's it!"

Whatever had him so excited, Mr. Anderson clapped his hands and burst into a warm, cheerful laugh.

I was surely not imagining how dry my lips were getting.

"Five symbolizes change, freedom, and curiosity. It is multifaceted, and in numerology it is said to represent humanity. That is also why the pentagram, a symbolic representation of the spirit governing the four elements, is used as a sigil of purification and protection. Here in Korea, you have the Four Pillars of Destiny, don't you? I understand many people believe in it. Since it also places importance on numbers, we could classify it as numerology in the broad sense."

"So, uh. Mr. Anderson, do you think there's meaning in this?"

"Of course. This grid can be interpreted in many ways. The first would be an extremely stylized representation of the right and left hands laid over one another. But the fact that it takes the form of the magic square of Mars without any numbers filled in may be a hint."

"A hint?"

"Yes. A magic square is only complete once its numbers are filled in. That character I saw... No, 'sigil' would be a more fitting term. That magic sigil had no numbers. The grid of a magic square without numbers."

Mr. Anderson fiddled with the pentagram necklace that had done almost nothing for him.

It seemed to be something he was attached to despite its failure.

Simply overjoyed at having touched the mysteries, Mr. Anderson could hardly have been happier.

"Perhaps it suggests that this magic is incomplete. For whatever reason."

"Then would the other sigils have numerological significance as well?"

If Pastor Park Yo-han hadn't stepped in, would I have had to grill him about all that?

Still, I frightened myself by growing increasingly interested.

Baek Je-min... I'd thought he was a man whose first thought upon sitting at a desk was to slump over and sleep. Yet he was actually a rather splendid fellow who could fight off drowsiness when the subject interested him.

I tapped my chin and pricked up my ears as the conversation continued.

Mr. Anderson frowned as he recalled the descriptions of the sigils, but the smile never left his lips.

Then he snapped his fingers and all but shouted.

"The eye is a distorted square inside a triangle... Seven corners. The ear is an oval crossed by four horizontal lines... Add the description of fate and the conjecture about the music of the spheres, and I understand!"

Mr. Anderson raised his index finger and surveyed everyone with eyes full of elation.

Just as I was about to look away under the pressure of that gaze, Hamza whispered quietly.

"Everyone, get it together. The Republic of Korea's trade depends on this man."

Gaaasp...

I drew an inward breath and straightened in my chair.

That went without saying for me, since I'd already started taking an interest. But Lee Se-jun, determined to stay loyal to his country, also pinched his thigh and adjusted his posture.

Pastor Park Yo-han and monk Cheong-hwi had been interested in the conversation from the start.

The only exception was that bastard Shin Na-in, who had openly put his earbuds in and was headbanging.

Did this asshole not care if the Republic of Korea went under?

Hearing my inner voice, Shin Na-in opened his eyes a little and clicked his tongue.

"I recall that when the Lord purified Sodom and Gomorrah, He commanded us not to look back. Attachment to those destined to become pillars of salt is proof of feeble faith!"

Fuck it. Whatever.

Meanwhile, Mr. Anderson was smiling and calling out to Shin Na-in, the only one talking out of turn and pretending none of this concerned him.

"The ear sigil is musical notation. The oval is a stylized symbol of the ear. And these scales have long been represented by seven notes. Seven corners, seven notes, the number seven revealed when you split the twenty-five derived from five by five into two... Considering that systems of esoteric arts like these generally pursue union with God or ascension, this is not a number we can dismiss as meaningless. Someone has placed the number seven here with exquisite precision."

This was where Lee Se-jun stepped up.

In a desperate effort to restore the Republic of Korea's trade, he even delivered a convincing reaction by counting on his fingers, folding them down one at a time.

"Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do. Huh?"

"You there, your name is..."

"His name is Lee Se-jun, Mr. Anderson."

At Pastor Park Yo-han's introduction, Anderson blinked and asked Lee Se-jun,

"Supreme Mage Lee. Is there a problem with my conjecture?"

"There are eight."

Seeing Lee Se-jun raise his objection so confidently, I almost bought it for a moment too.

I would have, if Shin Na-in hadn't been looking at him like a bug.

* * *

In any case, Mr. Anderson was an important source of funding and a patron with extensive knowledge of mysticism.

Even if he was a somewhat exhausting man, delighted that his knowledge had finally become useful.

"Astrology and celestial bodies are indispensable to these esoteric arts. The rest still lies in the realm of conjecture, but it is clear to anyone that hand magic corresponds to Mars. The ability to repel monsters with blood from the right hand corresponds to the concept of the right side as the proper side. 'Right'—as its meanings of 'correct' and 'the right-hand side' show, this has been one of humanity's most deeply rooted prejudices. We might say that the lifeblood flowing from the proper hand strikes down improper monsters."

And at the end of this long conversation, a knock at the door made Mr. Anderson look as though his world were collapsing.

"Oh... Is it that time already..."

"Mr. Anderson. We appreciate your interest and kindness, but you are a busy man. How could we presume to keep you?"

Pastor Park Yo-han was being considerate of us, but Mr. Anderson shook his head like a spoiled child.

"This is so thrilling and joyful, and it is work for humanity. Of course I should make time for it. If I could, I would spend the entire day talking with you."

"With such an upright heart, Mr. Anderson, you will surely have many more rewarding encounters."

Monk Cheong-hwi began persuading Mr. Anderson with the principle that all who meet must eventually part.

But Mr. Anderson remained reluctant.

"All right. Then just the ritual..."

"Mr. Anderson."

"This will be helpful. Please hear me out."

Fucking hell. This man apparently wanted to live here.

What if he asked us to escort him into the fog next?

Amid those worries, Mr. Anderson finally opened his mouth and gave us some useful information.

"Command's conjecture that it symbolizes human intelligence and may also connect to alchemy. Given the various symbols that clearly correspond to Mars, we should be able to prepare a ritual to raise the stage of hand magic. Before the approaching March 21, you must begin preparing the ritual once the moon rises."

"A ritual?"

I shot to my feet as I asked, and Mr. Anderson nodded with a firm expression.

"Prepare a ritual site suffused with the red light of Mars, and burn pungent, potent incense to establish the correspondence. Since Mars symbolizes strife, prepare an iron ritual object and perform the ritual around 6:35 a.m. on March 21, or as the moon is setting. You must grasp the object with blood on your right hand so that iron and blood are linked. By connecting it to the red light of Mars, try to make your hand correspond to Mars through the blood. Until then, maintain a state of mental elevation and spiritual calm through repetitive work using your hands."

With those words, Mr. Anderson placed the necklace he had been wearing on the desk.

He gave it a look dripping with regret.

"This pentagram talisman should be of some assistance. It provides spiritual protection and improves concentration."

"Now, now, Mr. Anderson. You're a busy man, so let's leave it there for today."

"The best of the best. It has been such a pleasure to spend time with you. I will certainly visit again."

Mr. Anderson practically had to force his feet to move.

I could see him deliberately walking as slowly as possible, as though hoping we'd beg him to stay. But it was already 3:51 p.m.

Only once Mr. Anderson finally left could we sigh in relief.

Listening to the footsteps recede into the distance, I breathed out my delight at obtaining a lead on the ritual, along with my complicated feelings about this new patron.

"Can't we just have him not come back?"

"That reason the military gave you. You only know the political reasons they aren't dropping a nuclear bomb, right?"

Pastor Park Yo-han shut his Bible with a firm thump, removed his glasses, and rubbed his eyelids.

"All sorts of mystics around the world are interested right now. Tycoons and business magnates with an interest in sorcery and mysteries like these are keeping it from happening. At least as far as the United States is concerned, they're supporting our country because of those rich people's hobbies."

"Then...?"

"How the fuck did the Republic of Korea end up surviving by peddling magic tricks?"

That was when I finally realized that the twenty-first-century Republic of Korea was preparing for a new leap forward.

"Pastor, how about some patriotic pride in Korea, the magical superpower?"

"You little fucker. We'd be better off without either the monsters or the magic. What the hell is this magical-superpower bullshit?"

"I'm fine with it."

Lee Se-jun, founder of the eight-note scale, spoke up, overcoming the shame that had left him shrinking into himself.

Monk Cheong-hwi brought his palms together with a gentle smile, while Shin Na-in was busy humming hymns with his earbuds in.

Hamza, always anxiously watching how everyone else reacted, was on our side too.

"Permanent residency in the Republic of Korea... I couldn't get it before. Now I'm special. I like it."

Pastor Park Yo-han looked around at us, worked his lips as though smoking an imaginary cigarette, and finally let out a lament.

"Should we just get nuked?"