Chapter 89 - We Must Stop It

May 4, 2028, 1:10 p.m.

I switched off my authorized smartphone and took in the stark scene beyond the reinforced glass. It was a soft, squishy room with an adorably cute feel, every edge rounded off so there wasn't a single sharp corner. The sort of place little kids would love bouncing around in.

And here was Go Ryeo-ha, the historic sixth member of the Supreme Mages, giggling as she bounced a rubber ball on the floor. She wore a tracksuit with slightly loose sleeves that made it easy to move around.

"Bounce, bounce, bounce~."

The glass seemed to be tinted; apparently, she couldn't see us from inside. If anyone caught me wearing such a radiant smile while bouncing a rubber ball on the floor, I'd have chosen to murder the witness out of sheer embarrassment.

Ryeo-ha skipped around the room, beaming like someone who had forgotten every worry in the world—or someone whose brain had been scrubbed thoroughly clean. Before long, she seemed to grow bored of bouncing the ball everywhere. She picked up a stuffed cat instead, hugged it so tightly she looked ready to tear it apart, and busied herself spinning around and laughing.

That was when Shin Na-in approached. He had spoken with the medical professional looking after Ryeo-ha and received the relevant records and precautions before coming over. Standing beside me, he watched her childlike antics through the reinforced glass and spoke calmly.

"Command noticed that the pastor's account didn't match Go Ryeo-ha's reactions, so they took a closer look."

Pastor Park Yo-han understood that all the Konkuk University survivors had died while Ryeo-ha was away, and that was what he'd testified. But anyone talking to her couldn't help sensing something strangely off about that bright, laughing demeanor. It was far too incongruous. The pastor had been too blinded by affection to recognize it properly.

Among the Supreme Mages, Na-in and I seemed to have been the first to feel that something was wrong with Ryeo-ha, and the most strongly, even if only subconsciously. Looking back, we'd been the two digging relentlessly into exactly what had happened to the Konkuk University survivors. Back then, we'd been preoccupied with uncovering the truth about them and figuring out why she'd gone mad. Now it was different. Now I thought I understood why she felt so alien to us, why she put us on edge.

"They're not sure whether it's Stage Three or Four of hand-branch magic, but they believe the penalty is emotional detachment."

"Emotional detachment?"

"Depersonalization, perhaps? Your own emotions feel as though they belong to someone else, so you lose your sense of reality. They don't know whether you can choose the penalty, but Command currently suspects that Ms. Go erased her guilt or fear."

"So that was it."

Na-in and I stood side by side, staring through the reinforced glass at Ryeo-ha laughing and bustling around the playroom.

We Supreme Mages knew fear. We feared the monsters' nauseating, grotesque forms and the horrific deaths they would bring. Na-in and I went a step further: we feared the beginning of eternity waiting for us beyond death. Since that was merely a conviction based on our own suspicions, I'd deliberately left the part about eternity out of our report to Command.

Ordinary people wouldn't believe it if they knew anyway. If they did believe it, they'd kill themselves immediately. Who could endure an eternity trapped inside a monster's flesh, floundering in sensations pouring in against their will, living on with their sense of self intact?

That was why, even while eating delicious food and being put on a pedestal, we Supreme Mages—especially Na-in and I—had a fundamental obsession lodged deep in our minds: we must never let the monsters capture us. Yet I sensed none of that fear-driven obsession in Ryeo-ha. She laughed and chatted with us, but there was no fear inside her. As a human without fear, she was empty. That was the source of her unusually bubbly air and her alien quality.

Consequently, the ROK–U.S. Joint Command in Pyeongtaek had decided it would be difficult to make extensive military use of her. A friendly local and a high-level mage, she was certainly a strategic resource. Still, they reportedly couldn't ignore her mental instability and its potential repercussions when considering formally integrating her into the military supply system. They could use her if they wanted to, of course, but they'd reached the point where they were happy to yield her if a better option existed.

"Worked out nicely."

"Je-min."

"Boo-hoo, I got everyone killed because I wasn't good enough. I should've done better. You can comfort someone saying that until the end of time and it won't do any good. It'll just weigh on you."

Nothing was more exhausting and difficult than listening to complaints about things that couldn't be undone. Looking at Ryeo-ha's innocent smile through the reinforced glass, I could only smile wryly.

"We're not exactly in a position to listen to someone bawling their eyes out. We're busy enough laughing, chatting, eating, and lying down to sleep. How are we supposed to be someone's emotional dumping ground too?"

"Restoring the fear or guilt Ms. Go has forgotten is how we can truly help her."

"Who dumps trash just anywhere these days? If she buys regulation bags for her emotional garbage, I'll be her dumping ground too."

I thought of the people who would be making a racket in our barracks. The pastor would be carrying clothing racks over to serve as partitions, giving Ryeo-ha a separate space. Hamza would be gathering women's essentials and wondering what else she needed. And Lee Se-jun would be hauling things around, pouting and grumbling.

They were awful enough separately, but putting them together took them around a full 360 degrees to something even worse. Still, even a garbage dump needed a single wildflower to make it beautiful. I decided to let one fragrant, clean dandelion bloom in the dump called the Supreme Mages: me, Baek Je-min.

"Let's go pick up Ryeo-ha."

"You shall be nailed to the cross as king of the garbage, Je-min. Amen."

Once we'd formally taken over her care, we entered the playroom. Ryeo-ha, who had been rolling around somewhere soft for a change, saw us and widened her eyes.

"My junior! And... I thought you were an old guy, but you're only a little older than me?"

"Teacher, let's go."

"Huh? Where?"

As Ryeo-ha blinked at us, I noticed an unusually troubled expression on Na-in's face. That was no expression to wear in front of someone who could whip up any item you wanted. I elbowed him in the ribs to give him a hint, then lifted the corners of my mouth into a bright, hopeful smile.

"Go Ryeo-ha, you've been accepted into the Supreme Mages. Everyone's ready to welcome you, so let's go."

She didn't react right away, remaining blank for a long moment. Then she sprang to her feet, eyes sparkling, and burst into giggles.

"Ahaha... Supreme Mages? You're funny, junior. Seriously, who comes up with a childish name like that?"

* * *

If Ryeo-ha hadn't been a mage with a knack for crafting items, she would have been demoted straight back to Aphorism long ago. But she was a talent who wasn't easily replaced.

For one thing, Command's treatment of us improved further once she officially joined the Supreme Mages. Even Instructor Song, who taught me marksmanship, mentioned it in passing.

"Mr. Baek, I understand you have a connection with Anderson Mackenford. I heard he's promised substantial financial support to the U.S. Congress to bolster your position and your colleagues'. Apparently, he's particularly encouraged by what he's heard about your newest member."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't know myself. But the tabloids say he's been meeting frequently with various wealthy people and members of the highest social circles lately. It won't all be true, but perhaps it's because he appears to have a good relationship with your group and to be directly sponsoring you?"

My firearms instructor, Song Smith, was invaluable because he brought us news from the mainland—the United States—from a civilian perspective. Some military influence was unavoidable, of course, but he still gave us an idea of how wealthy people and various power brokers viewed the Supreme Mages.

Zizon Mage, or Best of Best.

Apparently, people well versed in Korean affairs called us that because it had more impact than the vague name Aphorism. What's more, they seemed to have somehow acquired information on Hand Branch, Stage Four: volunteer forces were now being organized around the world following Ryeo-ha's arrival. Naturally, "volunteer forces" was just a flattering label. It was obvious that magic was their real objective.

Instructor Song corrected my stance more firmly as he warned me.

"PMCs and nominal civilians contracted by conglomerates, wealthy individuals, and the rulers of various countries will be gunfighters on a different level from Korean conscripts. You have magic, Mr. Baek, but you know it can't do everything. Understand how gunfighters behave and how they think, then use magic at the decisive moment to end the engagement overwhelmingly in your favor. You need to drill that tactic into your head."

"Command's going to let those people in too?"

"If it saves them manpower and money on exploring Seoul, they'll turn a blind eye to a few rich people's hobbies."

May 7, 2028, 10:46 a.m.

Occupying a lane at the firing range under Instructor Song Smith's guidance, I was gradually coming to feel it with every gunshot—the reality that had become clearer to me since Ryeo-ha joined us.

People who still hadn't caught up with the situation would get hung up on the "ROK–U.S." part and mistakenly think Korea was still alive. Local administrations were functioning and the Korean military still existed, so the Republic of Korea must still be breathing. But what I felt while living under the ROK–U.S. Joint Command was very simple. Why wasn't it called a combined command?

Simple. Koreans' wishes and intentions no longer had any influence on the international community. Even the United States, supposedly our ally, no longer regarded Korea as an independent national actor. The Korean military existed in name only, reduced to a force under the Pyeongtaek ROK–U.S. Joint Command that couldn't even launch a nuclear strike and merely continued maintaining the cordon, effectively for the world's powerful elite.

News came from Incheon that, amid mounting criticism of the government for abandoning Seoul's ten million people, a referendum was being held to replace the entire administration. Accompanied, of course, by Communist China's eminently trustworthy declaration of its principles of noninterference in elections and domestic affairs.

The Republic of Korea was already finished and was being dismantled. All that remained were people unwilling to admit it. Thankfully, that gave me a chance to crawl into Seoul and plunder knowledge. Of course, if Ryeo-ha had merely been the trigger for all this, I wouldn't have kept her in the Supreme Mages.

At 11:50 a.m., I returned to the barracks to find that our ordered supplies had already arrived by express delivery. Ryeo-ha was in the middle of it all, busily pointing at people and giving them orders while carrying several boxes at a time herself with invisible hands.

"Uncle Se-jun, those are valuable! Don't handle them so roughly!"

"Tch."

Se-jun carried several boxes at once.

"Mr. Muslim, sort the things according to this list!"

"My name is Hamza."

Hamza, too, frowned as he moved things around according to the note she'd given him.

"Pastor, have you found the Bible verses?"

"Well, that's... I haven't studied enough Hebrew yet..."

"Ahaha, that's understandable! This isn't commonly used Hebrew!"

"Pastor, let me help."

"Oh, Na-in."

The pastor and Na-in sat at the table, busy leafing through the Bible. I quietly backed away and decided to take a walk around camp instead.

Then, at 1:35 p.m., I returned after roughly three laps around camp to find all the preparations finished.

"Baek Je-min, you son of a bitch. You came by earlier and just left?"

"Exercising to unlock the heart branch takes priority for me."

Leaving the pastor's grumbling behind, we Supreme Mages faced the rain ponchos and all manner of bizarre ingredients strewn around the barracks. Intent on putting the sorcerous knowledge she'd acquired through contact with the Society of 66 to use, Ryeo-ha planted her hands on her hips, cleared her throat importantly, and began a gentle explanation.

"The Society of 66 was focusing on ancient languages with strong religious influence. One of them is ancient Hebrew. Not ancient Hebrew passages reconstructed in modern Hebrew, but actual ancient Hebrew discovered in fragments of Numbers."

She pointed to the small containers in front of us one by one.

"I'm going to inscribe helpful sayings using the knowledge the Society taught me. Considering its powerful religious influence and antiquity, ink used to make Jewish Torah scrolls should be best."

"That's an awful lot of ingredients for ink."

"It works better if you make it yourself! Come on, stop giving me those dead-eyed looks and let's have a fun art session~."

And so began an arts-and-crafts session I'd never expected to have. Making the ink supposedly used for Torah scrolls was horribly tedious. First, we had to gather some sooty stuff resembling oil or tar and knead it with acacia sap and a drop of honey. Then we had to add some bizarre substance called gallnut juice.

Ryeo-ha had Hand Stage Three, telekinesis, so she kneaded the mixture with invisible hands. The rest of the Supreme Mages didn't. Only after crushing it by hand for ages and forming it into a cake-shaped lump did the goddamn ordeal end. Making one tiny lump had left my arms aching.

"Great work, everyone!"

"Hah, hah... We can't use this right away, can we?"

"That's right. It needs to dry a little first..."

Just as Na-in looked up at his hands, panting, Ryeo-ha produced a neat-looking container with a confident smile.

"Ta-da! I asked for the finished product, and they actually sent it!"

"..."

As Ryeo-ha smiled, a note fluttered down, and Na-in picked it up.

"There's a message from Mr. Anderson. He says he'd dearly like to visit, but regrets that he's too busy helping us to come. Instead, he'll do everything he can to procure these heretical objects, so he'd like us to feel free to write down our various experiences by hand and send them to him. I suspect it's a condition of his sponsorship."

"Well now, if it's a request from Mr. Anderson, we ought to oblige."

The pastor, endlessly generous and kind in the presence of a benefactor, took the note with a goofy smile.

Ryeo-ha was the culprit behind this bullshit task, but at least when the actual ritual began, she wiped away every trace of her usual smile. Dipping a brush in Torah ink, she began drawing oddly shaped letters on the back of a rain poncho laid out on the table, pouring all her care into it.

Ancient Hebrew looked so utterly strange that it spontaneously filled me with respect for King Sejong the Great. Every time that peculiar, India-ink-like substance was applied to the poncho, I wondered whether it would actually take.

But as Ryeo-ha clenched her left hand—the one not holding the brush—and dug her fingernails hard into it, letting the trickle of blood drip onto the floor while she wrote, strange changes followed. The black ink began rippling as though breathing. Whenever she spoke while writing a phrase, the pastor answered.

יברכך יהוה וישמרך

Yevarekhkha Adonai veyishremekha.

"May the Lord bless you and keep you."

יאר יהוה פניו אליך ויחנך

Ya'er Adonai panav elekha vikhuneka.

"May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you."

ישא יהוה פניו אליך וישם לך שלום

Yisa Adonai panav elekha veyasem lekha shalom.

"May the Lord lift up His face toward you and give you peace."

When Ryeo-ha's brush stopped, the strange letters on the poncho neither ran nor wiped off easily despite its waterproof coating. It was as though they'd been printed there from the start. She wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead and sighed in relief.

"Whew. Those verses carry the meaning of warding off evil. The Society of 66 didn't explain exactly how to use them, but I thought they'd at least help against monsters. Apparently they turn red as their power runs out, so bring them back when the writing turns red!"

I stared at her, eyes wide.

"Teacher, can I give you a shoulder massage?"

What did a man's pride matter if I could get even a few more phrases inscribed on my poncho? If she kept turning out awesome gear like this, I could take on a second job as her emotional dumping ground.

It was while we Supreme Mages were enjoying this warm, friendly time together. Everyone was laughing except Se-jun, who was busy clicking his tongue, when we heard a car pull up and Captain Kim Ho-un came running toward us.

"Aphorism, Command is calling for you."

The moment I heard that, only one thought came to mind.

"Did some sponsorship come in?"

"I'm sure Major General Jeon Min-ho would love to shower you with sponsorship right now."

I'd thought our bosses might have lavished funding on the world's finest mages. Judging by Captain Kim's expression, that wasn't it.

"Okay, just wait a minute."

"Je-min, I'm not joking. This really is urgent."

"We're in a hurry too. Can't you see we're upgrading our gear?"

Under the Supreme Mages' blank stares, Captain Kim's face alternated between flushing crimson and going blue before finally bleaching white.

"Ha... Fine, fuck it. Let's wait."

* * *

May 7, 2028, 3:01 p.m.

The Supreme Mages who answered Command's summons were me, Shin Na-in, and Lee Se-jun. Ryeo-ha's brushwork was so leisurely that only our three ponchos had been upgraded. Personally, I'd wanted every inch of mine covered in writing, but Captain Kim had finally lost patience and clung to my trouser legs, bawling, so I'd had no choice but to compromise.

Apparently, though, our Supreme Mage renown was well known even among the American troops in the situation room. Former Korean military officers and American soldiers alike could only blink stupidly as the three of us strode proudly inside, ponchos fluttering. I met their gazes as though this were only natural and smiled in satisfaction.

"Shin Na-in. Tell me their reactions."

"Heh. They're questioning whether we're really the people who were summoned."

"Understandable, given the shock of seeing Supreme Mages for the first time."

While Na-in and I basked in the reputation the Supreme Mages had built, so unlike ordinary mortals, Se-jun alone had his hood up. He tightened the drawstrings until his entire face was hidden and muttered belatedly,

"You embarrassing bastards."

Who did he think he was to say that to us? The three of us made our way farther into the situation room to Major General Jeon Min-ho, who was already addressing his subordinates in a subdued voice.

His face brightened as soon as he saw us, and he gestured toward seats that had obviously been prepared in haste.

"Aphorism. Please sit."

"No, we're fine."

Na-in answered crisply before I could. Did this bastard think he was the protagonist?

Ignoring my glare, he continued in an even calmer, more composed manner.

"The situation seems urgent, and I assume you're requesting a deployment, so we'll listen standing up."

"... Mr. Shin. That's rather different from what I've heard."

"Where Satan's power surges forth is where I shall prove my faith."

"..."

Major General Jeon looked as though he had a great deal to say, and his stare seemed to demand an explanation from me, but I remained silent. Aphorism was, well, what was it? Something like a cooperative without any particular leader. That meant I wasn't responsible.

In the end, the major general, who had a more important mission to attend to, paced about with heavy sighs. Then he gestured for the nearby soldiers and officers not to listen and spoke.

"Have you wondered why we aren't censoring the press?"

"No. I like how sensational it is."

"That's precisely why. Censorship is already underway. You must know that the first cordon has reached its limit."

"Huh?"

I recalled the foreign news articles I'd read while eating ramyeon with Hamza. Soldiers wearing dog-tag armbands shooting everyone dead, the collapse of democracy, people disappearing... Was he saying it took that much to satisfy the dopamine cravings of Koreans who'd already lost Seoul to the monster crisis?

But the real dopamine hit lay elsewhere. Major General Jeon quietly pulled a map of Gyeonggi out from among a pile of documents, placed it before us, and spoke.

"We've begun seeing localized outbreaks of fog."

"Not ordinary fog?"

At that, Se-jun's eyes widened and he threw back his hood. I, too, realized what those words meant. After gauging the three of us, Major General Jeon finally spilled the truth the military was desperately concealing.

"The first cordon is beginning to suffer breaches at multiple points. We desperately need Aphorism's cooperation to stabilize it."