Satanas Chapter 4.1 - Rose Bush and Black Cross

It was a night of high tide. The early dawn, where not even a hint of daybreak could be found, was teeming with murmuring stars. The gentle night breeze carried the wood-grained waves, which crashed against the pier beyond the alleyway. Slosh, slosh. On the surface of the sea, which swayed from the ceaseless rowing, the light from fireflies caught to illuminate the boat’s path shone down.

Raindrops gathered and fell from the edge of the roof made of wood and tin sheets. Splash, splash. Each time a stagnant puddle was stepped in, the splashing water gave off a faint, fishy smell. The port city, soaked by an unseasonable winter shower, was damp and even eerie.

Walking down the soggy night alley, Bell seemed as if he were leading the darkness itself. The faintly bitter floral scent that emanated from him was steeped even in his thick breath. When the hem of the black coat he wore fluttered once, a silvery-white changpao with a blue serpent dragon passing through was revealed.

He stood at the end of the alley that overlooked the bustling pier and drew on his tobacco pipe. As he slowly turned his head, the smoke that trickled from between his lips was so pale it was almost white, creating the illusion of fine snowflakes falling. In the direction he had turned, there was a man organizing his stall, warming his frozen hands with his white breath.

“I’m looking to secure passage on a ship to England.”

Bell asked as he approached the spot. The man, who had been feigning ignorance and minding his own business, quickly raised his head at the fluently spoken Qing dynasty language.

“England, you say, my lord?”

The man, who wore a fur hat pulled over the crown of his head, which had been shaven for his queue hairstyle, spoke up, rubbing his hands together furiously.

“A safe passage, if possible. I would prefer a first-class cabin.”

“Aigoo, my lord. Right now, there are only ships that procure cotton fabrics or tea.”

The man shook his head and waved his hands in refusal. His mouth, frozen in the severe midwinter cold, made his anchovy-like whiskers flutter every time he moved it.

“They also take a very long time because they pass through India.”

The man put both hands inside his sleeves. He even stomped his feet to soothe the cold and repeatedly swallowed. His gaze, scanning up and down, was quite blatant. It was an attitude that openly revealed his vulgar nature. Bell, who had been watching him silently, took out a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him.

“What is this, my lord? Oh, you are staying in a fine place, my lord.”

“Contact me as soon as a black-market ticket becomes available. I will pay whatever price you name.”

Bell added in a low voice to the man’s brightening face and turned away. He thrust his other hand, the one not holding the tobacco pipe, into his coat pocket. It was just as one of his long, outstretched legs was about to step onto the ground where black water flowed.

“Why. Are you sending that priest whelp to England all by himself?”

A voice, heard from a distance, rang coldly in his ears. The step he was about to take stopped right where it was. He felt a stiffening sensation from the back of his neck all the way to a single strand of hair clinging to his coat.

“Such devotion.”

A low laugh was embedded in the words that were uttered. Bell, who had been staring at the wet ground, raised his gaze. Sharp eyes slanted upwards near his thick eyebrows, which were set like mountain peaks.

“Do you want to return to the celestial realm that badly, Bell’ael?”

He blinked his eyes once at the name he had not heard in a very long time. The soles of his leather shoes ground against the earth as he turned, his head following belatedly.

“…Luciel.”

The name, uttered in a low tone, flowed out with his exhaled breath. It was a name he had not called in a very long time.

“You still call him by that name.”

“….”

“I don’t know what’s so pretty about a guy like you that he dotes on you so.”

Beneath a thin mustache, darkish lips parted to reveal yellowed teeth in a smirk. Bell turned his body completely to stand face to face with the man. The black night sea rushed into his watching eyes. The shadow caught by his lowered gaze was lanky compared to the man’s short and stout physique, and two horns were growing on its head.

“How did that priest’s rear hole taste. Was it delicious?”

Even at the jeering words, Bell’s expression did not change one bit. The waves visible in his dark blue irises, now at high tide, were also endlessly calm.

“If it were me, I would have devoured him long ago. As expected, you’re a bit different from us.”

“….”

“Our shame. Do you happen to love that human?”

As soon as those words finished, Bell moved. It happened in the blink of an eye. He moved like the wind, without a sound, like water, without obstruction, a simple movement that left no afterimage. He moved close enough for the tips of their shoes to touch and abruptly seized the man’s thick-chinned neck.

“Keuk…!”

“Shut up. Before I kill you.”

His sunken pupils wavered. Reflected in his eyes, where an agitated wind began to blow, was the man who was grinning widely, baring all his gums.

“Why are you angry, Bell’ael? Originally, we demons are beings who share everything.”

His eyes, their current now a rough torrent, flashed. But the man did not stop his provoking words.

“If I have your permission, that is. That child, he looked delicious. His name is… ke-heuk!”

In an instant, a fierce sea breeze blew over the ground where they stood. The grip on the neck tightened with a force that threatened to crush it. Flabby neck flesh squeezed out from between the long fingers. The sharply poised fingertips dug deep into the flesh, piercing the skin. The fiercely snarled voice was low and grim, like a whirlpool in a narrow strait.

“Do not dare refer to you and me as ‘we’.”

“Keuk, keck, kikik, kikikik, keuk keuk, hey, it seems you still think you’re ‘that Bell’ael’… huh? Uh, uh uh?”

The man, who had been excitedly running his mouth, opened his eyes wide. Inside his twitching eyelids, which were rolled back, the red flesh where the optic nerves were concentrated was completely exposed. His pupils, shrunken like beans, rolled around separately before sticking near the corners of his eyes. He was looking at his own seized neck.

“Uh, uh uh… h, hey!”

Crack, crunch. From the pig-like throat came the sound of the aligned neck bones twisting. The hand that was squeezing him was glowing red-hot. His face, so pale it was almost sallow from the lack of blood flow, was slowly dying into a purplish hue. The bluish face swelled up tautly as if it would burst, and vein-like wrinkles popped out all over.

“Be, Beeeeell!”

Splat. After the abruptly cut-off scream, the sound of a water-filled sack bursting echoed through the cold alley. The blood and brain matter that spewed out as his face exploded drenched Bell’s entire body.

“Hoo, hoo….”

On the black ground, a corpse with only a torso remained, spread-eagled. Bell, looking down at it, swallowed dryly. On his blood-splattered face, only the stark whites of his eyes shone clearly.

🦇

The blood-caked coat rustled dryly. His hair, which must have once been radiantly golden, was now dark red, matted with coagulated lumps of blood. On his cheek, the mark from where he had wiped it with his hand remained just as it was. The pale skin shone through where the handprint had passed, looking like a plaster wall with its red paint peeled off as he entered the dim hallway of the guesthouse.

Plod, plod. The sound of slow footsteps ascends the stairs. The proprietress, who saw his blood-soaked appearance, rushed out from behind the hanging curtain.

“H, hey! Are you hurt somewhere?”

His slow steps seemed to falter for a moment, but Bell did not give her a single glance and continued up the stairs. His stiff, rustling gait climbed the stairs and came to a stop at the head of the hallway. The shadow that opened the door and entered looked a little weary.

On the floor, where the dim hallway light seeped in, the elongated shadow paused its breath for a moment. Then, it hurriedly looked around in all directions.

“…Tadeo?”

The most expensive guesthouse in Weihaiwei. The best room among them was completely empty. There was an indentation on the bedsheet where the blanket had been thrown back, but no warmth remained. Bell took a few steps inside and then stopped, flinging the door open.

“Tadeo. Tadeo…!”

His body shot out into the hallway, frantically calling the name. Though his startled, wide eyes searched the surroundings, he could find no trace of the one who had disappeared. Bell bit his lip until it made a grinding sound. He clenched both fists tightly, and hatred boiled in his eyes as he glared into the empty air.

His face, glowing with a fierce killing intent and splattered with blood, was that of a demon wearing only a human mask. He gritted his teeth. He resolved that this time, he would truly tear him limb from limb. As his old friend had wished, he would capture him, offer him up, and cast him into an abyss from which he could never be saved.

Yes. He should have done it sooner.

“Bell…?”

Then, he heard the voice of the one he had been so desperately looking for.

“I’m here.”

Tadeo was standing where Bell turned after clenching his teeth. His thin calves were clearly exposed beneath a white changpao.

“You, what in the world is that state you’re in. Just what have you been doing outside…?”

He asked, surprised to see Bell’s ruined appearance. There was no sign of worry in his question. It was closer to a reprimand, asking if he had harmed someone.

Two pale feet cross the bathroom threshold. The hem of the garment, slit up to the waist, revealed and then concealed the lower body, from the curve of his buttocks to his thighs. An outstretched hand moved, fingers twitching in the air. Bell snatched that hand and pulled him forward.

“What were you doing in there.”

The dragged body stiffened in an instant. His shoulders flinched and drew inward, his face turning pale with preemptive fear. When did he ever approach first with such fearlessly wide eyes, and why the pretense now? He wanted to press his face, his eyes squeezed shut, and question him about every single sin.

“Wh, why are you doing this! Let go, this! L, let go and talk! What on earth have you been doing to…!”

“I asked what you were doing in there.”

He was probably waiting until I went out to look for him, thinking he had run away. It’s obvious. He was probably holding his breath, standing there, sneakily watching the situation.

“I scraped everything out from inside and wiped you down, and you’re asking me what I was doing…!”

Bell roared, grabbing both his wrists. The body, which quietly yielded as he cornered it, bumped against the dead end of the doorframe. Tadeo had no idea why he was angry. His mumbling mouth finally replied, his face blushing.

“My stomach… felt strange.”

“What?”

“It just… my stomach felt strange. I was scared….”

As the tight grip on his wrists loosened, the hand that slipped free began to rub his lower abdomen. Only then did Bell’s gaze sweep over his awkwardly standing posture. His eyes took in the buttocks and small of the back leaning against the doorframe, as if standing upright was difficult, and the two legs standing in a half-crouched position.

“How is it strange.”

“It feels like… there’s something inside.”

Tadeo said, not stopping the hand that was rubbing his lower abdomen.

“What if… I get pregnant.”

Bell, who had rested his forehead on his hand and sat down on the bed, looked up with wide-open eyes. After a period of silence, the blood-caked face burst into laughter toward the ceiling. Tadeo flinched at the sound of his laughter. He stood completely still, staring at Bell, who was laughing out loud with a totally dumbfounded expression.

“Why are you looking at me with that face?”

“…I’ve never seen you laugh like that before.”

After a good laugh, Bell pushed back his blood-matted hair. At that, dried blood fell like powder onto the white bedsheet.

“Haha….”

As the laughter gradually subsided, his expression also slowly settled. Behind the completely erased trace of laughter, as if he had never laughed, only a gaze that tenaciously dug into its opponent remained.

“I was just scaring you, saying I could if I put my mind to it.”

“…What?”

“Do you want to have a baby?”

The hand that had swept back his hair fell as he wiped his dry face. When Bell asked with upturned eyes, Tadeo, who until then had been in a daze, crumpled his entire expression.

“You’re really… the worst.”

And at those words, Bell laughed once more.

🦇

When Tadeo, who had gone into the bathroom in a fit of anger, came out a long while later, Bell was standing in the moonlight. The blood that had covered his entire body was now completely gone. Only the changpao draped over the back of a chair remembered the magically erased scene.

A cool breeze carrying the scent of the sea entered through the window and scattered his light hair. Bell’s hair was soaked in moonlight, and his skin was like porcelain dried in the moonlight.

A strange pattern was carved into the round wooden table. It was a geometric design of which it was impossible to tell what had been used to carve it, a large circle with several circles inside it, and various triangles forming a star. A so-called hexagram. Bell pressed his palm down on it. With the smell of searing flesh, sizzle, sizzle, embers flew about the vicinity.

The embers, their heat subsided, turned to black ash and floated up. Soon, a thread-like wisp of black smoke spread and bloomed from under his hand.

“Bell, your hand is burning.”

“Are you worried about me?”

Bell smiled and slid his large palm off the table. The pattern that had been carved in intaglio was gone without a trace. The hand, reaching the edge of the table, seemed to grasp something and tear it away. He brought his hand before his dagger-sharp nose and opened it. The pattern, remaining on his skin like a bright red scar, was sizzling and burning.

“You can curse me more, Tadeo.”

Bell said so and blew a puff of breath. With a crackle sound, the pattern etched on his palm turned into black smoke and flew out the window. Towards the smoke that disappeared, trailing a long tail, he muttered something low, but Tadeo could not understand its meaning. It was an unfamiliar, ancient Hebrew.

“If it weren’t for me, you would have never gotten involved with them.”

Bell stood with his back to the large, full moon that called the high tide. The light of the full moon, risen high in the sky, flowed in generously, illuminating the floor. His gait, treading upon the moonlight, was as smooth as walking on water.

“Don’t look. My old friend was the one who brought the stars.”

Bell raised his hand and covered Tadeo’s two eyes, in which stars twinkled. At the voice that pierced his mind like an auditory hallucination, Tadeo slowly closed and opened his eyes.

“Get some sleep. We will be leaving as soon as day breaks.”

He could not bear the weight of his eyelids, which grew heavy with a sudden wave of fatigue. Tadeo ended up closing his eyes.

“…To Joseon.”

The back that supported his slumping body stood silently for a while. Standing there, bathed in the moonlight that fell like raindrops, slipping past the clouds.

🦇

Early morning, as the first light of dawn was breaking. The sky, not yet free from the twilight, had a pockmarked full moon floating faintly blue. It was the time just before the golden streaks of light peeking through the clouds draped over the mountain peaks were about to spread brilliantly. The sound of a rooster craning its neck and crowing long announced the morning to the port city of Weihaiwei on the Shandong Peninsula.

Neighhh, a black, driverless carriage stopped in front of the most expensive guesthouse in Weihaiwei. The four black horses pulling the carriage were so jet black they looked as if they had sprung from a dark ink cloud, and every one of them wore an iron muzzle.

The people passing by could not take their eyes off the horses. Some even clicked their tongues, saying the horses were too good for pulling a carriage. And for good reason, as every strand of their coats shone with a glossy sheen, and over their sleek, gleaming hides, well-formed muscles rippled like waves. They were flawless enough to be called fine steeds.

When the carriage door opened, the legs of a pair of slenderly cut black suit trousers emerged. Following them, a pair of black dress shoes with pointed toes stepped onto the waterlogged ground. Splash, fine droplets of water splashed up shallowly and dotted the pointed toes.

The man was dressed in a swallow-tailed tuxedo, long in the back. He adjusted his attire and then took a deep breath, his chest swelling and deflating.

“Haa, honestly, every time you summon me, it’s always so fantastical.”

Pah, with the exhaled breath, a hand wearing a white glove dusted itself off.

“To fetch a priest’s habit. And for a demon, at that.”

He glanced up at the tasseled lantern hanging on the guesthouse sign for a moment. The perfectly tailored trouser legs took a large step forward.

Spiky black hair entered the guesthouse. A staircase was visible behind a small statue. The man smiled, revealing sharp canines.

“Aha, there it is.”

His unhesitating steps headed straight for the stairs. Even as he passed, the proprietress sat listlessly, her chin propped on her hand. The proprietress, who had yawned so wide her jaw could have dislocated, wiped her tears and then her eyes shot open.

“Huh? Hey! If you’re getting a room, you need to talk to me here before you go up, you know?”

The pleasant sound of dress shoes came to a halt. The man slowly turned his still body.

“Merhaba! (Hello!)”

His face, smiling brightly and revealing pointed canines, was decidedly charming. He had a slightly aquiline nose, but it was harmonious to look at and gave the impression of a beautiful young man. The proprietress, who held the belief that ‘for a man, being beautiful is all that matters,’ simply blinked before cautiously asking back.

“Me, me, what?”

“Haha, I am not a guest, madam.”

He said, clapping his hands together and slowly approaching her.

“I’ve come to escort my master.”

His smiling face, even crinkling his eyes, was in front of her in an instant. The startled proprietress leaned back and stammered.

“Excuse me, but I’ve forgotten the room number. By any chance, have you seen a man with long blond hair and a terribly foul expression?”

Bell was sitting with the dawning sky at his head. On the guest room table was the kaoliang liquor he had ordered. He was already down to the last sip. Its characteristic fruity aroma was not to his taste, but it wasn’t a bad drink. He set down the cup made of white clay and tapped the table with his fingertips. Then, he simply turned his head and looked at the door.

“Knock knock.”

Someone’s voice was heard from outside.

“Knock knock knock.”

The playful voice was high-pitched. Nothing had changed, then or now, and Bell’s brow furrowed deeply. Tadeo, who had been sleeping soundly in the bed, also winced and opened his eyes.

“Bell, someone’s here….”

“Yeah. I know.”

As Tadeo spoke, rubbing his eyes, Bell stood up abruptly with a fiercely hardened face. What is it, why is he angry. His body, rushing past the bed, left a faint breeze. Tadeo’s eyes, following the gently fluttering hair, were quickly cleared of sleepiness.

Tadeo blinked his wide-awake eyes and leaned forward to look. Bell, standing by the door, swept back his hair that had fallen askew and grasped the doorknob.

“Günaydın, iyi günler! (The day has dawned, have a good day!)”

A cheerful voice rang out as soon as the door was opened. Tadeo, who was craning his neck to see, pulled the blanket up to quickly cover his bare lower body.

“Knock on the door. Don’t make the sound with your mouth.”

“Haha, Master. If you knew what a hellish time I had getting here, you wouldn’t be so unwelcoming.”

Bell was merciless to the face that held all the joy in the world.

“The thing I told you to bring.”

Ignoring him, he asked, and the man answered with a shrug as if he were used to it.

“I’ve brought everything as you commanded!”

Tap, tap. Black dress shoes stepped inside, and the door closed. Tadeo was busy fumbling with the gathered blanket, wrapping it around his waist. Just as he was about to lower his legs to the floor, a strange face popped out.

“Ah! Is this gentleman the priest, by any chance?”

Gasp!

“Selamün aleyküm! A pleasure to meet you, Father!”

The man had the features of someone with both Albanian and Persian blood. His dark skin looked very lively, unlike Bell’s. His hair, which looked damp as if it held moisture and even a bit oily, was jet black and thick. It was the complete opposite of Tadeo’s hair, which was fine and easily got messy and tangled.

Also, his two eyes were golden with a reddish-orange border. They were so large that little of the whites were visible, and the pupils in the center were small, reminiscent of a Bombay cat. A cheerful laugh never left his face as he offered a handshake. Just as Tadeo awkwardly nodded and was about to shake his hand,

“That thing, it’s a demon, the kind you ‘hate so much’.”

Flick. Bell, who had been twirling his liquor cup, made a dismissive gesture. The two hands were pushed away, unable to even shake once.

“He likes to speak in Turkish.”

Bell said so and turned his body back towards the window.

“Yes, because I am a Turkish demon.”

The man gave an awkward smile and took back the hand he had offered.

“My name is Witgeng, Father.”

Then he placed a hand over his left chest and bowed politely. Tadeo, with a bewildered face, bowed his head in return.

“Is it alright to give your name so easily…?”

“You are very kind, Father. But it does not matter. I do not commit such terrible deeds, you see.”

The man who introduced himself as Witgeng continued speaking cheerfully, his back straight and his hands clasped behind him.

“If it were my master, that would be another story, haha.”

Though he quickly shut his mouth under Bell’s glaring gaze.

“Your master?”

“Yes, that person is my master. The Bell’ael legion… well, he is not the commander anymore. Totally, finished!”

Witgeng made a throat-slitting gesture with his hand and clicked his tongue hard.

“Because he was fired, haha.”

“Be, Bell’ael? Legion Commander? Fired?”

Tadeo asked again, looking back and forth between the two men. Bell, standing with the considerably brightened sky behind him, was glaring at Witgeng with eyes full of killing intent. Was it because of that? Witgeng not only refused to look at Bell at all, but he also did not even turn his head in that direction. He simply, very calmly, rummaged through his pockets.

Swoosh, what his gloved hand pulled out from his small trouser pocket was none other than a black cassock. On top of the neatly folded garment, a white Roman collar was crisply angled. He held out the garment in front of Tadeo, one hand still clasped behind his back.

“Here! The priest’s habit that Lord Bell’ael requested, it is here.”

As Tadeo accepted it with a bewildered expression, Witgeng gave a sweet smile and straightened his back again. He turned his head toward Bell and spoke.

“Don’t look at me like that, Master. Do you know I might die just for coming here?”

The words that came out of his mouth were gruesome, but his tone was nonchalant, as if he were talking about someone else. Moreover, his expression was still as cheerful as could be.

The three people who left the guesthouse came to a stop in front of the black carriage. Harrumph, the hot breath exhaled by the black horses flowed out through the widely perforated muzzles. A chill ran down Tadeo’s spine, and he stood with his whole body tensed up, so Witgeng patted him on the back energetically, saying there was nothing to be afraid of.

“They do like human flesh the most, but, well, it’s fine.”

He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

The moment Tadeo stepped into the carriage, his eyes flew wide open. It was not enough to look back and forth between the inside and outside of the carriage; he even went back and forth a couple of times, and only then did he sit down quietly with a dazed expression.

It was a marvelous sight. The exterior of the carriage was that of an ordinary four-horse carriage, but once inside, there was a very spacious living room and a bedroom. The interior was quite luxurious, as if a nobleman’s room had been moved and placed there, with densely patterned red wallpaper and a fireplace, a high-quality suede sofa and a rocking chair, a carpet with an arabesque pattern, and even a canopy bed large enough for three people to lie down with room to spare.

“Well then, we shall depart!”

Witgeng, having closed the carriage door, smiled brightly. As he shook the bell attached to the door wildly, the carriage soon set off. In an instant, Tadeo was thrown onto the long sofa. Like a reed in the wind lying flat on the ground, he was violently flung to one side. He felt as if the position of his stomach had been completely rearranged. He had just thought it was a good thing he was sitting down when he was thrown down once more.

Witgeng and Bell, sitting without a single hair out of place, looked very calm. Tadeo bit his lip in an unknown sense of unfairness and closed his eyes.

…I think I’m going to die from motion sickness.

🦇

The inside of the carriage was endlessly silent, with no words exchanged. Even Witgeng, who had been so talkative, was just sitting quietly.

On the long sofa, Tadeo was curled up, asleep. Fortunately, his complexion looked much better. It was thanks to the measures Witgeng had taken after belatedly realizing his condition upon Bell’s instruction to slow down. Not long after, the pain that felt like a nail being hammered into his temples disappeared, and Tadeo was able to fall into a deep, sound sleep.

“Are you really planning to go to Joseon?”

Witgeng, who had been looking down only at his clasped hands, asked carefully. As expected, his master did not answer. In their eyes, the firewood in the fireplace was flickering. Bell, who had been looking at the glass tumbler, stood up, bracing himself on the armrest. His long, slender legs slowly approached the long sofa where Tadeo was sleeping.

Witgeng slowly raised his head and looked forward. His master was taking off the cape coat he was wearing and covering the sleeping priest’s body with it. His golden eyes, taking in the scene, narrowed.

“Going to Joseon for just that one human is not like you, Master.”

His vertically elongated pupils widened as his irises contracted. Within them, the pale face sleeping under the coat was reflected. The flippant and fidgety demeanor was gone, and Witgeng, speaking in a sober voice, seemed like a completely different demon. Bell returned to his seat and sat down. Witgeng, who had been silently following him with his yellow eyes, spoke again.

“Just as the rumors say, you really do… that human.”

“Stop taking turns spouting ridiculous nonsense. Since when were we able to feel emotions.”

Bell cut in abruptly and snapped at him.

“Because you are no longer a demon, nor an angel.”

However, Witgeng was not intimidated and spoke calmly.

“Perhaps even if I were to call your ‘true name’, my soul would not be extinguished.”

“….”

“Master, your name has completely disappeared from the registry of the Grand Duke’s ranks.”

Bell did not look surprised. On his shining hair and face, the light flickered, and myriad stars dyed crimson were floating. He brought his ten interlocked fingers to his mouth. His joined hands and both elbows placed on the armrests formed a perfect symmetry. It was a posture he often adopted when deep in thought. At such times, his unwavering face was as solemn as a monk gazing at a star cluster.

“Call it, then.”

Bell said, looking at Witgeng. His face, which had been like a lake held in silence, was now smiling. Witgeng hesitated. His eyebrows, with their ends drooping, looked uncertain. His tightly clenched fists trembled slightly on his thighs. Only after swallowing hard once did his parted lips look almost resolute.

“Bell… ae….”

“Go on.”

When his pressed lips failed to form the complete name, Bell urged him on. The smile that spread across his lips was as light as a feather and elegant, yet somehow cynical. He even added a subtle nod of his head, applying silent pressure. In the end, Witgeng squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth once more.

“Bell’ae….”

A single letter. He could not utter that one letter. His lips, which had been pressed together hiding his canines, seemed to have given up completely.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Why. Are you scared?”

Paaaah, the sigh that burst out was as rough as if his breath had been cut off and then released. As Witgeng shook his head hard, the long, upturned corners of Bell’s mouth twitched. Bell soon wiped the smile from his face and reached for the table. His face, when he looked forward again, was no longer pale like a frosted windowpane, as the firelight spread across it.

“That’s why you can’t escape the state of being a Witgeng.”

“Because calling the name of the one I serve is something unimaginable for a ‘Witgeng’.”

“What a shame. You really could have called it. In fact, it’s been quite a while since my name disappeared from the registry.”

His tone as he spoke, tilting the glass, was indifferent. Behind his slightly tilted head, his hair, as radiant as the tail of a falling meteor, flowed down to his back. Bell continuously rolled the ice, steeped in the scent of liquor, on his tongue. Now his eyes were on Tadeo. Witgeng could tell at once where his master’s gaze rested.

“Master, why do you keep acting so arbitrarily?”

His yellow eyes, like embedded amber, had been observing Tadeo for only a moment. He turned his body completely towards Bell and asked urgently.

“You are a hero for the days when you strengthened your resolve with Him alone. So why are you not responding to His call?”

His questioning attitude seemed both frustrated and pitiful.

“Don’t tell me, do you really want to return to the celestial realm…?”

The silence that seeped in in an instant sank deep, silencing even the sound of the burning firewood. Tadeo’s black, oily eyelashes, clinging to his eyelids, trembled faintly. Bell’s gaze was still fixed on him. Had those deep, blue ocean eyes ever rested on someone for so long? To him, watching from the side, such an appearance of his master was simply unfamiliar.

On the day the Morning Star, who was the Son of the Morning, so dearly loved by God, fell to earth. His master’s wings, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him and fought against the celestial armies, were said to be beautiful even when soaked in blood, and so he was called ‘Red Wings’. Among the ‘Fallen Wings’ who had created Hell to embrace those made for evil, Witgeng could not forget the sight of Bell shining most proudly.

It had been hundreds of years since he had vanished without a trace. In Hell, a strange rumor about him, whose whereabouts were unknown, began to circulate.

‘Bell’ael wants to return to the celestial realm.’

“Is it that human?”

“….”

“The human that He is looking for. Because of that one human…!”

“Enough.”

Tadeo flinched once. His brow furrowed as his sleep was disturbed, and he fidgeted.

“Stop it, Witgeng.”

A rustling sound followed. Tadeo pulled up the cape coat covering him and turned over. After maintaining his silence for a long while, Bell finally opened his mouth in a low voice.

“Nothing has changed about me, Witgeng.”

He turned his head again to look at Witgeng.

“I am still interested in nothing but beautiful things.”

His face, from which the frost had melted, became as cold as ice the moment it left the firelight. His eyes, devoid of any hint of emotion, had returned to the time when he walked the ash-strewn land, holding Luciel who had fallen to the center of the earth.

“I hated humans who were not beautiful.”

“….”

“And I hated the God who cherished only such humans.”

The voice that came from his slightly moving lips was very clear, low, and had depth.

“I did not understand. I could not understand. That is why the existence of the one who dared to oppose God was great.”

“….”

“I was curious about the sky where the beautiful morning star would shine in place of the sun.”

The newly recalled past was fragmented. The sky, where the sun would lose its power and the morning star would shine, must have been the same color as his eyes. It was a thought that crossed his mind for a brief moment as he looked into his master’s eyes, which showed not a hint of regret.

“That is all it was, Witgeng. It has just become uninteresting now.”

As he finished speaking, he was wearing a smile that Witgeng had never seen before.

“In that case, is amusement sufficient for you now…?”

The yellow eyes asked, their pupils unable to close, and,

“Ah.”

Bell turned his eyes back to where Tadeo was.

“It is sufficient.”

Because I think I’ve begun to realize that humans can be beautiful.

🦇

Tadeo was resting his chin sideways on his two hugged legs. His eyes, directed somewhere above the fireplace, were blinking blankly. It was because he had been counting the number of swirling arabesque patterns on the red wall and had lost track of the number.

His stomach, which had been turned upside down by motion sickness, was much better. It was thanks to a cup of tea that Witgeng had offered him while he was lying still, without any sign of having woken up. The tea had soothed his stomach even before he had finished the cup.

Witgeng, who had been dozing off, suddenly shot up. Tadeo’s head, which had been resting on his lap, also shot up. Witgeng, approaching the door, began to shake the bell attached to the ceiling wildly, just as he had when announcing their departure.

“Now, we will soon be in Hanseong, Joseon! It is a great pity that I would love to escort you to the monastery, but as you can see, I am a low-ranking demon!”

‘I might suffocate to death!’ 

Before Witgeng could finish his words, Bell rose from his seat. With a single gesture, he brought over the coat that Tadeo had folded. The cape coat, flying over with a fluttering sound, was draped over his broad shoulders. Tadeo, who had been staring blankly at the sight, quickly turned his head away when his eyes met Bell’s.

“By the way, did you two have a fight? Why is the atmosphere so chilly, haha.”

“All you have to do is shut up.”

“Haha, Master. That’s why I always told you. When you have relations, you must be a gentleman…!”

His mouth, which had been chattering excitedly, clamped shut with a small ‘eup’. It was not because of Bell. It was because Tadeo, who had shot up from the sofa, was glaring at him fiercely. If he had even held out a rosary. The mere thought of it was so horrifying that Witgeng shuddered. He shivered all over once, then laughed awkwardly before shouting as if he had met a savior.

“W, we have arrived!”

1896, the first night of February. Exactly ten days before King Gojong took refuge in the Russian legation, a black carriage exuding a gloomy aura came to a stop in front of ‘Sontag Hotel’ in Jeong-dong.

As the carriage stopped, the door opened by itself with a click. Bell, who had been standing by the door glaring with a look no less fierce than Tadeo’s, got out of the carriage first. The cape coat fluttered behind his coldly descending body. It was like a black hawk spreading its wings and flying down to the earth.

“Hey, Father.”

It was when Tadeo, his face slightly flushed, was about to pass by Witgeng. The face he looked at, having stopped his steps, was smiling, revealing a canine-like tooth.

“You are the first person to treat me kindly.”

“What?”

“You also kindly called my name.”

“I only called you ‘Mr. Witgeng’.”

“In my world, no one calls me that.”

Witgeng said, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. Tadeo just blinked his eyes with a bewildered face.

“I do not have a name. Witgeng is one of the low-ranking demon races. If you are lucky and get to serve a high-ranking demon, you can live a respectable life like this, like a demon.”

Witgeng paused for a moment and looked at Bell, who was standing outside. A narrow path ran through the forest, and Bell stood at its end. The darkness, clinging like moss among the dry branches that had not yet sprouted new buds, was very deep. It was a darkness that engulfed everything around, even when facing a brightly lit building. Bell was the only being that shone even in that darkness.

“My master enabled me to live like a demon.”

“…Mr. Witgeng.”

“Please take good care of my master, Father.”

His face, its smile now composed, looked heavy. Because he was acting as if he were leaving on a very long journey, Tadeo had no choice but to nod.

“Well then, farewell. Yönlem elveda.”

He waved his hand until the very end, bidding farewell. Tadeo could not understand what it meant, but he thought it must be Turkish.

Harrumph, the black horses, shaking their manes once, galloped into the depths of the path. Tadeo waved his hand until the end towards the black carriage that disappeared as if being sucked into the darkness-eaten place.

“Come here, Tadeo.”

A voice like a spell was heard from behind. Tadeo, who had been staring into the endless darkness even after the carriage had disappeared, slowly turned his steps. The land of Joseon, which he was stepping on for the first time in 17 years, was a little colder than Paris and more fertile than London.

He lifted his head and looked at the sky, where a Milky Way, unseen in London, stretched long and wide. Tadeo took a step, parting the breath that exhaled into the river of milk formed by the stars.

“We finally came back, to Joseon.”

It was the homeland he had vowed never to return to. His eyes, which had been scanning the sky, slowly descended to look at Bell. Bell, for what reason did you come back here?

‘In that case, is amusement sufficient for you now…?’

‘Ah. It is sufficient.’

It must be for simple pleasure. Because he was curious to see a human, worth less than dust, struggle. The story he had unintentionally heard in his sleep was enough to steal away his sweet slumber. Tadeo, without a single change in expression, hid his censure towards him. He looked straight into the eyes that shone with a frosty light even at night and asked with an innocent face.

“Bell, what does ‘yönlem elveda’ mean?”

Bell, who had been gazing silently at that face, opened his mouth in a low voice.

“Forever, goodbye.”

As soon as those words fell, a gust of wind, like the wailing of a ghost, swept through the darkness where the black carriage had disappeared.

🦇

The man, who had woken up at dawn to farm, had left his house without even a moment to rest his exhausted body. It was because he had belatedly realized that the firewood to warm the heated floor was completely gone. His rabbit-like wife had given birth to a late child not long ago, and it would be a big problem if the wind got into her bones, so he had quickly gone up the mountain.

That day, for some reason, the cries of beasts echoed frequently on the mountain. The desolate wind added to the eeriness, but he needed a lot of firewood to safely endure the coming late frost. In the end, the man finished his work only after the sun had completely set behind the western mountain.

On a hazy night when even the moon was hidden by clouds, the man descended the steep mountain ridge carrying a rack piled as high as himself.

“Did you come out to give silver, or did you come out to give gold….”

The capital city, packed with spacious tiled-roof houses, revealed a life full of joys and sorrows as soon as one stepped out of the gate. The man was passing by a road where ditch water flowed, humming a song that was close to a folk tune.

“I have no silver and no gold, so I brought tobacco seeds… eh-hey!”

He was passing through a narrow alley. Just then, he collided hard with a young man who was passing by in a suit. The man, unable to bear the weight of the rack, staggered. Clatter, half of the firewood fell. The man, striking the ground with his rack stick and clicking his tongue, shouted at the young man whose shadow was elongated.

“Aigoo, what am I going to do about this!”

“Ah. Sumimasen… (Ah, I’m sorry.)”

The young man was lightly dressed in a suit despite the cold weather. The man carrying the rack narrowed his eyes and craned his neck. His face was not clearly visible because of the shadows cast between his features. The young man took a step forward. At that, the clouds that had been gathered around the moon slowly cleared, and the shadows on his face also cleared in the brightly shining moonlight.

“What’s this. You’re not a Joseon person?”

His hair, slicked back neatly with pomade gel, and a somehow cool impression. The words that came out of the mouth of the man, who was dressed up with a tie under a small, folded wing-collar shirt, were none other than Japanese.

“The common folk are all about to starve to death, and now the Japanese bastards are coming in and even putting their spoons in our empty mouths. Eigh, ptui!”

The man spat on the ground, thinking he had run into bad luck. He sighed, set down his rack, and began to pick up the fallen firewood. Just then, a large shadow fell over his head. Surprised, he quickly looked up to see the man, who had come closer at some point, looking down at him.

“Excuse me.”

Uh oh, why is this Japanese bastard so tall?

“I will help you.”

“Uh… you can speak Joseon words too?”

Bent over picking up firewood, the man quickly scanned him up and down. When he asked, flustered by the fluent Joseon language, the young man nodded silently.

“Well, I, well now. Ahem! I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The man scratched his cloth-patched forehead with his dirt-stained hand. The young man was a foreigner. Come to think of it, he seemed to have heard a rumor that all sorts of Japanese and Western bastards had come into the capital and settled down. No matter how much they lived in small, clustered villages, it was still true. They had lived like family, just a stone’s throw away from each other, so how could it be that no one had ever passed on a story about a strange foreigner?

“Ah, honestly! How could we possibly have good feelings towards you bastards?! There should be a limit to causing trouble in another country! You’re bastards who wouldn’t be satisfying even if we ground your bones to drink!”

The flustered shout echoed far into the distance. It was not wrong. After all, had not the nation’s queen been brutally murdered by Japanese ronin? They, whose entire history had been a single sword, had cut their hair and appeared in sleek Western clothes, and then they had brought down the great Qing dynasty.

Less than two years had passed since the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War, which was like the signal flare for Japanese imperialism. The rumor that the 500-year history of the Yi dynasty was coming to an end spread rapidly throughout the eight provinces of Joseon. The common people threw down their farming tools and became soldiers themselves to find their sovereignty, and righteous armies rose up in various places.

The great powers called Joseon the ‘Land of Turmoil’ for this.

“Excuse me, should I put this here?”

Despite the finger-pointing and angry shouts, the young foreigner silently picked up the firewood. Only after picking it all up did he straighten up and ask.

“Uh oh? Uh, uh… yes.”

As the top-knotted head nodded reluctantly, the foreigner with a somewhat cool impression placed the firewood in his arms onto the rack. The man deliberately made a series of coughing sounds and then shouldered the rack.