There Is No Hidden Villain in This Novel Chapter 132

“…To reconstruct the past as a scary story. Hmm. This is quite an exciting thing. As for me, I have never once revealed this secret. Now then, where should I begin? With the fact that I was once called by the name Jung Ian?”

A name has power. The name a person is called by has power. Whether it was given by a god or a person, that one truth does not change. That a name has power.

“The fact that it was not a name I could choose myself, yes. That should be a good way to conclude. Of course, many people cannot name themselves. That’s usually the case. And that is not to say it is wrong. It is just that sometimes, there are places where something strange happens. Perhaps it is not the place. Perhaps the person is the strange one…”

Cassis de Millang curved his violet eyes in a way that was chillingly gentle. And he spoke.

“My name belongs to a dead person.”

At that moment, Cassis de Millang cut his fingertip. And the single drop of blood he let fall swelled up like a giant dewdrop, filling the entire room of the old mansion.

Of course, that was not something that actually happened. Both the Dokkaebi, which originated from folklore, and Cassis de Millang knew that the power Cassis de Millang was displaying was a magic that merely induced a simple hallucination.

The Dokkaebi simply did not attempt to break the magic because it wanted to hear the story Cassis de Millang would tell. Therefore, in this space where the cadets were trapped in blood magic and flailing about, the only human standing on solid ground was Cassis de Millang.

Since the Dokkaebi, in any case, was not a person but an existence closer to a spirit or a divine beast.

“…”

In the middle of the room where all the others who had been flailing were now asleep, Cassis de Millang casually spoke to the Dokkaebi.

“Your eyes are truly unpleasant. Like a pervert.”

“Is there a problem?”

The Dokkaebi now had eyes that were gleaming like moonlight. As if the story Cassis de Millang was about to present exuded the flavor of top-grade Korean beef, it was like a cat raising its hindquarters and purring, preparing for a hunt. Was it because it was happy to be the first to discover Cassis de Millang’s weakness? Or was it acting this way simply because it was so happy to savor a story? Well, either way did not matter. If it was already licking its lips like this, that was even better. Cassis de Millang was ready to make you fall into this story. If you were ready to listen.

“Now, let us drown. Together with me.”

“Wha…”

“I will reveal my truth for the first time, so please do enjoy it.”

Cassis de Millang snatched the Dokkaebi’s wrist. And he plunged his own mind and the Dokkaebi’s into the hallucination that the Dokkaebi had been postponing entering, drenching them completely. This time, the hallucination did not have the soft texture of slime or pudding. It clung together like clay mud, sticky and slimy and unpleasant.

The Dokkaebi, with its unearthly blue skin, scowled, tossing its purple hair. Then its eyes widened. The hallucination the cadets and the Dokkaebi had fallen into was a movie theater. Sitting in a special seat made of red velvet, the Dokkaebi took off its 3D glasses and looked around. Among the cadets lost in the hallucination, there was even a child who was already crying.

‘Just what is he trying to show that he’d go through all this trouble for the presentation?’

The Dokkaebi’s interest was piqued to the point of being creeped out. Without the 3D glasses, the hallucinatory movie theater’s screen just broadcasted a black, staticky, noisy image. That was not very pleasant. Aesthetically or psychologically. So the Dokkaebi steeled itself and put on the glasses. And then, the first scene began to play.

If there was one strange thing, it was that a young child was visible, and that child had black hair, not silver. He was kneeling and smiling brightly. But as soon as two adults approached the child, the screen suddenly filled with static and the child’s expression froze as if distorted. At the same time, a speech bubble appeared above his head like a panel from a comic, and the screen zoomed into it, playing a flashback. Was the speaker broken? The sound echoed excessively loud, making one’s ears hurt.

The first thing heard was the sound of bells from a shaman’s house.

It seemed to be a scene of a rite. The 3D glasses Cassis de Millang provided offered various hallucinations, as even the fishy smell of chicken blood brushed the tip of the Dokkaebi’s nose. Along with the sound of bells, an endless stream of incantations, like an incomprehensible dialect, continued. As soon as one passed the folding screen covered in yellow talismans, five-colored fabrics waved brilliantly before one’s eyes, and behind the main shaman, small girls were beating drums and janggu made of cowhide as if to burst them. The Dokkaebi gulped in the somehow bizarre atmosphere.

Despite such a loud noise, the pregnant woman with a large belly, lying in the center like a sacrifice, was unconscious, and the man presumed to be her husband, locked outside the door and unable to enter, was screaming his head off with a metallic shriek, as if in despair. But even that sound was part of the rite. At least, that was what they seemed to think, to the extent that even the Dokkaebi could feel it.

The shaman, with an ecstatic, intoxicated smile, took off her shoes and walked on blades of knives. Heoicha! The sharp blades of the fodder chopper shone coldly beneath her bare feet, not even covered by socks. The god is coming, the god is coming. Coming from quite far away. It is said there is a calling. Come quickly, come quickly. The god is coming. Heoicha. The little girls called and called again. They were lyrics never heard anywhere else. For it to be a spell, neither mana nor inner energy could be felt. So the Dokkaebi thought it was a song.

‘…But this is Cassis de Millang’s trauma?’

It was unbelievable. No, rather, it was hard to even imagine. Cassis de Millang had a different impression from the black-haired boy seen earlier. Why was someone with a completely different face reminiscing about a memory like this? No, more than that, for what reason was something like this happening?

Ssplaaash! Chicken blood poured over the pregnant woman’s full-term belly. It seemed an old woman who was assisting had collected it in a basin and was pouring it, and even the chicken necks that had been in it spilled out without exception onto the unconscious pregnant woman’s belly. A few drops of blood splattered on the pregnant woman’s face. Watching that sight, the little girls sang and beat the drums, sang and beat the janggu, and sang. This mother… They seemed to be insane. Everyone gathered here was like that. The Dokkaebi was beginning to suspect that this horror experience was happening to itself, not the cadets. But soon, all sound ceased.

‘…?’

It thought the scene was now over and it would return to the earlier scene with the kneeling boy, but it was not. It was just that nothing was happening because everyone was making no sound. It was a silence so uncomfortable that one could mistake it for someone having pressed the pause button. And that silence was broken in the next moment by a fountain of blood erupting from between the pregnant woman’s legs. Everyone silently turned their heads in unison. At that moment, the wind blew and the talismans tangled on the candles began to burn. The flames, strangely, consumed only the talismans. The folding screen, made of paper coated with paste, was not damaged in the slightest. The old woman hurriedly buried her hand in her skirt, wiped off the chicken blood, and then pulled back the folding screen. Inside it was an old man, and the old woman, bowing her head to him and approaching on her knees, finally untied the blackout cloth that had been covering the old man’s eyes and removed the red cloth and cotton that had been stuffed into his mouth and ears.

“The ritual?”

As light entered his eyes, the old man, with a dry expression, scowled and asked that first with a parched voice as soon as his mouth was open. The old woman repeatedly bowed her head as if apologetic, yet she could not suppress the corners of her lips from rising, and she gathered her hands and respectfully pointed to one spot. There, the pregnant woman, spewing a fountain of blood from between her legs, was looking at the old man with desperate and pitiful eyes, reaching out her hand as if for help. Was it a miscarriage? If not, then what?

“Hahaha!”

“Hahahahahahaha!”

It seemed the baby was about to be born. Watching it, everyone gathered here was laughing as if possessed. The pregnant woman, who was about to ask her father-in-law for help in her death-like labor pains, turned pale, began to tremble, and started to scream.

Even that sound was part of the laughter. And then all of it faded to black…

“…Hah!”

As soon as the Dokkaebi opened its eyes, it saw a shadow puppet show. A tall shadow holding something like a long stick lowered the stick over a small shadow and then raised it. What is that? The moment it narrowed its eyes to focus, another screen appeared next to the theater at the same time, and a sweet voice was heard.

“That’s me. Jung Ian. The newborn baby born in chicken blood.”

The Dokkaebi’s eyes flew open. And it even felt fear at the clearly audible voice.

It was Cassis de Millang’s voice.