1440 - Chapter 13

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 13
“Hurry, please, somebody answer……!”
Jang Du-hee jabbed the buzzer repeatedly in mounting desperation, and at last a voice crackled back through the intercom.
[Who is this.]
“Ah, hello. This is Jang Du-hee speaking. Um, um—is this the home of Master Baek?”
[……I asked who you are.]
“Jang Du-hee, ah. Ah! That is to say, well……, I, I have something that needs to be undone. No, rather, there is something I wish to resolve, and I have come seeking the aid of a disciple of House Baek.”
Du-hee recited the words exactly as the Mudang who had directed him here had instructed.
To a casual ear it sounded like an ordinary request for help, but it was a sentence that revealed all at once that the owner of this nameless house was indeed someone named Baek, that this Baek was a disciple who served a spirit, and that Du-hee knew both of these things. The sentence itself was a password.
[…….]
There was a moment of silence from within, then a sharp click as the intercom disconnected.
The moment Du-hee heard that sound, he spun around, his face draining of color. There was no one behind him—only a dense, shadowed forest path stretching away into gloom.
It was private property, the kind taxis couldn’t enter, and he’d walked a long way to reach this place. He knew rationally that there was nothing lurking there since he’d come this way himself, yet still his skin crawled with the sensation that something might seize him from behind and drag him into the dark.
“Hm, um, is anyone there? Should I say it again? There is something that needs to be—.”
He was raising his hands to knock on the gate when it began to move. With a soft whine, the old wooden doors slid open, revealing themselves to be automated—they parted slowly on both sides like the aperture of some mechanism.
Du-hee let his hands drop and fixed his gaze ahead. Standing within the widening gap were two men in white robes, their expressions utterly blank as they regarded him.
Not casual hanbok, but the pristine white ceremonial robes that servants in yangban households of the Joseon era would have worn. Du-hee found himself questioning whether what he was looking at was truly human.
As he flinched and took a small step back, the man on the left opened his mouth.
“Do come inside. The master is waiting for you.”
“Yes? Ah, ah, yes…….”
His tone was disagreeably curt. The words themselves were polite enough, but his manner suggested that some great personage was generously making time to wait—now hurry up and get moving. The way his eyes tracked Du-hee’s gait with evident displeasure, the inflection of his voice—it was no different from the condescending way one might order an inferior about.
Even so, he was the guest here. Wasn’t this attitude a bit much?
The thought flickered through his mind, but having come this far, he couldn’t simply abandon his pride and turn back. He didn’t want to leave empty-handed, retracing his steps through that forest. Du-hee followed meekly in the man’s wake.
They walked a considerable distance deeper into the compound, which was encased in stone walls. Along the way, he glimpsed a large hanok that seemed to contain several rooms, but the man did not lead him there.
They continued on until a building that resembled a great storehouse appeared, but he was not directed there either.
Even deeper still. Only after they had passed so far inward that the gate was no longer visible did the man finally stop. Where he halted stood a smaller hanok, isolated and austere.
Du-hee, unfamiliar with traditional architecture, could only call it a hanok.
But this was the Byeoldang—a Separate Hall, built by House Baek to receive guests and conduct consultations, deliberately positioned far from the main residence. So distant was it that visitors who reached the Byeoldang could not see the main house at all.
A clear boundary had been drawn: this was as far as guests were permitted to come.
Though its facade employed architectural styles from before the Joseon period, showing the age of a true antique structure, the interior was meticulously maintained. It had not been modernized like the main house—for customers were far more cooperative when they sensed themselves in the presence of a lineage steeped in history.
Du-hee settled onto a cushion in the center of the Byeoldang and gazed at the wall opposite. There hung a great Dragon God Painting that filled an entire side of the wall, with a shrine altar mounted above it.
An enormous black dragon sprawled across the expanse, and beneath it, five-colored Bells and Talismans stood in a single line, supported by ornamental stands.
So many Bells that they could scarcely be counted, their array making it unmistakably clear that he sat within a Shrine House.
Beneath the row of Bells, candles engraved with Hanja characters burned. Below those lay white cloth inscribed densely with crimson thread in characters he could not decipher.
Even the great beams extending to the ceiling bore carved grooves. The characters were twisted in an unsettling way.
In his fascination with this alien sight, Du-hee had begun to shift his weight to lean closer when a door opened opposite him.
“……!”
13
Du-hee quickly arranged himself properly on the cushion and sat with studied composure. In any case, this cursed curiosity of his was always getting him into trouble.
“……Hm? What manner of guest has wandered in here?”
The voice belonged to a middle-aged man, though its archaic cadence did not quite match the age it suggested.
As Du-hee raised his head slightly, three men taller than average entered the room.
One appeared to be in his late forties, with broad shoulders and the bearing of a robust middle-aged man; another looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, handsome enough but with an unpleasant expression; and the third, who entered last and closed the door behind him, appeared the youngest of the three.
Yet despite his youthful appearance, he was the most striking. His hair was a peculiar mixture of black and white, and he stood tallest among them.
His young face contrasted sharply with a powerfully built frame—that tautness was evident even beneath his clothes. His legs were uncommonly long, lending him an easy, unencumbered grace. And he alone wore a gentle smile.
Du-hee, already intimidated by the scale and presence of this unfamiliar place, felt his courage crumbling further beneath the dismissive gaze of the other two men—so much so that tears were threatening to spill.
But when he met the eyes of the young man who, unlike the others, held a calm smile and kind expression, he felt a strange relief, as though he had encountered a friend.
The handsome young man took a seat to the right of the middle-aged man. Once all three had settled, women dressed in the same antique robes as the men who had escorted Du-hee entered and laid out a simple refreshment table.
Du-hee, uncertain whether he was meant to eat, only gripped the fabric of his pants. The first to speak was the man with the unpleasant expression—Yeon-hyung.
“What is this? Why did that servant let someone like……—what were you even thinking, letting him in?”
He wasn’t even addressing Du-hee; his question was directed at the older of the women arranging the refreshments, who answered:
“He knew the words to open the door correctly, they said.”
At that, Yeon-hyung’s brow furrowed sharply as he studied Du-hee. Yet no matter how he looked at him, his clothes and bearing were far removed from their usual clientele. In short, he looked decidedly beneath their station.
House Baek made its money through Curse Magic—they were not like ordinary shamans. They were not the sort of place where anyone could wander in requesting Spirit Divination or asking for a Talisman.
Rumors had to be carefully spread through whispers and shadowed channels—that was the nature of House Baek’s business.
Discretion was paramount: in whom to confide, where to recommend. And with that discretion came caution. The Hereditary Shaman Baek line was not some celebrated restaurant, the sort whose reputation had spread so widely that even the riffraff knew of it.
A secretive establishment that served no ordinary clientele—the kind of place typically patronized by the wealthy seeking to indulge their sense of superiority. People who jealously guarded access, who boasted among their circle alone, who added premiums to already exorbitant fees and preened about how lavishly they could spend.
Yet here was this shabby-looking creature, rolling in without warning. And worse—he somehow knew the words to open the door.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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