An Office Worker Is Good At Exorcism - Chapter 276

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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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Chapter 275
Part 2. The Past Devours the Present (2)
Clatter.
As Kang Hyung-seok pushed the plywood aside, it swung open without resistance.
In the same moment, I exhaled, and my breath crystallized white in the air.
Was it the cold?
Or had I reached a place where the living should never venture?
Creak.
Climbing the metal ladder and pushing my upper body through the ceiling, I turned my head slowly.
The lantern clenched between my teeth swayed with my movement, casting light across the murky darkness above.
The air still carried the scent of sawdust.
Were the plastic bags scattered in every corner garbage left behind by workers?
Clang.
The Shaman’s Bell in my bag rang out.
I paused momentarily, then shifted my gaze upward to the ceiling.
A black silhouette was visible.
As I slowly turned my head toward it, the lantern’s light illuminated the darkness, revealing the silhouette’s true form.
‘A Victim Spirit.’
A human figure hung suspended from the rafter, a noose around its neck.
Creak, creak.
Without any wind, the Victim Spirit swayed ever so slightly.
Simultaneously, the sound of children singing reached my ears.
This is a blessed land
Where milk and honey flow, a land of peace
Odaeyang itself
The hymn of Odaeyang.
The Cult Leader had separated the children from their parents.
He brainwashed the children into believing only he was their mother, while forcing the real parents to address each other by rank alone.
He severed the bonds between parent and child, cut them off from society, burdened them with crushing debt, and trapped them financially in an inescapable corner.
The victims, abandoned and suffering, had died here in this ceiling.
Somewhere in this darkness, their Victim Spirits would linger.
Snap!
Suddenly, the rope around the Victim Spirit’s neck snapped.
Thud!
At the sound of something wet dropping, I squeezed my eyes shut.
The stench of blood mixed with the reek of stale, heated air.
A nauseating stench assaulted my senses.
Skitter, skitter, skitter.
The sound of countless insects crawling across walls and rafters echoed like reeds swaying in the wind.
Instinctive revulsion washed over me.
Creak.
Yet Kang Hyung-seok pushed his entire body into the ceiling.
Like some insect, he had been hiding in the Factory.
To uncover the cause and eliminate its source, he began crawling deeper into the recesses of the ceiling.
***
Whoosh.
The censer that Shin Yoseph gently swayed dispersed its smoke.
The walls bore black handprints so thick that their original color was invisible, and the showerhead continued to pour forth blood.
“O glorious commander of the heavenly host, the Archangel Saint Michael.”
Reciting a prayer to the Archangel Saint Michael, Shin Yoseph closed his eyes in quiet reverence.
“Protect us in our struggle against tyranny and violence.”
Sight and hearing and smell.
All that appears and sounds and emanates is unreal and cannot deceive me.
“Come to the aid of mankind, created in God’s image and redeemed at great cost from Satan’s oppression.”
Shhhhhh.
In the darkness created by his closed eyes, the sound of the showerhead began to diminish.
“Therefore, great Archangel Michael, we beseech you that Satan may no longer hold dominion over mankind, nor bring harm to the Church.”
It was then.
Grip!
Something seized Shin Yoseph’s ankle.
His body trembled for a moment, but Shin Yoseph continued his prayer with composure.
He held faith that Saint Michael and the Lord Jesus Christ would witness this desolate place.
“May the mercy of the Lord swiftly descend upon us….”
Ssssssscrape.
The hand that had gripped his ankle crawled upward across his knee.
It seized his waist, and soon grasped his chest.
“Carry our prayers to the throne of the Most High, and bind the dragon and ancient serpent that are but demons and Satan.”
Yet still Shin Yoseph continued his prayer.
Evil, that which stokes fear, that which shakes faith.
All of this is profane, and to stand against it, prayer and an unwavering heart were paramount.
Clench!
Hands grasped his collarbone, seized his throat, gripped his wrists, and clutched his face.
“Chain them in the abyss that they may no longer tempt Your people. Amen.”
Having finished his prayer, Shin Yoseph slowly opened his eyes.
His pupils, fully adapted to the darkness and dilated wide, beheld the decayed Victim Spirits clinging to him.
Easily thirty Victim Spirits held Shin Yoseph in their relentless grasp.
Faces twisted by agony and resentment.
Expressions yearning for salvation and relief.
The desperate longing felt through their grasping hands.
“…I will pray.”
Shin Yoseph held him back and began reciting a prayer for the dozens of Victim Spirits suspended in the air.
For the peace of those Victim Spirits who had departed the world yet could not leave this place.
Shin Yoseph prayed for the rest of the suffering Victim Spirits.
***
Click, screeeech! Click, screeeech!
As I crawled deeper into the Factory, Shin Yoseph’s prayer reached my ears.
He was heading toward my location.
Which meant I was moving toward the site of the tragedy.
“Father who raised our Lord Jesus Christ, spouse of the pure Virgin Mary and guardian of the dying, I earnestly beseech Saint Joseph.”
Click, screeeech! Click, screeeech!
With each pull of my outstretched arms, Shin Yoseph’s voice grew louder.
You’re doing well, Shin Yoseph.
These are Victim Spirits who were deceived by the Cult and met deaths they should never have suffered through false faith.
Could anything be more effective than Shin Yoseph’s prayer in comforting them?
Click, screeeech.
“Haaah!”
I paused my arms and exhaled heavily.
Thick beads of sweat dotted my forehead, and my throat felt parched and burning.
It wasn’t simply exhaustion.
It was hot.
Despite it being winter, the air in this Ceiling was heating up like a summer Warehouse.
Click, screeeech.
Moving through the oppressive heat that threatened to kill, I recited a sacred incantation.
“Supreme Old Lord speaks the sacred yellow mysterious scripture. Supreme origin ultimate great way, supreme three thirty-six honored deities.”
With this incantation seeking aid from the spirits, my desire was singular.
‘It must be severed.’
The thread of the tragedy that occurred here decades ago must be cut, and all the horrific phenomena known as the Goblin Ground must be severed as well.
“Supreme Old Lord, Jade Emperor, Earth Mother Deity, North Star Celestial Emperor, Celestial Emperor of Life-Giving.”
To achieve this, I crawled through the dim Ceiling while reciting the incantation.
The dimmed lantern cast a faint glow, plywood creaked beneath me, and steel beams tangled like spider webs blocked my path.
“Left wing true general, poison river true general, three officials true general, four stars true general, small disaster true general, nine sufferings true general, left protector true general, right protector true general.”
I had been crawling for some time, feeling the stifling heat that made breathing difficult.
Shin Yoseph’s prayer, which had been faintly audible, stopped.
Moving my eyes to survey the surroundings, I saw no Victim Spirits.
Yet I could sense it.
That Shin Yoseph was directly below me, and this was the place where people had died.
Clang.
The Shaman’s Bell rang of its own accord, and I swallowed dryly.
My vision remained fixed on the lantern’s faint light illuminating the distant darkness.
‘The light is a hindrance.’
No matter how much I dimmed the light, brightness was yang energy—it drove away and concealed the things dwelling in shadow.
Kang Hyung-seok moved his sweat-dampened thumb toward the lantern’s switch.
Click.
The light vanished.
Silence and darkness.
A suffocating sensation, as if abandoned in the void of space.
The heat intensified until each breath became agony.
Had the victims experienced this?
Had they gasped their last breath, tangled together in this infernal heat?
Clang-clang-clang-clang.
Following the relentless ringing of the Shaman’s Bell, I shook my wrist to amplify the sound, then swallowed hard.
And just as I was about to open my mouth to recite the incantation—
Crack! Clack! Crack!
A strange sound sealed my lips.
I exhaled a trembling breath and looked toward the source, but nothing caught my eye in the darkness.
“…May the ancestors of old and the parents of the future, the five kinships, brothers, uncles, aunts, and sisters be blessed.”
Crack! Clack! Crack!
The strange sound repeated.
As if it were blocking my presence and trying to silence the incantation.
So I recited the scripture as if confronting the sound itself.
“Let the soul come, let the spirit come, ancestors who have arrived this day—I offer this sincere recitation and prayer.”
Crack! Crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
“Today, with such devotion, the ancestors who come bearing great resentment, the spirits bearing deep sorrow—do not speak of grudge, do not speak of resentment; through reverence for the ancestors and the merit of sincerity, release the resentment and dissolve the sorrow.”
Crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack!
“May they ascend to the Western Paradise and be reborn in the cycle of transmigration—with singular devotion, I offer this sincere recitation and prayer.”
I placed the lantern in my pocket and drew the spirit blade.
Then I shook the Shaman’s Bell and pointed the blade’s edge into the darkness.
“Tell me, Victim Spirit—what binds your resentment, and what binds your sorrow?”
Reveal yourself, source of this sound.
“Resentment becomes sorrow, sorrow becomes resentment—born into a good world, yet unable to see it fully, unable to live it fully; the soul ascends to heaven, the spirit clings to this realm. How pitiful, how wretched.”
Dead spirit, I have come—which descendant recognizes you?
Which sibling knows you, which parent remembers you?
Who understands my sorrow?
Who will speak of my resentment?
“Victim Spirits who have come this day—do not speak of sorrow, do not speak of resentment; through reverence for the ancestors, release the resentment and dissolve the sorrow.”
As the sound accelerated, so did my recitation, until I fell silent.
Suddenly, the sound stopped.
Staring into the darkness with only my eyes, I extended the hand holding the Shaman’s Bell forward.
Then I shook it vigorously, and the murky veil retreated, revealing the true form of the sound.
“…Live.”
At first glance, that sphere-like mass was not a Vengeful Spirit.
Its size stretched from ceiling to floor, with dense, vine-like tendrils extending outward in all directions.
Depending on the angle, it resembled an organ, or perhaps a concentrated mass of malevolent energy.
It was a Curse.
A type of curse—like the Curse of the Master, the Curse of Heaven’s Strength, the Curse of the Yellow Springs, or the Curse of Eight Calamities.
A curse had taken root in this place where people had died.
What had established itself in this factory, known as Goblin Ground, was a vicious curse.
‘…Damn it.’
Crack! Thwack! Splinter!
The curse pulsed and swelled, hammering against the ceiling beams and floor plywood.
Undulating appendages like limbs struck the steel frame and tore through the spots where people had perished.
This was no ordinary curse.
Crack crack crack crack crack!
The curse writhed as if desperate to reclaim the Victim Spirits that had gone to Shin Yoseph.
Its intent was clear and sinister—seeking people, capturing Victim Spirits, yearning for the tragedy of the past.
Kang Hyung-seok stared at the curse without blinking, muttering only to himself.
‘It is Transference of Life and Fate.’
A sorcerous act of prolonging one’s own life by drawing the lifespan or fortune of another.
Someone had performed Transference of Life and Fate in this warehouse.

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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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