An Office Worker Is Good At Exorcism - Chapter 342

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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 342
Part 3. Two Shamans (2)
The engine rumbled low.
It was after sunset.
The road stretched far from the city, and the only light source illuminating the surroundings was the headlights cutting through the darkness ahead.
Beneath a full moon that hung cold and watchful above him, Kang Hyung-seok glanced at the remaining distance displayed on his navigation system and exhaled sharply.
‘Kim San, Kim San, Kim San.’
The name echoed through his mouth and mind like a haunting refrain.
Kim San had created this entire situation, and through his conversation with Shin Yoseph, he’d confirmed the man’s death.
Was it true?
Was that person really dead?
Solely to verify this, Kang Hyung-seok was driving toward the grave where Kim San had been buried.
The phone chimed.
The device mounted on the holder indicated an incoming call from Shin Yoseph.
He tapped to answer.
“Yeah.”
(What? You’re driving?)
“It’s fine. Go ahead. I’m heading to the grave location you gave me now.”
(Hmm, I dug up some more information.)
Shin Yoseph, who hadn’t even left work despite finishing his duties, continued speaking with a faint sigh.
(This guy has no children. Doesn’t look like he was ever married either.)
“…You’re certain?”
Kang Hyung-seok recalled the man he’d seen in front of the old house.
He’d unconsciously assumed the man was Kim San’s family.
But no children?
An unpleasant premonition washed over him, and his brow furrowed.
‘You are approaching your destination. Navigation will now end.’
The calm voice of the navigation system blended with Shin Yoseph’s voice.
(Right. Yet somehow he still ended up buried in a grave. These days, even families with relatives choose cremation over burial.)
“…That’s true.”
(In your opinion, what do you think was the reason?)
This wasn’t a question.
It was confirmation.
He wanted to know if Kang Hyung-seok’s thoughts aligned with his own.
The car door closed with a soft thud.
Kang Hyung-seok stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, and gazed toward the mountain road.
He turned his head to survey the surroundings, his eyes crossing between the faintly blue-tinged darkness of the sky and the pitch-black ridge of the mountain.
“There must have been a reason why cremation couldn’t be done.”
(What reason?)
“…I have a suspicion, but I want to verify it myself.”
(He was a Cult Leader. A man named Kim San.)
The conversation building layer upon layer felt like dominoes that could collapse at any moment.
Their dialogue was hurtling toward a conclusion both undeniable and horrifying.
(I didn’t have time to investigate thoroughly, but it seems he was the leader of a Cult that branched off from the Yonghwa Religion.)
“The Yonghwa Religion.”
I knew of it.
A religion founded by a man named Seo Baek-il in the 1960s.
Buddhism formed its foundation, and it operated under the banner of the Geumsan Temple Maitreya Buddhist Missionary Center before later changing its name to the Yonghwa Religion.
(Cruel, but ordinary for a Cult. They sexually exploited many Female Believers, plundered their wealth.)
Heavenly Father, or Maitreya.
Built on Buddhism, that’s likely what they called their Cult Leader.
But in reality, it strayed far from Buddhism.
They created pseudo-familial relationships with believers and abused, exploited, and oppressed them.
What was particularly horrifying was the violence inflicted on many Female Believers.
The pretext was that they were instilling doctrine.
Crunch.
Kang Hyung-seok climbed the Mountain Road, his tongue rubbing against the bitter taste filling his mouth.
I don’t think the dissolved Yonghwa Religion still exists. But Cults splinter and branch as Cults do.
New groups form from them.
“…Did the religion Kim San led as Cult Leader have resurrection in its doctrine, by any chance?”
(Considering the timing, it’s highly probable.)
“Hmm.”
A deep sigh escaped.
Cults shift their core doctrine depending on the era.
Eternal life or resurrection are relatively recent trends, and considering the timing, the religion Kim San led as Cult Leader had an extremely high probability of making this doctrine its core.
(What’s happening now might be related to Kim San’s resurrection.)
Kang Hyung-seok said nothing, his lips pressed firmly shut.
My thoughts align with Shin Yoseph’s.
All the circumstances, all the mounting victims, make sense if they’re connected to a ritual meant to resurrect Kim San.
Crunch, crunch.
Kang Hyung-seok continued climbing through the dark Mountain, heavy silence pressing down.
Looking upward, a suffocating darkness lay thick, obscuring even a single step ahead.
A frightening thought took hold.
Resurrection is impossible.
Then how many people must be sacrificed, how much blood must be spilled for that impossibility?
Pouring lives as if filling a bottomless vessel.
(You said you’re going to see the Grave now, right?)
“Yeah.”
(If it seems dangerous, I’ll go with you. Where are you now?)
“It’s just a simple confirmation, so there’s no need for that. I’ll contact you again later.”
“I understand. Don’t act recklessly like last time. Think about how I feel paying your hospital bills.”
With Shin Yoseph’s bitter words as the final exchange, Kang Hyung-seok ended the call.
My mind and thoughts grew tangled.
‘Yonghwa Religion. Kim San.’
A cult whose name I didn’t even know.
A building, dying people, ghosts, a shaman tumbling from atop a blade-ladder.
All of it pointed so unmistakably toward a single objective.
‘Kim San’s resurrection.’
Please, let it not be so.
Let them not be attempting something so absurdly insane.
Click, whoosh.
I retrieved the lantern and illuminated my surroundings, then began ascending the increasingly treacherous and rugged path.
Jingle.
When I reached roughly the midpoint of the mountain, the Shaman’s Bell suddenly chimed, and I stopped in my tracks, lifting it before me.
A ritual implement adorned with several small bells.
Jingle-jingle-jingle-jingle.
Only those hanging on the right side rang of their own accord, and my gaze followed in that direction.
My spiritual guide was telling me.
That way.
Step, step.
I quickened my pace.
The grave of the Cult Leader who had commanded this cult.
Contrary to what one might expect of such a person’s resting place, the path was treacherous and wholly unkempt.
Whoosh!
A bird took flight, while the full moon continued casting its pallid glow across the mountain in soft luminescence.
Moisture hung in the air, and dense trees stood like barriers before me.
There was no reason to believe a grave in such a place would be normal.
‘This is not auspicious ground. It is cursed ground.’
The surrounding mountain ranges formed a pattern that severed this mountain’s spiritual energy.
With light obscured by the terrain, it meant the grave had been deliberately placed here for a reason.
This was not a place to honor the deceased.
It was a place to hide them.
Jingle!
The Shaman’s Bell suddenly rang loudly, and I raised the lantern to illuminate a spot further ahead.
There stood a burial mound without even a gravestone.
Jingle-jingle-jingle.
What was the Shaman’s Bell trying to tell me with this ringing?
I exhaled slowly, shook the Shaman’s Bell, and stepped toward the mound.
“I bow to the Earth God of the Eastern Green Soil. I bow to the Earth God of the Southern Red Soil. I bow to the Earth God of the Western White Soil. I bow to the Earth God of the Northern Black Soil.”
The Prayer to the Earth Gods.
It is a prayer offered to the Earth Lord and Earth Spirit who govern the land, and a prayer recited when seeking permission from the earth.
Since an evil site is still land and involves matters of the grave, this prayer had to be performed first to prevent spiritual discord.
“Spring Earth Spirit, I bow to you. Summer Earth Spirit, I bow to you. Autumn Earth Spirit, I bow to you. Winter Earth Spirit, I bow to you. Four Seasons Earth Spirit, I bow to you.”
As I continued the prayer, I swept the lantern around the mound.
The visible portion appeared intact.
Though overgrown with weeds and clearly neglected, it remained a grave nonetheless.
That made my unease deepen.
“Four Seasons, Four Directional Earth Spirits, I bow to you. Heavenly Stem A and B, Eastern Direction Spirit, I bow to you. Heavenly Stem C and D, Southern Direction Spirit, I bow to you. Heavenly Stem G and H, Western Direction Spirit, I bow to you.”
It felt like a grave created out of necessity, now abandoned because it was no longer needed.
I moved behind the mound where I sensed no spirit presence, no victim spirit, no spiritual energy whatsoever.
Then, with a troubled expression, I clicked my tongue softly.
‘Damn it.’
There were signs of excavation.
But not from wild boars or mountain beasts.
Someone had scraped away the earth for hours using shovels and pickaxes.
Kim San.
Someone had exhumed him from here.
“Hah!”
I stared at the pit with troubled eyes and held my breath.
There was no spirit presence, but the incense scent that had touched my nose several times before, and the purpose of those guarding the old house—I thought I understood now.
“What religion? What resurrection? What’s so important about it?”
The incense scent meant two things.
The fragrance found within temples, and incense offered to the deceased.
The Yonghwa Religion, based on Buddhism.
The religion derived from it—Kim San’s faith.
And Kim San’s death.
For a person to be resurrected, they must first die.
Death must come first for resurrection to be possible.
What was enshrined in the old house was Kim San, and the guard dog and Kim San’s son were protecting him.
Ding-ding-ding-ding.
Looking down at the Shaman’s Bell that continued to ring, I bit my lower lip firmly.
‘I understand.’
That you command me to stop it.
That you wish no more victims to fall.
Crunch.
Gripping the Shaman’s Bell tightly, I lifted my head and gazed up at the moon.
That full moon, which had witnessed everything, offered me no words—only its cold, indifferent silence.
***
Thud-thump, thud-thump.
The man who had guarded the Old House pulled a cart up the treacherous Mountain Road.
Bundled atop the cart was a blue tarp cut from a nearby farm, its shape unmistakably that of a human corpse.
“Hnngh, hnngh, hnngh.”
The man’s eyes gleamed like those of a Malevolent Spirit as he gasped for breath.
“Father, Father, Celestial Father and Maitreya Buddha. I’m so sorry.”
Thud-thump, thud-thump.
“I should have let you rest peacefully at home, but because of that strange bastard, I can’t even keep you there—ooooh.”
The man ground his teeth as he thought of Kang Hyung-seok.
At that moment, the blue tarp atop the swaying cart shifted, and through the gap, Kim San’s blackened, rotting arm protruded.
It was the hand of a corpse—grotesque, with several fingernails missing.
There was no possibility of resurrection, yet the man wept thick tears as if the entire world had wronged him beyond measure.
“Father will be resurrected soon! The Altar is all prepared, and the offerings have been made faithfully! Just a little longer and Father will rise!”
The man turned his face, twisted with malice, to gaze upon Kim San’s corpse.
“Still. Father will surely be resurrected. He will surely rise and walk this earth on two feet again.”
Speaking as if swearing an oath, the man turned his gaze forward once more and climbed the Mountain in silence.
And at that moment, Kim San’s hand, dangling beneath the blue tarp, twitched.

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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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