Kiiiiiik.
A 500 million-won used car grinds to a halt at the hungry mansion’s gate.
“Ta-da! We’ve arrived!”
The ever-cheerful driving expert Jang Hyundeok, burdened by 190 million won in annual interest, announces our arrival.
“See? I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
“Excellent. Let’s head in.”
There’s no time to waste.
Moonlight hangs at the horizon’s edge—night will end soon.
“No—please go ahead! I’ve another appointment and must leave right away.”
“Appointment? Ah... I see.”
Jang Hyundeok has resumed his security-taxi business—he has to pay roughly 16 million won in interest each month.
“Tough gig.”
I step out of the car, but—
“Yeahh—”
He makes a strange sound and thrusts a fist toward me.
“.......”
I meet his fist with my own.
“Hyundeok.”
“Yesss?”
“How much is the prepayment penalty on this car?”
“Huh? What’s that?”
He actually asks.
I inhale sharply, then repeat:
“This car—if you pay off the balance early, you’ll owe a fee. What percentage is it?”
The annual interest rate is 38 percent—a doomsday rate fitting the [Cthulhu World]. The prepayment penalty could be outrageous.
“Oh! I get it now!”
“Right! You knew that, didn’t you!”
At least he’s not completely clueless.
“Don’t worry!”
He flashes an over-earnest thumbs-up grin.
“That dealer guy’s a really good person.”
“Dealer guy?”
“Yeah, the used-car dealer.”
Ah—he calls a con man “dealer guy.” How can he deal so smoothly to earn that title?
“He said I don’t have to pay principal for the next three years.”
A three-year grace period?! Paying interest alone for three years—190 million won times three is 570 million won—before touching principal?
If he repays over ten years with principal and interest amortized, the total paid to that “dealer guy” will be...
2,045,712,000 won.
Is that right?
Jang Hyundeok nods proudly.
“Don’t worry, Mage. I’ve got it all under control.”
Did he slip under hypnosis?
“Hyundeok, wait. Look at me.”
“Huh? Why? Ugh, that tentacle hand!”
As I reach out my left hand, Jang Hyundeok recoils—he recognizes its true nature even before I reveal the tentacles.
“Then use this hand. Come here.”
I seize his face with my right hand and unleash my mana:
[Eagle’s Radiance]
[Hypnosis Release]
[Curse Release]
[Awakening]
“How’s that?”
“What—what are you doing?”
“So, that dealer guy—what kind of person is he?”
“Uh....”
He regards me warily, as if recalling something. Come on, Hyundeok—remember!
“A good guy?”
“Hmm.”
Is he really that dense?
“All right! Mage, whatever you’re doing—I’m off now!”
“Go on, then.”
“Yesss—”
He thrusts his fist again.
“Yesss....”
I watch Jang Hyundeok drive off in his 500 million-won used car with its 21-year-vintage mana-stone engine and ponder: How has he survived six years in perilous Paju?
“Aha!”
A lightning bolt strikes my spine—terrifying clarity!
“If you’re already being ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ picked dry, there’s nothing left to take!”
All along, he’s been giving every penny he earned to “Healing House.”
“And that’s not all.”
Because of his special constitution, bizarre incidents followed—but months ago he almost got evangelized by the cultists of Hwanglim Church.
In fact, from the moment I first met him, he was already brainwashed by an abyssal presence.
“Right... I was the one who saved him, after all.”
Memories of that psychic attack from Gapeureum flood back: “Did you see? Meeting Kim Sinhwa ruined his life!”
Others, maybe, but Hyundeok—if it weren’t for me, he’d have died long ago.
“Hmm....”
But at Healing House...
“I don’t care.”
I shake off the rest of the thought and sigh. I know why he picked that car and that dealer.
“You said you had a solution, then you showed up with that car.”
That was Heo Sanghyun’s remark yesterday. Sensing my Shoggoth-control ritual firing, he urged Hyundeok to help. Lacking a vehicle, Hyundeok, desperate for mobility, bought a car he couldn’t afford.
“Must’ve been panic—emergency judgment.”
Foolish or not, he meant to save me. Out of gratitude, I planned to buy it outright—but three-year grace?
That “dealer guy” must be a lunatic too.
“Ugh....”
Enough! I’m not his father—why worry over this? I’ll deal with it later.
Night’s almost over. My lucid time—soon—
Day.
What time is it?
Dark.
Thanks to blackout sheets, curtains, and shadow magic I installed earlier.
Still, I sense it’s daytime. The Sun is too potent a symbol, a magic in itself.
A stench of corpses drifts in. I blink all four eyes and pull the covers over my head.
“It’s going to burn me to death.”
How can such immense power exist? Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous. The Sun hangs beyond this thin wall!
How does that fireball float above the flat earth without falling? How long will it burn?
It’s hunting me—with that colossal eye! Sizzling! Blazing!
“Um, delusions of grandeur?”
“Paranoid?” “Conspiracy theory?” “Well, conspiracy theories are a subtype of delusion.” “Is that so?” “You’ve had delusions of grandeur. Maybe it’s paranoia?” “You can have both. Paranoia is a subtype of delusion.” “If we nitpick, yes.” “Hello?” “Who are you now?” “I’m Nile.” “What? You have a name?” “I chose it.” “Your own choice? Unchecked individuality isn’t good.” “Too late.”
The corpse stench intensifies. Black smoke fills the room.
“Kim Sinhwa—this time you’re toast!” “Oh, so this is what it feels like.” “Bahahaha—I’m the proxy of Golden General!” “Look at all these freaks popping up.” “Why are you all clustering?” “You’ve been above lately; didn’t notice below’s getting cramped.” “Have you spawned that many personas?” “No—one giant one.” “Ha! A persona as big as the Sun?” “Hmm, not quite that.”
What’s this foul smell? Growling from somewhere.
“You all better decide soon.” “Decide what?” “How to escape Kim Sinhwa.” “This body’s near its limit.” “Even the lifespan boost from Golden General’s proxy is spent.” “Bahahaha—I’m the proxy of Golden General!”
“Shut up! All of you—shut it!”
Rrrrrrr!
To reclaim my scattered mind, I summoned my mana.
“Hey, all of you stay put. Let’s hear what Sinhwa has to say.”
“Fine. The Sun doesn’t exist. The world government is deceiving me.”
“You’re talking nonsense.” “Will you be like this every day?” “Wasn’t Gong Isu coming today?” “Meeting Gong Isu like this?” “Is that delirium?” “Probably not delirium.” “Maybe it’ll calm soon?”
No—it’s not delirium. Just a bit frightening. A little disorienting, awkward—but I can control myself.
“Hoo—ssip—hoo—”
Labored breaths.
Okay. Not delirium yet—I still have full control. But tension persists, like the Sword of Damocles.
A thin thread suspends a massive blade above my head. I sit beneath it, uncertain when it will break and drop.
That dread. Gooseflesh up my nape. An itch across my body. This place is safe—this place is safe...useless reassurance.
Until I banish that looming threat in the sky, I’ll remain like this.
I finally regained composure as the solar strength waned—early evening, perhaps.
It’s not fully dark, but the terrible energy beyond the wall has slackened.
“Time to greet our guests.”
Clutching frayed sanity, I stood, cloak draped around me.
“That’s a blanket.”
“Blanket?”
I looked into the mirror.
My reflection: seated in pristine gear—[Night Shroud Wingcloak], hooded sweatshirt pulled low, metallic mask, rugged jeans, heavy leather boots.
No weapons—but I just woke.
Something’s off: these boots are stylish but unfamiliar. Why am I wearing them?
“The mirror’s over there.”
“Ah, thank you.”
I turned to the opposite mirror—
“Oh—it is a blanket!”
My ‘cloak’ is a blanket. I fling it off—what a sight.
My left prosthetic arm’s tentacles have entwined my body, my right arm is encased in a pair of pants, and on my head sits a crown of intertwined wires—
Enough description.
I stripped three pairs of tangled pants and two shirts, retrieving my hooded sweatshirt.
“Junior, take off the crown, too.”
“Ah, thanks.”
I removed the crown and adjusted my hoodie.
“Was that delirium?”
“This wasn’t that. I panicked badly, and other personas burst out, stealing control briefly.”
“......Since when?”
Realizing who I’m addressing, I asked him:
“When have you been watching?”
“You.”
“You’d better not know.”
“Don’t say it.”
It’s definitely not delirium. Recalling the humiliation I caused on the bed makes it clear.
“Put some clothes on, will you?”
“Hmm. Give me a moment.”
“Hurry. We’re short on time.”
“You should’ve come yesterday if you were in such a hurry.”
“I came the day before yesterday.”
“......What were you doing?”
“Sightseeing. Junior, you’re a wreck no matter when I see you.”
With a deep sigh, I threw on some clothes and said:
“Where was this? I didn’t sense it at all.”
“Around ■■■■ and ■■■.”
“What language is that? Never heard it.”
“When you have time, learn from the Yithian. They’ll teach you.”
“I doubt I could pronounce it.”
It’s not a matter of pronunciation—human vocal cords can’t mimic those frequencies.
Flap—
The [Night Shroud Wingcloak] drifts back onto my shoulder.
“Um....”
I pointed first at his cloak, then at mine:
“Couple look? Matching designs—”
“No. This is another [Night Shroud Wingcloak]. Yours is a bit newer.”
Always future gear. Did I give it to him?
“Anyway, ready to go? Shall we begin?”
He peeled back his hood. The thing that looked like a mask revealed itself as a floating circular clock above his neck.
Right—Gong Isu has arrived.
