GTHWCS~04

CHAPTER~04

Lee Shin stood over the filthy beggar collapsed at his feet.

His face betrayed no emotion, but his mind was turning swiftly.

It wasn’t impossible for humans to enter Mount Jeokbyeok, but seeing spirits so vividly within the mist born from their yin energy was nearly unheard of.

Ordinary people would faint the moment they entered that fog, their bodies aching so badly they couldn’t even stand.

Even a monk, a Taoist hermit, or a powerful shaman would struggle to breathe or see properly under such a heavy concentration of ghostly qi.

But this wretched creature—this beggar among beggars—was different.

Though his legs trembled like a frightened dog’s, he was standing. And he could see the ghosts.

How was that possible?

This strange anomaly before him left Lee Shin with a faint, unsettling feeling.

If it were coincidence, he could ignore it. But if it were fate… the story changed entirely.

There were far too many threads and possibilities in fate.

And to make things worse, this fool had mistaken him for a reaper from the underworld.

Lee Shin let out a quiet, incredulous snort. In all my years, I’ve never been mistaken for that before.

He turned away.

“Lee Shin of the Geom clan,” came a calm voice, “are you truly leaving him there?”

He glanced sideways at Unjeong, who had appeared soundlessly beside him, dressed in a white robe.

Unlike Lee Shin—sharp and striking like a blade—Unjeong had a composed, refined grace. His low, even tone and tranquil gaze alone spoke of cultured dignity.

His pale, slender face bore features clear and delicate as if brushed in ink. His fine eyebrows, calm double-lidded eyes, and faintly smiling lips made it impossible to read his emotions.

Yet there was something faintly uncanny about him—perhaps because he too was not of the living.

“You could’ve spoken to the man,” Unjeong remarked. “Knocking him out was hardly necessary.”

“Here.”

Unjeong narrowed his eyes at Lee Shin’s curt reply and clicked his tongue.

Lee Shin was never one to waste words when his hands could do the job.

“The nights here are cold,” Unjeong continued. “Especially on this mountain.”

When Lee Shin ignored him and kept walking, he added, “If you leave him there, he might freeze to death before you return.”

“That would be unfortunate,” Lee Shin said flatly.

The indifference in his tone silenced Unjeong.

With a sigh, Lee Shin shifted the black bell draped over his shoulder and gave it a shake.

A soft, crystalline chime rang out—clear and otherworldly.

The spirits, which had been wandering in eerie silence, turned their attention to the sound.

After one last glance at the unconscious beggar he had struck down, Lee Shin turned away once more.

When he said he’d return, it hadn’t been an empty promise.

He simply had something more pressing to do first.

Before dawn, he had to conduct a surprise inspection of the spirits throughout the Hancheong region, where Mount Jeokbyeok lay.

To make sure no malicious ghost had been spreading disease or harming people.

Lured by the bell, the spirits followed him to a narrow gorge about an hour from Do-hwa-won, also known as Jejado among commoners.

There, Lee Shin drew from his robe the Guimyeongrok—the Record of Ghosts’ Names—and began to call each spirit residing in Hancheong by name.

Any spirit that failed to answer was hunted down at once by the ghost-servants—Guino—standing in neat ranks beside him.

The roll call lasted until the edge of dawn. Fourteen spirits were dragged before him by the returning Guino.

Lee Shin’s eyes, cold and unhurried, swept over them—all steeped in foul energy.

“Name: Kim Cheol-ju,” one Guino recited. “Shoemaker of Najin County, Yanggye Province, in Hancheong. Died at thirty-seven after being tricked into taking poison by a woman named Jeon. When found, he was strangling her spirit.”

Each Guino, in turn, reported on the ghosts they had seized.

Seated lazily upon a rock, Lee Shin listened to every account, then rose to his feet.

“Those who harmed humans—eleven of them—will have their souls severed. The remaining three, who only attempted to, will be dragged to the underworld.”

The order had barely left his lips when the kneeling ghosts shrieked like wild beasts.

Lee Shin didn’t even lift an eyelid. He merely unfurled the Guimyeongrok again.

At once, faint black characters shimmered onto the blank page—the names of the fourteen captured ghosts.

Drawing his sword slightly from its sheath, he nicked his fingertip and pressed the blood to the names of the three lesser offenders, drawing a single red stroke across each.

A frigid wind howled through the gorge. The ground trembled.

Below, the calm river erupted in violent ripples, swirling like a vortex.

A massive black figure surged from the depths and crashed down onto the cliff before them.

It stood nearly eight cheok tall—over two meters—with a face devoid of eyes, nose, or mouth, only a yawning pit that seemed to swallow light and reason alike.

The Underworld Messenger—the so-called reaper—cast a black rope from his hand.

The rope split into three strands and coiled around the necks and wrists of the condemned spirits. Their cries ceased at once.

Standing at the cliff’s edge, the reaper turned to meet Lee Shin’s eyes.

Lee Shin gave a slight nod.

Without another word, the reaper leapt back into the raging river, dragging the bound ghosts into the churning depths.

“Every time I see that gate to the underworld, my guts turn to ice,” Unjeong muttered behind him. “When I was alive, I thought the Samdocheon River was crossed by ferry, not… whatever that was.”

Lee Shin rested a hand on his sword’s hilt.

In an instant, the languid aura that had hung over him vanished—replaced by a blade-sharp intensity that made the air itself tense.

He unsheathed the sword quietly.

The black blade gleamed faintly, engraved with constellations, Chinese characters, and Sanskrit spells.

It was a single-edged weapon, forged by melting down the same black bell—two cheok in length, a rare and peerless sword.

When Lee Shin gave the blade a subtle flick, the Guino restraining the remaining eleven spirits stepped back at once.

Freed, the ghosts lunged at him in a frenzy.

Lee Shin smirked faintly and raised his sword to shoulder height.

Dealing with crazed spirits like these was child’s play.

Each swing of his blade cut through the air—and with it, a scream vanished.

Heads rolled, chests were pierced, bodies cleaved clean in half.

As they fell, their forms dissolved into smoke, leaving only the acrid scent of burning paper.

When he finally lowered his sword, silence fell like a shroud.

The black bell on his hilt swayed gently, soundless.

“…Your killing aura grows heavier by the day, Lee Shin,” Unjeong murmured bitterly.

Lee Shin slid the sword back into its sheath.

The frost in his striking eyes melted away, replaced once more by a lazy, almost careless expression.

As he turned toward the forest, Unjeong asked, “Heading back to Jejado?”

“No. I’ve still got business with that beggar.”

Without looking back, Lee Shin disappeared into the trees.

When he reached the spot where he’d left the beggar, he paused.

The man was gone.

“Huh.”

Tilting his head, Lee Shin listened for any sign of movement, then lightly tapped the bell at his sword’s hilt.

A soft, crystalline note rang out, and twenty Guino materialized around him.

“The beggar I left here,” he said calmly, “find him.”

At once, the Guino vanished—snuffed out like candle flames.