‘Should I call it a relief?’ Amon and the priest were released quickly.
The military dictatorship of Joseon was efficient in dispatching the police, but that didn’t mean they were competent.
They showed up quickly for the sake of performance and control, but integrity was another matter.
“My mood feels off…”
The two had been freed thanks to the Vatican’s authority, diplomatic concerns, and a single phone call from someone important.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, but Amon had no choice but to accept it.
“Anyway, the law is what’s wrong here.”
Though his words were a bit rebellious, Amon ultimately understood the situation rationally.
As soon as they stepped out of the holding cell, Sonia handed them tofu, though it was unclear where she had gotten it.
“This is supposed to be a tradition here?”
She beamed as she handed them the tofu.
Amon took a bite, feeling nostalgic, while the priest, mistaking it for some kind of white pudding, popped it into his mouth.
The result…
“Uweeeek—!”
“Pfft!”
It tasted unbelievably bad.
Amon gagged at the unexpected flavor, while the priest spat it out due to the unfamiliar texture.
It made sense—Joseon’s tofu was not made the way Amon expected.
Or rather, it couldn’t be.
The soybeans were genetically modified, and the brine used in traditional tofu-making was too expensive due to the scarcity of clean water.
As a result, tofu here was made by blending genetically modified soybeans with a special type of water instead of brine.
“This is just white konjac jelly…”
Amon grumbled as he wiped his mouth.
Sonia fidgeted anxiously at their extreme reactions.
“S-Sorry! I heard that Joseon food relies on skillful hands…”
“Did you buy this from a traditional market?”
“Uh… yeah…”
“Sonia.”
“Huh?”
“If something’s cheap, there’s always a reason for it.”
To get the taste Amon was expecting, he would have to go to either a century-old tofu shop or a high-end restaurant supplied by specialized factories.
And with that, the conversation about tofu came to an end.
***
Amon and the priest resumed their exorcism duties, traveling across Seoul.
Two days later.
They were on their way to perform an exorcism at a psychiatric hospital when they spotted a familiar face—the delinquent boy who had mocked them earlier.
The swelling on his face had gone down a bit, but the cross-shaped mark remained as he approached the hospital’s reception desk.
As Amon tensed at the coincidence, the priest had a different reaction.
“That boy… Is he really here just for those minor injuries?”
Hearing that, Amon was reminded of the cultural differences.
‘Right… In America, you don’t go to the hospital unless you get shot.’
In contrast, in Joseon, even a mere nasal bone fracture warranted a hospital visit.
The explanation left the priest in awe.
“What an incredible healthcare system…!”
“…Not sure about that.”
Amon couldn’t deny that Joseon’s medical costs were enviable, but he wasn’t about to praise its military dictatorship.
Because after all…
“When something’s cheap, there’s always a reason for it.”
Every Joseon citizen Amon had encountered had their soul tethered to the royal family by a faint, translucent thread.
He had no idea what it meant, but…
“If that’s the case, I probably wouldn’t want to go to the hospital here.”
The priest nodded at Amon’s words.
“If it’s that thread… I have a guess.”
“What is it?”
“Joseon people age unusually slowly. East Asians already tend to look younger than their age, but among the neo-nobility and the royal family, aging is noticeably delayed.”
“Otot.”
“The thread you described is probably related.”
“That makes sense.”
As they discussed this, the boy finished checking in at the hospital.
When he turned around and spotted Amon and the squinting priest, his eyes widened in shock before he bolted.
Watching the boy’s retreating back, the priest made a brief comment.
“Congratulations, Amon. It seems you’ve made a lasting impression on that boy.”
Amon had nothing to say, so he simply made a reluctant expression.
And so, with that fleeting encounter, the group continued toward the psychiatric ward.
***
Once there…
“Huh? What are you guys doing here?”
“…”
They ran into the boy again.
This time, he was accompanied by a woman in a patient gown.
Amon, the priest, and Sonia pulled the boy aside for a moment.
Once might have been a coincidence, but twice felt like fate.
Not to mention, the real reason they wanted to speak with him—
The subject of their exorcism was the woman he held so dear.
Before the ritual could begin, the boy lashed out in desperation, trying to stop them.
His reaction made it clear that a conversation was necessary.
“Can you tell us who she is?”
“Screw off, you fraud…”
But the moment Amon wrapped his rosary around his hand with a serene smile, the boy’s tone became more polite.
“…Please leave.”
“We can’t do that. The hospital requested our cooperation.”
Contrary to public perception, exorcist priests and psychiatrists in this world weren’t at odds.
With holy power being a known and proven force, denying the existence of spirits was pointless.
More importantly, they weren’t competing for customers but working toward the same goal of helping patients.
In fact, doctors academically acknowledged spirit possession, and priests, in turn, recognized the importance of psychiatry.
‘Well, there are still plenty of people who don’t believe in either.’
Some people didn’t believe in spirits, while others didn’t believe in mental illness.
Considering there were even people who believed the Earth was flat, it wasn’t all that surprising.
But persuading such people was exhausting.
Just like the boy standing in front of them.
“There are no such things as spirits! My sister just… had bad luck!”
He refused to acknowledge his sister’s possession.
Instead, he firmly believed she was infected with AI corruption.
“The doctor will fix her! They said modern treatment has a 79% success rate!”
Desperately clinging to the coat of the attending physician, the boy pleaded.
However, the doctor who had escorted Amon merely shook his head calmly.
“After conducting screening tests, we have confirmed that she is possessed. It is neither depression, schizophrenia, cyber-schizo, nor AI infection.”
“That’s ridiculous! Ghosts don’t exist! It’s all… just a lie made up by people trying to make money! Don’t tell me… you got paid too?”
The boy’s eyes turned sharp, and his fists clenched tightly.
Amon, unable to watch any longer, stepped in to mediate.
At that moment—
“Aaaah!”
His sister’s scream suddenly pierced the air.
“Noona!!!”
The boy released his grip on the gown and rushed toward her.
Amon grabbed the back of the boy’s collar, restraining him.
“Calm down.”
“Let go of me, you crazy bastard!”
“If you keep this up, you might never see your sister again.”
“That’s why I’m trying to go, you damn bastard!”
The boy struggled in Amon’s grip.
Ignoring the resistance, Amon focused on the sister instead.
Activating his sight, he examined her soul.
Just like other possessed individuals, he saw an anomaly.
But this time, it was different.
A sword.
A sword had pierced through her shoulder, extending all the way down to her right arm.
Of course, in reality, her body was unharmed, but her soul told a different story.
And the blade was slowly moving toward her chest.
Amon immediately recognized the phenomenon.
“Father, this appears to be a cursed sword.”
“Oh dear. That was close.”
The priest, who had been preparing the exorcism, suddenly bolted out of the room.
The attending doctor didn’t fully grasp the situation but stepped back, understanding from the priest’s reaction that something serious was at play.
Only the boy, too blinded by rage, failed to comprehend the atmosphere.
Amon turned to him and asked, “Was your sister… a swordswoman?”
The boy flinched.
That was the answer he needed.
Amon wanted to hear the full story, but for now, there was a more urgent matter to handle.
So, he shoved the boy aside.
The boy tumbled across the hospital corridor, rolling away.
Meanwhile, Amon approached the convulsing woman.
Her eyes rolled back, and her body trembled violently.
The moment Amon got close enough—
Swish.
“Tsk.”
From seemingly nowhere, she gripped a sword and swung it at him.
But Amon wasn’t fazed.
From his enhanced vision, he could see the sword emerging from the palm of her right hand—the same sword that had been piercing through her soul.
Predicting the attack, he effortlessly twisted his body to avoid it.
‘What are you, Ul*rin or something?’
Clicking his tongue at the cursed sword, Amon seized her wrist.
“Hup!”
He flung the sword out the window, shattering the glass.
Then, without hesitation, he threw her out right after it.
“Noona!!!”
The boy’s desperate cry rang out, but Amon ignored it and jumped after her.
He landed silently on the ground, his boots barely making a sound.
***
A moment later, she followed—her long, dark hair, tinged with blue at the ends, flowing as she descended with an eerie grace.
By all logic, she should have landed first, yet she touched the ground after Amon.
Tap.
Her bare feet hit the pavement with a soft sound.
‘As expected…’
That sound confirmed Amon’s suspicions.
‘She’s either an assassin or from a similar background.’
He had noticed when he first saw her feet in the hospital.
She had undergone a procedure—her soles had been modified to suppress impact and sound.
Though they had been camouflaged to match her skin tone, the unnaturally even lines on her soles gave it away.
‘And that’s not all…’
Bzzz—
‘She’s had other modifications too.’
The subtle lack of clarity in her right eye’s movement was another tell.
That was enough reconnaissance.
Amon pulled out a scabbard instead of a sword.
“This is why I hate cursed blades.”
He twirled the empty scabbard in his hand.
Exorcisms for cursed swords were a rare sight, even for him.
‘But cursed blades themselves?’ He had encountered plenty.
Katana found in ruins, longswords retrieved from dungeons—possessions caused by these weapons were common.
And they were a nightmare to purify.
If you asked for a name and sprinkled holy water, you’d just get stabbed as an answer.
Half-hearted restraints were meaningless.
Many exorcists had been cut down along with their bindings because of cursed blades.
That’s why they were such a pain.
As Amon was thinking this, the woman—no, the sword—grinned menacingly.
[You think you can stop me with just a scabbard? That’s bold of you…]
“Why now?”
[What do you mean?]
“You were hiding so well earlier. Why did you suddenly show yourself?”
[Ah, that? That’s simple. Two delicious souls wandered right into my grasp.]
She pointed her sword toward the broken hospital window.
Looking up, Amon saw the boy staring down in concern.
Standing beside him was Sonia.
[Now, this is finally worth cutting.]
“I see.”
[Oh? So, can I ask for one favor in return for that information?]
“No.”
[It’s fine. You’ll do it whether you like it or not.]
The cursed sword slowly slid back into its sheath.
She placed her hand on the hilt, causing it to vibrate slightly.
But before she could draw it—
Clang!
Amon, standing quite a distance away, suddenly swung his scabbard into empty air.
A metallic crash echoed, as if two swords had clashed.
Checking his scabbard, Amon clicked his tongue.
“Not a great idea after all.”
Despite reinforcing it with divine energy, the scabbard couldn’t withstand the force.
It shattered after just one exchange.
Discarding the broken pieces, Amon pulled a fresh scabbard from his dimensional pocket.
The cursed sword seemed delighted by this.
[That’s exactly what I wanted! I was hoping you’d draw a real sword, but this will do. Just don’t go down too easily, okay?]
Once again, she reached for her sword.
But before she could unsheathe it—
Amon appeared before her in an instant.
[Already—?!]
She barely had time to react before Amon pressed down on her hand, forcing the sword back into the sheath.
Then, with a quick motion, he struck her solar plexus with his palm.
[Guh!]
The cursed sword reeled, her body doubling over.
Even as she staggered, she attempted to draw the blade again.
Amon kicked the hilt back into place and followed up with a spinning kick to her torso.
[Khak! If this body dies, what will you do then?!]
She screamed in protest after taking another hit to the chest.
Amon remained unfazed.
“If she’s innocent, she’ll survive.”
[…What?]
“Just kidding.”
For a split second, the sword could sense his words weren’t entirely a joke.
While she was trying to process that, Amon did something completely unexpected.
“Let’s wrap this up quickly.”
From his sleeves, eight more scabbards appeared.
He slipped them between his fingers, locking eyes with the cursed blade.
Confused by his sudden strategy, she hesitated.
[Is this some new sword technique?]
“Something like that.”
Since she was keeping her distance, Amon grinned.
‘That works for me.’
Up until now, he had relied on throwing daggers.
But after the Vatican battle, his physical abilities had improved.
Now, he could throw longswords instead.
‘The scabbards might not be ideal, but…’
His dwarven-crafted throwing swords were unavailable, so he had to make do.
‘Doesn’t matter. Eight throws—at least one will land.’
With that thought, Amon hurled the scabbards.
The cursed blade panicked as the projectiles closed in.
One of them struck her square in the forehead.
[Mff!]
With a strange, muffled cry, she collapsed, unconscious.