THWCS 04

Chapter 04

Ishin looked down at the filthy beggar collapsed at his feet.

His expression betrayed nothing, but his mind was turning swiftly.

It wasn’t impossible for a living person to enter Red Cliff Mountain, yet it was almost unheard of for someone to see ghosts so clearly amid the fog created by the massed yin energy of spirits.

Ordinarily, anyone would faint from the sudden surge of yin, or collapse in pain unable even to stand.

Even a Taoist who had cultivated the Way, a high monk, or a spiritually gifted shaman would struggle to breathe or see properly under such concentrated ghostly energy.

But this creature—who looked every bit like the lowest of all beggars—was different.

Terrified as she was, shaking like a frightened dog, she still remained standing. And she saw the ghosts.

How was that possible?

This sudden “exception” had planted a strange sense of unease in Ishin.

If it was coincidence, it meant nothing.
But if it was inevitability—then it was a different story entirely, with countless implications and possibilities.

And whatever was in this beggar’s head, she had even mistaken him for a grim reaper.

Truly, in all his existence, he had never been treated in so many peculiar ways.

With a short scoff, Ishin turned away.

“Geom Ishin, are you really going to leave her like that?”

He glanced sideways at Unjeong, who had appeared without a sound, clad in white robes.

Unlike Ishin—whose beauty was sharp and brilliant like a peony with thorns—Unjeong had a calm and dignified bearing. His voice was soft and level, and the clear stillness in his eyes alone revealed his refined nature.

His pale, slender face was clean-cut, his features pure and orderly. His brows were drawn as if with a brush, his double-lidded eyes gentle, and the quiet curve of his thin lips made it difficult to guess his emotions.

And the white fan painted with a landscape in his hand gave rise to a strange sense of discord—for he, too, was no living man.

“You could’ve talked to her. Who knocks a person out without a word?”

“Me.”

At Ishin’s succinct reply, Unjeong narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue.

Indeed, Ishin was not the type to bother explaining something when using his hands would be simpler.

“The mountain gets cold at night. Especially Red Cliff Mountain.”

As Ishin kept walking without a care, Unjeong continued,

“Didn’t you say you had business with her? What if she freezes to death while she waits?”

“Then that would be unfortunate.”

At Ishin’s indifferent tone—so unconcerned it bordered on callous—Unjeong parted his lips but ultimately said nothing.

“This damned thing… why is it such a nuisance to carry?”

Ishin turned again and lightly shook the black bell staff resting on his shoulder.

Immediately, the bells—which had been silent until now—rang out with a clear, gentle chime.

The ghosts, frozen in place, reacted to the sound and turned their attention toward the bells.

Ishin cast one last glance at the beggar he had pressure-pointed into unconsciousness, then turned away.

His instruction to “wait” had not been a lie.

He simply had something to do first.

Before dawn, he needed to conduct a surprise roll call of all ghosts within Hamcheong—the region surrounding Red Cliff Mountain.

To ensure none were spreading sickness or harming the living.

Guided by the bell, Ishin led the staggering ghosts toward a ravine about an hour away from Dohwawon—also known in the mortal realm as the Peach Blossom Village.

There, he took out the Register of Ghost Names, and on its blank pages the names of every ghost residing in Hamcheong appeared as if rising from thin air.

Any ghost who failed to answer when called was immediately hunted down by the ghost-slaves standing in ranks beside him.

The roll call continued until just before dawn, and the ghost-slaves retrieved fourteen delinquents.

Ishin lazily scanned the gathered ghosts, each leaking heavy, sinister energy.

“Name: Kim Cheol-ju. A cobbler from Najin County in Hamcheong’s Yanggye Prefecture. He was tricked into eating poison by a woman named Lady Jeon and died at thirty-seven. When found, he was throttling Lady Jeon by the neck.”

At Ishin’s glance toward the first bound ghost, the ghost-slave behind it recited its history.

The next ghost-slave did the same for the one beside it, and so on.

Once he had heard all fourteen cases, Ishin rose from the boulder where he had been lazily perched.

“Eleven who harmed humans will have their souls severed.
The remaining three, whose crimes failed, will be dragged to the Underworld.”

No sooner had he spoken than the kneeling ghosts howled like savage beasts.

Ishin didn’t even blink. He simply reopened the Register of Ghost Names.

Black script slowly surfaced onto the blank page—fourteen names in total.

Ishin drew his sword from his right hip by a single chi (about 3cm) and ran his fingertip along the exposed blade.

Then, with his bloodied fingertip, he drew a straight line through the names of the three ghosts who had attempted but not succeeded in harming humans.

A chill wind blew from nowhere, and a deep vibration shook the mountains.

The quiet river below suddenly churned violently, swirling into a whirlpool.

Then a massive black silhouette burst from the water and landed atop the cliff where Ishin stood.

The figure stood nearly eight cheok tall (about 2.4 meters). Where eyes, nose, and mouth should have been was instead a bottomless, pitch-black hollow filled with chaotic dread.

The giant—known among mortals as a grim reaper—threw a black restraining rope toward the three ghosts.

The rope split into three strands midair and wrapped tightly around their throats and wrists.
The hellish screams abruptly stopped.

Standing at the cliff’s far end, the reaper turned toward Ishin.

Ishin gave a faint nod.

The reaper immediately leapt back into the raging waters, dragging the bound ghosts with him.

“Well, well. No matter how many times I witness it, the Underworld Gate always chills my bones. When I was alive, I thought the River of Three Crossings was crossed by boat. Who would’ve imagined something so brute and barbaric?”

Leaving Unjeong to mutter as he peered down the cliff, Ishin reached for his sword.

The lazy aura that normally hung over him vanished, replaced by a sharp, cutting energy.

When he unsheathed his blade fully, an ink-black sword engraved with the 28 lunar mansions and rows of Chinese and Sanskrit incantations gleamed under the light.

This weapon—technically a type of hwandō, a single-edged short sword—was forged from melted black bells. At roughly two cheok long (about 60cm), it was a rare and extraordinary blade.

As Ishin flicked the sword lightly, the ghost-slaves restraining the remaining eleven ghosts hurriedly withdrew.

Freed from control, the ghosts lunged toward Ishin all at once.

Ishin lifted one corner of his mouth and raised his sword to shoulder height.

Facing mindless ghosts driven by madness was child’s play.

Every time his sword sliced through the air, one piercing ghost-wail was silenced.

Heads flew, chests were pierced, and torsos were cleaved in two.

Their bodies dispersed like smoke, and the scent of burning parchment filled the air.

By the time Ishin lowered his sword tip toward the ground, silence had fallen like a shroud.

The black bell hanging from the leather strap at the hilt swayed soundlessly.

“…Your killing aura has grown too thick, Ishin.”

While Unjeong murmured bitterly, Ishin sheathed his sword.

The frost-like ruthlessness in his provocative eyes melted away, replaced once more by his usual languid indifference.

As Ishin began walking back into the forest, Unjeong asked,

“Are you returning to the Peach Blossom Village?”

“No. I still have business with that beggar.”

Ishin replied carelessly without looking back and disappeared between the trees.

But when he retraced his steps to where he had left the beggar, he raised an eyebrow.

There was no one there.

“What?”

He pricked his ears and briefly scanned the surroundings for any sign of life, then flicked the small bell on his sword hilt.

Unlike the bell-staff, this bell chimed with a soft, delicate ring.

At once, twenty ghost-slaves bound to the Register materialized around him.

“The beggar I left here—find her.”

Before he finished speaking, the ghost-slaves vanished like snuffed-out candles.