TRPM 302

chapter 302

Thanks to Director Shin Hanji’s help, I met the shamaness and showed her the book.

“Wait a moment…?”

The shamaness, seemingly sensing the presence of a soul in the book, pulled out a talisman from her robes and began to burn it.
I didn’t know exactly what kind of talisman it was, but soon enough, I realized its effect from what happened afterward.

“Who is this, Geonwoo? It feels like a soul is trapped inside this book….”

The burning talisman turned to ash, and then the ash swirled together, forming the shape of a human face.
And, as I expected, that face belonged to the very first hero known to have wielded a gun.

“He’s one of Korea’s heroes.”
“Hero? Ah, in Korea you call ‘seon-gakja’ by that term, don’t you?”

In Japan, awakened ones are called seon-gakja—literally “those who awakened first.”
Honestly, that’s probably the more accurate term, but such words don’t change easily.

“But why… why is the soul of a seon-gakja sealed inside a book?”
“That, I don’t know either.”

But more importantly…

“I plan to release the soul and bind it into a doll. Could you help me with that?”
“Hmm… Directly handling souls through onmyōdō isn’t easy….”

She looked troubled by my request.
I had hoped she could do it since she noticed the soul in the book immediately, but even for her, extracting and transferring a soul seemed difficult.

“If it were the Grand Sorcerer, the greatest living shaman, it might be possible. In theory, it can be done—but it would require a lot of ritual materials.”

And such materials are nearly impossible to get, no matter how much money you offer.
As soon as they appear in markets or auctions, other shamans snatch them up and keep them for themselves.

“That’s true.”

I agreed with her.
The higher the level of ritual, the greater the offerings required.

But that part—I had already prepared for.

“Would you take a look at what I have in my subspace storage?”
“…What?”

I began pulling out ritual supplies from my subspace.

[Lightning-struck jujube wood, sacred ropes, talismans, East Asian ritual tools, voodoo trinkets made from animal parts, and even modern items like a blender.]

These were things I had once prepared for Chloe Greenwood to summon Merlin’s soul.

And why did I even have so many of these?
Simple: like other shamans, I bought anything useful for rituals whenever I found it, even paying extra if I had to.
That habit didn’t stop after helping Chloe.

“…Amazing. I thought I had collected quite a lot of onmyōdō tools in my life, but looking at this, I can’t help but feel humbled.”
“Well, Instructor Ayano… even if you made good money, it wouldn’t compare to what I usually earn. That’s how I managed to gather this much.”

Anyway.

After laying everything out, I asked,
“Will this be enough?”

“Hmm… Enough to draw the soul out of the book, yes. But can an ordinary doll withstand such a soul?”

…Huh?

“This isn’t just any soul—it’s the soul of a seon-gakja. Depending on the doll’s durability, we might need to weaken the soul’s strength.”
“Hold on.”
“Mm?”

Right, I had only mentioned possessing a doll, not that it was one of the dolls I used in my work as the Artist.
Most people only knew of the “Artist” as a clone of me. Very few even knew the dolls existed.

“The doll’s durability is more than enough.”
“…Is that so?”

She clearly didn’t know about the Artist’s dolls.
Explaining would take too long, so I let it slide.
Besides, what I said was true.

A doll made from eternal steel and branches of the World Tree can endure anything—even a hero’s soul.

“Wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t what we’re doing basically necromancy?”

She finally realized it: we were, in effect, resurrecting the dead.

“That’s true.”
“…Are you sure that’s okay?”
“It’s fine. Necromancy itself isn’t illegal.”

Necromancy becomes illegal only when you kill to raise undead servants.
Resurrecting someone already dead isn’t.

Of course, legality doesn’t erase controversy.

People argue it blurs the line between life and death, or that it desecrates the dead.

That’s why necromancy carries a bad image.

But our case was different.

“Think about it. If the soul was sealed in a book, were they truly dead?”
“…Hm?”
“We’re simply releasing a bound soul.”
“…Is that really true?”

She narrowed her eyes at me.
It sounded logical, but in truth, it was sophistry.

Well… it shouldn’t be a problem.

Even in my previous life, the shaman who revived this soul was criticized only by a handful of purists.
Most praised them for bringing back a hero.

The resurrected hero had diligently cleared dungeons, and he himself seemed content with his second life.

Maybe the fact the soul was trapped in a book had been revealed back then too, and I just didn’t notice.

Anyway.
It worked out fine before—it should again now.

“So, should we just leave the soul as it is?”
“No, that would be a problem too….”

And so, she was persuaded.
Leaving the soul trapped or forcing it to move on would also be wrong.
Resurrecting it was the better choice.

“So how do you plan to do this? If I lead, it’ll be based on onmyōdō. But if we want a more secure resurrection, we might need the power of Christianity or Buddhism.”

As expected of a high-ranking awakened one—she understood the “power of stories” well.

“Then let’s go with Buddhism. I know that tradition best.”

Studying martial arts had naturally given me a solid understanding of Taoism and Buddhism.

“Alright, then basing it on the Six Realms of Reincarnation should work. He was a seon-gakja, so he must have built up plenty of good karma…. Should I construct the circle like this?”
“You draw your circles like magic circles, huh? Not bad, but it could be improved.”
“I designed it loosely on purpose so you could adapt it. How would you improve it, Instructor?”
“Hah, feels refreshing to tweak a ritual again instead of just teaching students. If it were me….”

We worked together, exchanging knowledge and opinions, refining the magic circle for the hero’s resurrection.
By the time we finished, the original circle I had drawn was barely recognizable.

“Phew…! Now this is a circle worth performing.”

Pooling our combined knowledge and experience, we had created something far more stable and efficient than before.
The shamaness seemed excited—this was clearly new territory even for her.

“So, when are we doing it? Honestly, I’d like to try right now.”
“Earliest would be tomorrow. Director Shin Hanji already agreed to lend us a space, and it’s getting dark.”
“Tomorrow then. We’ll perform it at the Academy.”

She spoke as if it were already decided.

Well, that’s fine.

Everything we needed was in my subspace anyway.

“Yes, tomorrow it is.”

I nodded, and she looked satisfied as she started to stand.

“Oh my. Is it over already?”
“?”
“?”

We both turned to see my mother entering, carrying a plate of sliced apples.
She must have come home while we were absorbed in our ritual discussion.

“Ah, hello, Geonwoo’s mother.”
“Are you perhaps one of his schoolteachers? I don’t believe we’ve met….”
“Not quite. I’m an instructor of onmyōdō at Seoul Awakener Academy.”

It seemed my mother didn’t recognize this rather famous shamaness.
Well, she hadn’t appeared in media for years while teaching, and my mother only really paid attention to me and Yeon Mirae.

“Onmyōdō? But isn’t Geonwoo an aura user?”
“…Actually, the Artist isn’t only an aura user—he’s long been known as a multi-ability user who wields magic and psychic powers too. Judging from him seeking me out, he must have awakened shamanic powers as well.”
“Ah, right, I remember now.”

Anyway—

“We were just wrapping up our discussion on rituals, and I was about to head out.”
“I see. But it’s nearly dinnertime—why not stay and eat with us?”

At that, the shamaness hesitated briefly, then bowed.

“Then I’ll gladly accept.”

And so, she decided to have dinner with us.

A few minutes later, during dinner—

“If I’d known we’d have a guest, I would’ve bought some meat. Sorry for the plain fare.”
“No, not at all. This is fine.”

She answered politely.
From the side dishes, I could tell my mother had tried a little harder than usual.

It wasn’t as lavish as Academy meals, but the shamaness seemed to swallow hard at the sight of the homely spread.
Perhaps she missed homemade food.

“Well then, let’s eat.”
“Itadakimasu.”
“Oh, you’re Japanese?”
“Yes.”

She picked up her rice bowl as she answered.
Right—in Japan, holding the bowl while eating is considered proper.

“It must be hard living away from home. I can make some Japanese dishes, so if you ever miss food from back home, please visit anytime.”

“…Thank you.”

Her reply carried genuine gratitude.

“……”

And somehow, I could tell both of them truly meant what they said.

…What’s going on here?