Chapter 34
Visionary Power-Up Event
There’s a saying that gets passed around whenever times grow harsh:
Good people don’t approach you, and the people who do approach you aren’t good.
It was a saying that fit present-day Gyeonggi Province perfectly. After all, whenever visitors came here, they were usually monsters like the amalgams coming down from Seoul.
But the guest arriving today seemed to be receiving enthusiastic support and welcome from the people of Gyeonggi Province.
March 13, 2028, 11:43 AM.
It had been roughly four months—rounding up a bit generously—since the appearance of the fog and the monster outbreaks. At this point, a man known as an American tycoon, Mr. Anderson, had arrived in Suwon as a civilian. The news had already been making a huge fuss over his visit.
The broadcaster’s clear voice and precise diction delivered a glowing tribute to Mr. Anderson.
[Mr. Anderson Makenford is currently a successful CEO operating oil refining and energy-related businesses in the state of Texas, and is regarded as an ethical businessman who guarantees employment opportunities for local residents. He is also known to strongly value the historical importance of the Korea-U.S. alliance. Having recently expressed concern over the unrest near Seoul, Mr. Anderson...]
Of course, cynical people might wonder what was so special about Anderson’s visit.
To them, he was just another rich man enjoying life across the ocean in America.
But the residents of Gyeonggi Province, trapped inside the secondary blockade zone under the pretext of a buffer area and suffering from restricted travel and logistics, had good reasons for welcoming and supporting him.
Yawning in a restaurant, I watched the news through the cracked screen of my phone.
[...He has announced plans to cooperate with the U.S.-ROK Combined Forces Command in Pyeongtaek to stabilize local livelihoods in Gyeonggi Province and improve logistics supply. He is reportedly working to persuade members of the U.S. Senate to resume trade centered around Pyeongtaek Port.]
Anderson Makenford. Age 56.
A man with graying blond hair and a neatly tailored suit, giving off a conservative impression.
A devout Christian who once attended the Mormon church, he was said to abstain entirely from alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs even now. Though he occasionally found himself at the center of gossip due to his troublesome eldest and second sons, the controversies never lasted long.
He had amassed enormous wealth through oil refining and energy businesses in Texas, yet maintained relatively good relationships with his employees. While America’s flexible hiring-and-firing culture still applied, he reportedly provided aftercare by helping former employees find new jobs within the community.
He also worked hard on maintaining a positive image, donating generously to churches and local communities.
One could almost believe he was the ideal ethical businessman.
From South Korea’s perspective, where overseas trade had nearly ground to a halt because of the monster outbreaks, what could be more inspiring than a wealthy American with influence in political and business circles lobbying lawmakers to resume trade?
Even if he had ulterior motives, many would still view him as a benefactor.
To South Korea, he was practically a lifeline.
So when Anderson Makenford arrived in Suwon under heavy security, it was only natural that the people of Gyeonggi Province cheered themselves hoarse.
But knowing a little of the truth made it difficult for me to welcome him wholeheartedly.
I turned off my phone, let out a sigh, and headed toward the makeshift chapel.
The members of our Supreme Wizards were already gathered there.
Pastor Park Yohan, flipping through a Bible behind slightly drooping glasses.
Monk Cheonghwi, sitting quietly with his eyes closed and hands clasped in meditation.
Hamza, hiding in the most inconspicuous corner possible and inexplicably staring at his fingers.
Shin Nain, who had decided to save his headset for missions and now lived with earbuds in.
Lee Sejun, who had recently become obsessed with weightlifting and was casually lifting a dumbbell with one arm.
And finally, me—Baek Jemin—the spiritual pillar and vanguard of our Supreme Wizards.
“You’re here, Baek Jemin.”
“Yes.”
Even I didn’t dare sit in the seat of honor.
There were seven seats prepared in the chapel. Six of us occupied them, while the seat at the head remained empty.
Knowing the reason, I could only frown and grumble.
“Why does a man with that much money care about magic?”
“When a person fulfills every other desire, only one obsession remains,” Monk Cheonghwi replied. “In Buddhism, one seeks to cut away worldly suffering and become a Buddha. Elsewhere, people seek salvation from God or dream of becoming one with the divine.”
While the people of Gyeonggi Province praised Anderson Makenford as the savior who would revive trade and rescue the economy, our Supreme Wizards were waiting for him for an entirely different reason.
Anderson Makenford.
He was a member of a mystical advisory committee organized in the United States, and at the same time a pro-Korea figure who strongly opposed nuclear strikes against Korea.
Officially, he was visiting Suwon City Hall to encourage the troops.
In reality, it was something else entirely.
About thirty minutes passed.
Pastor Park Yohan had fallen asleep with the Bible open in his lap and was quietly snoring against the backrest when footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Shin Nain pulled out one earbud, frowned, and shrugged.
“He’s extremely excited.”
And he was right.
Given Anderson Makenford’s age and public image, I had expected a calm, dignified voice.
Instead, the voice coming from the hallway sounded positively exhilarated.
He was speaking rapidly in English, unable to conceal his excitement.
Unfortunately, I was barely competent in even one language, so I couldn’t share in Anderson’s joy.
Moments later, security personnel entered the chapel and began inspecting us one by one.
Some even approached and gestured for us to stand so they could search us.
Had Anderson not waved them off, we would have been thoroughly patted down.
The guards obeyed immediately and professionally.
The chapel doors closed, security remained outside, and Anderson naturally took the seat of honor before pulling out a handkerchief.
He dabbed the sweat running down his cheek and looked at us.
I was just thinking he was about to start speaking arrogant English when—
“I can converse in Korean.”
The pronunciation was slightly awkward, but it was still far more native-sounding than Hamza’s Korean.
Despite looking somewhat tired, Anderson’s eyes sparkled as he looked around at all of us.
“I heard that you are the Best of the Best. The magicians with the most outstanding achievements at present.”
“The best?” Lee Sejun asked in surprise.
Anderson blinked.
“Isn’t that what Supreme Wizard means?”
The members of Aphorism all turned toward me at once.
Pastor Park Yohan looked at me, carefully suppressing every trace of joy and amusement before answering calmly.
“It’s probably true that our group has produced excellent results among civilian operators. Especially that young man over there, Baek Jemin. I heard he’s already learned three schools of magic through sheer passion.”
“Ooh... Baek, that is truly remarkable. From what I understand, most of you lived ordinary lives unrelated to the occult. Korean shamans are called mudang, correct? I respect what you’ve accomplished without relying on traditional shamans.”
Well...
There had been one.
Remembering the fate of the Bodhisattva of Letters, I could only nod awkwardly.
I finally understood why talented shamans either hid or fled rather than answer military conscription.
The others seemed to feel much the same, coughing awkwardly and looking away.
Even the cultured Anderson sensed the sudden awkwardness.
Straightening his collar, he changed the subject.
“In any case, surviving such dangerous real-world experiences without sufficient prior knowledge suggests a form of spiritual awakening. If that’s true, perhaps it would be possible to approach magical sigils as well?”
“It’s difficult to learn them without the fog. Besides, outside the fog they transform into bizarre symbols and scribbles instead of their original patterns, making them hard to analyze.”
“But you can still draw them, can’t you?”
Rather than discouraging him, Pastor Park Yohan’s explanation only made Anderson more excited.
The Supreme Wizards exchanged glances.
What do we do? Draw one?
If he throws up, that’s not our fault, right?
At that moment, Anderson pulled a small necklace-like object from inside his jacket.
It looked like an ordinary pendant at first glance, but a closer look revealed a star-shaped engraving.
“Don’t worry. I have a pentagram that has undergone a purification ritual. If my ritual was performed correctly, I should receive spiritual protection.”
The result was disastrous.
“Bleeeurgh—!”
As the one who knew the most, I drew a distorted square inside a triangle—a symbol we called the Seven-Corner.
The instant I succeeded, Anderson vomited violently.
Only after enduring the icy stares of the security team that rushed in did the situation finally calm down.
When the guards left again, Anderson let out a sigh, his face pale.
His eyes were filled with disappointment.
“I thought I had finally touched upon the vision of Hermes Trismegistus...”
“But you’re already rich,” I said. “There are plenty of people who would rather have money than magic.”
If a rich guy could use magic too, what was a dirt-poor wizard like me supposed to do?
For the sake of maintaining balance in the world, I immediately tried to rein him in.
But Anderson’s enthusiasm showed no sign of fading.
“What use is wealth if it cannot touch divine providence? The Lord Himself said that it is difficult for the rich to enter the gates of Heaven. That only means I must strive even harder.”
“Mr. Anderson, that sounds exactly like something you would say. Matthew 19:24.”
It seemed Pastor Park Yohan had already given him full marks simply for being a devout Christian.
I could see the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
Unfortunately, Anderson’s attempt had not been entirely worthless. When it came to the hand-related magical characters, Anderson had surprisingly managed to endure them.
Granted, he looked as though he might vomit at any second, but the important thing was that he had held out.
After calming his nausea for a moment, Anderson’s eyes sparkled with pure joy despite looking utterly exhausted.
“Five by five. The Magic Square of Mars. Even if the other sigils are impossible, this one seems to have less backlash because it originates from a magic square!”
“A magic square? Ugh...”
“Yes!”
Lee Sejun, who had also vomited after accidentally trying it himself, squeezed his eyes shut and steadied his breathing before asking.
Anderson seemed delighted that his occult knowledge might finally prove useful. Like an excited boy, he began chattering away.
“Originally, these magic squares were believed to ward off evil curses. Since ancient times, mystical traditions have regarded numbers as the archetype of all things and manifestations of divine providence. Astrology even linked the seven celestial bodies to specific numbers. According to the Sephirot of Jewish mysticism, commonly known as Kabbalah, Mars corresponds to the fifth Sephirah, Geburah.”
Do you know what my first thought was when I heard Anderson’s explanation?
Shin Nain probably figured it out.
I turned my head slightly and met his eyes.
He narrowed his brow.
We’re screwed.
“But it is strange that the grid resembles the Magic Square of Mars while containing no numbers. It doesn’t seem to be a traditional magic square. Pastor and Monk, I heard you interpreted it from a numerological perspective?”
“Yes. We thought the number five represented humanity...”
“In Buddhism, I mentioned the concept of the Five Aggregates as well.”
“That’s exactly it!”
Anderson clapped his hands and burst into a cheerful laugh.
My lips were drying out.
“The number five symbolizes change, freedom, curiosity, and multifaceted potential. Numerologically, it represents humanity. It is also why the pentagram, symbolizing the mind governing the four elements, has long been used as a sigil of purification and protection. Korea has saju palja, doesn’t it? I’ve heard many people believe in it. Since it also places importance on numbers, it could broadly be classified as a form of numerology.”
“So... Mr. Anderson, do you believe there’s meaning here?”
“Absolutely. This grid can be interpreted in many ways. The first would be that it is an extreme symbolic representation of the right and left hands overlapping. However, despite taking the form of the Magic Square of Mars, the absence of numbers may itself be a clue.”
“A clue?”
“Yes. A magic square is only complete once numbers are filled in. That symbol I saw... no, sigil is the proper term. That magical sigil contained no numbers. A magic-square grid without numbers.”
Anderson absently fiddled with the pentagram necklace that had proven almost useless.
Even though it had failed, it seemed to be one of his treasured possessions.
Simply touching the supernatural filled him with childlike delight.
“I believe it may suggest that the magic itself is incomplete. For whatever reason.”
“Then do you think the other sigils also possess numerological significance?”
If Pastor Park Yohan hadn’t stepped in, would I have had to interrogate him myself?
What frightened me was that I was gradually becoming interested.
Baek Jemin...
I’d always thought I was the sort of guy who immediately wanted to nap whenever he sat at a desk.
Apparently I could stay awake if the subject was interesting enough.
I tapped my chin and listened attentively.
Anderson frowned as he tried to recall details about the sigils, yet the smile never left his face.
Then he suddenly snapped his fingers and nearly shouted.
“The eye is a distorted square inside a triangle... seven corners. The ear is four horizontal lines crossing an oval... add in the references to fate and the hypothesis of the Music of the Spheres, and I understand!”
Raising a finger, Anderson swept his ecstatic gaze across the room.
As I was about to look away from the pressure of that stare, Hamza whispered quietly.
“Everybody stay focused. South Korea’s trade depends on that man.”
Gasp...
I swallowed hard and straightened up.
Not only me, who had started getting interested, but even Lee Sejun—who was determined to stay loyal to his country—pinched his own thigh and sat up straighter.
Pastor Park Yohan and Monk Cheonghwi had already been invested in the discussion.
The only exception was Shin Nain.
The bastard had put his earbuds back in and was openly headbanging.
I wondered if he wouldn’t care even if South Korea collapsed.
As though hearing my thoughts, Shin Nain cracked one eye open and clicked his tongue.
“When the Lord purified Sodom and Gomorrah, He commanded them not to look back. To grow attached to those destined to become pillars of salt is proof of weak faith.”
Fine. Screw it.
Meanwhile, Anderson was smiling and speaking toward the one person who was completely ignoring him.
“The ear sigil is sheet music. The oval symbolizes an ear. Musical scales have historically been expressed through seven notes. Seven corners, seven notes, and the number seven revealed when twenty-five—derived from five by five—is divided in half. Considering that these esoteric systems often pursue union with God or ascension, seven is not a number to dismiss lightly. Someone arranged the number seven with extraordinary precision.”
The hero here was Lee Sejun.
Driven by a desperate desire to help restart South Korean trade, he even counted on his fingers as a reaction.
“Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do. Huh?”
“Your name was...?”
“Lee Sejun, Mr. Anderson.”
After Pastor Park Yohan introduced him, Anderson blinked.
“Supreme Wizard Lee. Is there a problem with my theory?”
“There are eight of them.”
Watching Lee Sejun confidently point out the flaw, I felt a flash of realization myself.
That is, until I saw the way Shin Nain was looking at him like he was an insect.
In any case, Anderson was an important benefactor and a wealthy sponsor with extensive knowledge of mysticism.
A somewhat exhausting man whose greatest joy was finally having a use for all that knowledge.
“Traditionally, no esoteric system can be separated from astrology and celestial bodies. The others remain speculative, but the hand magic’s correspondence with Mars is obvious. The ability to repel monsters with blood from the right hand aligns with the concept of the correct hand. Right. As the word itself suggests, humanity has long associated the right side with correctness. The life-blood flowing from the proper hand strikes down improper monsters.”
At the end of this long discussion, a knock sounded at the door.
Anderson looked as though the world were ending.
“Oh... already?”
“Mr. Anderson. We appreciate your interest and goodwill, but you are a busy man. We couldn’t possibly keep you here.”
Pastor Park Yohan was trying to help us out, but Anderson shook his head like a disappointed child.
“How could I not make time for something so exciting and so important for humanity? If it were up to me, I’d spend the entire day talking with all of you.”
“With a heart as sincere as yours, Mr. Anderson, I’m sure there will be more opportunities in the future.”
Monk Cheonghwi began persuading him with talk of the Buddhist principle that all meetings must eventually end.
Yet Anderson still looked reluctant.
“Very well. Then at least let me speak about a ritual...”
“Mr. Anderson.”
“This may be useful. Please listen.”
Damn it.
It looked like he wanted to move in here.
What if he started asking us to escort him into the fog?
Amid those worries, Anderson finally offered something genuinely useful.
“The headquarters theorizes that it symbolizes human intellect and may even connect to alchemy. Given the many symbols clearly corresponding to Mars, it should be possible to prepare a ritual capable of advancing hand magic to the next stage. Before March 21 arrives, preparations must begin once the moon rises.”
“A ritual?”
I stood up immediately.
Anderson nodded firmly.
“Prepare a ritual site bathed in the red light of Mars. Burn pungent, powerful incense to establish resonance. Since Mars symbolizes conflict, prepare a cast-iron object and conduct the ritual around 6:35 AM on March 21—or as the moon is setting. Grasp the iron with your right hand and let your blood connect to the metal. By linking yourself to the red light of Mars, you may allow your hand to resonate with Mars through blood. Until then, perform repetitive tasks involving the hand to maintain mental elevation and spiritual tranquility.”
With those words, Anderson placed the necklace around his neck onto the table.
His gaze was overflowing with regret.
“This pentagram talisman should help somewhat. It provides spiritual protection and improves concentration.”
“Now then, Mr. Anderson. You’re a busy man, so let’s leave it there for today.”
“Best of the Best. It has been a pleasure meeting all of you. I will definitely visit again.”
Anderson practically dragged his feet toward the exit.
It was obvious he was walking as slowly as possible, almost hoping we would stop him.
But it was already 3:51 PM.
Only after Anderson finally left did we breathe a collective sigh of relief.
Listening to his footsteps fade away, I let out a long sigh of my own—partly from the excitement of finding a clue regarding the ritual, partly from my complicated feelings toward our new patron.
“Can’t we just stop him from coming back?”
“You know the reason the military gave. You think the reason they’re not dropping nukes is purely political, right?”
Pastor Park Yohan snapped his Bible shut and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes.
“All over the world, countless mystics. Wealthy people and tycoons fascinated by occultism and mysteries. They’re the ones taking an interest, and that’s why things are being held back. At least part of the reason America keeps supporting us is because of hobbies like theirs.”
“Then...?”
“How the hell did South Korea end up surviving by selling magic tricks?”
At that moment, I realized that twenty-first-century South Korea was preparing for a completely new leap forward.
“Pastor, what do you think about some patriotic pride in becoming a magical superpower?”
“You little shit. It’d be better if both the monsters and the magic didn’t exist. What magical superpower are you talking about?”
“I don’t mind it.”
The founder of the Eight-Note Scale, Lee Sejun, finally overcoming his embarrassment, spoke up.
Monk Cheonghwi folded his hands with a gentle smile.
Shin Nain was busy humming hymns through his earbuds.
Even Hamza, who was usually obsessed with reading the room, was on the same side.
“South Korean permanent residency... I couldn’t get it before. Now I’m special. I like it.”
Pastor Park Yohan looked around at all of us, opened and closed his mouth as though he were about to light a cigarette, then finally let out a weary sigh.
“Maybe we should just get nuked.”