Chapter 13
As they passed the outskirts of the village, barren fields stretched endlessly, not a single blade of grass in sight. The broken village guardians, the weakened soil, and the eerie aura that hung even in the blazing midday sun—it seemed a curse had taken a firm hold here.
“A feast table?”
Kalisia, with her hands clasped behind her back, leaned forward to get a closer look. In the middle of the path stood a large altar, blocking their way. Perhaps for some big celebration, it was draped with a white cloth and laden with food.
“But where are the people? Why is the table just sitting here alone?”
Tilting her head in curiosity, Kalisia waved her hand and moved toward the altar. Ian, wary of the unfamiliar scene, quickly followed behind her.
“Huh—!”
Kalisia burst into a nervous laugh as she examined the food. Raw meat with traces of blood, sticky rice cakes—the composition of the offerings filled the altar with an unsettling air.
“This is… absurd.”
Usually, offerings would include vegetables, meat, pancakes, fish, or fruit. But this arrangement was strange, even for a celebratory or ritual table.
Moreover, major events that required an altar were typically held deeper inside the village, not at the desolate entrance.
“Let’s go inside for now.”
Kalisia gestured toward Ian, who seemed completely lost, unable to grasp what was going on.
As they walked along the path into the village, clusters of thatched houses came into view. Yet, there was still no sign of life.
However, an unfamiliar, savory smell permeated the entire village.
“It’s not the smell of oil… what could they be boiling? The scent is strong enough that there must be someone here.”
Kalisia wrinkled her nose.
“It doesn’t smell like cooking rice, nor meat. Maybe pumpkin or beans… or red beans.”
“Valus.”
Ian, who had been silent until now, spoke in a meaningful tone.
“Why? Do you have an idea?”
“You seem to know where we are.”
“Roughly.”
“As expected, it’s the Demon Realm.”
Glancing at the thatched houses, Ian slowly moved his head.
“Yes, it’s the Demon Realm… wait, why the sudden conclusion? Never mind, continue.”
Kalisia, suppressing a sigh at Ian’s nonsensical comment, crossed her arms and stared him down.
“More precisely, it seems like a demon-corrupted area.”
Ian met her gaze firmly.
The Duchy of the Four Dukes had a long and rich history. Ancient relics, whose purposes were still unknown, remained there. So it was possible that objects connected to another dimension or region existed. Although this was a weak premise, it seemed more plausible than blaming ghosts or spirits.
“And strangely, there’s almost no mana in the air. Even though we’re surrounded by mountains and fields.”
The closer one was to nature, the denser the mana usually became. This lack of information and absence of common sense was not a good sign.
Another point of concern was the alien aura surrounding the village.
“Land with almost no life force, customs of eating raw meat, and that building… I’ve heard that demons, unlike normal monsters, have their own culture similar to humans. Have you ever seen architecture like that?”
“You mean that? The thatched house?”
“Valus has made a name for himself in the study of monsters, including demons—their language, scripts, habits.”
Kalisia scratched her nose at something she had never heard before. True, there were many monsters in the castle, but “researching” them seemed more like letting a herd roam freely.
“And you were able to read the demonic inscriptions on the wooden golem without issue. Am I wrong?”
“Yeah, you’re wrong. Like I said before, it wasn’t a wooden golem, it was a village guardian. And it wasn’t demonic script—it was Chinese characters.”
Mimicking Ian’s tone, Kalisia carefully corrected each misconception. For faster investigation, she realized Ian would need to understand the historical context.
“This is just a regular village. So as for where we are…”
“Mysterious Eastern lands beyond mountains and rivers… ha, what kind of explanation is that.”
Ignoring Ian’s complaints, Kalisia leaned close to his ear. The girl who had been wandering along the roadside suddenly perched herself on the veranda of a thatched house.
The exterior was simple, made of straw and reeds. Nothing particularly remarkable, except for some dried persimmons hanging from the eaves.
“Interesting. There aren’t any persimmon trees in this village.”
Kalisia poked at a dried persimmon and brushed herself off. It seemed they would need to investigate the village more thoroughly.
“Let’s go, Rakies.”
Later, after searching, the two compared notes. Each household had dried persimmons and red bean porridge.
These were items that didn’t seem to fit in this village.
“Not a single persimmon tree, yet persimmons everywhere… no barley in the rice containers, but a cauldron full of red bean porridge?”
Kalisia muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.
“Valus, are we sure this is a normal village? There seems to be quite a lot of weapons here.”
The suspicious part was that in a confirmed farming village, not farming tools, but weapons were found—in large quantities.
“Anything else unusual?”
Tilting her head, Kalisia asked.
“Well… you’ll need to see this for yourself.”
After a moment, Ian led the way toward the central part of the village, slightly away from the entrance.
“This is insane.”
Kalisia froze, shivering as she looked at her arms. Goosebumps had risen on her translucent skin.
Rows of thatched houses were lined with countless lanterns, each bearing red characters that looked like blood.
“…These are Chinese characters, right?”
Ian whispered, sensing the ominous turn of events.
“Yes.”
“Can you read them?”
“…In mourning.”
Kalisia’s short reply came.
“In mourning?”
“Undergoing a funeral.”
Her gloomy voice made it clear. The sweet, savory smell earlier had been an illusion—the village was filled with the stench of decay.
“Rakies, listen.”
Ian leaned against a pillar, closing his eyes in dread. Kalisia, repeating the same story dozens of times to organize her thoughts, was relentless.
“These lanterns say ‘in mourning.’ And the red dye isn’t ordinary—it’s chicken blood.”
Lanterns for mourning are usually black. Red, especially chicken blood, is effective for repelling spirits and is mostly used in talismans.
“But if they use chicken blood on the lanterns, the deceased can’t attend their own funeral. It’s a kind of team kill.”
The red bean porridge, replacing rice in the cauldron, served the same purpose—warding off evil spirits. It didn’t suit a mourning household.
“What I can’t understand is the persimmons and the offerings or feast table. Spirits don’t care whether they like or dislike them.”
“…”
“Isn’t it strange? Why go to such lengths?”
“…Maybe someone else likes them.”
Ian clicked his tongue at Kalisia’s chattering but nodded.
“Someone else? Who else?”
“Maybe an accomplice.”
Ian turned his sore neck, puzzled.
“A ghost traveling in a pair?”
“…”
“Let’s leave that for now. But what about the weapons? Regardless of the era, iron is expensive. Farmers wouldn’t normally own this.”
Why would a ghost need spears or swords? Only shamans would use sacred weapons.
“Maybe they belong to the guards. Even in mysterious Eastern countries, there would be guards or knight orders.”
“Government soldiers? Makes sense… but why? Catch a fugitive? A war? Or a rebellion?”
“Maybe they came to exterminate monsters.”
The northern regions dispatched monster-slaying squads to the Dorcan Mountains annually, apart from stationing troops. This was to control monster populations and track their movements.
“Monsters?”
“There must be monsters here too.”
“No monsters, but similar ones—wild boars…”
Kalisia’s voice, which had been speaking casually, gradually fell silent. She pursed her lips, lost in thought.
“…There!”
As if struck by lightning, she leapt to her feet and dashed toward the village entrance. The mismatched pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to fit together.
