By Zephyria 
‘……That’s Hyun-woo’s ability. How did Jiha come to have it?’
Only four people knew that Nam Hyeon-woo could discern the names of aberrations: his family, Jeil Heon, and one other. Nam Hyeon-woo himself had suspected the power originated from his biological father—whose identity remained unknown—but he had never known how to utilize it. Nam Soon-ho had not told his son either.
The faint wound that had remained on Jeil Heon’s body after leaving the Hell Painting had been completely healed. He wondered if the Smiling Man, who had been searching the Hell Painting, had finally vanished, along with his last lingering thoughts.
If so, the ability might have passed down to his child, Yoo Jiha, upon his disappearance. If Nam Hyeon-woo’s ability had also been inherited from his father, it was a plausible theory, though…
“……Sigh.”
Jeil Heon let out a sigh and rubbed his face. He had almost faltered when asked if anyone had been stabbed to death by an aberration in the Hell Painting.
He had stabbed Nam Hyeon-woo to death with the Divine Blade.
As it was, the fox demon inside his body had been stimulated by the anomaly’s flames. Had the child he needed to protect not been by his side, he surely would have been branded a sinner by the aberration. In any case, he did not know what significance there was to the act of reading an aberration’s name; he only hoped it would become a power that allowed Yoo Jiha to protect himself.
Soon, he arrived at Nam Soon-ho’s prayer site. Not only was the mountain scenery pristine, but it was located deep within a forest cut off from the outside world, making it an ideal place to evade the eyes of the Management Bureau.
Jeil Heon took a bow and arrows out of his bag. The bow and arrows, made with shafts of bush clover and fletched with crane feathers, were considerably longer and heavier than ordinary ones. After spreading a red ramie cloth on the ground and politely laying down the bow and arrows, Jeil Heon spoke softly.
“The official of the Water Abnormality Worship Management Bureau, Jeil Heon, requests an audience with the Holy, Literary, Divine, Martial, Just, Radiant, and Virtuous High Emperor.”
There was silence. He hadn’t expected an immediate response. Had he thought it would be easy to meet, he wouldn’t have gone as far as retrieving an artifact from North Korea.
Instead of becoming discouraged, he proceeded to the next step. From the start, he intended to threaten the owner of the bow, who was unlikely to grant an audience easily. This bow, the eogunggu, could not be burned by ordinary ‘human fire’—it hadn’t even been lost during the Korean War. He had planned to find a suitable Aberrant Realm to bring out some fire, and as it happened, the Hell Painting he had encountered was overflowing with it.
“If you do not appear in person, I shall burn the eogunggu.”
Jeil Heon counted exactly to ten in his head and then ruthlessly pressed the flame he had secretly brought from the Hell Painting against the eogunggu. Just as the viciously flickering flame, mimicking the sin fire of hell, was about to catch onto the bowstaff, a desperate shout echoed through the air.
“You little brat! Are you truly planning to burn my bow!”
A scrawny, aged old man appeared before his eyes, hunched over in worn clothes and coughing violently. It was the owner of the eogunggu, Taejo Yi Seong-gye.
“Thank you for granting me an audience, Your Highness. I am Jeil Heon, formerly the Head of Department of the Annihilation Execution Department of the Water Abnormality Worship Management Bureau, currently serving in the Investigation and Exploration Division.”
Jeil Heon first offered a polite, deep bow to the old man, who looked as though he might collapse at any moment. Then, he asked blankly.
“By the way, why are you pretending to be weak……?”
“Aieee! This fellow dares to tell an old man to show respect!”
As if he had never looked like he was on the verge of death, the spirit spat out a coarse curse. His hunched shoulders and back straightened, his wrinkled skin filled with muscle, and the crown of his head, which had been snowy white, turned black. His crumbling clothes transformed into well-worn armor.
The frail old body transformed into a man of imposing stature, not lagging behind Jeil Heon—a descendant from hundreds of years later—in height. He appeared not as the king who founded Joseon, but as Yi Seong-gye, the undefeated General of the Rising Sun who dominated the battlefield.
“Fine. While you’ve been using the yeosong as a spirit messenger, what is it you’re whining about?”
“I would appreciate it if you could speak in modern standard Korean.”
“You summon me through threats and yet you ask for so much. I figured those from Gaegyeong would still be unlucky even after 600 years!”
“I was born in Hanyang.”
“The sight of a young brat talking back to a withered old man without yielding a single word is truly a spectacle.”
“Please be understanding; it is because I am an uneducated commoner.”
“What do you mean, commoner? Since your surname is Je, you must be a descendant of Muhou (Zhuge Liang).”
“That is why I am working my heart out at the Management Bureau, exerting every ounce of my strength until I stop only in death.”
“You’re the type of fellow whose mouth would be the only thing floating if you were thrown into water.”
Despite the childish bickering, Yi Seong-gye’s eyes were as sharp as a tiger’s, scrutinizing him. Eventually, Yi Seong-gye curled one side of his mouth, his face bearing the deep scars of war.
“I thought the energy felt familiar. Were you one of the two aberrations that occasionally wandered the Royal Ancestral Shrine?”
“Yes.”
“Even as an aberration, your desperation was not forgotten, and that is what moved the yeosong. State your request.”
“If you permit me, I wish to speak to the master of the vengeful spirits bound to the flute.”
“Hah!”
Yi Seong-gye’s lips, scarred by a blade, twisted in pain.
“Do you know who they are?”
Jeil Heon had harbored suspicions for some time. The sound of the Ten Thousand Waves Flute played by Yi Yeong was closer to the sound of a nagak—specifically a daera used in ancient military music—than a flute. He only became certain after hearing about Lee Yeo-jin’s dream of ‘warriors from hundreds of years ago and those with queued hair.’
“Is it not the Special Guard Unit?”
The unit famous for blowing the daera before battle. Yi Seong-gye’s private army, composed of Goryeo people from the Northeast, and Jurchens and Mongols with queued hair. The Special Guard Unit.
“Your Highness, the one who enshrined the Ten Thousand Waves Flute 600 years ago was Princess Gyeongsun; why are the spirits of the Special Guard Unit bound to it as well?”
“Jeong-an! Yi Bang-won, that bastard who wouldn’t be enough even if he were torn to pieces, ruined everything! As if killing Poeun (Jeong Mong-ju) and Sambong (Jeong Do-jeon) wasn’t enough, he went after his own brothers! With what heart did my daughter enshrine that thing……!”
A thunderous roar shattered the silence of the forest. The mood of Yi Seong-gye, who had been grumbling like a cranky old man, shifted instantly. An oppressive aura, steeped in the rage and hatred of a father who had lost his children, weighed down heavily as if to crush the surroundings, and a murderous intent soared, threatening to pierce and tear the sky. Jeil Heon, who had been kneeling politely before him, bit his lower lip.
However, the blood-stained murderous intent soon vanished without a trace. Yi Seong-gye returned to a pained and exhausted expression.
“……Namumu Gwanseum Bosal. But it is a thing of the past. Where was I not at fault? If the Crown Prince, who neglected his studies and indulged in wine and women, had become king, I cannot guarantee that the country I built would have stood on a firm foundation. The great work of serving the people, which I truly desired, was achieved by Bang-won and the grandson that child sired.”
“…….”
“I, the lonely one, only forgave my son after several decades of being a spirit. But the Magistrate of Anbyeon and the Special Guard Unit, who followed my will, could not do so.”
Jeil Heon listened in silence to the bitter remorse of the old man who had won every battle in his life and possessed everything, only to be defeated and broken by his own son. Finally, Jeil Heon spoke softly.
“Is it because they became vengeful spirits and are bound to the flute?”
“Those who are bound cannot move forward. My soldiers must be repeating a cycle of infinite hatred. Is that not my greatest sin……?”
Sighing low, Yi Seong-gye turned his heavy gaze toward Jeil Heon.
“What do you intend to do with the flute?”
Recalling Yi Yeong’s advice to seek an audience with Yi Seong-gye—stating he would not interfere with Jeil Heon’s intentions—Jeil Heon answered honestly.
“It is an anomaly that has mocked the fates of the humans who enshrined it for 600 years across generations. Is there any value in a barrier created using humans as fertilizer?”
“I understand your intent. It is not fitting for me to interfere with the wishes of the living, so do as you will.”
Yi Seong-gye stroked his beard with a complicated expression.
“You did not summon me just to make that declaration. What is it you truly wish to request, Bearer?”