Chapter 64
When the Southeast Wind Blew
People always said Seoul was small.
But I'd never felt it as keenly as I did today.
Lee Sejun pulled back the poncho covering the window and peered outside with a troubled expression.
That was when the deafening roar of aircraft tore across the sky and shook the building.
It didn't happen just once.
The thunderous sounds of artillery fire and explosions followed one after another, hammering against our eardrums.
The moment Lee Sejun lowered the makeshift curtain and turned around, we could hear the unmistakable whine of shells cutting through the air, even from far away.
Fiiiiiiiii—
Long ago, our ancestors must have listened to arrows whistling toward their necks.
Sitting atop walls they had spent decades building, chewing rice balls with dirty hands while thinking about trivial things.
Hundreds of years later, we sat huddled beneath reinforced concrete roofs, listening to artillery shells that might fall on our heads.
Inside a building that had stood only a few years.
Eating canned food.
Gathered around a dark-blue Cursed Phone.
Listening.
Waiting.
April 20, 2028 — 10:13 AM
Day 6 of the Expedition
The sounds of bombardment and air strikes sweeping across Seoul echoed endlessly around us.
Concrete dust drifted from the ceiling.
The dark-blue Cursed Phone received another video.
Along with it came a news broadcast and several brief explanations regarding the massive shelling and bombing campaign.
The purpose was obvious.
Someone was using the Cursed Phone network to provide outside information to the people trapped inside Seoul.
Pastor Park Yohan pushed his glasses onto his forehead and cleaned his dusty hands with bottled water.
"Looks like somebody inside can still communicate with the outside. Makes sense. We already know communication existed. The Cursed Phone itself proves that."
The organization controlling the Cursed Phones might be far more systematic than we'd assumed.
We still knew very little about the power structure inside Seoul.
But two groups continued appearing in every clue we'd uncovered.
Both seemed powerful enough to unite—or at least heavily influence—the Seoul Mages.
The organization behind the Cursed Phones.
And the name from Ski Goggles' memories:
The 66 Society.
Shin Nain, with her headset hanging around her neck, voiced the most plausible theory.
"The people controlling the Cursed Phones mentioned slogans like '66 for the sake of 7' and '55 for the sake of 66.' We heard similar phrases in the ritual Jemin performed and in Ski Goggles' memories. The details differ, but the structure is always the same."
The incantations weren't identical.
Yet common elements kept appearing.
As we pieced together the fragments, a vague outline slowly emerged.
Pastor Park Yohan, having spent time speaking with foreign mystics in Pyeongtaek and studying numerology, was the first to identify its shape.
"These incantations keep mentioning 55 for 66 and 66 for 7. If 7 represents ascension or transcendence—as it often does in numerology, Buddhism, and Christianity—then that's significant."
"That's very long and scholarly. Please simplify."
At my request, the pastor narrowed his eyes.
Then he looked around.
Hamza looked bored.
Lee Sejun looked bored.
Shin Nain looked bored.
With a sigh, he translated the explanation into simpler terms.
"Five is the number of humanity in Western numerology. As that monk said before, it can also represent the Five Aggregates of Buddhism—the five elements composing a human being. It aligns surprisingly well with the five branches of Modification Magic. The problem is the six."
Boom.
The building shook.
A shell landed far away.
Yet even from that distance, the church trembled.
Amid the relentless artillery, we huddled together, trying to extract even a single fragment of truth.
The one thinking hardest was Pastor Park.
His left hand rested on his Bible.
Wrinkles deepened around his eyes as he considered his words.
Then he spoke slowly.
"Islam-boy. Lee Sejun. Shin Nain. Baek Jemin. Do you remember the official name for Modification Magic?"
"Of course. Modification-Type Sacred Arts."
"No idea."
"Why are you asking me?"
"I'm doctrine-type."
The pastor sighed heavily.
"As expected. The official military term is Self-Modifying Localized Intrusive Alteration. The important part is self-modifying."
He explained how the military and government had originally classified magic.
Both doctrine-type and modification-type powers were categorized as localized reality alterations.
The difference lay in the source.
Doctrine-type magic produced results through faith.
Modification-type magic produced results through the self.
That distinction mattered.
Because it hinted at something.
Combining my testimony, the knowledge we'd gathered, and everything we'd seen in Seoul, the pastor had formed a theory.
"I don't know whether this terminology was deliberately clinical or whether it originated from information shared by Seoul Mages before they escaped. But the phrase self-modification contains a clue."
He pointed toward the two known manifestations of Modification Magic.
Forward Modification.
A mystical system that defines humanity by assigning five human qualities to five parts of the body.
Inverse Modification.
A system that denies those same five qualities through those same five body parts, believing that whatever remains afterward is humanity's true essence.
The pastor treated 7 as a symbol of transcendence and began substituting meanings.
Can a person remain human by preserving humanity?
Can a person remain human after losing everything they once considered human?
Even after becoming a beast.
Even after witnessing horrors and monsters.
Would something remain?
According to him, both forms of Modification Magic were asking the same question.
***
"Fifty-five isn't just two fives placed together randomly. Twenty-five is the number of seekers. In Buddhist thought, it can represent the Twenty-Five States of Rebirth. Numerologically speaking, this isn't an accidental code."
He leaned forward.
"I think 55 symbolizes humanity itself. Or human nature. It probably refers to seekers—mages pursuing Modification Magic."
"Then what about 66?"
The pastor nodded.
"Assume 7 means transcendence. Assume 55 means the five branches and five stages of self-modification. Both Forward and Inverse Modification ask the same thing: What is humanity? What allows us to call ourselves human? Even after becoming beasts. Even after confronting monsters and blasphemous truths."
He paused.
"66 is harder. We don't have enough clues."
Then he continued.
"But remember the Six Realms of Reincarnation? That's another six. And six times six is thirty-six. There's also the concept of a sixth sense."
His expression darkened.
"I don't think six is a human number. It's something beyond humanity. Something humanity hasn't proven yet but must pass through to reach transcendence."
That was why he'd looked uncomfortable.
The next words made even me understand.
"I think 66 may represent... something equivalent to a soul. Or free will."
The room fell silent.
Then Shin Nain exploded.
"Practitioners of Sacred Arts daring to trespass into the domain of souls?!"
Her eyes blazed.
For once, both she and the pastor stood firmly on the same side.
The soul belonged to God.
Not mages.
Whether such a thing was possible didn't matter.
Attempting it was blasphemy.
Sin.
The pastor seemed almost ashamed of having reached that conclusion.
Yet he continued anyway.
"To catch heretics, you have to understand their logic."
And so we continued the substitutions.
The results were startling.
Fragments that had once seemed meaningless suddenly formed coherent ideas.
Without realizing it, I found myself reading the reconstructed phrase aloud.
The incantation used in the ritual with Monk Cheonghui.
After replacing the numbers with the meanings we'd inferred, it became:
"Soul for the sake of transcendence.
Humanity for the completion of the soul.
Two hands dreaming of humanity."
In Modification Magic, hands symbolize human intellect.
Human intellect dreaming of humanity.
That was the implication.
Lee Sejun rolled his eyes thoughtfully.
"Then Ski Goggles' incantation would become something like: Soul for transcendence. Humanity for the completion of the soul. A pair of eyes seeking to understand humanity."
A pattern emerged.
Eyes represented human perception.
The meaning became:
Human perception seeks to understand humanity.
The others likely followed similar logic.
The pastor nodded.
"Cheonghui was probably connected to the 66 Society before we ever met him in Suwon. Maybe he was already a member."
That observation led him to another thought.
"The moment Cheonghui disappeared, the military sent specialized troops wearing ceremonial garments. They started talking about defections and ideological conversion."
He adjusted his glasses.
"Doesn't that paint a picture?"
The room remained silent.
"The government and military appear to be in conflict with a secret organization rooted inside Seoul. The 66 Society."
He tapped the Cursed Phone.
"And considering the likelihood that the 66 Society controls these phones, most Seoul Mages are probably connected to them in some way."
He looked around the room.
"We've learned an absurd amount in less than a week. If the government and military still haven't figured it out, this may be why."
For a moment, only distant explosions answered him.
Then someone finally voiced the question everyone was thinking.
"Do you think the 66 Society caused all of this?"
Lee Sejun asked the question with a seriousness I hadn't seen from him before.
His face was rigid.
Solemn.
Normally it was easy to forget because he was always talking about gender-swapped heroines and panicking over the strangest little things.
But strip away the nonsense and what remained was a man who had grown up an orphan, survived on welfare, and volunteered because he wanted to repay his debt to the country.
If someone was responsible for the monsters overrunning Seoul, he was the sort of man who would be genuinely angry about it.
The pastor looked almost moved seeing that side of him again.
"I don't know if they're the ones responsible. But they're the most likely group to know the truth. The problem is that they're probably hostile to the outside world. And their knowledge of the occult is almost certainly ahead of ours."
"But if the 66 Society is made up of mages," Hamza asked, "why don't they tell people that thinning fog is dangerous? Everyone becomes endangered."
It was an entirely reasonable question.
Hamza was timid.
But when it came to ethics and morality, the immigrant Muslim laborer was frustratingly decent.
The rest of us had become damaged enough that we avoided answering.
Some looked away.
Some pursed their lips.
Only Shin Nain smiled softly.
Putting her headset back on, she answered in a gentle voice.
"Because the servants of demons do not wish to save everyone."
"Huh?"
"When the fog thins and the monsters are unleashed... when the soldiers carrying out the Lord's work finally collapse... the demons will find it easier to move as well. The righteous obey. The wicked would rather drag everyone else into hell with them."
Hamza lowered his head.
He seemed to realize that revenge could become a belief as powerful as faith itself.
My conclusion wasn't exactly the same.
But it wasn't far off.
The 66 Society was clearly an organization centered around mages.
Whatever their ultimate objective, one thing seemed obvious:
They wanted the blockade to fail.
Not merely for Seoul's crisis to continue.
They appeared to want the monsters and fog to spread beyond Seoul.
Perhaps across the entire Korean Peninsula.
The 66 Society could have shared information.
About the fog.
About the monsters that appeared when the fog thinned.
About unidentified species.
They chose not to.
Looking at the Seoul Mages we'd encountered—the Dubai Sticky Witch, Ski Goggles, even Sister Kang Areum, who had been the friendliest among them—it wasn't hard to guess why.
All of them viewed the military with contempt.
The Seoul Mages wanted the other forty million Koreans to fall into hell alongside them.
Maybe even the remaining 7.95 billion humans who had escaped the disaster.
The bombardment beginning outside felt like the opening shot of a much larger conflict.
If the military knew even vaguely about the 66 Society...
If they knew one of its goals was the collapse of the blockade...
Then hesitation would be impossible.
The military had already sacrificed everything to maintain the quarantine.
A million lives.
The nation's future.
The government's legitimacy.
Its morality.
Its historical reputation.
All of it had been wagered on containing Seoul.
A desperate struggle to prevent outcomes even worse:
Nationwide infection.
Or nuclear devastation.
Now imagine learning there was a secret organization trying to break the blockade.
An organization supported by many of Seoul's survivors.
Would anyone who had already paid such a cost simply allow them to live?
No one is immune to sunk-cost thinking.
Not even iron-willed leaders.
South Korea in 2028 had already sacrificed too much.
The Cursed Phone vibrated again.
Bzzzz—
Our discussion stopped immediately.
Beneath the crumbling concrete ceiling, we stared at the screen.
Another news transmission.
[Transmission Complete.]
This time it wasn't Korean news.
It was foreign media.
English.
French.
Japanese.
Chinese.
Countless international reporters stood near the Seoul blockade.
Headsets on.
Microphones in hand.
Artillery smoke rising behind them.
The footage cut rapidly between them before finally settling on a Korean reporter.
"Approximately four months have passed since the outbreak that engulfed Seoul."
"The Pyeongtaek U.S.–ROK Joint Command has announced a policy of eliminating anomalous entities emerging from Seoul's outskirts through the unrestricted deployment of incendiary, chemical, and white-phosphorus munitions. Restrictions previously imposed due to seasonal wind concerns have been lifted."
"Leaked information suggests that the number of artillery shells used during the last three days alone has already reached fifty percent of wartime reserves. The stated objective is the complete devastation of Seoul's peripheral zones in order to guarantee the integrity of the blockade."
Behind the reporter, soldiers in chemical-protection suits hauled shells nonstop.
Others carried flamethrowers.
Shotguns.
Rifles.
Even through the microphone, the hiss of gas-mask filters could be heard.
It was strange.
Looking at those soldiers crouching beside self-propelled artillery pieces while plugging their ears against the blasts, I couldn't help feeling that we were still living in the same world.
Boom.
The church shook again.
"According to anonymous military officials, conditions at the front have deteriorated to the point where the use of ABC weapons has become unavoidable."
"The military is currently struggling against previously unidentified entities, relying heavily on support from the U.S. Seventh Fleet."
"Chinese forces stationed on Ganghwa Island have reportedly advised remaining military, police, and civilian defense groups around Incheon to withdraw from the city and western islands."
The report continued.
"Casualties among South Korean forces continue rising rapidly. Speculation is increasing that martial-law units stationed in rear cities are being redeployed to the blockade."
"Officials declined to comment."
"Some analysts suggest this may explain the unusually rapid deployment of UN forces and American carrier strike groups."
"The U.S. Department of Defense currently estimates South Korean military casualties at over thirty thousand..."
The video ended.
A final anonymous message appeared.
[No signs of fog recovery.]
[Outdoor activity remains impossible.]
[Remain hidden.]
Silence settled over the room.
Everyone reacted differently.
Touching their chins.
Closing their eyes.
Thinking.
The first person to stand was Hamza.
The coward.
The one most afraid.
He walked to the window.
Curious.
Looking outside.
He lifted the poncho covering the glass.
Beyond it, skyscrapers collapsed under bombardment.
Residential buildings cracked and shed debris from the constant vibrations.
Metal fragments struck abandoned vehicles and shattered walls.
But none of that was what caught Hamza's attention.
I walked over.
He turned toward me.
Fear remained in his eyes.
Yet there was something else too.
Resolve.
Without speaking, he raised a finger and pointed.
I followed it.
A villa rooftop covered in green urethane.
Torn rags fluttered on a clothesline.
And during a brief lull—
A moment when the explosions weakened—
Hamza spoke quietly.
"It's a southeast wind."
I tapped his shoulder and moved him aside.
Then I grabbed the edge of the poncho.
The shelling was still distant enough that the windows remained intact.
But that wouldn't necessarily last.
I bit my left hand lightly.
Hand Stage 2: Left Hand's Blood.
To enchant the glass.
Using blood, I carefully wrote on the window.
[Strong].
I didn't know whether it would work.
But doing nothing was worse.
When I looked outside again, I finally saw the things I had been trying not to see.
Fragments thrown into the air by distant explosions.
Shockwaves.
Collapsing structures.
The fog was nearly gone.
Visibility might have reached a full kilometer.
And mixed among the sounds of artillery, collapsing buildings, aircraft, and bombs—
Were screams.
Burning.
Dying.
Even though I couldn't see them, I knew.
Silent death was advancing through the places we'd already passed.
And flames that would not easily go out had begun spreading.
I lowered the poncho again.
Covered the window.
Returned to the group.
Everyone looked uneasy.
I sat down heavily and laughed.
"We don't have any communication equipment, do we?"
April 20, 2028 — 11:16 AM
Day 6 of the Expedition
Under a clear sky, we waited for death riding the southeast wind.
Beneath clouds of white phosphorus intended only to kill.
Beneath a different kind of hellfire meant to burn away the hell of monster flesh.
If we simply waited.
That was the problem.
No one said it aloud.
But the Supreme Mages all understood.
To destroy the endless tide of monsters—millions of them, perhaps—the military would use every weapon available.
Maybe even nuclear weapons.
The special forces might still be alive.
But as far as the military was concerned, our team had probably failed.
We knew only one way to correct that mistake.
Someone had to deliver the truth.
The only available communications network inside Seoul belonged to the 66 Society.
And the 66 Society wanted the blockade destroyed.
The moment we tried to use their system to help the military, they would notice.
And interfere.
That left only one option.
The Supreme Mages looked at one another.
Hamza trembled and tried to shake his head.
Then he remembered he couldn't lie about what his magic was telling him.
He bit his lower lip instead.
Shin Nain hummed cheerfully.
As if this were exciting.
Lee Sejun finally looked serious.
No jokes.
No nonsense.
He simply adjusted the sling on his rifle.
The pastor tucked his Bible back into his backpack and let out a long sigh.
As for me—
Standing before a trial of death and destruction, I felt exhilarated.
There was a better option than waiting for chemical agents, white phosphorus, or incendiary fire to drift in on the southeast wind.
A better option than waiting for the fog to return.
At the moment, there was only one path through which we could communicate with the military.
A friendly group of local survivors.
Waiting beyond the Han River.
In Konkuk.
I looked around at my companions.
Then spoke.
"We wait until tomorrow."
A clear sky.
A southeast wind.
The exact moment no other Seoul Mage would expect.
"Then we break through."
And when that moment came—
We would cross the Han River.