WETRIED TRANSLATIONS

The Wizard in the Poncho

[Translator – Aren]

Chapter 35 - The 66 Scripture

The world lay shattered into pieces.

The very concept of common sense was nothing more than an illusion. In reality, it had long since been carved apart by the countless prejudices of countless people. The mystical studies Mr. Anderson had excitedly rambled about were torn apart just as quickly.

Once the brief storm had passed, everyone mulled things over and arrived at their own conclusions.

Pastor Park Yohan gently ran a hand over the cover of his Bible, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"So in the end, we still don’t know whether any of this is true or not…”

Pastor Park was the sort of man who called the Pope the Antichrist and proclaimed that salvation existed only within the Church.

A man like that could only have one reason for dabbling in things like numerology and astrology.

Removing his glasses, he let out a long sigh.

"Baek Jemin. I’m afraid. I fear this power wasn’t given by the Lord at all but handed to us by something that seeks to mock humanity. I worry that this is all just groundwork laid by some evil adversary to lure us in and drive us into despair.”

Pastor Park Yohan was revealing his fear.

The possibility that magic wasn’t a gift meant to save humanity but a power meant to pave the way toward an even greater despair. Being forced to rely on a power whose source and origin were unknown had apparently blossomed into near-paranoid vigilance.

To him, magic wasn’t an opportunity or a source of strength. It was a trap.

His investigations weren’t attempts to understand magic. They were attempts to prove that it really was a trap.

Meanwhile, Hamza rolled his eyes around for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

"Those who fear wrath and choose complacency only invite wrath upon themselves. Submission to Allah’s will. Even if His will is our end, obedience is still mankind’s duty.

This was the same guy who grilled pork belly and downed soju like it was nothing, and yet he somehow became deeply religious at the strangest moments.

Hamza spoke with equal parts worldliness and sincerity. If God had decreed humanity’s end and had given them this power along the way, then they should accept it and gladly use it. If God had already decided everything, then there was nothing to be gained by worrying about it. Just live your life.

Lee Sejun, on the other hand, simply shrugged and furrowed his brow.

“What’s so strange about it? What? Are we supposed to give up magic because of that? I certainly can’t. No matter what the cost is, I can’t give it up.”

Having learned the true benefits of Heart-branch magic, Lee Sejun had fully crossed over into the pro-magic camp.

For a guy who was strangely lacking in usefulness half the time, he never missed a chance to sing magic’s praise. The moment he learned it improved physical performance, health, and even slowed aging, he practically became a different person.

And there was one more thing he’d focused on.

"Let’s say we actually succeed in wiping out the fog and the monsters. Then what’s left of this country? 10 million people turned into monsters. Seoul was reduced to rubble. Are we all supposed to starve to death while staring at the ruins? Korea’s already finished. Even if we survive, what exactly are we supposed to do against countries like America, China, Japan, or Russia?”

"...”

"Jemin-ssi might be a lunatic, but he wasn’t wrong. South Korea, a magical superpower. Whether people understand it or not, everybody has to learn magic. It’s the only way for 40 million Koreans to survive. Well…I doubt it has anything to do with all this occult nonsense, though.”

Unlike usual, Shin Nain didn’t launch into a long-winded pedantic speech.

Instead, he simply folded his arms, nodded, and smiled.

"Research and inquiry are merely human arrogance. One should simply use what the Lord has bestowed. That alone is righteousness.”

That left only Monk Cheonghwi and me.

Still maintaining his prayer gesture, Cheonghwi glanced toward me and slowly curled the corner of his mouth upward.

"Benefactor Baek, what do you think of the ritual Anderson-ssi proposed? If you intend to perform it, I would be happy to assist.”

Despite their differing opinions, all of the Supreme Archmages were ultimately converging on the same conclusion.

None of them placed much value in the mystical theories Mr. Anderson had enthusiastically preached. There were only two exceptions.

I, whole eyes were sparkling at the giant possibility, and Monk Cheonghwi, quietly observing everything while wearing a strangely meaningful smile.

I found myself recalling something Monk Wonhaeng had said back in Seoul.

His remark was about how Cheonghwi had drifted away from the orthodox Zen tradition that emphasized meditation and cultivation, becoming increasingly fascinated with the practices of Esoteric Buddhism.

"There’s always the possibility, however slim. So I should at least try it. It’s magic, after all. There might actually be some connection to mysticism."

Lee Sejun shrugged and promptly lost interest. Hamza furrowed his brow before slowly nodding.

Shin Nain looked completely uninterested. Only Pastor Park Yohan let out a worried sigh.

"Just don’t go doing anything stupid.”

And so time passed.

Our Alteration-type trio deliberately avoided taking on any dangerous missions that required all three of us. The reason was simple. My mind was completely consumed by thoughts of the ritual. Up until now, there had only been one way to study magic.

Throw yourself into the fog. Kill monsters until you stumble across clues and traces by pure chance.

But what if existing knowledge could be used as well?

What if we didn’t have to rely entirely on random drops? What if we could challenge magic in the way we wanted, when we wanted?

I wasn’t the kind of person who valued magic so little that I could ignore even the slightest possibility.

Instead, I volunteered for reconnaissance missions using Eyes-branch magic, slowly accumulating MPC. I couldn’t earn dozens at a time like I could on dangerous combat missions, but it was enough to order the items I’d need for the ritual.

Lieutenant Shin Hangi wasn’t particularly impressed.

"You want adult magazines for repetitive hand-based activities that promote mental stability and spiritual tranquility?"

"Yes. I figured the post-nut clarity might…”

"Well, I’m not saying no. But couldn’t you just repeatedly disassemble and reassemble your rifle? If you’re exhausted after you finish and immediately fall asleep, what exactly are you planning to do?”

"Ah.”

Disassembling and reassembling firearms. That sounded like a good idea.

Of course, I’d already ordered an adult magazine for 3 MPC. Not because I intended to use it myself. The idea was to rent it out and make a profit in MPC.

And naturally, to do that, I’d need to personally verify the quality beforehand so I could guarantee customer satisfaction.

I absolutely did not waste any of my precious vital essence. Not at all.

And so, time continued to pass.

March 20th, 2028, 5:56 PM.

I checked the time on my cracked phone screen. The government-controlled portal sites, now heavily censored and regulated, were filled almost exclusively with hopeful headlines.

[US Senate Approves Korea-US Trade Resumption Plan… A Dramatic Success.]

[Pro-Korea CEO Anderson Makenford Speaks Again…’The Situation in Seoul Is a Threat to an Allied Nation That Cannot Be Ignored. My Grandfather Fought in the Korean War, making this matter especially personal to me.’]

It was almost time.

By the time everyone else headed toward the cafeteria for dinner, Monk Cheonghwi was already approaching from afar, adjusting his robes as he walked. As always, he wore a warm smile. But today, there was something else mixed into it. Something like personal excitement.

"Shall we go, Benefactor Baek?”

* * *

Anderson Makenford was actually a fairly decent man.

I mean, aside from the fact that his enthusiasm for magic was a little too intense.

If we ever decided to perform the ritual, he’d even told us to contact him directly and had gone so far as to give us his personal number through the colonel. The fact that he immediately started shipping all sorts of supplies through Pyeongtaek Port the moment Monk Cheonghwi and I, both part of the Supreme Archmages, announced we’d be preparing the ritual told the whole story.

Monk Cheonghwi’s assistance proved especially valuable here. Since I was completely hopeless when it came to occult rituals, he spent his time teaching and guiding me through the process.

"To receive auspicious and mystical energies, one must first empty the vessel that is the body. Even in the Eucharist of Christianity, there originally existed a rule of fasting before accepting the holy body of God. Until the ritual is complete, you may drink water, but no food must pass your lips.”

Fasting.

Emptying the body in order to receive the mystical.

On top of that, I had to meticulously shower, washing away dust and stray hairs from the body, calming the mind, and ensuring that foreign influences wouldn’t disrupt the ritual. Monk Cheonghwi added that, since this was my first attempt, I needed to be especially careful.

Only after that did we gather the materials and head toward the ritual site we’d selected.

Ordinarily it served as a workshop where firearms were inspected and maintained. But for tonight I’d managed to borrow it by using free access to adult magazines as bait.

After setting down the lighting equipment I’d brought in place of lanterns, Monk Cheonghwi and I first cleaned and organized the workshop. Only then did we sit down and review the list of ritual materials from Anderson’s letter.

"Dragon’s Blood incense?”

The letter even contained a helpful explanation.

[Dragon's Blood…]

The moment I saw the very first English words, I neatly folded the letter shut. What exactly did Mr. Anderson think of me, who was already struggling with Korean?

I was just considering using my phone’s AI translator when…

Monk Cheonghwi carefully picked up the letter, unfolded it again, then began reading.

"It says it’s the red sap of a particular tree. It wasn’t extracted from South America, either. According to the letter, it’s sourced directly from Socotra Island and is considered a specialty product among certain mystical organizations, so we’re apparently meant to trust its authenticity. He also notes that it may not seem especially spicy to Koreans but should still be sufficient for our purpose.”

"Should we sprinkle some chili powder on it?”

"Since it’s red, spicy, and intense, it’s suitable for a ritual meant to resonate with Mars. Though we shouldn’t add so much that it overwhelms the scent of the Dragon’s Blood incense itself.”

For a moment, tear gas and military gas-chamber training flashed through my mind. Then I abandoned the idea.

Sure, it was spicy and intense, but I doubted I’d have enough sanity left to actually perform the ritual afterward. Besides, was I even allowed to wear a gas mask during a ritual? Since this was my first attempt and I still wasn’t fully convinced any of this worked, there was no need to get overly creative.

After inspecting the unfamiliar Dragon’s Blood incense, preparations finally began in earnest.

Of course, we didn’t start immediately.

Under Monk Cheonghwi’s supervision, I first turned off my smartphone and spent time meditating, blocking out surrounding noise and focusing my thoughts. Only after a considerable amount of time had passed did Monk Cheonghwi pull out his phone and check the clock.

"It’s 9:40 PM. The Hour of Mars. Let us begin the preparations.”

Saltwater.

"Since ancient times, salt symbolized purification. It drives away malevolent influences and prevents corruption."

Next came the key material of the ritual. Meteoric iron.

It was literally iron taken from a meteorite. Just hearing the name made it sound expensive. The fact that Anderson had casually provided it as a gift demonstrated just how passionate he was about magic. Holding a chunk of metal smaller than my palm but probably worth more than my entire body, I lowered it into the saltwater and washed it carefully.

"Wouldn’t this turn into iron oxide? I mean, iron rusts when it gets wet.”

"It doesn’t matter since we’ll use it before that becomes a problem. Just leave it submerged in the saltwater for now.”

Following his instructions, I lowered the meteoric iron into the saltwater.

I was starting to think this man might be a little strange, but then again, magic existed and monsters were crawling out of the fog now. What wasn’t strange at this point? That said, I decided not to worry about it.

More importantly, I needed strange people right now.

Not normal, sensible people who couldn’t help me at all. I needed eccentric people who could guide me through this insane world using equally insane logic.

The next item was a red cloth.

We spread the red cloth in the center of the room and carefully smoothed it out, patting it perfectly flat. To secure it, we arranged the candles we’d prepared beforehand. Following Monk Cheonghwi’s strong recommendation, they would be placed at the ends of the intersections of the grid pattern.

"Candlelight was once humanity’s only source of illumination in darkness. These people believed it protected them from the sinister and malicious things lurking in the dark. It also symbolizes the light of truth that illuminates a dark world.”

As he spoke, he handed me a measuring tape and a piece of chalk.

"Now. Draw the grid without wavering."

"Yes, sir."

But of all things, he’d handed me a measuring tape.

I had to shuffle around the red cloth, carefully tracing chalk lines while following the flexible, floppy tape. Why had he gone out of his way to bring a measuring tape?

Monk Cheonghwi answered as though he understood exactly what I was thinking.

"There aren’t any spare hard rulers left on base.”

Life was fucking cruel, man.

Fortunately, I, Baek Jemin, prided myself on being able to draw a perfect circle without a compass. A neat, orderly grid gradually appeared across the red cloth, and candles were positioned at each intersection.

-Tick, tick.

Monk Cheonghwi flicked his lighter and began lighting the candles. Meanwhile, I dug through the ritual supplies and pulled out a spool of red thread.

"Let’s connect the candles with red thread and lay them over the grid."

The red thread overlapped the white chalk lines drawn across the cloth.

"I’ll prepare the Dragon’s Blood incense and a small amount of chili powder.”

The silver censer was opened. Dragon’s Blood resin and chili powder were mixed together. I could see pieces of charcoal being lightly dampened to hold the heat.

Eventually, the clock approached 11 PM.

The moment Monk Cheonghwi checked the time, he turned off his phone again and looked down at me.

"From this point onward, begin disassembling and reassembling the rifle you brought.”

“Do I really have to use the new one?”

The AR-15. I’d spent 50 MPC on it. The thought of breaking it before I’d even fired a single shot filled me with dread.

But Monk Cheonhwi shook his head firmly.

"We could purify it by scrubbing it vigorously in salt water like we did with the meteoric iron over there.”

"I’ll use the new one.”

"I’ll support you with mantras, but you must focus your mind as well. The success or failure of rituals such as these depends entirely upon the caster’s concentration.”

"Understood."

I knelt before the ritual site. Placing the AR-15 in front of me, I began taking it apart and reassembling it piece by piece.

Despite everything we’d done, I still wasn’t fully convinced.

Sure, the preparations looked impressive enough, but could all of this really strengthen my Alteration-type magic? What if this magic system had absolutely nothing to do with the occult?

Me?

Wouldn’t it be much better to just dive into the fog and hope for something? Thoughts like that naturally slowed my hands.

Several dozen minutes passed. Then, from where he had been quietly standing and observing, Monk Cheonghwi finally spoke.

"Do you find it meaningless?”

"Huh?"

"The attempt to seek truth. The attempt to illuminate ignorance.”

Monk Cheonghwi chuckled softly and lowered his head in prayer. When he spoke again, his voice had become even calmer.

"Everything depends upon what people see and feel. It is only natural that a single thing gives rise to a thousand different perspectives. People believe their senses can be trusted, and so they accept only what they see and feel as truth. And when they finally realize that even their senses cannot be trusted, only then do they begin asking what truth truly is.”

A chill seemed to sweep through the ritual chamber. At first I thought it was just my imagination.

It was as though the temperature had suddenly dropped by 5 degrees.

Only when I noticed my own breathing misting in the air did I realize it wasn’t an illusion.

"As above, so below. The Buddha resides within me. The Divine already dwells within me. Sentient beings and Buddhas are not truly separate. That is why one cultivates oneself toward Buddhahood in this very body. If one always postpones enlightenment for another day, another life, another age, how can one ever escape the endless cycle of reincarnation?”

At that moment, the fluorescent lights flickered.

The unstable bulbs flashed precariously until Pop—the lights died, making way for darkness.

In their place only the flames of the candles arranged along the grid upon the red cloth swayed gently.

"Magic was originally a form of cultivation. A different path of meditation and spiritual practice spoken of in Buddhism. Just as Daoists cultivated themselves and sought to refine the inner elixir, striving to transcend the mundane through harmony with nature. So too did Western occultists study numbers and pursue alchemy, hoping to reach the domain of Mahabrahma who created the world through transformation. Wealth and glory were never meant to be the goal. They were merely byproducts of cultivation. But look at what magic has become today.”

The red threads stretched across the grid began to shimmer.

Whether it was an optical illusion or not, I couldn’t tell. At some point, I stopped looking at Monk Cheonghwi entirely. Instead, I was too busy feeling a cold line of sweat trickling down the side of my face.

"No one questions. No one seeks. They desire power, yet make no effort to understand power. They claim to seek truth, yet never attempt to obtain it. To such people, magic is merely a trick that turns lead into gold, a weapon that throws fireballs and kills enemies.”

Then suddenly, a hand settled onto my shoulders.

"However, Benefactor Baek. You are different.”

Monk Cheonghwi, who had moved behind me without me noticing, leaning slightly forward, had one hand resting on my shoulder.

He gazed down at the ritual site alongside me.

"You have become fascinated with magic itself. Certainly, worldly desires still cling to you, but your soul bears a desire strong enough to overcome even those attachments.”

Then he began speaking of the members of the Supreme Archmages.

Pastor Park Yohan. He would protect his faith even if it meant turning away from the truth.

Lee Sejun. He would use magic merely as a tool to uphold his loyalty to his country.

Shin Nain. He would misinterpret magic through the lens of his misguided, twisted fanaticism.

Hamza. He possessed no desire to advance his magic any further than it already had.

"Benefactor Beak. To someone who lamented the possibility that an omnipotent force could vanish beneath the nuclear fire of mankind, this may be the final opportunity granted to you to choose. To either grasp the mystery that has revealed itself to the world or to turn away from it and settle for the comfort of reality instead.”

"..."

"Unlike the mystics outside, you possess a sincerity born of having wandered through a hell overrun by monsters. It is from that experience that you can make this decision.”

My hands were no longer assembling the rifle.

Instead, I found myself absentmindedly turning the bolt carrier group over in my grasp. The metal had become warm from my own body heat.

"What will you choose?"

-Clench.

I tightened my grip around the bolt carrier group and thought.

For a moment, I remembered the words Pastor Park Yohan had spoken when he founded our group, Aphorism.

Before our faith breaks, we shall end then. Before fear bends us, we shall become fear.

Madness against madness. Absurdity against absurdity.

We shall enter hell before it encroaches upon us.

Only then did I finally open my mouth.

"Pastor Park Yohan must’ve noticed something a long time ago. I guess that’s why he thinks he’s destined for hell.”

Monk Cheonghwi let out a bitter smile and didn’t deny it.

Slowly setting down the bolt carrier group that had been warming in my hands, I recalled everything that had happened.

The refugee train that had crashed into Suwon Station, the flood of Amalgams and Predator Spines that came after.

The Priest and Bosal Geulmun monster that rose from the dead. The horrors unfolding beyond the first blockade line in Seoul. The Teratomas that disguised themselves as human infants while unleashing psychic attacks.

We were already living in a hell without flames.

In that case, even if this really was a one-way express ticket to damnation, what was there to be afraid of?

Besides, I wasn’t even a Christian.

According to their logic, I was headed to hell for unbelief anyway, so what exactly was there to hesitate over?

"Let’s begin.”

* * *

March 21st, 2028, 4:53 AM.

It was the Hour of Mars before sunrise, just as Monk Cheonghwi had instructed.

After washing my face with ice-cold water, I carefully removed the meteoric iron that had been soaking in saltwater and wiped it clean by hand.

Then I placed it in the very center of the ritual square. The central square of the 5x5 magic square.

Exactly as Monk Cheonghwi had directed.

"I’ll light the incense."

Smoke drifted from the censer. A sweet, heavy scent spread through the room. The finish carried a sharp edge, reminiscent of cinnamon or cloves, mixed with a faint trace of chili powder.

Then the incense smoke began to flow toward the ritual site, toward the red cloth covered in the grid.

Several dozen minutes passed. By then, the smoke rising from the censer lingered above the ritual site like a cloud…or perhaps like fog.

We waited in silence.

Electric anticipation crawled up my spine. Staring past the disassembled rifle at the red cloth marked with the grid, my fingers twitched. The question whether it would really work still hadn't quite disappeared.

But thanks to Monk Cheonghwi’s calm presence, the uncertainty never grew beyond that.

And so nearly an hour passed in meditation and preparation.

At last, I drew the combat knife, the final item needed for the ritual, and prepared to cut open my right palm.

March 21st, 2028, 6:33 AM.

-Beeeeep—.

After checking the alarm on his phone, Monk Chenghwi spoke.

"Cut your palm and let it bleed, then grasp the meteoric iron you’ve prepared. I’ll teach you the incantation. Repeat it exactly.”

"An Incantation…”

"66 to create 7. 55 in pursuit of 66. 2 sets of 5 fingers dreaming of 55.”

"66 to create 7."

6:34 AM.

The sun began to rise.

I slashed open the palm of my right hand with the combat knife.

The moment I did, the fog cloud formed from the incense smoke snuffed out three of the candles.

The melted wax and charred wicks vanished into the cloud of mist.

"55 in pursuit of 66."

Before I could even register the sting of pain, I reached out.

The lump of metal felt cold through the blood.

Blood flowing from the wound mixed with the meteoric iron, releasing a thick metallic smell.

Then every remaining candle went out.

That was when I felt the metal shrinking.

Even so, I continued the incantation.

"2 sets of 5 fingers dreaming of 55.”

With the final words, the hand clutching the metal closed into a fist.

The metal was no longer in my grasp.

Instead, my own fingers were pressing tightly against the bleeding wound in my palm.

At that moment, a realization struck me.

I looked toward the grid drawn upon the red cloth beyond the fog cloud made of incense smoke. The instant I did, my mind was forcibly altered. Knowledge I, Baek Jemin, a man who struggled with even a single language, had never seen nor heard before crammed itself into my head.

The ritual had succeeded.

No matter how talentless or insignificant someone might be, merely completing this ritual granted them the qualification.

A qualification to reach higher mysteries and greater power. And in that moment, I realized that qualification depended not on talent, but on will.

I had reached Hand-branch Stage 2.

The veins in my left hand pulsed hot in time with my heartbeat.

It felt as though this left hand, the same hand that had been shot and burned before, was finally unleashing all the pent-up agony.

Thankfully, it wasn’t painful enough to make me scream. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.

Clutching my left hand, tears streaming down my face, I remained kneeling there for quite a while. Honestly, I’d learned something important. When something hurts this much, the best thing you can do is just cry your eyes out.

"Uhugh…nghhh... huhuhu…"

It hurt so much that I was crying, and yet, I couldn’t stop laughing. The shameless joy of getting to Hand Branch Stage 2 practically for free was enough to make me grin through tears.

The fact that there was a way to pursue higher stages without fighting monsters filled me with delight. The exhilaration of realizing this wasn’t some unknowable arcane secret but a system that human intellect could reach was incredible.

I was overcome with joy that I no longer had to wander through the fog without direction, blindly guessing. The delight of finally getting a peek at the answer sheet swelled within me.

And then my thoughts abruptly turned cold.

"Monk?”

When I looked around, every trace of his presence was gone.

I finally rose to my feet and opened the workshop door. Outside, soldiers had begun moving through the hallways as they welcomed the sunrise. I ran over and asked them, but every single one of them merely blinked in confusion and shook their heads.

"No, sir. I haven’t seen any monk.”

"Me neither..."

Despite the annoyance on their faces, they genuinely seemed not to know.

A short while later, Pastor Park Yohan came hurrying over after hearing the commotion. His glasses had slipped halfway down his face, yet he didn't even bother fixing them before asking urgently.

"The monk disappeared? Right after helping you with your ritual and seeing it succeed?”

"He vanished while I was busy crying my eyes out because of the pain.”

"Where’d he go? Did he say anything? No, wait, the monk doesn’t even have anywhere to go if he leaves this place, so why the hell did he disappear?!”

"That’s not the important part right now, Pastor.”

Seeing the serious look on my face, the pastor swallowed hard and cautiously glanced around.

Only after confirming there was nobody nearby did he lower his voice and ask,

"Baek Jemin, do you know something?”

"There’s something you need to see, Pastor.”

"What? What is it?”

I led him back to the workshop where the ritual had been performed.

A few candles reduced to puddles of wax. Clouds of fragrant incense smoke still lingering in the air. The silver censer rattling softly. The combat knife stained with my blood. The AR-15 I still hadn’t managed to reassemble…

"This is..."

Turning toward the pastor, I spoke with the utmost seriousness. This was the most important part after all.

"He disappeared before helping me clean this up. If we leave it like this, the soldiers are going to complain. For the sake of preserving the glorious image of us Supreme Archmages, wouldn’t it be appropriate for you, as our esteemed leader, to help me clean this up?”

For fuck’s sake.

You expect me to clean all of this up myself? No chance in hell.

Absolutely not. I’m not cleaning this alone.

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