The Ceremony of Binding (1)
The thread of red, stretched taut between them.
Its meaning was clear: their souls were now linked.
A shikigami.
The once-proud spirit of Cheongryeong, now reduced to a monster bound to a master's will, was in utter disbelief and rage, clawing at her own hair and screaming in fury.
She even lashed out at Mok Kyungwoon, unable to contain her wrath.
But then—
—Sssssss!
—Kgh! Damn it!
Cheongryeong had her hands around Mok Kyungwoon's throat, but suddenly she cried out and yanked them back in alarm.
At first, Mok Kyungwoon didn't understand—until he noticed red handprints starting to bloom on Cheongryeong's own pale neck.
No way…?
Seeing that, Mok Kyungwoon realized something crucial.
He didn't know exactly why, but it seemed that when a shikigami's master was harmed, the pain was shared with the spirit.
So that's it.
It explained why Ma Seung's body had sprouted black spots everywhere.
The damage Cheongryeong's attacks had inflicted—those blood droplets—had been mirrored back onto Ma Seung because of their bond.
That makes sense now.
It was clear why shikigami had no choice but to obey their masters. Their souls were connected, their pains intertwined; to threaten the master was to invite harm upon themselves.
This also helped explain why Cheongryeong was reacting the way she was.
How humiliating must it be for such an arrogant being to be reduced to the status of a shikigami—a slave in all but name?
Even as a being made purely of spirit, her fury was understandable.
But Mok Kyungwoon didn't care.
Whether Cheongryeong raged or grieved was irrelevant to him. What mattered was that he'd achieved his goal—and he was satisfied.
A Cheongryeong-class spirit.
In terms of rank, it was the fifth tier out of seven—a high-level vengeful spirit, close to the rank of a true monster.
A Cheongryeong-class spirit, having harbored its grudge for over a hundred years, was different from Ma Seung's lower Hwangryeong-class; it could exert its influence on more than just the living.
That was what Mok Kyungwoon had wanted to confirm.
But first…
He turned to Cheongryeong, who was still fuming, and said,
"Now that you're my shikigami, what should I call you?"
—...
"Isn't it a waste of time to just keep sulking like that?"
—...
Hmph.
Mok Kyungwoon let out a sigh, shaking his head at her obstinate refusal to meet his eyes, still seething.
"Well then, I guess I'll just call you whatever I want."
—...
"Would something like… 'dimwit' be okay?"
—How dare you!
At that, Cheongryeong, who had been steadfastly avoiding his gaze, snapped her head around furiously.
Mok Kyungwoon chuckled.
"Ah, so that you don't like."
Her eyebrow twitched sharply in rage.
—You miserable mortal, do you dare mock me?!
"If you don't want me to, then give me a proper title."
—I have no title to give to a worthless mortal.
With that, she turned her head away again, defiantly.
Mok Kyungwoon clicked his tongue inwardly.
She wasn't a threat to him, thankfully, but it was clear this was going to be a handful to manage.
"Well, no helping it, then. Since you won't tell me, I'll just pick one."
—...
"Nothing special comes to mind, so I'll just call you Cheongryeong."
He decided to use the term that denoted her rank as a high-class spirit as her name.
Cheongryeong's brow twitched slightly at that.
It seemed to irk her.
But her pride wouldn't let her give up her true name or any preferred title.
Looks like I'll have to work on her gradually.
It would be pointless to have secured a Cheongryeong-class spirit and not put her to use.
Hiding his true intentions, Mok Kyungwoon stepped over to something nearby.
It was a book—its outer cover made of human skin, torn and discarded on the ground.
Picking it up, Mok Kyungwoon asked,
"You must know what's written inside this, right, Cheongryeong?"
—Who are you calling Cheongryeong… huhhh.
She was about to snap at him again but clearly didn't even want to engage. She just waved her hand dismissively and reached down to pick up her smoking pipe from the floor, puffing on it moodily.
She really was a heavy smoker.
Clicking his tongue, Mok Kyungwoon flipped through the book.
Hm?
Something caught his eye.
The text inside the book appeared to be written in what looked like blood.
Interesting.
The cover made of human skin, and the writing done in blood.
Most people wouldn't even want to touch such a thing, let alone read it.
But Mok Kyungwoon didn't care about things like that.
The real issue was something else.
What the hell?
The letters inside were jumbled, completely out of order.
It was such a chaotic mess that it was nearly impossible to interpret.
Mok Kyungwoon frowned at the strange, scattered text.
Why is it written so incoherently?
And not only that—the words themselves were unusually abstract, far from ordinary language.
He had seen something like this before.
It reminded him of the Yeonmokhwa Heart Technique.
That text, too, had detailed breathing and energy circulation methods, but the heart-related sections were written in abstract, almost poetic language.
This is similar… but even more complicated.
Thirty characters were scattered randomly.
It seemed like they needed to be combined, but no matter how Mok Kyungwoon tried to connect them, the resulting sentences were meaningless.
—Pfft!
A snide laugh broke the silence.
Looking over, Mok Kyungwoon saw Cheongryeong puffing on her pipe, shaking her head in amusement.
From her reaction, it was clear she was thinking, You'll never figure this out, no matter how hard you try.
But Mok Kyungwoon didn't let it bother him. He stared hard at the characters.
"Hmm…"
He stared for a long while.
Then finally, Mok Kyungwoon spoke.
"Mu-jeol-mang-ryeo-seo… I-hyeong-wi-sim-yang…"
—!?
As soon as the two phrases left his mouth, Cheongryeong's mocking expression froze.
That reaction told Mok Kyungwoon all he needed: the phrases he had just pieced together were correct.
Still, he kept his face neutral, knowing that if he gave anything away, he wouldn't be able to confirm it through her expression again. Keeping calm, he tried to deduce the rest of the sentence.
"Mu-o-jeon-geo-sang… Mu-sang-hyeong-wi-jeon…"
This time, Cheongryeong's expression twisted into an outright scowl.
It seemed these lines were correct too.
Mok Kyungwoon was piecing the words together by feel—and somehow, it was working.
With the remaining six words, he said:
"Ma-ga-ryang-hae-geo… Yeok-hae-mu-geuk-hyeol."
—Crkk!
Barely had the last word left his mouth when it happened.
The moment he finished the sentence, he felt a strange tightening sensation deep in his abdomen, and the book in his hands began to warp and collapse in a grotesque way.
What the hell…?
Mok Kyungwoon stared, bewildered.
The book seemed to crumple inward, as if the paper was being sucked toward the palm of his hand.
It was as if the book was trying to adhere to his skin.
Then Cheongryeong's voice drifted to his ears.
—How did you perform the "Chak" (Adherence)?
"What?"
Mok Kyungwoon looked up, puzzled, and saw Cheongryeong's shocked face just before she quickly turned her head away, avoiding his gaze.
She was clearly determined not to talk.
Staring at her, Mok Kyungwoon asked, confused,
"Chak? What's that? Does it have something to do with what just happened to the book?"
—...
"When the book crumpled, I also felt a bit of tension just below my navel. Is that related too?"
—Hah…
Cheongryeong let out an exasperated sigh.
She already knew Mok Kyungwoon had no martial arts training at all.
So, there was no way he could possibly understand any of this—or so she thought.
Normally, without reaching a certain level of cultivation or enlightenment, this sort of thing wouldn't even register, much less be comprehended.
And yet, incredibly, Mok Kyungwoon had pieced together those thirty characters and activated the first gugyeol (incantation formula).
—...
Cheongryeong glanced sidelong at him.
She didn't want to engage with him at all after being forced into servitude—but now curiosity was gnawing at her.
Had he really understood what he'd just done?
After a moment of hesitation, Cheongryeong finally spoke.
—Hey, mortal.
"Uh… it's Mok Kyungwoon, actually."
—What?
"Call me Mok Kyungwoon."
Cheongryeong snorted in disdain.
—Mortal.
Clearly, she had no intention of using his name, even after he told her. Mok Kyungwoon just shrugged. It didn't really matter to him—as long as communication worked, it was fine.
Cheongryeong took a deep drag from her pipe, then exhaled a plume of smoke.
—Mortal. Do you remember the sensation you just felt?
"The sensation?"
—Yes.
"I'm not sure what you mean. It's kind of vague."
Cheongryeong stared at him, then shook her head in disbelief.
—Honestly, the idea that a mere mortal like you could learn the Ceremony of Adherence (Chak-ui-sik) so easily is just…
—Crkk!
She was cut off mid-sentence.
The book Mok Kyungwoon was holding crumpled further, sticking firmly to his palm.
A glint of understanding flickered in Mok Kyungwoon's eyes.
Ah?
Following Cheongryeong's earlier words, he recalled that peculiar sensation and focused this time—silently repeating the incantation in his head as he concentrated.
Sure enough, the paper crumpled again, pulling even tighter to his palm.
It was a strange phenomenon.
And again, that faint tension below his navel returned.
But this time, it wasn't just his lower abdomen. He felt the same tightening sensation radiating through his arm, along the veins leading out from his palm.
Mok Kyungwoon turned to Cheongryeong and asked,
"What is this?"
Cheongryeong looked at him, clicking her tongue in disbelief and muttering,
—…I never saw anything like this when I was alive, and now I'm seeing it after death.
"What?"
—…Never mind.
"What do you mean, never mind?"
—Forget it. Mortal.
"We're bound together by fate now. Would it kill you to open your heart even a little?"
—Open my heart? Ha! I, who have become the shikigami of a wretch like you, should open my heart…
"Shhh!"
Before she could even finish speaking, Mok Kyungwoon clenched his hand into a fist.
The veins on the back of his hand and wrist suddenly bulged, standing out as if they were about to burst.
—Tremble!
—Tch!
Cheongryeong's own hand began to tremble slightly.
Because their spirits were connected, Mok Kyungwoon's pain was transferring to her as well.
She shouted urgently,
—Hey! Mortal. Stop breathing and clear your mind!
"Huff, huff!"
—I said stop breathing!
At her sharp command, Mok Kyungwoon forced himself to hold his breath.
And to stop the incantations that had been repeating unconsciously in his mind, he tried to fill his head with other thoughts.
Seeing this, Cheongryeong's eyes narrowed.
His focus was remarkable.
What had just happened was a result of failing to properly control the Ceremony of Adherence (Chak-ui-sik).
Normally, once caught up in the incantation, it was nearly impossible to break free without outside help.
And yet, Mok Kyungwoon was managing to regain control on his own with just a bit of advice.
To say she wasn't surprised would have been a lie.
"Haa…"
At last, Mok Kyungwoon's breathing settled into a calm, steady rhythm.
Cheongryeong clicked her tongue in exasperation at the sight.
Mok Kyungwoon asked her,
"What was that just now? Why did it happen?"
—…You lost control of the Ceremony of Adherence. That's what caused it.
He had expected her to dodge the question again, but surprisingly, Cheongryeong gave a straight answer this time.
Mok Kyungwoon smirked.
"So… are you finally going to teach me properly now?"
—Hmph! I'm only telling you this to prevent you from messing up again and causing me more trouble.
Her curt tone made Mok Kyungwoon narrow his eyes at her for a moment.
Then he just shrugged.
It didn't really matter.
As long as his curiosity was satisfied.
"So, what exactly is the Ceremony of Adherence?"
—It's exactly what it sounds like. It pulls things in and makes them stick.
"Like what just happened?"
—Exactly.
"Then why did my abdomen hurt, and why did my veins feel like they were going to burst?"
—Because you were pulling on nothing. That's what happens.
"What do you mean by that?"
Cheongryeong glanced at him, then pointed somewhere with her pipe.
It was Jo Ilsang, hanging limp and lifeless.
Hung upside down with his throat slit, he was pale as a ghost, all the blood drained from his body.
"Try it over there."
"On… that?"
Mok Kyungwoon stepped closer and gave Jo Ilsang's corpse a tentative poke.
Cheongryeong nodded.
"..."
He didn't really understand why she wanted him to use the Ceremony of Adherence on a dead man, but Mok Kyungwoon didn't argue. He simply placed his palm against the body.
Then Cheongryeong barked,
—Not there.
"Huh?"
*—Even if he's dead and his energy's dispersed, aim for the danjeon.
"You mean the lower abdomen, just below the navel?"
—Do I have to explain everything to you?
"...I mean, I don't really know this stuff."
Cheongryeong snorted and exhaled a puff of smoke from her pipe.
Mok Kyungwoon took a deep breath, then placed his palm over Jo Ilsang's danjeon.
He began silently reciting the incantation in his mind.
'Mu-jeol-mang-ryeo-seo I-hyeong-wi-sim-yang Mu-o-jeon-geo-sang Mu-sang-hyeong-wi-jeon Ma-ga-ryang-hae-geo Yeok-hae-mu-geuk-hyeol.'
At the same time, he focused on recalling that peculiar sensation.
—Pop!
Suddenly, the skin around Jo Ilsang's danjeon suctioned tightly against Mok Kyungwoon's palm.
It felt different from when the book had crumpled, but still—no big deal.
Or so he thought.
But then, something strange pierced into his palm.
A warm energy.
What's this?
He could clearly feel it entering his palm and flowing through his veins.
As it traveled, the warm sensation even began to spread through his abdomen, soothing the tension there.
The pleasant warmth made him feel strangely elated.
Just then, Cheongryeong's voice rang out, proud and triumphant.
—Do you feel it? That's the true wonder of the Ceremony of Adherence. You can pull anything toward you—and that includes qi. There's no exception.