—Spectral Formation Observed—
"Rhan... do you see that?"
Jasper's voice trembled as he stared at the same face I had just glimpsed. "What... what is that?"
Few people could have remained unshaken by such a sight.
At that moment, the commander raised his long spear once more and began another sequence of fluid, deliberate movements. Every soldier followed in perfect unison.
The ground shuddered.
Lights around us flickered erratically, plunging the area into near darkness, broken only by the deep, rhythmic thuds of synchronized motion—slow, heavy, relentless.
I leaned closer to Jasper and lowered my voice.
"They're ghost soldiers. Wooden effigies."
"Wooden... carved from wood? But why—"
He didn't finish.
A crushing force slammed down without warning. Jasper staggered, nearly driven to the ground. I felt it too—an immense weight, pressing like stone—but managed to brace myself and pull him upright.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"I—I'm fine," he gasped. "But... what's pressing down on me? It's unbearable..."
"We need to move. Now."
Fighting the pressure, I dragged him in the opposite direction.
The ground shook more violently with every step, as if something ancient were forcing its way up from beneath the earth. Had we remained any longer, that pressure would have crushed us.
I don't know how long we struggled. But just as abruptly as it had descended, the mountain-like weight vanished.
I looked up.
We were standing before the gates of a palace.
The pressure was gone.
"Rhan... what was that?" Jasper asked, still struggling to catch his breath.
"I don't know."
I checked the time. Two in the morning. One more hour before they would withdraw.
I glanced toward the palace interior.
"We'll go in after three. When the sounds stop."
As we waited, distant shouts continued to echo from the direction of the training ground—the spectral host rallying itself. What was happening there remained unknown, but this was not the moment to investigate.
"Rhan," Jasper asked quietly, "why is there no pressure here? Is that force limited to a certain range?"
"Possibly," I said. "This appears to be the main hall. The king's domain."
It was only a guess.
Jasper let out a muted "Oh," unconvinced but unwilling to press further.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"So... are you still planning to deal with this?"
I looked at him, but didn't answer immediately. Perhaps that was why the Taoist priest had left a few days earlier.
"Rhan?" He waved a hand near my shoulder when I remained silent. "Are we really doing this? Maybe... maybe we should walk away. We nearly died back there. Who knows what comes next?"
"We'll decide tomorrow."
Jasper opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it.
After a while, the sounds within the film city gradually faded.
He spoke again, quieter this time.
"Why don't those ghost soldiers have eyes?"
"They were likely carved that way on purpose," I said.
"Eyes act as anchors. They draw in energy. Once carved, the effigies might no longer remain inert."
"Like the paper-effigy craftsmen or spirit-tattoo artists in those novels?"
"Something along those lines."
He exhaled slowly.
"So it wasn't just fiction after all..."
I didn't respond.
Ten minutes later, the final echoes died away. I took a cautious step forward. The pressure was truly gone.
"Let's head back."
---
—The Buried Thing—
Victor arrived early the next morning, accompanied by his driver and assistant. He looked exhausted—clearly sleepless.
"Mr. Arcturus," he asked as soon as we met, "did you hear anything last night?"
"Hear?" Jasper cut in before I could speak. "We saw them. This place isn't just haunted—it's infested with Spectral Legion. Nearly a thousand of them. Those noises at night? Training drills. We barely made it out alive."
"Spectral Legion?" Victor stared at Jasper, then turned to me, disbelief written across his face.
I nodded.
"Wooden effigies. Carved soldiers."
Victor remained frozen for several seconds before speaking again. His eyes searched mine, almost pleading.
"Then... can this be resolved?"
I didn't answer immediately. The danger was undeniable—last night's pressure alone had nearly been fatal. And more importantly: who had carved them? Was Victor the intended target?
"Mr. Arcturus," Victor continued, his voice strained, "the authorities asked again yesterday about the opening date. They're already planning promotional campaigns. I didn't dare tell them the truth. I'm completely stuck."
"Hey," Jasper snapped, "we agreed on this. If it can be handled, we handle it. If not, we walk. No emotional pressure. This is dangerous. If anything happens to Rhan, how am I supposed to explain it to my cousin?"
"Yes—yes, of course. No pressure at all," Victor said quickly. "Your safety comes first. If it truly can't be done, I'll personally take you to the airport."
I avoided the question of staying or leaving and turned back to Victor.
"I need to return to the training ground. I need to confirm last night's theory."
Without waiting for a response, I headed toward the field.
In daylight, the place looked utterly ordinary—nothing like the spectral stage it had been the night before. I circled the grounds, following the direction from which the commander had appeared. Jasper and Victor followed silently, their confusion evident but unspoken.
Soon, I reached the rear gate—just as imposing as the front entrance.
"Mr. Arcturus," Victor asked cautiously, "could this be some kind of environmental anomaly?"
I didn't answer.
Jasper raised a finger and whispered, "Just watch. Don't interrupt."
Victor nodded and fell silent.
My attention soon settled on a planter set against the wall to the left of the gate. The grass there was unusually thick. I picked up a stick and began to dig.
About half a meter down, the stick struck something wrapped in white cloth.
I brushed away the soil.
A small wooden figurine emerged—no larger than the palm of a hand.
It was soaked in dried blood. Recently buried, without question. And directly connected to the disturbances.
"Mr. Arcturus..." Victor's face went pale. "What is that?"
I lifted the figurine for closer inspection. The craftsmanship was exquisite, disturbingly lifelike. It had a face, defined features—even eyes. Yet its appearance was strange, almost inhuman.
I felt certain I had seen something like it before. I simply couldn't recall where.
Jasper leaned in and whispered, "Someone planted this intentionally?"
"Yes," I said. "And not long ago. But its purpose isn't clear yet."
"Then... now that it's been dug up, is it over?" Victor asked, a trace of relief creeping into his expression.
"It's not that simple," I replied. "If we'd found it before anything happened, perhaps. But now that the phenomenon has already manifested, we need to determine whether this was part of a formation, a curse, or something else entirely."
I waved a hand, cutting off further questions.
"First," I said, "take me to see the bodyguard who lost his sanity."
I needed to know whether fear alone had broken him—or whether something more deliberate had been done.
Victor hesitated, emotion flickering across his face.
"Mr. Arcturus... does that mean you're willing to help me?"
I gave a slow nod.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you. I'll take you there immediately."
"Rhan, you—" Jasper began, tension creeping into his voice.
"If we crossed paths with this," I said, "then it likely wasn't coincidence. Let's go."
I heard his quiet sigh behind me.
In the car, I turned to Victor.
"During the construction of this film city, did you make any enemies? Business rivals, personal grudges, former partners, hired workers—anyone at all?"
By then, I was almost certain of one thing.
This had been done by human hands.
The only question left was—why?