Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work - Chapter 199
Chapter 199 – 199
The festival in Jisan Village lasted through the night.
Outsiders could rest in the now fully open homes of villagers and enjoy free alcohol and meat all night long.
As a result, quite a few people didn’t leave and remained in the village.
“What’s going on?”
“Ah, I heard there’s some big ceremony on the last day. Something like… an
exorcism ritual?”
“What’s that?”
“Dunno. But I’m planning to record it and make Shorts out of it.”
The outsiders, some drunk and some lounging about chatting casually, eventually fell asleep in random rooms. And on the final morning, as the sun rose…
“Oh.”
“Looks like it’s starting.”
[The blessing of Jisan has arrived~]
Finally, the ritual began.
Dum dum dum.
With the janggu drums of the pungmul troupe echoing, the villagers lined up on both sides, forming a long corridor.
From the tiled-roof house at the center of the village.
To the shaman shrine, the seonangdang.
And from that central house, something emerged at last. [San-San Baekji, bring the blessings of the mountain.] It was a massive human palanquin.
Four people with white cloths covering their heads and rooster feathers pinned to their chests carried someone on their shoulders.
“Oh.”
“Whoa, it’s getting real.”
The outsiders murmured, vaguely interested. But among them were some who watched with gleaming eyes from the shadows. ‘What a mess.’
The deputy of the Milky Way Project—the one known to Kim Sol-eum by that title—was observing both the palanquin-bearer and the villagers. At this rate, it seemed the project would proceed smoothly. His sharp gaze turned outward.
Toward a cluster of abandoned houses, in the direction of an old well.
‘The well.’
That was the objective of the mission.
The Disaster Management Bureau hadn’t yet figured out why the villagers avoided the area around the well or why it seemed relatively safe.
Even when they came during the off-season, it was just a sealed well. But this “reporter” knew exactly why—and exactly what had to be investigated.
That well had once been a passage connected to somewhere else. During the peculiar festival season, the village itself transformed into a high-grade dark zone, and the passage occasionally reactivated. Which meant the investigation had to happen now. However…
“…”
The reporter briefly glanced at Kim Sol-eum, who was riding the palanquin, and then quietly moved.
Not toward the well among the ruins—but in the opposite direction.
[San-San Baekji, bring the blessings of the mountain.]
The procession of the palanquin continued.
As the pungmul troupe opened a path and the palanquin passed, villagers bowed in reverence. Many wobbled after the palanquin with near-fanatical fervor.
Yet, they kept a certain distance, as if getting closer was forbidden.
But not everyone obeyed that unspoken rule.
“Whoa! Look at this! Apparently, this is the first time they’ve done this ceremony in decades!”
Some outsiders followed closely, recording with smartphones.
Drunk and dull-witted, some disregarded the boundaries entirely—one even poked the head-covered villagers carrying the palanquin.
They’d only come to this rural festival for the free booze and food.
The villagers didn’t stop them.
They simply watched with quiet smiles.
“Man, they’re pretty chill for a country crowd.”
“Professionalism, man. Total pros.”
The villagers didn’t react.
Their only concern was the safe completion of the ritual.
“…”
Finally, the palanquin arrived safely at the shrine and came to a halt. The carriers carefully lowered the “chosen one” onto the ground. Two of them approached the shrine.
And cut the sacred straw rope hanging over it.
Snip.
The rope fell to the ground. The other two removed the rope tied to the chosen one’s feet and re-hung it across the entrance. Then, the door of the shrine opened.
And inside was…
“The door’s opening! Whoa, look at that! Gold!”
A golden rooster statue.
The “Special Prize”—the golden rooster—had been enshrined inside all along.
And it was enormous.
“Is it gold-plated?”
“Holy crap.”
In the center of the shrine, where the altar should have been, it sat atop a circular wooden platform. The statue was man-sized. Outsiders stared, wide-eyed, not just in awe but in greed.
Behind the statue, few noticed the inverted poles once stuck into the shrine’s floor—like sticks in a lottery box.
[San-San Baekji, bring the blessings of the mountain.] The one atop the palanquin moved.
Dressed in white, he stepped before the shrine.
One by one, the villagers stepped forward and covered the white robe with paper sheets.
Each sheet was covered in writing—names written in Hangul and Hanja.
Then, after bowing three times, they poured liquor over the robe.
Sluuurp.
The sacred mountain liquor washed away the ink. The names disappeared.
It looked as though the writing was soaking into the robe. “Free us from the worldly truth, O blessing of Jisan, O proxy.” “Free us from the worldly truth, O blessing of Jisan, O proxy.” “Free us from the worldly truth, O blessing of Jisan, O proxy.”
Villagers wept, prayed, raised their hands skyward, releasing deep-rooted fears in desperate pleas.
Not even the pungmul troupe’s rhythm could mask the raw intensity.
“Uh…”
“Hey, this is kinda creepy.”
The outsiders began backing away, sensing something was wrong…
Then—
“Let’s get a closer look at that statue! Oh hey, what’s that sweet smell?
Booze…?”
Thud.
One outsider stepped into the shrine.
“Huh?”
[San-San Baekji, bring the blessings of the mountain.]
The golden rooster melted.
Boil. Bubble.
Its gleaming form collapsed, seeping into the grooves of the shrine floor…
And touched the outsider’s foot.
The golden liquid.
“…”
He stared blankly at his feet.
“I get it now!”
Clunk.
His phone dropped to the floor.
“The world is ■■! We’re just ■■ written in it!”
“Please don’t look at me don’t look at me don’t ■■ at me”
“I have worth I’m interesting wait?? I’m not? What is this? What? Your name?”
Madness spread like a virus.
“What the hell.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
Those on the outskirts flinched and backed away—or leaned in to gawk.
Too late.
“Aaagh!”
Most people lost their minds.
Some screamed. Some muttered nonsense. Others sat blank-eyed.
Madness and calm coexisted.
The villagers didn’t look back.
They’d seen what happens to those who touch the sacred liquor and glimpse
the truth too many times before.
Outsiders were outsiders.
But the villagers—those of the Jisan family—had prepared for decades for
this moment.
[He comes!]
While the tainted screamed and writhed, the chosen alone—those who’d served the ritual with devotion—would be saved. “A new pole is being raised at the shrine!”
Clang! The gongs blared.
Amid the chaos, the chosen calmly walked toward the shrine.
Holding the golden rod—the “special prize.”
If the chosen stuck that rod into the golden goo now pooled across the floor, it would become the new pole.
A new god would be born. They would be freed.
And yet—
“Everyone.”
A bureaucratic monotone.
“This procedure is incorrect.”
“…?!”
The chosen looked at the rod and sighed.
“At this rate, it’s going to fail. In your terms, I’d say it’s ‘tainted.'”
A silence like death followed.
Then, a voice cried out in anguish.
“Jisan’s blessing lies!”
“I doubt that,” the chosen said.
He raised his hands toward the sky.
“I already know.”
And spoke in their language.
“I’ve been cleansed by sacred liquor. I’ve awakened to the truth of the world. I know what Jisan’s blessing was supposed to be.” The truth.
“You twisted the teachings. You misheard scraps of a nameless scripture
and misunderstood it.”
Confusion.
Groaning and murmurs.
“You thought freedom meant escaping this cruel world. That Jisan’s blessing would spare you, make you chosen, make you free?” Heads nodded.
“I see. Then let us begin.”
Kim Sol-eum spoke.
He declared the first doctrine of the true Nameless Radiant Church.
“There is no freedom in this world.”
“This world belongs to the Named One. Only the Named One’s choice gives meaning. Accepting this truth, we must plant and cultivate the seed of origin.”
“Your free will is meaningless. Only the will and choice of the Named One matter.”
“Those too weak to accept this truth chose death. But death is not escape.”
He declared:
“There is no escape from the Named One.”
…
“This statement is liberation.”
Silence.
The chosen, dressed in white, looked over the villagers and asked: “Do you
refuse to accept this?”
Yes.
Yes.
That can’t be!
“In that case, try again. Prepare a different festival. A different ritual.” He pointed to himself.
“Because the blessing you summoned this time… was me.”
Cries rang out.
“No!”
“It can’t be!”
“We’re tainted! We’re damned!”
But they couldn’t kill the chosen.
Death would make him a god.
That was the rule.
So they had no choice but to let him go.
“Aaagh!”
The pungmul troupe collapsed. People fell.
The festival ended in madness.
And the one who had orchestrated it all—Kim Sol-eum, who had weaponized information and psychology—watched in silence. Without joy.
I knew it.
I looked around at the madness.
This was a cursed site of the Nameless Radiant Church. But it hadn’t
received proper doctrine.
Probably on purpose.
‘Someone was experimenting—trying to give this place its own unique flavor of curse.’
To understand it fully, I needed Baek Saheon’s help.
Thankfully, thanks to him manipulating another “chosen” with a gold rod, I’d had all morning to listen and analyze.
‘He must’ve brought another brainwashing tool.’
I didn’t care to retrieve it.
Didn’t matter.
What mattered was—I’d found the flaw.
And my knowledge of the real church made the villagers easy to manipulate.
I already had theories on what “truth of the world” meant in their doctrine.
It was all on the wiki, anyway.
So now Jisan Village would splinter—everyone would argue over what was real, over who to believe.
Their unity would weaken, giving the Bureau a chance to step in before next year’s festival.
So before the chaos ended—
I’d disappear.
The festival was over.
They had rejected me as their chosen.
Which meant, hopefully, I could leave safely.
“…”
I turned to walk out of the shrine.
Splash.
A ripple of golden liquid.
This was once the golden rooster.
Seems like only the gold melted—its wooden base remained.
It was still there.
‘So the gold was just a weight…’
Thud.
“…”
The floor shook.
Thud.
It cracked.
The gold spilled downward.
“…!”
I leapt out of the shrine—just in time to avoid the collapsing floor.
And from the cracked wooden circle…
Clear liquid burst upward.
Sacred liquor.
…!
I understood.
‘The rooster was a stopper.’
And the wooden circle wasn’t a base—
‘It was a lid.’
The golden rooster had sealed away what lay beneath.
A massive jar of liquor.
Inside it, a true being had been sleeping.
Awakened now—because I’d spoken the real doctrine.
Clatter clatter clatter.
The sound of many legs dragging on the floor.
Screeeeech!
From the clear liquid burst a long, squirming body.
1 centipede.
2 massive centipede. Its legs weren’t legs. They were human arms. Praying hands. Pressed palms.
Its face resembled a human—flat and featureless.
…
The apostate centipede monk from ancient folklore.
I recognized it.
Centipede Priest.
A cursed tale that spreads doctrine. Mutates believers. Recognized by a deranged clergy.
Its body was rotted.
The arms spilling from the shrine were melting in the sacred liquor.
Eyes had dissolved.
There’s a folktale of a village that misunderstood this being’s teachings and imprisoned it in a jar, using the liquor for rituals. This must’ve been that tale.
The rooster symbol was meant to appease it—centipedes like chickens.
It didn’t work.
Ahhh…
Named One.
That thing was utterly devoted to the doctrine.
No communication.
Only violent revelation.
No salvation. No Nirvana.
This is worldly truth. Eternal liberation comes with the end of Dharma. Offer agony, madness, and ashes to birth a new truth—immortality in doctrine.
I had to respond.
I knew that.
But—
‘Do I really have to?’
My arms dropped.
…I’m tired.
How many times has it been?
When will it end?
My mind said, just one more month. Just earn the Wish Ticket.
But my body, weighed down by despair, whispered—what’s the harm in
hearing this thing out?
Even if I’m crushed…
Maybe I—
“Agent Grape.”
A firm hand gripped my shoulder.
I turned.
Stern face, eyes glowing.
Agent Bronze stood there.
“I came back, just as I promised. And I said this, too.” When I returned—
“I’d come back with a way to save you.”
His grip tightened.
“By the rules.”
That…
“‘In this type of supernatural disaster, two agents will be dispatched for a
rescue mission.'”
Next.
Agent Choi’s execution blade plunged into the shrine’s roof. Foxfire burst like a star.
