Chapter 177: The Curse of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva (4)

Warning.

Due to those two heavily sinking words, the atmosphere changed sharply.

It felt as if there were gazes coming from the eerie forest, strange signs seemed to be felt from the headless Ksitigarbha, and a strange air seemed to be felt from Jinseong, who kept his mouth tightly shut.

The martial artist felt the hair on his arms stand on end.

The flowing wind sent chills down his spine, and goosebumps rose all over as if ice had been poured inside his clothes, even though it wasn't winter.

But he didn't show it, and pretending to be calm, he asked Jinseong:

"Really? Is that the end?"

"Huh? Hahaha. Yes."

Jinseong burst into laughter and stood up from his seat.

Then, as if stretching, he moved his body this way and that, and looked at the martial artist with a meaningful smile.

"Yes. This is the end. But you know, while this is the end, it's not the end."

"What?"

"There's one fact that people who do spiritual experiences or like superstitions know well. Do you know what it is?"

Jinseong looked straight into the martial artist's eyes.

"Perception becomes reality."

Jinseong smiled in the martial artist's wavering eyes.

"It's like a phone. When someone makes a call, the person who receives it can talk to the caller. It's the same with ghost stories or superstitions. They say that someone who hears a story becomes aware of it, and when the 'opportunity' comes, they can witness that supernatural phenomenon. Interesting, isn't it?"

"What are you..."

"Perhaps this might be related to human cognitive abilities. Like recognizing a crumpled plastic bag as a cat in the middle of the night, mistaking a tree shadow reflected in a window for a burglar, or seeing swaying pampas grass as a ghost. It could be that thoughts and concepts held unconsciously are projected through perception to create fear."

Jinseong uttered difficult words that the martial artist couldn't understand, speaking calmly. Then, as if satisfied, he turned his back to the martial artist with a faint smile.

"Well then, I'll be going now."

And so, the 'college student doing spiritual experiences' who had trespassed on private property disappeared.

Only two things remained.

One Ksitigarbha stone statue with its head cut off, emitting a foul odor.

And one martial artist making a sour expression, unable to hide the uneasy feeling from Jinseong's story.

The martial artist glanced at the Ksitigarbha.

"Tsk..."

He slowly examined the Ksitigarbha statue from top to bottom, and bottom to top.

The statue that always looked the same.

A scene from his daily life that he saw every time he was on duty, walking around.

A trivial scene that hadn't held much significance in his life, like a pile of stones lying on the ground or a tree or streetlight standing by the road.

But now, the martial artist felt uneasy about that statue.

Like seeing a scene of pill bugs swarming under a stone he had passed by without a thought, or learning that a tree he used to rest in the shade of was actually a chilling cherry tree where many people had hanged themselves in the past.

Learning an unwanted truth made it feel completely opposite to how it usually did.

"Damn it! I should have just punched him and thrown him out!"

The martial artist turned his back on the Ksitigarbha that seemed to be looking at him despite having no head, and returned to the training ground.

While constantly cursing under his breath, and moving his body vigorously as if not scared.

But his walking pace had become much faster than before.

This must be because the fear he felt was pushing his back.

*                     *                     *

Time passed, and darkness settled in the forest.

That darkness meant various things.

For animals, it would be time to move actively and search for food, for plants that had received plenty of sunlight, it would be time to droop their bodies and seek sleep, and for the martial artists who had trained hard in the training ground, it would be time to seek sweet sleep to relieve their body's fatigue.

And for one martial artist who had to take on the role of 'duty' to patrol the mountain, it was annoying, irritating, and...

"Ah, damn, damn, damn!"

And truly a frightening time.

The martial artist kept cursing while equipping a large flashlight and wooden sword.

Because his consciousness was touching the forest where darkness had settled. No, to be precise, some statue existing inside that dark forest.

"It's disgustingly scary. Damn it."

The martial artist quietly looked at the forest that looked the same as usual, but unlike usual, was emitting an incredibly eerie atmosphere.

The dark forest seemed to be spreading its trees like lips and beckoning him into a dark abyss, and entering that place with a flashlight felt like stupidly putting his body into the wide-open maw of a monster.

Yokai.

It felt as if the dark forest itself had become a yokai.

The martial artist looked at that dark forest for a moment, then slapped both his palms against his cheeks with a loud sound. Then, using the fiery pain felt on his cheeks as courage, he took one step, two steps forward.

But courage was like a fire that flared up briefly and then disappeared.

The night's cold air and the wind carrying the moon's madness were eerie and cold, and every time it blew, it sent chills down the martial artist's spine, erasing the courage that had risen like a flame on a candle in an instant.

"I don't know why it's so scary."

The martial artist walked carefully and recalled what the college student he had met during the day had said.

Perception becomes what, phenomenon? Reality?

Perception becomes reality.

The martial artist recalled those words spoken with a meaningful smile.

And while pondering those words, he muttered a famous Japanese proverb.

"What I thought was a ghost turned out to be dry pampas grass..."

A proverb meaning that what one feared turned out to be nothing special.

The martial artist muttered this proverb and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he recalled the forest scenery he had seen from before, remembered his seniors and juniors he had shared joys and sorrows with at the training ground, thought of his strict master, and also recalled the near-madness courage that Shigen-ryu emphasized.

"What I thought was a ghost turned out to be dry pampas grass."

And he muttered the proverb once more and opened his eyes.

Then the forest that had been emitting an eerie aura returned to its usual atmosphere, and the shadows that had looked like ghost arms had changed into dry branches.

The martial artist's eyes, filled with qi, pierced through the darkness, and confirmed again that what had frightened him in the form of shadows were objects like mushrooms, branches, leaves, piles of fallen leaves, and rocks.

"Heh, right. Perception did become reality."

The martial artist chuckled, recalling the foolish face of the college student who had seemed to try to scare him by saying 'perception becomes reality'. That laughter was also a mockery thrown at himself for having been scared by such an insignificant ghost story, and a celebratory laugh announcing that the college student's petty intention to scare him had been shattered.

The martial artist completely regained his courage and began to roam the mountain with his flashlight.

He examined for any signs of intrusion with his eyes filled with qi, spread his qi sense to detect the presence of animals and people, and if anything looked suspicious, he turned on his flashlight to examine it slowly. And as if it were a side job, he picked one or two edible mushrooms and put them in his pocket, and even took a sip from some alcohol he had secretly hidden along the patrol route.

"Phew."

He let out a small exclamation at the feeling of sweet potato soju flowing down his throat.

The 25-degree alcohol heated up his esophagus and warmed his stomach.

As if one drink wasn't enough, he slightly shook the earthenware bottle, and licked his lips at the sloshing sound of the more than half-full soju. But thinking he might get caught if he drank more, he closed the lid and hid it well among the rotten leaves.

Then, leaving his regret behind, he continued patrolling.

"Huh, it's Ksitigarbha."

After walking for a while, what appeared was a stone statue.

It was a Ksitigarbha stone statue with a red cloth draped over its head like a hat.

The statue was in a clean condition without any mold, as it was in a place where all the surrounding trees had been logged.

The martial artist strode towards the Ksitigarbha statue and opened a small wooden box behind it to take out a broom made of woven branches. Then, as always, he swept the fallen leaves that had flown near the Ksitigarbha and put the broom back in the wooden box.

Then he took out a clean cloth from the box and carefully wiped the Ksitigarbha, and even checked if the knot of the cloth hadn't come undone.

Sigh, it's annoying, so annoying.

But contrary to his seemingly attentive actions, the martial artist's face was full of boredom and irritation.

Why do we only manage this one? We should just leave it alone like the others.

I don't want to do this.

The martial artist's face clearly showed the true feelings welling up from deep inside his heart.

He didn't want to do it, really didn't want to do it, vehemently didn't want to do it, and with all his might, didn't want to do it.

But he had to do it.

This was because the statue he was currently managing was the only statue that Shigen-ryu maintained, and if leaves fell on the statue or it got dirty, he would have to receive all sorts of verbal abuse along with punishment.

The martial artist managed the Ksitigarbha well with an expression of not wanting to do it, but with careful and diligent hand movements opposite to that expression, then put the tools in the wooden box and set out again.

Perhaps because he had finished the annoying task, his steps had become a bit lighter, and his expression showed relief.

Just in case, I should check again on the way back.

The martial artist had once received all sorts of punishments for reasons he didn't know, being told he 'didn't clean properly', 'neglected management', 'wasn't properly focused', 'lacked discipline', 'must have become absentminded so needs mental training again' when a statue he had cleaned got dirty.

Since that incident, the martial artist always made sure to check the statue once more before returning.

Since the three Ksitigarbha stone statues were spread out like a triangle anyway, checking again wasn't much of a task.

But...

"Which way should I go first..."

The martial artist stopped at a fork in the road.

Usually, I went to the headless statue first...

The statue that needed to be managed.

The headless statue.

The statue holding a staff.

Usually, the martial artist patrolled in this order, and this routine had rarely been broken.

But for some reason, today he felt very uneasy about going in that order.

It's because of that college student bastard who came in saying he was doing some spiritual experience or whatever. Damn it.

In the end, the martial artist moved towards the statue holding the staff instead of going to the headless statue first as usual. And after roughly checking the worn-out statue, he reluctantly moved his steps towards the headless statue.

Fortunately, the distance between the statues wasn't far, so he could arrive quickly, and the martial artist could see the statue from afar with his qi-enhanced eyes.

Well, nothing unusual. Bird droppings are a bit thicker, probably because birds pooped on it, nothing broken, and the surroundings are dirty as usual.

The martial artist, feeling uneasy because of the ghost story, quickly checked and moved away from where the statue was.

But, as he was walking like that, something suddenly flashed through the martial artist's mind.

Wait a minute.

He stopped abruptly in his tracks.

And rolled his eyes around and shrank his body.

Wait, wait. Did I say there was nothing broken?

The martial artist tried to recall the statue he had just seen.

Bird droppings were thickly piled up.

Fallen leaves were all around.

And.

There was nothing broken.

Not the body, not the arms.

Not the head.

"No way."

It felt like all the hair on his body was standing on end.

I need to check, I need to check.

He went back the way he came with a pale face.

And.

"No way!"

He saw it.

The headless Ksitigarbha statue had a head growing on it.

A pitch-black head of unknown material was growing on top of the broken white stone body.