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[Translator - Pot ]
[Proofreader - Kawaii ]
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Chapter 1: Pastor Kim
"You must accept the divine."
"Huh?"
‘Is she out of her damn mind?’
Rather than rebelling against such an outrageous demand, Kim Gwango carefully considered the words of his mother—a shaman.
"You want me to become a male shaman?"
"Yes."
"Just like that?"
Gwango’s family was… unusual.
His father was a high-ranking executive at a major corporation, while his mother, though eccentric, was a practicing shaman.
Of course, those in the know were well aware that his father’s rise to success owed much to his mother’s spiritually potent rituals.
What else would you expect from a shaman whose husband is worshipped by the company chairman like some kind of bodhisattva?
Financially, they lacked nothing, living comfortably without envy. But there was one unavoidable trait in their family:
"Your spiritual sight has already awakened and it’s no ordinary vision."
Every member of their household had the disposition of a spirit medium.
If it were just a mild sensitivity, they might have let him live as he pleased.
But according to Madam Park, a shaman with fifty years of experience, his case was anything but ordinary.
"The divine that has marked you is no ordinary presence. And it’s not just one but many gods have taken an interest in you."
If he were just an average rebellious teenager, he might have lashed out without restraint.
My life is mine to decide! No one can force me, not even the gods!
"All I see are lowly ghosts."
But what could he do when he actually saw them?
Gwango’s spiritual sight had opened back in elementary school.
Not only could he see spirits, but he also perceived their unique "colors."
"The true gods aren’t something you can see with that sight."
Is that so?
Gwango had never seen what people would typically call a "god."
Though he had seen a demon before.
"Then what kind of god is it? Please tell me it’s not some nonsense like General MacArthur or some village grandma deity."
[PR/N- General MacArthur is a General of the American armed forces during the Korean civil war.]
When people talk about serving a divine being, it sounds grand—like they’ll make others kneel before their sacred might.
But the problem is, in this context, "divine" includes all spirits, even the lowly ones.
If you’re lucky, you might get a top-tier deity like the Great Sun Buddha, Avalokiteshvara, or Maitreya.
Even a general spirit or child deity would still place a shaman in the top 5%.
But General MacArthur from the Incheon Landing? If a shaman serving that ghost is in the top 10%, would you believe it? In the human world, he’s a big enough name that there’s steady demand.
Most, however, end up bound to some random wandering ghost, hanging up a flashy sign and telling fortunes about love lives.
The thought of being shackled to a spirit for life, suffering endlessly.
It all comes down to sheer luck.
Of course, if you do get a powerful one, even a child can scold politicians and CEOs while living in luxury.
"After thinking it over, I still refuse."
"This isn’t something you can refuse just because you want to. Don’t be stubborn and bring misfortune upon yourself. Serve a strong one."
Gwango remembered how his mother, too, had resisted her calling when she was young, only to suffer dire consequences.
Even his father, now a director thanks to her influence, had endured countless misfortunes before then.
And Gwango himself couldn’t outright deny it, not when he saw things in people’s eyes all the time.
But still, he hated it.
What’s the difference between the ghosts he sees and these so-called gods who covet him?
Frankly, memories of being pointed at as a child "Look, it’s the shaman’s son who sees ghosts!" flooded back vividly.
He couldn’t pass this kind of life down to his own future children.
Yet, as much as he wanted to declare "I’ll carve my own path!", his mother’s own past held him back.
What kind of life is a male shaman’s anyway? Getting jerked around by spirits day after day.
What’s so great about that?
Sure, powerful male shamans might make good money and drive around in Mercedes, but only a tiny fraction ever reach that level.
Divine possession varies too, get stuck with some random, unruly spirit, and you’re screwed.
No money, no respect.
But what if you have to accept a divine calling?
Money can be earned with skill, but I hate the idea of being pointed at wherever I go.
Is there another way?
Does such a god even exist?
"Believe in Jesus! Accept Jesus and go to heaven!!"
"Huh."
There was.
The God of the world’s largest religion—one that even lowly spirits wouldn’t dare oppose.
And so, ten years later,
"Do you believe?!"
"We believe!!"
"If you believe, say amen!"
"Amen...!!"
Kim Gwango became a pastor.
Filled with the Holy Spirit, he welcomed Christ and not a single ghost dared come near him.
This is what it means to serve a god of a different tier.
"Mess with me, and I’ll smite you dead!"
"WAAAAAAAH!!"
As the associate pastor of a massive megachurch in Seoul’s wealthy Gangnam district, Gwango was next in line to become head pastor.
Until.
"SQUAWK!"
He died.
In a car accident.
To be precise, it was the doing of jealous associate pastors who resented how quickly he had risen under the head pastor’s favor.
‘I escaped divine wrath, only to fall to human malice.’
Who would’ve thought someone would ram him with a car right there?
Still, he had lived righteously. Surely heaven awaited him.
But when he closed his eyes.
‘Turns out I’m skipping heaven and going straight to my next life.’
He had hoped to at least see Saint Peter, maybe catch a glimpse of Jesus’ nail-scarred hands but instead, he woke up in another world.
The problem?
This place was also crawling with spirits masquerading as gods.
So what did Pastor Kim do?
"Hail the Sun!!"
Pastor Kim had a very flexible faith.
***
Ray Anderson
That was Pastor Kim’s new name in this world.
Unlike his comfortable past life, Ray Anderson’s childhood was rough.
[Hehe~ Play with me!]
[Just a little bite. Hm? Just a nibble. A tiny piece of your sooouul!!]
Here, too, lowly spirits swarmed around him.
In his past life, he had a shaman mother.
He had the protection of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit.
But now?
Nothing.
This world had no shamans, no Gods, no one to shield him.
"O Almighty Sol Invictus, protect me with eternal light, guide me with holy wisdom, and though my path be shrouded in darkness, lead my soul with sacred radiance—"
"R-Ray?"
"O Almighty Sol Invictus, protect me with eternal light, guide me with holy wisdom, and though my path be shrouded in darkness, lead my soul with sacred radiance—"
"F-Father! Ray’s acting weird again!"
"HAIL THE SUUUUN!!"
"GYAAAAAH!"
Ray desperately clung to the village church.
It was the only place the spirits couldn’t enter.
The Solar Theocracy.
The dominant faith of this world, worshiping a single god.
Other religions and folk beliefs existed in whispers, but they were nothing compared to the Solar Theocracy’s might.
And so, Ray spent as much time as possible inside, making it his sanctuary.
"Hoho, it’s rare to see such devout youth these days. Ray, would you like to study the scriptures?"
Whether the old priest sensed his desperation or not, Ray, a commoner, was allowed to learn to read and study the holy texts.
A silver lining.
But silver linings don’t always mean good fortune.
"The village elders have all perished. A plague targeting only adults..."
"What will happen to the children? Even the priest succumbed."
"Thankfully, the Solar Theocracy is sending a new priest and staff. At least the children won’t be left on the streets."
In this medieval-like world, entire villages dying to plague wasn’t uncommon.
Sanitation, medicine, none of it could compare to Earth.
‘This time, I outlived my parents.’
At sixteen in his second life, Ray attended his parents’ funeral.
Though he had died first in his past life at thirty-eight, burying his parents still left a bitter taste.
"Sigh..."
Even Father Johan, his mentor in this life, had passed in the outbreak.
Soon, a new priest would arrive, along with caretakers for the orphaned children.
Ray could continue his life of faith with them.
His reason for clinging to the church was simple:
It was the only holy ground that kept the spirits at bay.
"Hail the Sun..."
But Ray’s peaceful second life shattered the moment the new clergy arrived.
"You must be Brother Ray. I’m Zeon, dispatched from the central diocese. These brothers will help me establish an orphanage."
For over a month, Ray had single-handedly managed the church, feeding and bathing the orphans.
The new priests smiled kindly—exactly as men of God should.
But.
‘Fuck.’
Beyond those smiles, their souls burned a sinister
Ray could see souls.
While his innate spiritual sensitivity played a part, his true gift lay in perceiving the "colors" imprinted on human souls.
Those tending toward white had accumulated good karma, while darker hues indicated evil deeds.
As Pastor Kim, he'd attended many prayer sessions for death row inmates, yet even the most heinous criminals never exhibited colors darker than deep red.
In other words, the limit of human sin was crimson.
So what did crimson-black represent?
An evil spirit... or a warlock!
The demon-worshippers he'd encountered during exorcisms with his mentor Pastor Park had borne that exact hue.
The actual "demons" the Vatican exorcists had struggled against were pure black.
He'd heard this world had its own demons and their contractors, but never expected to find them in this backwater village.
"You may place your belongings here. I apologize for the poor accommodations."
"No need for apologies, Brother Ray. A place to pray is blessing enough, is it not?"
Ray met Deacon Charon's benevolent smile head-on.
Had he not seen souls, even Ray might have been fooled.
Keeping his own mask firmly in place, Ray continued:
"But Brother, you know something?"
"Yes?"
"I've encountered demon-worshippers before. Not contractors though, they couldn't use magic."
"...I see. That must have been quite an ordeal."
Charon's brow twitched almost imperceptibly, a change Ray noted immediately.
"They hid cleverly among the populace. Without concrete evidence, weeding them out proved difficult."
Even the Vatican inquisitors' silver bullets had been useless against mere worshippers.
No physical method could identify them.
"So I devised an alternative. I gathered everyone in the chapel and had each say one phrase."
"What... phrase?"
"Say 'Demon, you son of a bitch.'"
"…!"
"'Demon, you son of a bitch,' I told them. Say it. Right now."
"Ha... haha... what an odd jest."
As Ray's tone shifted abruptly, Deacon Charon realized something was wrong.
But by then, the trap had already sprung.
"You son of a b…"
Charon's words died as something pierced clean through both cheeks.
A meat skewer.
"Ghk—?!"
No scream escaped his blocked throat.
Blood dripped onto Ray's white handkerchief from the skewer transfixing Charon's face.
"Say 'Demon, you son of a bitch'."
"You bas…?!"
Another skewer found Charon's throat before he could finish.
Thud. The deacon's body collapsed.
Ray carefully lowered the corpse to muffle the sound.
"I told you to call the demon 'Son of a bitch' Why are you cursing at me instead?”
In the next instant, Ray snatched the crimson-black soul oozing from Charon's corpse.
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[Translator - Pot ]
[Proofreader - Kawaii ]
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