Chapter 8: The Spirit User’s Awakening

‘Hay Styles’ lost his parents at the tender age of twelve. His parents had ventured into the nearby forest to gather medicinal herbs, only to be ambushed and killed by a monstrous beast that had strayed near the forest’s edge. Their bodies were never recovered. The only things Hay could salvage were a tattered arm, presumably his father’s, and one of his mother’s shoes. The scene had been awash with blood. That horrifying sight, too, resurfaced with vivid clarity. The scent of trees, grass, and earth permeated the forest, mingling with the pungent aroma of medicinal herbs in the basket, the foul stench of the beast’s bodily fluids, the overwhelming metallic tang of his parents’ spilled blood, and the sticky scent of his own sweat, profusely shed as he frantically searched for them. The frantic pounding of his heart, the feel of sweat trickling down his spine, even the trembling of his hands from sheer terror – every detail remained as sharp and immediate as if it had transpired moments ago.

Yet, no emotion stirred within him. It was as if he were observing someone else’s tragedy through a screen. The only thought that crossed his mind was, ‘Ah, that was terrible back then.’

After losing his parents, he toiled as a servant in a city inn to survive. He worked for meager wages, treated no better than a s*ave. Despite the relentless exploitation, he clung to the dream of one day escaping this wretched place, painstakingly saving every coin.

His dream of escape materialized sooner than expected.

“Little one, you seem like such a kind soul. You have a good aura. Have you ever seen a spirit?”

It was all thanks to Hellheim.

Hellheim was an elf with brilliant golden hair that shone like the sun and eyes of pure gold. Despite being a wanderer, he always wore easily soiled white clothes, draped with a crimson cloak trimmed with fox fur. He was so dazzlingly beautiful that Hay had initially wondered if the Sun God himself had descended.

‘Sun God, my foot. He was a complete lunatic.’

Looking back, the way he first approached Hay felt eerily similar to the deceptive tactics of cults, like, ‘Do you know the Way?’ or ‘You have a truly wonderful countenance.’ Even then, Hay knew this beautiful man was an elf, and he seemed to recall a warning bell ringing in his mind, telling him not to associate with such a person.

‘No, I haven’t.’

His parents had taught him never to engage with madmen, so he quickly tried to leave, but the old geezer grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.

“Just a moment, little one! You possess truly exceptional spirit affinity. Won’t you listen to what this elder brother has to say? This elder brother is an incredibly talented spirit user!”

Upon reflection, it was quite shameless for a man so advanced in years to refer to himself as ‘elder brother.’ He truly seemed like a madman, and Hay had initially refused, but in the end, he couldn’t help but be swayed by Hellheim’s words.

“Child! I’ll teach you spirit magic! Even becoming a low-rank spirit user will ensure you never starve! Don’t you want to escape this backwater? Don’t you want to run away? To escape, you’ll need the strength, won’t you?”

Those words enticed him. And so, he learned.

“But old man, why are you teaching me spirit magic?”

“Oh, it’s not ‘old man.’ I told you to call me ‘elder brother,’ didn’t I? It’s nothing much, just an elven custom.”

He spoke as if it were truly inconsequential.

“There’s a very old custom among elven spirit users. It dictates that they must teach spirit magic to anyone who possesses spirit affinity. Because spirit users benefit the world, you see.”

It was utter nonsense. Though, the part about it being a custom was actually true. Not long after learning spirit magic from him and escaping the inn, Hay happened upon a low-rank spirit user who echoed the exact same sentiment.

“My master was an elf too. That elf was also a lunatic. Oh, my master had red hair. She’s a different person from your master, and she’s a woman. I once asked her the same thing you’re asking, kiddo: why she was teaching spirit magic to me, a human. And she said it was a custom. No particular reason. I make a living from it now, but if I could go back, I’d say I wouldn’t learn spirit magic. She was a truly terrifying elf. At first, I was happy to learn, but every time I failed a spirit contract, she’d kick me in the butt! I failed about five thousand times, so I probably got kicked twice that many, right?”

With that, the low-rank spirit user shuddered.

Five thousand failures certainly warranted a beating. Even I would have disciplined him.

Spirit magic.

Hellheim had actually taught him very little. Only five things: how to commune with spirits, the breathing method to draw in mana from nature, how to summon spirits, how to use spirit magic, and how to control spirits. These were the most fundamental aspects, and indeed, they encompassed all of spirit magic. He taught nothing beyond that. The old geezer left when Hay contracted with Kelpie and Thea, telling him to simply practice on his own, following what he had learned.

First, communion.

Herming his cloak, Hay tossed it where his staff lay, then removed his shoes and socks. Standing barefoot on the earth, he took a deep breath. Communing with spirits was not difficult. Though his skill didn’t improve rapidly, it was something a spirit user did as naturally as breathing. He sharpened all his senses. He felt the texture of the soil beneath his bare feet and the damp night air as darkness settled. He honed his sense of touch, not missing the slightest brush of wind against his clothes and skin. It was then that he felt something chattering near his ears. The rustling of branches and leaves, swaying and colliding in the breeze, sounded almost like music. Hay felt the intangible presences: spirits of water, earth, wind, fire, wood, and night. They were everywhere.

Second, the breathing method.

He regulated his breath slowly. As if in meditation, he walked barefoot on the earth with his eyes closed, and stretched out his hands, feeling the air slip through his fingers. The mana, abundant in nature, flowed in and out with each breath he took. He let it circulate to every corner of his body, then drew it into his chest along with the flow of his blood. The mana was sometimes as gentle as someone’s body heat, sometimes as cold as ice, sometimes sharp and pointed, and sometimes as hard as rock. Yet, when it reached his heart, it permeated him like melting snow, becoming entirely his own.

Hay remembered Hellheim. How he communed with spirits. How he felt them. How he danced on the water, with a waterfall churning white mist and spray in the deep forest behind him. Hay hummed a pleasant tune, keeping time with the small chattering of the spirits speaking to him. It was as if he heard laughter near his ears. A smile spread across Hay’s lips. His heart felt peaceful. He also felt free. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way.

Han Tae-hyun had lived a fierce life. His circumstances had left him no other choice. He was alone, and to survive, he had to work desperately hard. Perhaps that was why he never shied away from grueling overtime. Before joining the company, there was hardly a job he hadn’t done. Consequently, his hands were always covered in calluses and scars. He hadn’t had a moment of leisure until he was well over thirty. In his youth, he helped his mother run a small soup restaurant and cared for his younger sibling; as an adult, he worked various part-time jobs to contribute to living expenses; and after losing his family and becoming alone following his military service, he survived reluctantly, terrified of dying.

It was then that Hay realized why he had remained at the lowest rank for so long. Hay Styles was free. He had no greed. Though mercenary work was arduous, he was content in his own way. He had already achieved his childhood goal of escaping the inn. He was already living a life of leisure and ease.

Hellheim had said:

“Spirit users are free beings.”

“They sometimes become adventurers,”

“And sometimes great heroes.”

“They can also become bards who sing of the world, or eternal wanderers.”

“Following the river, following the clouds, flowing as nature dictates, as flowers bloom and wither, just like nature itself.”

“They are the ones who yearn for freedom more than anyone.”

Something he had never felt before stirred within his body. It felt as if something was overflowing inside him. No, this was the same sensation he had felt when he first gained the power of a spirit. His insides felt both hot and cold. He felt invigorated. At that moment, a strong gust of wind swept past, striking Hay’s body with a sudden force.

“Ha….”

He exhaled a cry of pure elation and opened his eyes. The spirit power he felt within his body was considerable. It felt as if it would overflow. His original strength had doubled, no, tripled. Hay stared at his palms for a long moment before abruptly turning and running.

“Oops!”

He quickly turned back, gathered his discarded shoes, cloak, and staff, and returned to the inn. Arriving in a single breath, he sprinted up to the third floor.

“Mister! Don’t run!”

Mr. Torres’s young daughter chided him.

Hay slipped into the room and shook Renki’s shoulder, waking him from his sleep.

“Renki! Renki, wake up!”

He kept his voice down, but he couldn’t suppress the excitement that permeated it. Renki startled awake, his eyes flying open.

“Huh? Huh? W-what’s going on?”

He couldn’t even fully open his eyes, his face dazed as he sharply looked around.

“Look at this! Kelpie!”

As if answering Hay’s call, Kelpie materialized, creating a small splash of water. Unlike the small, juvenile snake he had been just moments ago, Kelpie was now a three-meter-long adult, coiling around Hay’s body and hissing, flicking his tongue. His blue scales shimmered like luminous jewels.

“Oh? Kelpie, why did he get so big?”

“As my power grew, so did his size. I’ve become a low-rank spirit user now.”

“Huh? A low-rank spirit user? Really? Truly? Master, congratulations!”

Hay grinned and bestowed a large amount of spirit power upon Kelpie. Kelpie wore a satisfied expression, opening his mouth as if to shoot venom. Then, a water droplet formed before his snout, growing to the size of two clasped fists. Hay held it out to Renki.

“Drink this. Huh? Quickly.”

“Is it healing water? I already drank today’s portion earlier.”

“My spirit power has increased, so it doesn’t matter today. Drink it quickly. Let’s see the effect.”

Hay bounced excitedly on the bed.

Renki’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between the water mass before him and the excited Hay. He then brought his lips to the water droplet. As Renki drank, the water mass diminished in size. By the time he had finally finished, Hay removed his turban and mask, which Renki never forgot to wear, even in his sleep.

“Ah, Master!”

“Stay still. Let me see your face.”

Hay held Renki’s cheeks, who was trying to hide his face, and examined him. His wounds were visibly healing. Hay smiled brightly and lifted Renki’s right arm, rolling up his sleeve. His arm showed similar improvement.

“See? It’s much better.”

Surprise spread across Renki’s clearly flustered face. Soon, with trembling eyes, he parted his lips, looking alternately at Hay and his own healing wounds. Renki couldn’t speak. Only tears welled up in his large eyes.

‘The kid, is he so happy he’s crying?’

Hay gently pinched Renki’s nose. “Another six months of treatment, and all your wounds will be completely healed.”

Renki’s face crumpled, and he bowed his head, tightly grasping Hay’s hand with his trembling ones. They were thin and bony. “Thank you. Thank you, Master. Truly….”

Drops of water fell onto the worn blanket. Hay flicked Renki’s small crown with his finger.

Renki clutched his head, snapping it up. “Smile, kid. Why are you crying?”

Hay chuckled, thoroughly ruffling the boy’s hair. “Just bear with it a little longer. I’ll make sure you’re completely healed.”

At Hay’s words, Renki rubbed his forehead where he’d been flicked, then broke into a wide smile. “Yes, Master.”