MBOMEN 45

Chapter 45: The Secret Game (14)

“Yustar-nim, what is that…?”

Robsker’s eyes wavered. Yustar tightened his grip on the sword and spoke.

“Don’t listen to a word it says.”

With a thunderous boom, the ground around Yustar and the unit caved in. A cloud of dust rose, blurring their vision.

Yustar felt something cold and sharp graze his cheek. A thin line of blood trickled down as if cut by the tip of a needle. Every nerve in his body was on edge, as if something might burst from the back of his neck.

“Are you going to just stand there and watch me until that little witch draws her last breath?”

The creature, Smulkin, still in the form of a child, giggled and flipped midair. Yustar glanced in the direction of the sinkhole.

He saw a faint shimmer of darkness pooled deep in the bottomless pit, and momentarily forgot the tense standoff, smiling faintly.

“Robsker.”

“Yes, Yustar-nim.”

“Prepare the ‘rat trap.’ We’re going to capture it.”

“Not kill it?”

“If we act rashly and something happens to the sink before Miss Krislad escapes, we’ll be in trouble. We capture it first, secure her safety, then deal with the rest.”

Robsker stared at him for a moment, then straightened his sword and fixed his gaze on the tiny demon hovering in the air.

“Understood, Yustar-nim. I’ll prepare it.”

Layla stared blankly at Lilin, her eyes filled with confusion. Was it just her imagination? At first, he had seemed like mist—ready to vanish at any moment—but now, his form was growing more distinct.

It was as if he were becoming denser… Just a little more and he would no longer appear ghostlike, but like a real person. Or maybe a statue made to resemble one.

“So for you to understand that, you must first understand me.”

Lilin spoke. Layla understood what he was trying to say. But she couldn’t grasp why she needed to understand that little demon in the first place.

No, could such a thing even be understood? Witches of the Dark Ages were once accused of summoning demons and celebrating amidst plagues, wars, and nightmares, but that was all a misconception.

Only fools believed demons could be summoned with clumsy human incantations.

Layla shook her head. She didn’t want to understand it. But Lilin was adamant.

“If you don’t, you’ll die here. You must see my ‘core’ to figure out how to get rid of it.”

“You could just tell me, couldn’t you? It’s your memory!”

“You call yourself a witch, but you really know nothing.”

Lilin wore an expression only a hundred-year-old man could pull off. Layla felt a sudden and inexplicable sense of shame…

Then came anger. And petty resentment. She was surprised at herself. Wasn’t she the one acting like a child now?

Lilin continued.

“This sink belongs to me. I died when I was ten. The longer you stay here, the more it’ll affect you. Your body will rot, and your mind… your spirit…”

“Will grow younger.”

“Exactly,” Lilin agreed. “That’s why you have to see my core before it’s too late. As long as I’m here, this space won’t disappear. Same goes for Smulkin. That demon needs me. That’s why it trapped both of us here—to keep us from escaping.”

A painful sigh escaped Layla’s lips.

“Fine,” she said. She watched as Lilin’s pale, round face slowly drew closer to hers.

There wasn’t even space to move—how could he get closer? Then she realized. Lilin wasn’t approaching from the outside.

He was entering her. Slowly, seeping into her mind.

—I’m glad.

His final, incomprehensible words echoed in her head. Then her vision wavered, as if underwater. The darkness tore apart, revealing a new space.

She saw Lilin’s memory.

—Lilin!

Mom’s in a bad mood today, thought six-year-old Lilin.

Well, his mother was always like that. Either in a bad mood… or in a very bad mood. Nothing in between.

If she was just angry, yelling and scowling, Lilin was actually relieved. If she was smiling, it usually meant a storm was coming.

—Lilin!

The moment her voice boomed overhead, Lilin’s small body slammed onto the wooden floor. The unpolished boards scraped his soft cheek, leaving a cut.

—You useless little brat! I told you to drink the milk! What, are you going to let it turn into a chunk of rotting cheese?!

—It was already spoiled, Mom. I couldn’t drink it.

—‘Already spoiled, Mom’? Oh, excuse me! Princess can’t drink spoiled food now? You worthless thing who doesn’t earn a penny! Get up, you wretch!

Lilin tried to resist, but his mother’s strength overwhelmed him.

His heel scraped on the stairs. His malnourished calves banged against the steps. Probably bruised. Lilin scratched at her arm and slapped at her hand, but it was pointless.

Say you’re sorry! Beg! A voice inside him screamed. But Lilin didn’t.

He was a child who never apologized for things that weren’t his fault.

—Mom! No! Don’t!

When the closet door opened, Lilin’s eyes widened in fear. He hated dark places.

Even at night, if moonlight didn’t spill through the window, he couldn’t fall asleep. He always feared something would leap out of the darkness and devour him.

But his mother didn’t care. As Lilin tried to escape like a cat, she shoved him back in.

—Try starving in there. Maybe you’ll be grateful to lick moldy cheese instead of wasting milk next time. I’ll beat some manners into you.

Darkness swallowed his vision. No matter how he pushed, the door wouldn’t budge. He heard the bolt click into place between the handles and her heavy footsteps receding.

—No! Open it! I’m scared! Mom!

He screamed until his throat went raw. But she never came back. Curled up among the familiar smell of dust, Lilin squeezed his eyes shut.

I won’t cry, he thought. I won’t beg. I’m not a coward.

But adults like it when kids are cowards.

That way they listen better.

Not me though. Lilin’s lips tightened.

I’m not a coward. I’m going to get out of here. I’m not going to die here. I’m not drinking spoiled milk. I’ll escape from Mom.

Every time his mother’s shrill laughter echoed from the hallway, Lilin curled up under the blanket.

After remarrying, his mother no longer forced him to drink spoiled milk.

She stopped tossing him moldy bread and disappearing for days, then looking disappointed when he answered the door.

But that didn’t mean she was kind now.

I hate that man.

Lilin shuddered whenever he heard Manson’s voice vibrating through the walls.

His mother went to work every day, but Manson didn’t. Sometimes he disappeared for a month and came back with a pouch of coins, but that only happened two or three times a year. The rest of the time, he lazed around the house.

His mother now had to feed herself, her daughter, and Manson, but she didn’t seem to realize her situation.

She accepted his rare coin pouches like they were chariots full of gold. And for the rest of the months, even when he consumed all the food and money doing nothing, she never complained.

Unlike how she treated Lilin, she didn’t serve him spoiled food. Even when she came home exhausted, she made hot soup for him.

She wasn’t always like this. Lilin murmured to himself, fingers fiddling under the blanket.

When his mother first started living with Manson, in less than six months, Lilin had feared she might die.

She was strong and big—strong enough to throw him into a closet—but Manson had shoulders twice her size.

His hands were thick like loaves of bread, but not soft. No warmth in them.

Whenever his mother “chanted” that he should go earn money, that’s when Manson’s magic began.

Lilin always thought there was a monster hiding under Manson’s massive body, and when his mother cast those spells, he realized he was right.

The monster under Manson’s skin broke out and destroyed everything in reach.

What the monster most wanted to destroy was Lilin’s mother. When Manson grabbed her by the collar, Lilin would dash to his room and hide under the bed.

Only when the monster left to find a new victim did he creep downstairs.

If his mother was unconscious, he wiped the blood from her nose and laid a wet cloth on her forehead. If she was still awake, he’d quietly return to his room and not move again until morning.

After this happened a few times, she stopped chanting spells to awaken the monster.

Instead, she seemed to decide it was better to worship it.

Living with a monster that could appear at any time, and a mad woman who served it with hot soup and alcohol, Lilin learned to hide anywhere to survive. Anywhere—except the closet.

—Lilin.

When his mother wasn’t home, Manson would sink into the tattered sofa and drink.

In her absence, Lilin had to serve the monster in her place. He hated when Manson stared at him. And on days like today, when he called his name—it was the worst.

—Lilin!

Manson shouted. Lilin knew he couldn’t pretend not to hear him over the sound of dishwashing anymore. He turned his head.

—Yes… Dad.

—Come here.