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“From now on, I shall read the logbook laid upon the ghost ship, oh Goddess, oh Sea, grant me your protection. With the light of the guiding North Star, bless me, and wrap my body in the brilliance of Venus that rises first, so that I may touch land safely. Day 7 of the voyage. With a fair wind blowing, the sails catch the breeze and swiftly move us forward, and in the highest point of the mast, he gazes into the distance with bright eyes, yet neither rocks nor pirate ships can be seen, so surely this voyage will be smooth. It seems that the effort spent carving the figurehead from oak into the beautiful form of Juno was not in vain—”

With a crackling sound, shadows cleave the surroundings.

Shadows creep towards the uprooted and tilted tree, carving it with saws and chisels into a shape reminiscent of a human form. Adorned with a crown on its head, it holds a rod in its right hand, while in its left, a plate for pouring alcohol, astonishingly filled with water despite the absence of rain, and as it reaches the ground, it emanates a pungent smell.

“In the days of ancient heroes, as with the Argo, may the great mistress, Juno who blesses homes, protect us that our ship may safely complete its voyage. Safely complete its voyage. But on the 9th day of sailing, a sudden storm began to blow, dark clouds gathering in the distance, and accompanied by lightning, it resembled Jupiter wielding his lightning rod at Neptune, who had fled to the sea, embracing a woman. The navigator spoke, saying Jupiter felt rage towards Neptune who had escaped with the woman, hurling lightning bolts to drag him out.

You all must know how passionate the entanglement over a woman can be; how could it not be dreadful if it intertwined with the deities? And pointing towards our figurehead, though Juno may bless us, Zeus dismisses even Juno’s pleas and acts indifferent as he engages in countless affairs, demolishing homes; thus we can’t solely rely on Juno’s blessings. Moreover, the captain added that Neptune, being no lesser god, would not endure the battering of lightning for long, and with his trident, he shall strike the sea, manifesting his wrath, therefore we may become but dust, collapsing uselessly between them, and so the decision was made to hold the sails tightly and change our course…”

The poorly carved statue of Goddess Juno rises in the shadowy hand, shaking back and forth, akin to a boat swaying amid the waves, perhaps with a frivolous feel as if casting bait towards the heavens.

Ah, do humans dare to blaspheme the gods?

Ah, do humans dare to taunt the gods?

You humans must not dare raise your heads to look upon the deity, nor harbor any feelings aside from reverence and fear, and must offer nothing but worship.

Thus, the King of Gods rises from his divine throne, wielding the lightning spear in one hand and striking down toward the clouds; the lightning pierces through the clouds, crashing down to the earth as a singular beam of light, a punishment.

Krrr!

Bam—!!!

Its speed was quicker than the sound, and by the time the sound reached, the figurehead was already burned to a crisp, rendering its form unrecognizable—truly the reputation of the King of Gods is no mere illusion; you humans ought to regard this divine act with fear and awe, bowing your bodies low to the ground, burying your heads in terror and devotion.

“Day 13 of the voyage. The typhoon has dissipated, and the dark clouds have cleared, but we are adrift. On this calm sea, we have found nothing to ascertain our current position, and the stars are obscured as if someone had covered them with a hand, preventing us from identifying the guiding stars. The logbook and compass that should be aboard were broken in the chaos, and we must now endure while waiting for the skies to clear, consuming hard ship’s biscuits infested with countless insects. The stench of rotting water is unbearable; if only we could drink, would that the captain allowed even that, but he does not, causing everyone’s anger to mount—”

Yet, even amidst the lightning strike, humans harbor no fear of the gods.

Especially Pierre Martin, who did not fear at all.

He was far too insane to succumb to such fear, and too rational to become a blind fanatic.

Madness and reason.

A peculiar mind where coexistence should not be permitted.

Perhaps Pierre Martin had been mad for a very long time.

Before Park Jinseong would describe it as ‘disease through superstition’, even in the days of his deep contemplation regarding shadows and the distinctions between the phantom and the real, or perhaps from the moment he resolved to become a shaman.

He may have already been swallowed by madness and blind faith.

Thus, in this madness, he uttered invocations.

“Day 15 of the voyage. Rolled the shells on deck.

Day 17 of the voyage. Conspired to kill the captain.

Day 20—”

The cost of this was horrifying in its nature.

Even before the ritual had concluded, the aftermath alone made his skin swell and burst, feeling the living agony of rotting, even as barnacles began to sprout over his exposed white bones, those barnacles tormenting him grotesquely, devouring his flesh while he held the invocation on his lips.

“-Neptune sent a messenger to express his rage. Its legs are many, and its girth ample enough to wrap around and pull down a ship. The messenger of Neptune pointed at our ship.

Neptune, oh unleash your fury.”

Neptune.

Unleash your fury.

The deepest darkness.

An unknown abyss, a realm we do not comprehend.

Merely invoke the personified fear filled within the minds of the people to descend upon this place.

Show them that shadow through those limbs.

Boom—!

Boom—!

Boom-boom-boom-boom—!

Ah, that desperate prayer.

That prayer interwoven with fear and reverence.

The testimony offered not to the heavens, but to the sea, was sufficient to reach Neptune.

Neptune responded, casting the shadow of his messenger upon this land.

Boom-boom-boom!!!

And thus, the ground heaved, and the insects that had made homes nibbling at the ship collapsed; the charred statue of Juno shattered, while the seaweeds lying on the floor soared skyward. The waters that had seeped from the sewers and fountains collected like water puddles, creating a passage wide enough for a single limb to break free, and finally, a massive tentacle woven from shadows reveals its form upon the land.

“-Kraken’s Leg.”

Hehehe.

What Pierre Martin brought forth was the Kraken’s Leg.

A spell born from the legendary monster said to ensnare and sink countless ships.

Though the method of use is complicated, its power is indeed tremendous.

Indeed, even the ‘shadow’ aligns perfectly with it.

Clothing that fits the body, could anything fit quite like this?

Where else is there something so effective as the magician controlling that shadow-formed limb?

Thus, even as barnacles gnaw at his flesh, and clams crawl beneath his skin, devouring his muscles, he is able to smile. Amidst that terrible agony, with skin cracked open, he nonchalantly pulls out a shipworm, displaying its existence as if it were nothing.

“Ah. Aaaaaah— Aaaaaah!!!”

Yet, pain is not the issue.

More importantly, his wishes have been hindered.

That is the very fact.

It is an unbearable agony, akin to dipping one’s heart into molten iron, a throbbing pain that tries to sear every orifice with fire, blocking all senses; a nightmarish memory that will never disappear. Thus, to awaken from that nightmare, he would be resolute to do anything, vowing to eradicate the obstacle that obstructs his dream.

Hence, he swings the Kraken’s Leg.

Horizontally.

Fiercely.

And so the Kraken’s leg sweeps across the city like a conductor’s baton wielded in fervor.

It was a power that could rightly be seen as that of a god or a giant.

Just as sailors trembled at the mere sight of that shadow in days of old, so too would the people on land.

 

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