Tufts of black hair waving in the air like willow branches, he slowed his steps to restrain his breathing with his rising and falling chest and then stopped.

The bright rays of the red sun, which disappeared for a few minutes because of the clouds of the blue sky and then appeared, illuminated the bamboo forest. The sound of cicadas and birds accompanied the young man's unbridled breathing as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with his thick but long fingers.

As he squinted to see if there was anyone else around him, the thick red lines on his eyelids became even more prominent.

Since he often went hunting in the forest, his hearing had improved and when he did not sense the presence of someone or an animal following him, he gripped the bow and arrow in his right hand tightly and offered a sincere smile.

His heart beat a little faster than normal, sometimes almost stopping, for fear of his master finding him. It was clear from his facial features that he had no intention of giving up easily.

He had already begged for a different punishment for not listening to his master, and had taken on the responsibility of categorising the more than three thousand spell-books by colour.

As if luck - misfortune, if you like - had smiled on him, an old 'raising the dead' spell book with a coffee-coloured outer cover had caught his attention and made him steal it.

He would have to pay money for stealing and violating the rules of attempting to cast the spell in the book by not asking permission from his master.

Yes, money!

As strange and absurd as it may sound, it was as if the students had come to this master not to develop incantations, but to pay money for every punishment.

It's a very pitiful situation.

Even though what he did was bad, he should have been paid for breaking the rule. But what would anyone do if no one else knew about it.

One by one, he broke the rules one by one, calculating the money in his brain, and finally the place that caused him to be breathless for minutes began to appear.

At first glance, the first people who came here called it "the hill of mole stones" because of the small hills and long ruined, cracked or grass-covered stones in the middle of the hills, even if it sounded ridiculous, it was already accepted by everyone.

But who would have known that these small hills were actually a cemetery and not a molehill.

Even half of the townspeople living here did not even know where this "hill of mole stones" was, let alone see this cemetery. 

After all, if someone close to them died, they would bury them in another magnificent cemetery, so of course this place was forgotten over time.

He took a few more ten steps and finally stopped in front of the old bamboo gate of the cemetery. With his left hand he checked to see if the book he had hidden in his robe was still intact.

"Hah, it is."

Taking a deep breath, he jumped over the door and entered. The smell of the swamp formed half a li away due to the frequent rain was dominating here. The young man was used to the smell because he came here often, and since no one else came to this cemetery except him, he put his hands in front of him and bowed his head.

[1 li = 500 meter. Half li is like 250 meters]

"Hello everyone. Once again I've come here."