Experiment.
For a word coming from someone who appeared to be maintaining a respectful demeanor, it carried a rather ominous tone.
However, no one present made any remark about the word.
Maurice, who had spoken it, made no excuses, and neither the shaman with the fox mask nor Park Jinseong showed any resistance to the word “experiment.” They merely continued to look at Maurice as if it were completely normal.
“What kind of experiment?”
“Oh, that experiment… Hmm.”
Maurice paused briefly to ponder the question, then looked toward Jinseong.
He smiled faintly and slowly began to speak.
“It is related to Mr. Jinseong Park, I would say.”
“Are you referring to me?”
“Yes. That’s right. If Jinseong Park is a person belonging to Korea, then you must certainly be connected to it.”
So saying, Maurice reached into his pocket and retrieved something from a small, thin bag—it was something very familiar to Jinseong.
A tablet.
And not just any tablet, but a famous brand.
With practiced ease, Maurice turned on the tablet, searched for an image, and displayed something on the screen, showing it to Jinseong and the shaman.
“Hmm.”
On Maurice’s tablet was a crude and weathered-looking illustration, the kind one might find in an ancient Eastern text.
It was difficult to identify whether it was made on paper from the bark of a dac tree, the leather of an animal, or perhaps even cloth, as it was so worn and discolored from age. The ink used for the drawing had faded and smeared in places, hinting at the many years it had weathered. Additionally, in some spots, shadows, backlighting, or light streaks obscured parts of the image, making it almost impossible to discern its original form.
Furthermore, it seemed to have been photographed with a less-than-ideal camera, resulting in poor resolution and unclear details.
One could only vaguely guess the general feeling and shape of the image.
This was far too inadequate as a material for serious research.
However, the photo still held value.
Despite its poor quality and aged condition, the photograph possessed significance—certainly, at least in the current moment for the shamans gathered here.
“A tower of skulls, I presume?”
“Yes, that’s correct. This artifact is believed to have been built in ancient Goguryeo.”
—
“…Among the people who lived in the lands of Zhongyuan, there was a peculiar custom known as ‘Jinguan’ (京觀) and ‘Gengsah’ (坑殺). These people took pleasure in killing and stacking human bodies to create structures, and held events to celebrate their victories. The form of this custom varied depending on the era and region. Some waited for the bodies to rot before piling them up, while others stripped the flesh and built with bleached bones.”
“The most common method was to cover the corpses with earth to form a mound, upon which ceremonies were held to celebrate victory.”
“Constructing towers using enemy corpses is called ‘Jinguan’ (京觀), while exhibiting executed prisoners is called ‘Gengsah’ (坑殺). Jinguan instilled fear in the enemy, and Gengsah discouraged futile resistance from prisoners, making it highly effective.”
“However, as time passed, such acts gradually decreased. While Jinguan continued to be practiced occasionally, the brutality of Gengsah was replaced by simply burying prisoners alive. With the arrival of the Qing Dynasty, these customs eventually disappeared entirely.”
—
“The act of stacking human corpses is surprisingly common across the world. It serves as an effective way to evoke primal fear and is also a grand way to flaunt one’s strength. Additionally, even without intentional effort, towers of corpses naturally form. It’s impossible to bury each body individually, so they are often collected and stacked in one place.”
Maurice’s eyes sparkled.
“However, elevating this act into a formal ritual or custom is quite rare. Most of the time, these acts are simply the result of battlefield madness. Constructing and flaunting towers on such a grand scale is quite uncommon—especially when practiced on a national scale.”
Maurice paused briefly.
“Perhaps the people of ancient East Asia realized that stacking bodies into towers was an effective way to subdue enemies and control both prisoners and allies. At the very least, seeing a tower made from countless people would surely evoke fear.”
“That’s true. Most people are frightened just by seeing the corpse of a similar human; imagine the terror upon seeing entire towers or hills of stacked corpses. Perhaps some may fall under that fear and become obedient slaves.”
“Hahaha, exactly.”
Maurice smiled when Jinseong seemed intrigued.
“China, in reality, actively practiced the construction of towers from corpses. They unified the land known as ‘Zhongyuan’, expelled foreign tribes, and enslaved captured prisoners, making effective use of this brutal act.”
“Hmm.”
“However, unfortunately, such brutality wasn’t unique to China. Among those referred to as ‘barbarians’ by China were people even more brutal, and during the periods of China’s disunity, several East Asian powers emerged.”
Such as the Xiongnu and the Khitans.
They mercilessly slaughtered Chinese people and stacked their bodies into Jinguan towers of an enormous scale, some even earning their own place in history.
“The Xiongnu’s alleged ‘Gulu Tai’ (骷髏臺) was truly immense. Translated, it means a pavilion made from bones… The sheer number of killings and materials used to earn such a name is unthinkable. Although we must account for the typical Eastern penchant for exaggeration, if it was referred to as a pavilion, it must have been a truly colossal structure….”
Maurice trailed off before turning his gaze back to Jinseong.
“Goguryeo was no different. They fought the Sui dynasty, killed countless soldiers, and purportedly used them as materials to build towers.”
He pointed to the tablet with his finger.
“Exactly in this form.”
A faded image.
An image as unimpressive as the one before.
But despite there being no apparent difference, it somehow felt different. Was it an illusion?
There seemed to be an eerie madness emanating from the photo on the tablet.
“It’s said that the tower stood along the riverbanks, and its grandeur was truly immense. After all, according to records, the Sui invaded with over 1.1 million soldiers… It had to be grand, using such a vast amount of material. How could it not be?”
Zing.
Maurice clasped his hands together, imagining the ancient tower of skulls, and the sound of his rings and bracelets clinking against each other echoed.
“A tower of bones… How interesting.”
“Haha, indeed.”
Maurice placed the tablet back into his lap and looked at Jinseong and the shaman.
“I am someone who studies death. In pursuit of understanding the existence of death and the world beyond, I continuously search for answers and wander through the world in that pursuit. And in this process, I naturally developed an interest in a certain subject.”
Zing.
“Structures built using human deaths as material.”
Zing.
“From these death-infused structures, one can observe countless things: the wisdom of humanity in using death, the epitome of the unknown and fear, as a tool; the ways myths and legends from various cultures intertwine with the concept of death; and the perceptions each culture holds about death and the afterlife.”
Maurice continued to make the zinging sound by repeatedly clinking his rings and bracelets together.
Almost as if an evil spirit were using rhythmic sounds to enchant someone…
As if Maurice were imitating the actions of a spirit, he repeated this peculiar behavior.
“So, what is the material of death? The answer is simple. Everything left behind when a living being dies—wouldn’t all of that represent the material of death? The skin of people, the bones… and even the remains after rotting and crumbling—these remnants are the true materials of death, aren’t they?”
Zing zing.
The rings clinked.
The bracelet struck.
Rusted chains, tarnished metals.
They collided repeatedly, making sounds.
The metallic sound of coins placed in the mouths of the dead rang out like something fleeting, echoing across the night sky like the meaningless adornments on skeletons’ bodies.
Maurice laughed with a sound like that of a wraith.
He laughed not like a living person, but with an unsettling tone.
