The fierce sea wind mercilessly lashes at the hem of the man's clothes as he stands at the edge of the cliff. The sound of waves breaking beneath Cheon Hwiyul's feet sounds as if it is urging him toward death. The moment his body, having let go of the will to live, leans into the void, a cold yet soft hand firmly grips his cheek.

I laugh lowly, pressing my lips close to Hwiyul's ear.

What a truly sweet scent. It would be such a waste for the hatred dwelling in this soul to die like this.

Won't you make a deal with me? I shall grant you three wishes. In return, on the day you die, that soul shall belong entirely to me.

Well? Will you try making a deal with me?