Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Chapter 7. Road Trip Rest Stop

Heat shimmer rose like a mirage above the endlessly stretching asphalt.

Under the blazing sun, an old, ordinary-looking small truck sped along, kicking up dust.

Of course, the inside looked rather different.

It was a special truck equipped with all kinds of shamanic tools, a shrine for spirits, and talismans throughout the interior to heighten communion with the spirit.

And it had been thoroughly scrubbed clean to throw off anyone trying to track it.

‘Spent a fortune.’

The money burned in one go came to roughly five hundred million won.

Some might call it a ridiculous waste, but he felt nothing but happiness.

Back in South Korea, even buying a single ritual tool meant pinching pennies because of budget limits... Now he could spend freely without worrying about money.

He hummed while looking out the window.

His destination was Window Rock, Arizona, capital of the Navajo Nation.

‘Navajo...’

The memory of that day resurfaced clearly in his mind.

The Native American elder who had passed that tremendous spirit on to him.

The strange, mysterious syllables she had spoken were unmistakably from the Navajo language.

If he stayed there for a month and asked around, he should be able to find information about the spirit.

And once he learned more and could properly use its power?

‘Cheongwa or whatever else, whoever comes... I won't care.’

He was certain he could gain absolute power.

‘Spirit, Spirit, are you asleep?’

He called out just in case, but there was no response, as if the spirit had fallen asleep again.

When he repeatedly called it.

《You're noisy. Let me sleep... Let me sleep.》

It openly expressed irritation and went right back to sleep.

...The White Tiger Spirit had talked so much it practically made his ears hurt.

Now that he'd found such a quiet partner, it almost felt boring by comparison.

Besides...

‘Making me travel 3,500 kilometers alone is just cruel.’

An enormous distance unimaginable in South Korea, where Seoul to Busan took only about three hours.

Still, he deliberately avoided planes and trains.

There was no need to give Cheongwa's surveillance network anything to latch onto.

Thirty hours of driving—he might as well treat it like sightseeing and enjoy himself.

His fluorobono-flavored vape was keeping him company too.

“I'll just think of it as an American road trip.”

He muttered to himself and had just raised the corner of his mouth.

The bright sky suddenly turned yellow, and a massive wall of sand rolled in from beyond the horizon.

His vision disappeared in an instant.

“Damn it...”

A sandstorm.

Sand rattled against the windshield, and the truck body began to shake.

On top of that, he was starting to run low on fuel.

He hurriedly checked the navigation system, but there wasn't a single rest stop marked anywhere nearby.

‘This is troublesome. Should I use the emergency fuel?’

Just as even the engine noise began to disappear beneath the howling wind, a neon sign suddenly flashed beyond the sandstorm as though by miracle.

It was a rest stop packed with trucks.

From the sound of people chatting inside, business seemed to be booming.

He parked the truck and stepped inside, where a strange smell immediately struck his nose.

Sweet, yet oddly intoxicating, enough to make a person's mind grow hazy.

“Welcome, sir!”

He sat at an empty seat and looked for a menu.

But every single customer in the restaurant was eating the same thing.

Even the menu posted on the wall contained nothing but spaghetti.

There were also absurdly cheerful spaghetti mascots drawn all over the place.

‘What's with this?’

His palate was Korean to the bone, so it wasn't really his taste, but what choice did he have?

If he didn't want to starve, he'd have to eat something.

“Tomato spaghetti, with extra bacon, please.”

“Yes, sir! It'll be ready shortly!”

A moment later, a plate covered in red sauce arrived, and without much expectation, he twirled some pasta on his fork and put it in his mouth.

“...Hm?”

Unexpected.

The texture of the noodles and richness of the sauce were far better than he'd imagined.

Especially the ground meat mixed throughout—it had an excellent texture.

‘What the hell is this made of?’

It was spaghetti with a blissful flavor he'd never experienced in his life.

As he savored it and nearly emptied the plate, the chair across from him slowly slid backward.

“Sir, is everything to your liking?”

He looked up to see a pretty ginger-haired waitress sitting there with a bright smile.

She rested her chin on one hand and stared at him with strangely languid eyes.

The moment their gazes met, a cold sensation ran down his spine.

The source of the sweet smell filling the restaurant, and the energy coming from the unnaturally packed crowd, became clear all at once.

“Ah, yes. It's extremely good.”

He wiped sauce from the corner of his mouth and smiled leisurely.

‘Damn it. This place is a ghost nest.’

Though one hand had already gripped the talisman inside his coat.

“Our organization is holding a special promotion. If you join today, today's meal is completely free, and you'll receive fifty percent off for life.”

“...Oh, really?”

The waitress smiled brightly.

Her eyes were hazy and relaxed, and an unreal smile hung from her lips.

Resting her chin on her hand, she subtly leaned closer.

It felt blatantly... sexual.

“The normal membership fee is five hundred dollars, but today only, it's free. What do you think? Every other customer joined too.”

Following her gesture, he looked around and saw bizarre scenes throughout the rest stop.

Huge truck drivers were scribbling signatures on documents handed to them by the employees, their expressions completely entranced.

“Hahaha! Really? If it's a special opportunity like this, then I have to do it!”

“Then can I get your number too?”

The atmosphere was cheerful enough to resemble a festival, but the sweet scent stabbing at his nose grew more nauseating by the second.

Do-jun smiled and answered.

“Sorry. I believe in paying full price for what I eat. I don't think I need it.”

But the waitress showed no sign of backing down.

Instead, she leaned even farther forward and pushed her face closer.

The scent of tomato sauce mixed with perfume washed over him.

“Still, how about joining? I... want to see a customer like you more often.”

An obvious seduction.

But what Do-jun saw wasn't her red lips, but the disgusting energy squirming beneath her skin.

A sigh escaped him.

‘I just wanted to eat quietly. Why is that so difficult?’

As always, it seemed there was a reason he had the Violent Star in his fortune.

Just as he picked up the fork from the table, the huge trucker eating at the next seat approached with a laugh and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Hey, friend! The lady's trying this hard, so why not do it for her? Be a man! A man! Hahaha!”

“No, being a man has nothing to do with—”

“Can't you see the poor lady's having trouble? If I could, I'd sign up over and over myself!”

While the trucker kept meddling, the waitress shoved the contract right under Do-jun's nose again.

She even grabbed his wrist and tried to force a pen into his hand as though making him sign.

Do-jun's eyes flashed coldly.

Thud!

A dull impact sounded, followed by a scream.

“I warned you to stop.”

The fork that had been in Do-jun's hand was now buried deep in the center of the waitress's forehead.

“Aaaaaagh!”

Her scream rang out, but no red blood emerged.

Instead, thick dark tomato ketchup poured through the gap around the fork and dripped onto the floor.

The nearby truckers stood in shock.

“What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?!”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Call 911! No, let's use my truck!”

People crowded around, creating an ugly atmosphere, and some even pulled out pistols.

Then the waitress with a fork in her forehead twisted her head grotesquely and shrieked.

“You bastard... Why the fuck won't you listen when people talk?!”

Her form distorted instantly.

Her smooth skin melted like dough, transforming into thousands of writhing spaghetti strands.

“Aaaaagh!”

“W-What the fuck is that?!”

In an instant, the noodle-like tentacles wrapped around the truckers who had tried to help her.

Spaghetti strands shot through the air like arrows from every direction.

Without hesitation, Do-jun snapped his fingers and chanted.

“Flame!”

Blue fire erupted from his fingertips and swept through the incoming noodles.

“Aaaaaagh!”

With horrifying screams, the noodles burned black.

Do-jun turned and looked around the hall.

“M-Monsters!”

“Aaaaagh! Let go! Let me go!”

The inside was already pure chaos.

The other employees' arms and legs stretched out like tentacles, binding people and forcing the terrified truckers to leave blood-smeared signatures on documents.

‘This is... the Flying Spaghetti cult.’

He remembered a classified report he'd read during his time in Cheongwa.

FSM had begun as nothing more than a parody religion, but a powerful evil spirit had possessed the body of its leader, and the group had started expanding its influence from there.

Some branch of them must have laid a trap here and waited.

‘Seriously, I have no luck.’

He put his mask back on and drew an exorcist's silver-bullet pistol and sacred hammer he'd purchased through the Underworld Shop.

The Western-style equipment didn't fit his hands particularly well, but that didn't matter.

He ran a finger along the barrel and secretly infused it with killing energy.

Bang! Bang!

Each time a silver bullet struck, the spaghetti creatures burst like balloons.

It wasn't simply because of sacred power.

The shamanic killing energy carried inside the bullets shook their spiritual bodies to the core.

《...What's all this noise? You're loud.》

The spirit inside him spoke in irritation.

“You wake up quickly, don't you?”

《These things... they're nothing but shells. Empty phantoms with nothing inside.》

The spirit was right.

‘There's no soul inside these bodies.’

No matter how many he shot or crushed with the hammer, it felt like only empty shells scattered each time.

Even then, the spaghetti kept multiplying without end.

“H-Hiiiii! T-The door's blocked!”

“S-Save meeee!”

They even sealed the restaurant door with a wall made of spaghetti to stop the truckers from escaping.

As everyone struggled in chaos.

“Please help us! Mister Exorcist! Please!”

The man who had told Do-jun to ‘be a man’ moments earlier crawled over and clung to his leg, whining.

Apparently, he'd realized by now that Do-jun was a shaman... no, an exorcist.

“M-Me too!”

“We'll help! Let's work together!”

Other truckers gathered around Do-jun, each holding a club or knife.

‘These people have no shame at all.’

Seconds ago they'd been mocking him for not being manly enough, and now they'd changed sides completely.

Tsk...

“Helping isn't difficult.”

“R-Really?”

“Then hurry and deal with them!”

Stop.

Do-jun held out his palm.

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“...What?”

“I'll guarantee you survive, so pay ten thousand dollars each.”

“T-Ten thousand? You're asking for money at a time like this...!”

“That's America, isn't it? Besides, ten thousand dollars for your life is cheap, isn't it?”

Meanwhile.

“Aaaaaagh!”

As they hesitated, a strand of spaghetti wrapped around one man's neck and tightened.

When his choking death rattle sounded, the remaining men turned white.

“O-Okay! I'll pay! Just save me!”

“M-Me too! I'll pay too!”

Deal made.

Do-jun drew an exorcism sword imbued with sacred power and looked ahead.

A voice came from his tobangguri.

《You're quite the merchant.》

‘You don't approve, Spirit?’

《No. It's wise. Before food... unnecessary mercy is a luxury.》

Our spirit may have lost his memories, but our values certainly match.

‘Let's go.’

Shrrrk! Slash!

Brilliant sword energy sliced through the air and cut apart the masses of noodles trapping the people.

“Get to the corner.”

“O-Okay!”

After gathering the survivors in one place, he attached a talisman to the floor and erected a sturdy protective barrier.

“Don't take a single step outside. Unless you want to die.”

“...W-We won't!”

Then he continued swinging his sword lightly, cutting down the spaghetti humans.

Each time, he concentrated divine power into his eyes to track the energy.

‘Over there.’

Whenever the spaghetti creatures broke apart and disappeared, their energy scattered before vanishing in one direction.

He immediately moved toward it.

“Screeeech! You! Youuuu!”

Inside the kitchen, a gigantic meatball-shaped mass of flesh was pulsing.

It wasn't ordinary meat.

Half-digested human skulls and bodies were tangled inside, giving off the stench of bitter resentment.

That was probably the main body containing the spirit controlling all the spaghetti creatures around them.

‘Elder, mealtime. Wake up.’

He called the spirit, but the response was cold.

《That smells foul. Not to my taste. Handle it yourself.》

There was a faint trace of teasing in the spirit's reply.

‘Is this some kind of test?’

A new type of evil spirit he'd never encountered.

Maybe the spirit wanted to see how Do-jun would deal with it himself.

It wasn't uncommon for spirits to test their mediums.

‘That stings my pride a little.’

Still, I'm Kang Do-jun.

He smiled and gripped a sword in one hand and the pistol in the other.

Slash! Bang! Bang!

He cut incoming tentacles with the sword and fired bullets at every point where the mass gathered.

But new noodles instantly sprouted from the wounds.

It was desperately trying to stop him from approaching the meatball.

On top of that, the amount of divine power the spirit was lending him was extremely limited.

‘I can't break through with brute force.’

A stubborn streak rose within him.

He wanted to show the spirit a proper finishing blow.

“Screeeech!”

“Hssss...”

As spaghetti humans and tentacles continued rushing toward him.

Do-jun retreated for the moment and ran straight back to his truck.

Then he grinned and thought.

‘Let's exorcise that thing with a gut ritual.’

The Catastrophe-Class Exorcist Is Too Strong in America

Author

: Gisigami

Production Date

: September 15, 2026

Publisher

: ACES Media Co., Ltd.

Editor

: ACES Media Editorial Team

Address

: 12F, Urban Bench Building, 325 Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul

Email

: acesmedia9@gmail.com

※ This work was published by ACES Media Co., Ltd. under contract with the copyright holder,

and its contents may not be used in any form or by any means without permission from the company and the author.

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UCI

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