SHAMAN PROTOCOL
Chapter 72: Slice-of-(after)life

Chapter 72: Slice-of-(after)life

[Host: Mikel Graves]

[Age: 17]

[Level: 34]

[Class: Protocol Upholder]

[Current Protocols Available:]

Exorcism Protocol (Tier II), Recovery Protocol (Tier II), Curse Techniques Protocol (Tier III), System Log (I), Emergency Protocol: Self-Termination Resistance, System Emergency Protocol

[Abilities Gained:]

Night Vision (Passive), Exorcism Instinct (Passive), Curse Trigger (Active: 10-hour cooldown), Legacy Bond

[Weapon: Blood Chain — Bound]

Current Curse Affinity with Host: 38.1%

Classification: Curse Suppression, Dark Relic Class

Two embedded shards.

Note: Three shards embedded may unlock its next technique.

[Weapon: Book of the Dead — Active]

Current Curse Affinity with Host: 29%

Functions: Spirit Absorption/Skills (3), Phantom Contract 1 (1), Ghost Index (Available), Second Chapter of the Book (To be explored)

[System Mall: Secret Shop Update]

Secret Shop Catalog: Basic Talismans, Recovery Potions (Health and Spiritual Mana)

Additional Item: Limited System Archive

[Soul Credit: 4]

[Main Objective: Fill the Crystal]

[Crystal Status: 75%]

[Side Objectives will unlock once the Main Objective is fulfilled.]

---

One week since acquiring Haleth...

"Thanks," Mikel flashed the cashier behind the lottery booth an awkward smile.

The old lady inside the booth gave him a disinterested look as she slid a few coins through the small gap. "Your change."

"Heh." He quickly grabbed the coins sitting atop the lottery ticket and walked away.

As he did, the old cashier shook her head.

"Even kids these days place their bets, hoping to win the grand prize." Still, she didn’t ask for his ID. She had a quota to meet.

"It’s not like the kid’s going to win," she scoffed and dismissed it.

Meanwhile, Mikel pocketed the change while holding the lottery ticket between his fingers.

[Master, you are not obligated to fulfill the request of a ghost that has long passed — eaten.]

Mikel glanced at Doom’s screen while folding the ticket. With people around the mall, he kept his voice low.

"He’s gone, yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’ll break my word. My words are my bond, Doom." He casually looked to his right, spotting a coffee shop near the entrance. "Call it whatever you want, but this makes me feel better."

With that, Mikel turned toward the shop to grab snacks for his hardworking laborers.

He and Doom were talking about the ghost he had fed to the Blood Chain the night he lost control. It hadn’t happened again since, but the memory lingered. Now that he had more free time, Mikel decided to fulfill that ghost’s last wish—alongside others.

With Haleth at his side, finding malevolent spirits was easier. Maintaining the Blood Chain’s hunger was no longer a challenge.

After his quick errands, Mikel returned to the construction site. It was still early, so he used the time to set up the shrine and place an honorable badge—the one the ghosts had been hoping for.

Before long, ghosts began arriving one by one.

---

At dawn...

"The best cement mixing award goes to..." Gregory stood on the makeshift stage they’d assembled for the union’s award ceremony.

The pause made every ghost hold their breath, especially the nominees. Some even clasped their hands together in prayer, as if their very afterlives depended on this moment.

"It’s Bob!" Gregory finally declared.

Cheers erupted from part of the crowd.

"I knew it!"

"You did it, Bob the Cement Master! You earned it!"

The ghosts celebrated joyfully, even those who didn’t win clapped and cheered. Bob, a burly ghost, stood in stunned silence, mouth agape like he’d just won Best Actor at an awards show.

He stepped onstage to receive a blue-and-gold badge from the ghost engineer. Bowing politely, Bob turned to the crowd, tears welling in his eyes.

"First of all, thank you for—" Bob choked, raising his fist to his mouth to recompose himself.

"Stop crying, Bob!"

"You’re way too big to be bawling like that! Just be happy!"

"That badge looks good on you—so don’t cry!"

As Bob struggled to speak, the ghosts began shouting again, cheers turning to complaints.

"More awards need to be given out!" one ghost shouted. "Just say your thanks or move on!"

"He’s right! Our category’s next! Step down!"

Bob, overwhelmed, glared at the protest. "Can’t you see I’m trying?!"

"Boo!!!" a few ghosts jeered, growing more impatient.

Refusing to back down, Bob used every second of his stage time to shout back at the audience instead of giving a speech.

"What a silly bunch," Mikel muttered.

Sitting off to the side, he chuckled and shook his head. He watched as a pair of ghost "marshals" dragged Bob off the stage so the ceremony could continue.

"They really know how to run a show," he said with a smirk. "How did they even plan all this while working on the house?"

[They are ridiculous.]

Another small laugh escaped him at Doom’s dry remark.

"Come on, Doom. You’ve got to admit they’ve grown on you—at least a little."

[Never.]

Mikel didn’t argue. Doom had no emotions, after all. But on quiet mornings like this, he couldn’t help but appreciate the ghosts’ noisy chaos.

As Arthur was pushed onto the stage for the next award, Mikel turned his gaze toward the house.

It had been over a month since the renovation began, and the progress was finally visible.

His smile faded slightly.

"We’re almost there," he whispered. "A whole month... gone just like that."

He knew the house was nearly complete. He could see it—and so could his bank account.

Mikel glanced at the ceremony again and smiled with quiet gratitude.

---

Days, weeks, then a month passed in a blur, marked by sunrises and sunsets over Mikel’s home.

Every day followed the same routine: running errands to fulfill ghosts’ last requests, setting talismans to speed their labor, feeding the Blood Chain at night, exploring Chapter Two of the Book of the Dead, then returning to the site.

Nothing particularly dangerous. Nothing too risky.

The last month had been... stable.

Too stable.

But that stability had allowed the renovation to speed up.

And with each wall finished, each tile laid, the reality crept closer:

This would all end soon.

Another month passed. The ghost labor force began to shrink.

Then two more weeks.

The house was now in its final phase. The offerings Mikel had to prepare were fewer. The usual chaos had quieted. The loud, demanding cake protesters hadn’t shown up in a while. Not even to complain about the flavor.

Even the incense requests had gone quiet.

The suggestion jar for offerings? Empty.

By the fourth month since this all started, the sun rose as usual from the east. Its morning rays slowly crept across the roof until finally, the golden light touched the completed house in the middle of the ruins.

Mikel stood in the middle of the street, staring at it.

Even the low concrete fence had been rebuilt.

There was no paint on the exterior yet—budget issues—but the once-shattered home was now...

"It’s finished," he whispered. "It’s done... for real, this time."

[Congratulations on the completion of your home, Master.]