"The case of the disappearance of CEO No of Daedo Mulsan occurred on XX/XX/20XX..."
Dong Bong-su was in the middle of cleaning up after finishing his hobby, as usual.
Swoosh—the sound of water, whirr—the noise of the vacuum cleaner, and swish swish—the sound of sweeping soon came to an end. Finally, he rolled up the special vinyl sheet that had been laid across the entire floor to prevent blood from dripping and tossed it into the trash.
Click.
Next was the result of his hobby, lying sprawled alone. Unlike the things he had handled before, this was a very large corpse. Nevertheless, Dong Bong-su easily hoisted it onto his back and headed toward the freezer.
Creeeeak—
With an unpleasant noise, the large double doors opened.
He went to a corner of the freezer and neatly arranged the still-warm body. Already in the freezer, Fatty's seniors were lined up in a row, leaning against the wall.
Of course, this was a warm newbie for now, but this corpse would soon become a senior too.
"Police are tracking Mr. No's whereabouts while also investigating the company funds he embezzled..."
The news flowing from his smartphone was about Fatty, who had just become a member of the freezer family.
The reason Mr. No became a target?
It was nothing special. Simply because this fatty was a 'carnivore.'
Most humans are herbivores.
Even when their territory is invaded, they laugh it off with a hehe, and even when subjected to violence by others, if the opponent is strong, they endure it—just for that moment. Enduring is their daily routine.
But carnivores proactively hunt, attack and kill their prey, and devour them. When other competitors challenge them, they bite and sever their windpipes. Just like lions or tigers who have reached the apex of the survival pyramid.
Dong Bong-su enjoyed attacking and killing such carnivores.
As the apex predator, it was his sole reason for living and his hobby.
"During the investigation, police discovered a dozen people bound in chains in Mr. No's basement. They were all women, and at the time of discovery, all had their tongues cut out and were unable to speak... The National Forensic Service determined... they were all young girls who had gone missing years ago..."
Rattle, thud.
The cleaning was completed by closing the iron door of the freezer.
Dong Bong-su leisurely left the warehouse, still listening to the news flowing from his smartphone.
"Next news. Claims that murders have increased due to the harmful effects of a recently developed virtual reality game have been raised, drawing attention from academia..."
As news typically goes, as soon as the news about the freshly dead Fatty Newbie Mr. No ended, new news immediately began flowing.
"..."
Tap.
The footsteps of Dong Bong-su, who had been climbing the stairs, stopped.
The news was passing from the announcer to a reporter, and from the reporter back to an expert for an interview.
"Murim Online must immediately cease service or be patched to make excessive synchronization with reality impossible. By indiscriminately and vividly showing scenes of bloodshed and limbs and heads being severed, it stimulates murderous impulses in young students and immature adults. This is highly likely to be linked to actual murder cases..."
It was common for the news to inform him about new prey.
But,
"Murim Online, huh."
This was the first time it had informed him about a new hunting ground.
Dong Bong-su stood still for a while, staring intently at his smartphone until the news ended.
After the news ended.
He returned to his room and ordered one item online.
"This should be fun."
A Murim Online-exclusive capsule.
A new hunting ground.
-x-X-x-
***
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
***
The Death God Belteruk was bored. It wasn't because he had nothing to do. There was more than enough work. Even now there was a mountain of tasks, but he was simply indulging in a brief moment of leisure.
The main duty of Death Gods was to collect the souls of people whose lifespans had ended.
The dead, the dying, or those who must die—finding them and severing the thread of their souls. That was the job.
It wasn't that he had any particular complaints about the work. It was just that the daily repetition of the same tasks was tedious. Gods aren't any different from people in that regard. Gods also feel most of the emotions that humans feel. However, depending on their respective duties, there are certain emotions they cannot feel, or there are sensations or impressions they feel more intensely—that was the only difference.
The singular creator god or perfect god that humans imagine?
No such thing exists. Or rather, there might be one in some world. But at least in this universe, as far as Belteruk knew, such a being didn't exist.
The difference between humans and gods—as far as Belteruk knew—was merely a difference in lifespan and duties? If one had to add something, perhaps a difference in strength?
Even this wasn't an absolute difference. Sometimes among humans, there were those who, through training, encroached upon the divine realm. Their lifespans could be tremendous, and their strength could definitely rival that of gods. The souls of such beings were difficult for Death Gods to easily retrieve.
Generally, when such situations arose, Death Gods would have headaches. In severe cases, the entire Underworld would go on alert.
'Me?'
Belteruk shook his head briefly while lost in thought.
Like that gesture, he was an exception. If only this boredom like eternal snow could be eliminated, he actually wished such incidents would happen in abundance.
But,
Such events happened once every tens of thousands of years, if at all.
'Such an incident won't happen today either.'
As always, Belteruk took out the Death God Registry. As soon as he faced the text-filled pages, a yawn poured out. It really was tedious.
Creaaak—
Still, he couldn't postpone his duties as a Death God. There was nothing more absurd than being annihilated for neglecting his work.
He yawned loudly while getting up from his chair and glanced at the top of the Death God Registry.
3789028376.
The first death number. Today's first customer.
Since he had previously collected a soul from the 110th Dimensional Realm, this time it would definitely be the 111th Dimensional Realm. Taking turns handling dimensional realms in order was an old rule among Death Gods. It was due to the teaching of the previous Death Gods that staying in one dimensional realm too long could cause one to be tainted by that place's energy.
Setting aside the dimensional realm number, he checked the number once more.
3789028376.
Belteruk put the Death God Registry into the Divine Space and took out the Death God-exclusive terminal. The terminal made of black crystal was only palm-sized, but it was a powerful tool that connected all kinds of dimensional realms.
Beep-beep-beep—
With his light hand movements, the surrounding scenery changed instantly. The gray fog of the Underworld and the cold air disappeared, replaced by the warm, humid air characteristic of the 111th Dimensional Realm. He had instantly teleported from the Underworld to the 111th Dimensional Realm.
Belteruk operated the terminal again to search for the location of soul number 3789028376.
Seoul, Gangnam-gu, XX-dong, XX Villa, Republic of Korea.
He flew straight to the location the terminal found. Winding through the densely packed buildings filled with all kinds of greedy emotions, he arrived at his destination. Humans couldn't see it, but to the Death God's eyes, the energy of desire and obsession rose from each building like hazy smoke. Especially in this area called Gangnam, the concentration was particularly thick.
Today's first customer. The building where he lived was a villa with a neat exterior.
"Uhaaaam—"
Belteruk poked his eye once with his Death God's scythe to ward off the drowsiness threatening to overtake him from boredom. Letting the cool energy of the Death God's scythe seep deeply into his eyes to chase away sleepiness was his own habit.
Having chased away the drowsiness, he entered the villa.
The interior of the building was as clean as the exterior. It was quite a large villa, and since the owner of soul number 3789028376 seemed to live alone, he didn't feel the movement of any other souls at all.
He headed to the 5th floor, the top floor of the villa, where the soul's vibration was felt. Passing through the wall and entering, there was someone presumed to be the owner of soul number 3789028376, sitting in an oddly shaped chair.
'That thing again?'
Belteruk knew what that sealed black chair from all sides was. It was something called a virtual reality game capsule.
He didn't know how humans had gained such abilities, but they had created a new dimensional realm called virtual reality. Of course, it was a lower-concept dimensional realm distinct from real dimensional realms, but what was amazing was still amazing.
Virtual reality.
As the words literally meant a virtual world, souls couldn't directly belong there. Nevertheless, souls belonging to the true dimensional realm could come and go through that thing called a capsule as a medium. Although the humans themselves weren't aware of it, the Death Gods knew well that their souls were repeatedly entering and exiting.
For that reason, some senior Death Gods were taking this matter very seriously.
Right now it had the label 'virtual' attached, but if it developed further like this, within dozens of generations? Perhaps within one or two generations? Couldn't it develop into an actual 'realm'?
...Such absurd excessive worry.
Even though humans were such variable beings that they couldn't be controlled.
'That's going too far.'
Chuckling and dismissing the concerns of the elderly senior Death Gods, Belteruk penetrated the capsule wall and entered inside. A man with an ordinary face and ordinary physical build—extremely ordinary—was lying down wearing a hat for connecting to the virtual reality server.
Belteruk swept his gaze over the man once and without any hesitation raised his scythe high and cut the neck of the owner of soul number 3789028376. There was no blood or actual severing of the physical neck.
A Death God's scythe doesn't cut matter, but only the thread of the soul. Though it appeared that nothing had happened on the outside, the body of soul number 3789028376 was already dead.
-x-X-x-
In Belteruk's eyes, he could see the severed soul string protruding from the virtual reality server access helmet, dangling and swaying. Normally, the soul's main body would have come out attached to that string, but not now.
That was because soul No. 3789028376 was currently enjoying a game inside the virtual reality. This was precisely why Death Gods could know that souls were inside virtual reality without even logging in themselves.
Virtual reality games were quite a nuisance to the Death Gods' work. When someone died, they should be able to come out right away so they could be taken... but humans who died while connected like that still strutted around inside the server, not even knowing they were dead. Like headless insects that thrash around for hours despite having no consciousness.
In such cases, Death Gods had no choice but to wait until the soul they needed to take to the Underworld logged out.
Of course, an eccentric Death God like Belteruk had no particular complaints about this. Because what he had in abundance was time, and all that time was connected to the terribleness called boredom.
Belteruk found this thing called virtual reality a bit annoying, but in some ways, he was actually grateful for it. Because it helped him kill just a little bit of the tedious, endlessly long time given to him.
Swish.
Belteruk put his Death God's scythe back in his robe.
He thoroughly scanned the room. This was done while waiting for soul No. 3789028376 to come out, examining what kind of human this soul had been. He wasn't doing this because he had any interest in soul No. 3789028376. It was just a habit he'd developed over an uncountably long period. It had no meaning whatsoever.
The room starkly displayed the personality of soul No. 3789028376's owner.
Simple basic furniture and electronics. A desk and a bookshelf placed on that desk. A few books placed on it and a bed. Also, a small trash can placed next to it, and finally, the virtual reality capsule where soul No. 3789028376's body lay. Everything was as clean as if newly purchased, without a speck of dust.
Mysophobia.
Soul No. 3789028376 seemed to be a perfectionist who wouldn't allow even a tiny speck of dust in their space. Belteruk had seen many such people, but cases this severe were uncommon.
'Obsessive-compulsive cleanliness? Or perhaps...'
Belteruk's clairvoyant eyes extended beyond the room to the living room and even the bathroom. Like this room, it was difficult to find even a single speck of dust. But this wasn't what Belteruk had expected.
Sniff sniff.
What stimulated his senses wasn't his eyes but his nose. He smelled a familiar yet peculiar scent from somewhere. A very acrid yet unique fragrance that pleased Death Gods' noses. It was the smell of blood and rotting corpses. It was so faint that even he, a Death God, could barely detect it. A scent so faint that he could only properly sense it now that he was concentrating. Perhaps this was why he hadn't noticed it when he first entered the building.
Belteruk's nose flared. He was tracking the source of the smell. The smell was rising from below.
He lowered his head.
As his gaze naturally directed downward, he didn't find the source of the smell even as it passed through the 5th floor, 4th floor, 3rd floor, 2nd floor, and 1st floor. Belteruk's jet-black eyes turned completely white. This was a phenomenon that appeared when he raised his clairvoyance to maximum.
He quickly detected a secret space in the basement.
'Hm!?'
There was no corpse there either. His vision went further down. Only after passing three more such secret spaces could he find the source of the smell.
This customer is truly meticulous.
"Kekeke."
Belteruk muttered lowly. The reason was that he could confirm that the owner of soul No. 3789028376 was a human who created work for Death Gods. He didn't know what his profession was, but his 'hobby' seemed closely related to the Death Gods' work.
Deep in the hidden cavity underground, dozens or perhaps hundreds of human corpses—difficult to confirm at a glance—were sleeping peacefully inside an enormously massive freezer. Judging by the presence of still-fresh corpses not yet completely frozen, the owner of soul No. 3789028376 had clearly enjoyed his hobby just a few days ago, perhaps even yesterday or today.
This planet called Earth in the 111th Dimensional Realm had been a more brutal planet than other places from the beginning. Though it had distanced itself somewhat from Death Gods in recent times, essence doesn't change easily. Before the academic discipline humans call science had developed this much, scenes like that could be easily found anywhere on this planet. Of course, when war breaks out, things worse than that happen often.
Therefore, for Death God Belteruk, such things were nothing special. The reason he found it interesting lay somewhere completely different.
Corpses bear the soul color and murderous intent of the killer. Even if those corpses are already empty vessels devoid of souls.
From the corpses in that underground freezer, purity could be felt. Not a trace of murderous intent could be found. How should one express that purity?
Pure murderous madness. Wouldn't that be the right way to put it?
Soul No. 3789028376 possessed the kind of sensibility that was difficult to encounter anymore in this 111th Dimensional Realm, which emphasizes things like human rights and civilization these days. It wasn't completely absent, but it was rare.
Belteruk had encountered such a soul after a long time, which was why a smile formed on his lips.
"A pure murderer thirsting for blood. In Earth terms, a psychopath, wasn't it?"
This was Belteruk's assessment of soul No. 3789028376 from the 111th Dimensional Realm. At that level, wouldn't it be difficult to emerge from the Eight Hells again before proper purification? Perhaps they might rot in the Eight Hells for about ten million years. If unlucky, their soul might even be extinguished before spending those ten million years...
Of course, it wasn't his concern.
Having confirmed up to that point, Belteruk completely lost interest in soul No. 3789028376. Whether No. 3789028376 was the worst murderer in universal history or not had nothing to do with him. Anyway, his duty as a Death God ended once he took that person's soul to the Underworld. Whether Death God Yama turned that bastard's soul into a rag or extinguished it wasn't his jurisdiction.
It was then, as Belteruk was about to scratch his eye with his scythe again in boredom.
Beebeep—the clear tone of the Death God terminal rang out. It was a warning sound. It meant the time to collect the soul was almost up, so get to work.
Belteruk didn't think much of it since he was already finished with work and waiting, but still, just to confirm once more, he took out and opened the Death God Registry. Like before, he yawned and checked the soul number of the collection target.
3789028376.
It matched.
"No problem."
Just as he was feeling relieved.
"Hm!? This is...?"
He discovered a problem! A fatal one at that!
The dimensional realm number written below the soul number wasn't 111 but 112! This customer wasn't soul No. 3789028376 from the 111th Dimensional Realm, but soul No. 3789028376 from the 112th Dimensional Realm.
An impossible thing had occurred.
It was a simple mistake, but in the Death God world, mistakes were often directly connected to extinguishment. If this matter became known to Death God Yama, it would be the end. If unlucky, the one suffering ten million years of pain in the Eight Hells he'd mentioned earlier might not be this soul, but himself. Naturally, that ending would nine times out of ten be extinguishment.
Belteruk's mind raced quickly. Tens of millions of years performing Death God duties. Not a single mistake until now. He'd been overconfident in that, and finally today's incident had erupted.
'I can't lose everything I've worked for over tens of millions of years because of this one mistake! Damn! Damn! Damn...! Ah!'
At some moment while repeating the word 'damn' countless times in his mind.
He recalled 'that incident' that had shaken the Underworld hundreds of millions of years ago.
'Soul grafting.'
The bizarre incident committed by one mad Death God who tried to artificially create soul conjoined twins.
That Death God had experimented with whether it was possible to put two souls into one body. The method was very simple—attaching a severed soul string to another living soul's string and patching it together. This was strictly a grave sin that violated Death God service regulations.
Each action of a Death God is connected to the order of dimensional realms. But to do such a thing to a soul that should be alive—his ending was obvious. Eventually, that Death God was discovered and extinguished.
Whether the experiment succeeded or failed, what kind of events occurred in the dimensional realms as a result of that incident—none of this was ever revealed. Death God Yama had issued a gag order to those involved.
However,
Within Death Gods internally, opinion generally leaned toward it being possible. Given that Death Gods who casually brought up this story whenever bored still existed.
Indeed.
'Is it possible?'
What if he tried it now? What would happen?
His eyes saw the soul string dangling outside the virtual reality capsule. There was still time. No. 3789028376 hadn't logged out yet.
If that soul logged out in this situation?
Belteruk would be extinguished. But if he attempted soul grafting, there might be a chance to cover up his mistake. If he grafted soul No. 3789028376 from the 111th Dimensional Realm onto the body of soul No. 3789028376 from the 112th Dimensional Realm who should have died, then severed only the string of soul No. 3789028376 from the 112th Dimensional Realm and guided it to the Underworld, all dimensional realms would flow as originally planned! If this worked, no one would know of his mistake!
Though the soul from the 111th Dimensional Realm would go to the 112th Dimensional Realm, at least the total quantity of Underworld souls would be preserved. That would be enough for Belteruk to feel at ease.
It didn't take long to decide. Belteruk grasped the end of soul No. 3789028376's string from the 111th Dimensional Realm. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he pulled out his Death God terminal.
Beep-beep-beep—
The Death God number 112 appeared on the terminal. With a light vibration, Belteruk disappeared from that spot.
It was the moment soul grafting was realized for the first time in hundreds of millions of years.
-x-X-x-
Servant.
Those who, unable to make ends meet, had no choice but to board at another's house and serve at the beck and call of their employer. Simply put, a servant.
Though the relationship between servant and employer was bound by contract, most contracts were useless or rather became the beginnings of shackles. This was because the contracts were managed not by the authorities but by the employers themselves. Employers could tear up and rewrite contracts at will as it suited them. In particular, servants belonging to martial arts sects were closer to slaves than servants. According to the principle of non-interference between government and martial arts, the authorities remained indifferent to the servants of martial arts sects unless something extraordinary occurred.
They knew these people were being exploited, but it was already beyond the government's domain.
***
Sosam was a groom for the Danri Family.
He had originally been the third son of an impoverished slash-and-burn farmer. Though not affluent, those had been happy times. Then one day, when he was five years old, a typhoon struck, killing his entire family and leaving him the sole survivor.
Afterward, Sosam lived as a wandering beggar without a household registration. Then, simply because he had knocked on the Danri Family's gate to beg, he became a servant of the Danri Family.
For over ten years now, he had been tending the family's horses.
Naturally, as a servant, he was stuck doing all the dirty work within the Danri Family. Not to mention cleaning throughout the estate, he sometimes did kitchen chores and occasionally even had to clean the latrines. He was a groom in name only—the only times Sosam actually felt like a groom were when he walked the horses morning and evening, and when he slept. His bed was the stable.
Living in the stable, his body naturally became permeated with the distinctive rank smell of horses, rotting hay piles, and horse manure. Combined with his lowly status, this stench made even other lowly people avoid him.
For these various reasons, the people within the estate called him not by his real name Sosam, but Horse Dung Sam.
Horse from groom, Dung meaning he smelled of horse manure, and Sam from Sosam.
These three combined to make Horse Dung Sam. To Sosam—no, Horse Dung Sam—the Danri Family was home, but on the other hand, it was also hell.
***
As usual, Horse Dung Sam was having another grueling day today.
Machil, one of the weapon servants, had mobilized Horse Dung Sam for his personal errands—a frequent occurrence made possible because no one paid any attention to Horse Dung Sam. Among the rock-bottom servants, Horse Dung Sam occupied the very lowest position.
The two had now come to a weapons shop in Bongyang to receive custom-made weapons ordered for the Danri Family's warriors.
"Is that Machil?"
The shop owner came out and greeted Machil first. Since the Danri Family was Bongyang's largest sect, they were the number one customer at any weapons shop in Bongyang. Naturally, this weapons shop owner also supplied many weapons to the Danri Family and was well acquainted with Machil, a weapon servant of the Danri Family.
"I've come to collect all the spears, halberds, swords, sabers, and maces ordered a month ago."
"Ah, perfect timing. I barely slept these past months and only finished yesterday."
The shop owner made the usual merchant's complaints while bringing out the finished products. The quantity was enormous, so the owner had to go back and forth to the storage several times before he could place all the weapons before Machil.
Machil gave them a cursory glance and paid. It wasn't like he'd be using them anyway—as long as they looked decent on the outside, it didn't matter to him.
"But did just the two of you come? I don't see a cart either—will you two be able to carry everything to the Danri Family? It's quite far."
"What's there to worry about? I have this excellent horse right here."
Machil grinned crookedly and struck the chest of Horse Dung Sam standing beside him hard.
Thwack.
Scrawny Horse Dung Sam, who was nothing but skin and bones, collapsed helplessly onto the weapons shop floor from Machil's punch.
Despite witnessing this, the shop owner merely shook his head and turned away. Even if he said something, they wouldn't listen anyway, and it was an internal matter of the Danri Family. No one in Bongyang didn't know of Horse Dung Sam's circumstances, but no one stepped forward for him either. People in such circumstances existed everywhere in the Central Plains.
"Hey, Horse Dung Sam. What are you doing? Get up right now and carry the weapons. Unless you want to die in that position."
"..."
Horse Dung Sam got up without a word of complaint and shouldered as many weapons as he could carry. Today would probably be entirely spent just moving these weapons into the estate.
"I have business at Bongyang Inn, so I'll be there. Come there when you're done moving everything. Got it?"
"..."
Horse Dung Sam merely nodded without answering. It was his way of conserving energy to speak, given his poor nutritional state. But not answering was not an excellent survival tactic.
Thwack.
Machil punched Horse Dung Sam's face. Horse Dung Sam collapsed to the floor again. Blood faintly stained the corner of his mouth—his lip must have split.
"Hey, you bastard. Answer me, answer. Are you disrespecting me because we share the surname Ma?"
"N-no, sir..."
Finally, Horse Dung Sam's mouth opened. Like his emaciated body, his voice was as dry and poor as parched sand, and as he spoke, blood trickled out of his mouth. Not just his lip but his tongue and the roof of his mouth inside had torn badly as well.
Thwack.
Seeing Horse Dung Sam bleeding, Machil kicked him in the face again. This time the impact must have been greater—Horse Dung Sam rolled all the way to the corner of the weapons shop and slammed into it.
Though he had no strength, he lifted his head with all his might to look at Machil. His eyes, bloodshot with burst capillaries, seemed to be saying:
Why? Why? Why...?
"Ah, because of that bastard, blood splattered all over the weapons. Unlucky bastard. Always useless no matter what he does."
Just because of that...?
Horse Dung Sam—no, Sosam—was truly miserable. Each day was too hard to live, and he just wanted to die. But even finding the courage to die wasn't easy. Every time he tried to die, he got scared and gave up.
Each time, he resolved to live diligently again with the courage it took to die... but soon the desire to die returned. As this cycle repeated, even the courage to live had dwindled away.
Unable to die, yet difficult to live....
Sosam hated himself so much for being such a coward, neither one thing nor the other.
He groped along the wall and barely managed to stand.
Stumble stumble.
Though staggering, he approached Machil.
Tap tap, Machil lightly pushed his forehead with his fingers. Followed by his contemptuous tone.
"Move all the weapons and wipe off all the splattered blood too. I'll check later, and if there's even one drop of blood left, be prepared to spill a bucket of blood from your mouth for each drop. Got it?"
"Yes..."
With that threat, Machil left the weapons shop. As he'd said earlier, he was heading to Bongyang Inn.
Sosam knew well why he was going there. Nine times out of ten, he was going to meet a courtesan. Machil would spend his time there fondling the courtesan's flesh until Sosam finished moving all the weapons.
Swipe swipe.
With the scrap of cloth the shop owner handed him, Sosam wiped the blood from his mouth. It was the only help the shop owner could offer. It was truly nothing, but tears welled up in Sosam's eyes. Within the Danri Family, no one did even this much for him. He was merely the most useless, smelly servant in the estate, worth less than a bug.
He handed the bloodied cloth scrap back to the shop owner with thanks. Then he laboriously shouldered two spears and left the weapons shop.
***
Huff huff.
Rough breaths poured out, and
Drip drip.
Hot sweat flowed endlessly.
By evening, utterly exhausted, Sosam finally finished moving all the weapons. Seeing him, the shop owner said:
"Why don't you rest a bit? Your complexion doesn't look good. Like..."
The shop owner swallowed the rest—that he looked like someone about to die. He felt that if he said something so inauspicious, it might actually come true.
"I'm fine..."
Sosam said this and moved his body again. Every bone in his body creaked, and his muscles cried out for rest, but he had to move.
Leaving behind the shop owner's pitying gaze, Sosam exited the weapons shop.
Though staggering as if about to die, he proceeded step by step toward Bongyang Inn. Perhaps from overexertion, his breathing had become dangerously rough and sweat poured down. If he pushed himself even a little more in this state, he might really die.
Nevertheless, he managed not to collapse and reached Bongyang Inn.
"Stop."
"Why... are you stopping me?"
"Why? You fucker. Would you let someone like you inside if you were me?"
"..."
The inn's server, having looked Sosam's filthy body up and down, pinched his nose with two fingers and refused him entry. Though he was dirty to begin with, Sosam's appearance right now was truly appalling. The blood he'd shed from being beaten by Machil and the sweat from moving weapons had mixed with grime to make him a complete mess. In the end, he asked the server to tell Machil that the work was finished, then turned around.
He'd obviously be questioned later by Machil about why he didn't deliver the message personally and had the server do it, but Sosam had no choice. If he didn't hurry back and rest, he felt like he might really die.
"...It's hard. I just... want to rest..."
Though his heart was racing toward the Danri Family stable—that shabby but personal sanctuary—his body wouldn't obey. He was so exhausted he wanted to lie down right there in the street. At this point, it might be easier to just collapse from exhaustion and die.
Damn it, damn it.
Contrary to such thoughts, even in this state he apparently wanted to live.
Though staggering even more than before, his two feet crossed Bongyang's main street dyed red by the setting sun, heading toward the estate.
Kuk... kukuk.
Without meaning to, a twisted laugh leaked through his torn lips. Sosam... Sosam, do you want to prolong this bug-like life even in this way? He asked himself.
"Yeah... Yes. Even like this..."
I don't want to die.
Let's live. Yes, let's live. If I keep living, someday good days will come.
"Hey, Horse Dung Sam."
Someone was calling when he was dying of exhaustion.
Sosam lifted his heavy eyelids to identify the voice's owner. His vision was blurred so he couldn't easily identify who it was, but he lifted his head fully.
Thud.
He felt himself bump into someone he thought was the voice's owner.
-x-X-x-
He didn't know whether his body had tilted and collided, or if the other person had bumped into him. His body was already losing sensation.
"Is this bastard fucking crazy?"
He heard rough profanity. That same voice from just before.
Machil? That was his first thought.
Thwack, thwack.
In an instant, three or four blows struck Sosam's abdomen.
"Urk!"
It hurt. It hurt like he was dying.
Only after tasting those fists did Sosam realize it wasn't Machil. Machil's fists couldn't be this sharp, as if they were tearing his belly apart.
Saliva dripped from his mouth, and tears burst forth from his eyes. Not from sadness. From pain. He'd thought he'd built up a tolerance to being beaten, but it hurt—it hurt far too much. The only consolation was that his vision, which had been blurred from the pain, was recovering somewhat.
"Huh... urk. Kuh... urk..."
Unable to breathe properly, he gasped and fell to his knees. Even in that state, he used all his strength to lift his head.
He saw a familiar face. He didn't really know the name, but it was one of the Danri Family's warriors.
Thwack. Another impact struck Sosam's face.
"S-spare..."
Sosam took a kick infused with internal energy and couldn't even finish asking to be spared.
'Why? Why? Why...? Why is this happening...? What did I do wrong?'
'Am I not even allowed to live like an insect, holding my breath?'
But the answer to his solitary thoughts was all too clear.
This situation was that answer, and the martial world had always been like this. It wasn't a world forgiving enough for lowly herbivorous insects like him to survive.
"What's this bastard mumbling about? Speak clearly, you horse-shit trash."
Along with the curses, endless kicks began.
Even so, Sosam no longer felt any pain. He was dying. He realized he now had one foot halfway into the Underworld.
It was unfair. He'd only wanted to survive somehow, but why was the world doing this to him? He couldn't understand it.
He wanted to kill Machil, who'd provided the catalyst for this whole affair. He wanted to kill this warrior bastard who was trampling him now. He wanted to kill all the Danri Family people who'd ignored, looked down on, and toyed with him.
Just.
He wanted to kill them all. He wanted to smash the world to pieces.
But,
The words that came from his mouth were different.
"...Sp...are... me..."
The words that flowed from his mouth could only be those.
Thwack.
That was the last word he uttered in this world.
Though it had been a hell-like world, he'd wanted to survive until the very end.
And so Sosam, owner of soul number 3789028376 from the 112th Dimensional Realm, who'd wanted so desperately to live, ended his wretched life.
And then....
***
Thunk.
"Kaaack!"
With a soulless scream, 'Street Thug Elite' died.
Dong Bong-su's spear didn't stop there. Each time he swung his spear, a street thug—whether Elite or Normal—laid their body on the ground. Naturally, no matter how many he killed, the number of street thugs didn't decrease. They regenerated as many as were eliminated. Not just him, but everyone else here was indiscriminately killing street thugs, yet the street thugs were regenerating infinitely.
And that wasn't all.
Despite using his body for so long, he wasn't even tired.
Though he'd barely been logged in, Dong Bong-su had already lost interest in 'Murim Online.'
'Is this what caused claims that the game's harmful effects increased murder cases?'
'Completely below expectations. I thought I'd found a new hunting ground…'
This wasn't a hunting ground but a playground.
The blood street thugs spilled when they died only resembled real blood in color.
It lacked the heat and moistness of real blood, and that uniquely stimulating stickiness. He couldn't feel any sensation. The heavy 'feel' that should register in his hands was completely absent. Even the faces of players killed by street thugs' counterattacks bore smiles.
Dying wasn't really dying. Killing wasn't really killing. The killing and dying here was mere play, not slaughter.
Most of all, what halved Dong Bong-su's interest was that there wasn't a single 'carnivore' here. The creatures here were either toys or herbivorous insects.
He hadn't placed much expectation in this 'Murim' virtual reality game to begin with. No matter how similar to reality they made it, how could it feel exactly like reality? Even so, this fell far too short of expectations. He'd thought it would at least be a fishing spot where he could feel that 'sensation' occasionally, if not a full hobby.
This wasn't it.
Dong Bong-su smashed the head of another street thug rushing at him and reached his conclusion.
This can't be a hobby at all. Of course, his level was still low, and he knew nothing about the game's mechanics, but continued leveling wouldn't change the texture of blood or make absent carnivores suddenly appear here, would it?
Fake was just fake; it could never become real.
Dong Bong-su turned without regret. Toward reality, which overflowed with real prey.
"Log out."
Dong Bong-su's low, precise voice.
Simultaneously, his game character disappeared from the virtual reality game Murim Online, and Dong Bong-su's consciousness also shut off.
In Korea. No, on Earth. No, in the dimensional realm containing Earth.
That moment.
Was the very moment Belteruk's soul grafting succeeded.
And so Dong Bong-su, owner of soul number 3789028376 from the 111th Dimensional Realm, 'logged in' to the 112th Dimensional Realm.
***
"Mmm..."
The moment Dong Bong-su regained consciousness, he felt extreme pain in his chest. It was so agonizing he could barely breathe. Not only that, but every bone in his body felt shattered and limp, and his muscles were screaming in pain like mad.
Even his eyes were so swollen they wouldn't open properly.
'What is this? Did the police finally catch me?'
Dong Bong-su assumed his past actions had finally been caught in the investigative net.
332 murders.
He'd thought it was perfect, but perhaps it wasn't.
Heh.
A light laugh escaped.
Yes, it was a dangerous hobby. He'd thought it would end someday, and it had concluded this way. He wasn't particularly regretful. After all, this hobby could be pursued anywhere as long as he didn't die. South Korea was effectively a country without the death penalty, wasn't it? Unless they created special legislation because of him, even if they sentenced a murderer to death, actual execution wouldn't be carried out.
Human rights nation South Korea was the ultimate hunting ground for predators like Dong Bong-su.
But setting all those issues aside...
Something was strange.
As he'd just thought, South Korea was a country where human rights were guaranteed. No matter how much someone had committed 332 murders, they couldn't torture or beat a criminal arbitrarily without trial. Even if they assaulted someone secretly to obtain information, they wouldn't do it this severely.
Judging from the sensations in his body, the injuries he currently had would require lying still for at least several months to barely recover. He might have died if things went slightly wrong.
Not for interrogation purposes, but beating an unconscious suspect to this degree?
Unless all his charges were proven, such actions would put enormous pressure on the police. The media and human rights activists would rise up, creating headaches for the police.
It would be welcome from Dong Bong-su's perspective, but unless the police were fools, they wouldn't handle things this way.
This...
'Isn't this too strange?'
Thinking that far, Dong Bong-su forced his eyes open. His swollen eyes felt piercing pain. They were so swollen he could only see about one-fifth of what he normally could. Blind spots were everywhere. What he could currently confirm with his eyes was only a very limited portion of his surroundings.
At least some dim moonlight was seeping in from somewhere, informing him it was evening. That light dazzled his eyes, but that fact suggested several things to Dong Bong-su.
'Moonlight.'
Naturally, this wasn't his room.
Because there was a window. All light in his room came from lamps.
Dong Bong-su carefully examined the environment where he lay.
Immediately came the creaking of his stiff neck.
It further restricted his already limited movement. Even so, he suppressed the neck pain and looked around, moving his eyeballs while minimizing neck movement. Though his barely-open eyes weren't functioning properly, that alone was sufficient.
The first thing that caught his eye were fairly large animals with long faces. He'd never seen them directly, but they were animals he'd encountered countless times through TV.
'A stable?'
Horses.
The terrible stench of horse dung and the animals' distinctive smell were vibrating through the air. Even if someone secretly brought horses to his room, such smells wouldn't permeate in just a day or two. This place had originally been a stable, and he had been moved here—that deduction was possible.
His eyes swept the surroundings even faster, and his brain began churning. Placed in an unpredictable situation, his instincts and intuition as a predator were fully activated without restraint.
In that moment.
Dong Bong-su's eyes caught something very strange... grotesque.
'This is!?'
Some semi-transparent text appeared overlaid on the horse's face. He turned his head. Then, while the horse's face stayed in place, the text followed his gaze.
After repeating this several times, Dong Bong-su grasped that the text was always positioned in the center of his vision. And he discovered that the text wasn't the commonly seen two-dimensional form but had a three-dimensional, stereoscopic shape.
'A holographic window?'
He'd seen something like that just recently.
The virtual reality game, Murim Online.
When he'd first logged in, a welcoming message had floated before his eyes in that format for quite a while.
[Welcome to Murim Online, the world of true powerhouses.]
Could it be that he still hadn't logged out?
The thought crossed his mind briefly, but it vanished far more quickly than it had appeared.
This excruciating pain coursing through his entire body?
It was a vividness he could never have felt inside the game. If such sensations could have been implemented in-game... Dong Bong-su would never have logged out in the first place. He'd probably still be hunting even now.
He strained his eyes harder to make out the hologram text. As he did, his swollen eyelids tore open and blood trickled down. However, only the pain increased—his vision didn't improve at all.
'Then.'
If his eyesight wouldn't cooperate, he just needed to increase the light.
Dong Bong-su turned his gaze toward the window where moonlight streamed in. A brilliantly bright full moon appeared and illuminated his eyes, and the contents of the translucent hologram window put a definitive punctuation mark on this surreal situation.
[The device has malfunctioned and logout has failed. Would you like to attempt disconnection again? Yes or No]
A device error?
Dong Bong-su was puzzled. Were these utterly realistic scenes, this intensely stimulating smell, and all these sensations that constricted his entire body with a tingling numbness—were they all coming from a machine malfunction?
He couldn't understand it.
He'd have to check for himself.
Without much hesitation, Dong Bong-su raised his hand and inserted it into the hologram.
Beep.
He saw the 'No' button distort as the operator's dry, emotionless voice was etched into his mind.
Woom woom woom.
―You have selected 'No.' Then we will return you to Murim Online. One, two, three...
Crackling mechanical noise struck inside Dong Bong-su's head. Simultaneously, he felt as if his brain was being torn apart as he gradually lost consciousness.
The emotionless voice of the Murim Online operator echoing through his fading consciousness.
―Then we wish you a pleasant time with Murim Online...
***
Machil had been in a rather foul mood these past few days—two weeks, to be precise. In vulgar terms, you could say he was going crazy and jumping mad.
He was already busy enough with his work as a weapon servant, and now he had to take on this annoying task as well—he had no choice but to feel this way. Even now, he was heading to the stable carrying rice gruel for Sosam's breakfast.
"Ah, in this huge Danri Family, am I the only one who can clean up that bastard's shit? Why do I always have to do these goddamn shitty jobs?"
Two weeks ago, on the day he went with Sosam to collect weapons from the armory, Sosam had made a mistake and suffered a major injury.
If the work was done, he should have just gone home nicely, but instead he wandered the entertainment district in the evening and met with disaster.
According to what he'd heard from one of the onlookers at the time, Sosam had suddenly blocked the path of Paeng Do-ryang. Paeng Do-ryang was the bodyguard of Danri Hui, the second daughter of the Danri Family head. Danri Hui was such a tomboy that even the family head Danri Cheon-u found her difficult to control. To block the path of such a girl's bodyguard—it was remarkable that Sosam was even alive now.
When Sosam was being beaten by Paeng Do-ryang, Machil had been at Bongyang Inn, thoroughly enjoying the flesh of that courtesan girl. After releasing his pent-up lust and returning to the family estate with a satisfied heart, he discovered Sosam collapsed and covered in blood, and carried him back to the estate on his back.
When he first brought him to the stable, Machil thought Sosam was dead. Machil panicked for a moment and left him abandoned in the stable before leaving.
But the next day, when he went to the stable, Sosam was awake.
That's when Machil thought: This guy is really disgustingly tenacious. To return to his right mind in just one day after being in that condition.
But that had actually worked out badly for him.
"It would have been much better if that bastard Horse Dung Sam had just died. Fuck."
Because Sosam was clinging to his wretched life, Machil was wretchedly stuck taking over his work until he fully recovered.
Finding a new groom would only take a few days. On the other hand, looking at Sosam's current condition, it seemed it would take at least another month before he recovered.
The bigger problem was that the incident had turned Sosam into an idiot. Not only could he not speak, but his memory seemed impaired as well. When he occasionally woke up and Machil tried to talk to him, Sosam seemed not to recognize him at all and said nothing. Thinking there might be something wrong with his tongue, Machil checked, but there was nothing wrong with his tongue.
Perhaps he'd developed aphasia from the shock of the incident. This might mean that even when Sosam fully recovered, he'd be useless.
"Damn it! That this great Machil has to clean up after some mere idiot bastard."
Today as well, all of Sosam's work fell to Machil. Not only that, but the family had dumped the task of treating Sosam on him as well.
The work of a groom is arduous. Machil knew this fact better than anyone. Because until Sosam came here over ten years ago, he had been the groom.
Walking the horses, cleaning up horse dung, cleaning the stable—these were nothing. The hardest work was occasionally serving as a horse attendant accompanying members of the Danri Family on their outings.
A horse attendant was, in common parlance, a 'human step stool.' In other words, when members of the Danri Family mounted their horses, he would prostrate himself beneath them to serve as a footstool. This was truly a bothersome and irritating job. If he happened to get assigned to a decent person from the family, it was fine, but if he had to go out as horse attendant for a human piece of trash like Danri Hui...
He could lose his head that day.
He hadn't yet had to go out as a horse attendant, but who knew when he might be called to serve as one? Therefore, even if he hated it, Machil had to diligently attend to Sosam until he recovered.
While Machil grumbled for various reasons, he arrived at the stable at the eastern end of the estate. Before opening the stable door and entering, this thought suddenly occurred to him:
'Should I just kill that bastard?'
Nobody in the estate would care whether someone like Sosam died or not anyway. If a new groom was quickly recruited, it would be far more beneficial for Machil. Wouldn't that be the best way to escape his current hardship?
Machil's hawkish eyes glared at the stable door, flickered red, then quickly calmed.
"Never mind, never mind."
Killing someone was easy as pie.
He'd even trampled a beggar brat to death before when the kid kept clinging to his ankles while begging, so what.
It was just that the risk of killing Sosam was too great. If he made a wrong move and got caught by any martial artist from the estate, he could lose his own head.
"You're lucky. Our Horse Dung Sam, you fucking bastard."
In the end, he decided to endure about a month's worth of inconvenience.
Killing someone like Sosam was easier than breaking an ant's waist, so it was something he could do anytime later, wasn't it?
Creaaak.
Entering the stable, Sosam was sleeping as usual. He lay comfortably resting with his chest tightly wrapped in dirty twisted rope. Seeing this, Machil's temper flared again. Someone was suffering because of him right now, yet that bastard was lying there sleeping so peacefully.
"Ugh. This stupid bastard! Wouldn't it have been better if you'd just died back then? Why are you uselessly alive making people's lives so bothersome? Ugh!"
Machil placed the bowl of rice gruel on Sosam's chest as if throwing it. The bowl shook and hot gruel spilled out. The dirty twisted rope wrapped around Sosam's chest became even dirtier.
Whether or not this happened, Machil thought he'd done his duty and left the stable just like that.
Even though the hot gruel must have soaked through the twisted rope and burned his wound area, Sosam didn't wake up until Machil left.
Had he fallen into such a deep sleep that he couldn't easily feel pain?
No.
Sosam—no, Dong Bong-su—was already awake. As soon as Machil left, he quietly raised his upper body.
"That guy seems to keep delaying my recovery time."
The dirty twisted rope was touching his wounds, causing them to fester.
It was a symptom of bacterial infection. This way, the wounds wouldn't heal quickly. So when he untied the twisted rope, Machil would come and wrap the twisted rope around his chest again. So Dong Bong-su would tie the twisted rope around his chest in time for Machil's visits, then untie it after he left.
This wasn't the only thing—in many ways, Machil was a human who wasn't helpful to Dong Bong-su. Even now, he'd caused hot gruel to spill on wounds that hadn't fully healed yet, which would make the wounds take a bit more time to heal.
"Is it two weeks now?"
It had already been two weeks since Dong Bong-su woke up in this place. During that time, he'd gathered information about this place. He couldn't fully understand Chinese yet, and since his only source of information was Machil, he couldn't know everything precisely.
The first piece of information he'd gathered was that he'd become a different person, and that person's name was Sosam or Horse Dung Sam. He didn't learn this by understanding Chinese, but realized it from Machil calling him that many times.
Second, he realized that although the people here used Chinese and Chinese characters, this place wasn't China.
Martial arts.
Techniques that had only been possible in imagination, in movies, in novels.
Over the past two weeks, Dong Bong-su had witnessed martial arts vividly alive and breathing in this world.
Every morning, he would wake to the resounding sounds of martial artists doing something at the training ground far from the stable. At first, he didn't know what it was, but later, looking through a hole in the door, he was amazed.
He was a man who didn't experience emotional fluctuations over most things. Yet what surprised even such a Dong Bong-su was precisely the martial arts of this world.
People flying through the air, moving so fast they were difficult to follow with the eyes, swords and sabers moving with precision. It was like a live-action version of Murim Online. If so, those techniques must also be martial arts.
Lastly, he hadn't completely 'logged out.' No, more precisely, he had logged out, but certain parts of the game system were still being applied.
Even now, text floated very small in the distance before his eyes.
"Murim Online."
No, Murim.
Real Murim.
Ku.
Ku-ku-kuut.
A world where martial arts actually exist!
He can't escape from there?
For the first time in his life, Dong Bong-su truly, genuinely laughed.
An irrepressible maniacal laugh burst forth endlessly in his head.
Because he was so pleased.
The ultimate hunting ground he'd always dreamed of, perhaps even a battlefield.
Hadn't he suddenly crash-landed in such a place?
Murim.
A world of iron and blood with neither mercy nor tears.
Ku-ku-ku-ku-ku-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Without dreams or hope.
What a truly ecstatic world this was!
For a while, Dong Bong-su laughed like that.
Inside, inside. Without anyone knowing.
And so, without anyone in the Central Plains knowing, an unprecedented demon was being conceived in a shabby stable.
-x-X-x-
At first, he'd been confused by things like the existence of martial arts. He'd thought that perhaps some abnormal phenomenon had occurred in Murim Online due to a game bug.
However,
After observing for several weeks, Dong Bong-su became certain that wasn't the case.
This place was reality. He was sure of it. There was no longer any room for doubt.
He couldn't understand the principle of exactly how he'd come to this place, but the fact that this was reality was absolutely undeniable. He felt pain, moved vividly and alive, and radiated raw wildness. Enough that every time he faced Machil, it was difficult to suppress the urge to kill him.
Was Machil a player? Or an NPC (Non Player Character)?
Of course, he was neither.
There were several people he'd met in this place. The first was Machil, and occasionally Machil brought other people with him. They would mount horses with lightning-fast movements and disappear from the stable.
Each time, Dong Bong-su checked people's eyes. It was work to confirm whether or not they had emotions. Everyone had their own emotions and was 'alive' and moving. Those with such eyes could never be NPCs.
Then what about himself? What was he?
Was he human? Was he a player? Was he even alive?
Dong Bong-su didn't really know either. He just knew one thing for certain: that he was different from the others in this place. He moved like a human the same way they did, but there was a decisive difference.
That was precisely those hologram letters reading 'Murim Online.'
In other words, he, Dong Bong-su, was 'half-human half-character.'
He had the ability to open all the windows that had been possible in Murim Online—Status window, Skill window, Inventory, Map, and so on. However, not all functions were operating normally. Most windows were displaying '?' due to errors, and the only window that was 100% properly functional was the Inventory window.
He still didn't know how to use anything except the Inventory window. That was something he planned to figure out gradually going forward. As written in his status window as Lv.1, he was still just a Level 1 Novice after all.
Swish.
Dong Bong-su quietly raised his upper body. His chest wound ached, but not to the point where he couldn't move. He slowly untied the twisted rope pressing against his chest. Then he scraped the gruel stuck to the twisted rope and put it back in the bowl. It was still hot and hurt his hands and chest, but he didn't care. Once most of the gruel was back in the bowl, he lifted the bowl and poured it all into his mouth at once.
It was food worse than what dogs ate on modern Earth, but Dong Bong-su didn't particularly care. Food had always been something he ate just to survive, not to enjoy the taste.
For him, a nutritionally balanced diet was the best food. From that perspective, this gruel was the worst food possible. Gruel has almost no calories. It would take quite a long time to fully recover his stamina eating something like this. So he had separately prepared food for quick recovery.
"Inventory."
A translucent Inventory hologram appeared before his eyes. Actually, this Inventory was also very different from what had been in the original Murim Online. The original Inventory window had been in a format where one item went into one slot.
But.
Here, it had changed from a slot system to a space system. The current Inventory allowed him to examine every nook and cranny inside according to the movement of Dong Bong-su's hand.
The inside of the Inventory was extremely spacious. He couldn't know exactly how large it was until he filled it completely, but he thought it was at least about a hundred pyeong.[1]
This was the first law of this new 'game' that he'd discovered.
Inside the Inventory were hundreds of ants, dozens of fly larvae—that is, maggots—and hundreds of unidentified bugs.
That's right.
The food he'd prepared for rapid stamina recovery was insects. Insects took up little space while being very high in protein. That's why even on modern Earth they were receiving spotlight as a future food source, wasn't it?
With the same feed, you could raise several times more insects than cattle or pigs, and their nutritional value was far superior to cattle or pigs of the same volume. Naturally, insects were excellent food for Dong Bong-su. Low volume, high protein. That description was sufficient for insects.
Without hesitation, he pulled out all the insects in the Inventory. He grabbed a handful regardless of type and dumped them into his mouth.
Crunch.
A disgusting sound echoed through the stable, but that was by ordinary people's standards—to Dong Bong-su, it was nothing.
For a while, Dong Bong-su stopped all brain activity and focused on eating. All of this was also evidence that the world he was in now was a game, but also not a game. In the game, he couldn't eat food, couldn't perform excretory functions, and had no genitals.
But here, over the past two weeks since waking up, he'd eaten gruel and insects every single day without fail, and urinated and defecated. In the mornings, he never failed to have an erection either.
"New Murim Online."
This was the name Dong Bong-su had given this 'game.' As mentioned earlier, he didn't know where this place was. But he clearly remembered the last words the Murim Online operator had said.
―Then we wish you a pleasant time with Murim Online...
They told him to enjoy it, so he'd enjoy it.
Dong Bong-su had absolutely no attachment to the real world. Comfortable mechanized civilization, splendid material civilization, forests of gray buildings, ultra-speed fiber-optic internet world. All such things were meaningless to him. As long as he could maintain his own unique hobby, he didn't care what world he was in.
Above all, he liked this world.
Unsuited to the clear air, this place seemed to be a merciless world. Machil and several people, and the movements of the martial artists he occasionally saw. From all of it, he could glimpse the 'ruthlessness' of this world and the law of 'survival of the strong.'
If it was this place, couldn't he fully pursue his hobby? No, there was no need to hide his true nature in the first place. Carnivores like himself would be freely roaming the jungle called Martial World out there.
Therefore, he named this place 'New Murim Online.'
A game for true predators, New Murim Online.
Dong Bong-su slowly got up. He could feel his ribs rattling, but he rose from his spot as carefully as possible.
There must still be many hidden insects in the stable. Each and every one of them would be used to help his recovery. Perhaps Dong Bong-su's insect consumption wouldn't stop until every last insect in this place was gone.
Squeak squeak.
As he caught insects with slow movements, rats appeared in his eyes. If he could just catch rats, he might be able to recover his stamina a bit faster. But with a body that still didn't move as he wished, he couldn't catch rats that fled nimbly.
If he could catch rats, he might perhaps learn a new law of New Murim Online. According to his experimental results, no matter how many insects he killed, his experience points didn't increase. But if it was rodents the size of rats, they might affect his experience points.
But not yet.
The moment he recognized that he still couldn't catch rats, he stopped all action. Dong Bong-su wasn't foolish enough to waste energy on things that wouldn't work.
Now there was nothing more for him to do in this filthy stable. He let go of all threads of thought again and fell into sleep. If he ate well and slept well, he'd probably be able to completely recover his stamina within a few weeks. From then on, he'd be able to begin investigating New Murim Online more in earnest.
Before long, the stable was once again filled only with the quiet purrr of horse sounds.
***
A few weeks later, Dong Bong-su had almost recovered his stamina. Now there was no major hindrance to his activities. His chest still ached a little whenever he moved, but he could sufficiently perform daily activities. Nevertheless, when the time came for Machil to arrive, he still unfailingly wrapped the twisted rope around his chest and lay down. This was because he still wasn't ready to go outside.
There was too much to learn: the language of this place, living habits, geography, culture, and so on. The biggest problem was that 'this body' was still weak.
Dong Bong-su of modern Earth had been a powerhouse of that world, armed with various martial arts and various knowledge.
Then what about this body?
Sosam—that is, the previous owner of this flesh—had been a person of the lowest class in this world called Murim, with nothing to his name, and his body was also insignificant. It might have been trained through various hard labor, but due to hardship, various parts of his body were badly damaged instead.
He had no intention of leaving this place, the Danri Family, until he solved these problems. If he went out into that world called Martial World in his current state, survival would be difficult to guarantee. Dong Bong-su wasn't reckless enough to entrust himself to uncertain situations.
Even so, he couldn't just lie here indefinitely like this. If he continued not being helpful to the family in this way, he'd eventually be kicked out. He had to endure only to the extent that wouldn't happen. He had to drag out the time but not get expelled.
During that time, he also had to gradually figure out the New Murim Online system. He still hadn't discovered much. Even what he had discovered was all related to the Inventory. The other windows were still hiding themselves with armor called '?'. Perhaps they would take off those clothes one by one as he leveled up.
But he couldn't guarantee that would definitely happen.
In the worst case, everything except the Inventory might be useless. In that case, he would have to find another way to become strong.
***
New Murim Online 1st Law: The Inventory is not a slot system but a space system. The space is a cube shape of one hundred pyeong with equal length, width, and height.
Footnote:
"Pyeong" (평) primarily refers to a traditional Korean unit of area, roughly 3.31 square meters or 35.58 square feet, commonly used for real estate floorspace despite being officially discouraged in South Korea.
-x-X-x-
Dong Bong-su decided to start by learning the language of this place.
However, if he tried to become familiar with it only by thinking in his head and listening, it would take at least a year or more. That was enough time for him to die in his current weak state.
He could be beaten to death by Machil, die from bacterial infection, or die from completely unexpected variables—plenty of possibilities existed.
He had to acquire it much faster.
One month. Two or three months at the latest. Even if native-level proficiency was too much, he needed to reach a level where there were no problems listening, writing, and speaking. Only then could he dramatically increase his survival probability.
But how, without books or teachers?
Swish.
He maneuvered his somewhat recovered body and sat up.
Wasn't it simple?
If it didn't exist, he'd make it.
If there were no books, he'd write them, and if there were no teachers, he'd become his own teacher.
'First, I'll make a language manual.'
A manual was naturally a book. To make a book, he first needed paper.
There was no way something like paper existed in this stable.
He'd been looking around at various things and had found one suitable substitute. By finding it, he'd secured not only a paper substitute but also an ink substitute.
Squeak squeak.
The guys who disturbed his sleep every night.
Rats. They were what he'd been targeting since his body wasn't fully healed.
He immediately put it into action.
The rat bastards were quick even in this place.
However, the reflexes of the somewhat recovered Dong Bong-su were quicker. Above all, the tool of civilization called a rat trap, which he made using rotten wood, straw, stones, and such, was even sharper.
***
He caught rats for several days.
Dong Bong-su skinned the caught rats, removed the internal organs from the meat, dried it well in the sunlight, and ate it. He dried the hides even more thoroughly and used them like paper. He squeezed out every last drop of the rats' blood and stored it in a pouch made from rat hide in his Inventory.
During that time, he also made something resembling a brush from horse hair. It wasn't conducive to writing because it was stiff, but it was sufficient. For now, shouldn't he be grateful for even this much?
In all this process, he also discovered one new fact. He'd killed dozens of rats, but there was no change in the experience bar. Rats were animals with zero experience points. Even so, he didn't conclude that all animals would have no experience points. It might be because rats were too weak.
He postponed judgment on the 'animal zero experience' hypothesis for now.
Now paper, ink, and brush were all complete.
He carefully remembered Machil's grumbling and the conversations of people who came to the stable, and when they disappeared, he'd take out rat hide, horse hair brush, and rat blood, and transcribe the pronunciation he'd heard and the assumed meaning in Hangul.
After about another month passed, a Chinese archaic language manual filled with tiny writing on dozens of rat hides was completed. Perhaps if someone from modern times saw this book, they might have felt it was quite plausible. It was a book with such neat handwriting and well-organized arrangement.
Who said that handwriting is the window to the soul? This was clearly false. Look at Dong Bong-su's handwriting. Perfect.
His writing was more upright than anyone else's in the world. If you could judge a person by their handwriting, Dong Bong-su was a complete being. No, perhaps handwriting might indeed be a reflection of the soul. Because his mind would never waver at any time or place.
From when the manual was completed, Dong Bong-su started showing Machil signs that his body had fully recovered. It was because while making the manual, he could now understand most words.
But he still pretended to be mute. His pronunciation was still awkward, and his ability to combine words was markedly inferior compared to the locals. This act of his might continue even when he spoke perfectly. If that was more suitable for hiding his true nature, he should do so by all means.
"Ugh, this halfwit bastard. He's finally become a complete mute."
When Dong Bong-su still couldn't speak even though his body had fully recovered, Machil started calling him Mute Sam. Horse Dung Sam had been a derogatory term, but Mute Sam was an even worse one.
Mute Sam.
Dong Bong-su's new name given because he was mute.
He now had four names. Dong Bong-su, Sosam, Horse Dung Sam, Mute Sam. Excluding Dong Bong-su, the other three were Dong Bong-su's 'aliases' that everyone in the Danri Family called him as they wished.
No one knew he was Dong Bong-su. His real face and real name hidden behind the mask and aliases, and his perfect mute act—so far...
No one knew.
***
When the season changed and a slightly chilly wind began to blow.
Dong Bong-su was finally able to leave the stable and move around inside the Danri Family estate as he pleased. Of course, many restrictions still existed.
Family martial artists who picked fights at any time or place, and servants who looked down on him just because he was a groom even though they were fellow servants, and attendants. Even when he walked through Bongyang's city streets morning and evening to walk the horses, people wouldn't leave him alone.
[That halfwit bastard, now he can't even talk?]
[Then he's a shit mute? A shit-halfwit-mute.]
[We should call him Shit-Dumb-Mute now! Hahaha.]
He received all kinds of insults, but he didn't care. The more he did, the more he acted like an even bigger fool. When cursed at, hehe, when hit with stones, ow ow, when ignored, he bowed his head as if it were natural.
Shitty and mute, halfwit. The more nicknames like Shit-Dumb-Mute and Mute Sam were added, the more it paradoxically proved his acting was perfect. All this slander, verbal abuse, and violence would serve as a shield hiding his identity for a while.
And.
No one in this place, the Danri Family, and further in Bongyang, would know.
That all those things that had been shields for Dong Bong-su would transform into blades and return to them.
Dong Bong-su learned language through curses, grasped Bongyang's geography while being beaten, and learned the culture here while prostrating flat on the ground. Thus, he gradually blended naturally into the darkness.
He was a shadow. A long and large shadow, but so gloomy that no one recognized it. No one noticed his outstanding ordinariness.
The shadow was thus growing thicker in the shade without anyone knowing.
After a few more months of keeping his head down, he finally commenced his hunt one day.
***
Machil felt alive these days.
Should it be called a blessing in disguise?
He thought that the 'saying' the elderly often used might be meant for times like this.
When that Mute Sam bastard first got hurt, he was angry and dissatisfied. Who would feel good taking over someone else's work, especially the work of a human far inferior to himself?
But as they say, after hardship comes pleasure—he was now being rewarded for all the hardship he'd endured diligently cleaning up after Mute Sam.
Although he'd developed aphasia, the recovered Mute Sam followed his words very well. Even without being told, he took care of the weapon servant's work in advance. Perhaps because he'd become mute, the back-talk he used to give disappeared, and he worked very diligently. The resentful look in his eyes also vanished.
Looking at Mute Sam's eyes now, they were just transparent. So clear and transparent that sometimes he almost felt sorry for tormenting him.
Today too, Mute Sam woke up early in the morning and finished most of the work Machil had to do. Thanks to that, Machil could comfortably sleep a bit more in the back garden of the estate.
"Yaaawn—"
Having slept more soundly than usual, his whole body felt refreshed and strength packed into his lower body. Moreover, having gone back to sleep right after waking up in the morning, he hadn't properly done the daily routine of hand exercises.
Naturally, his thing was stiffly raising its head while wearing pants and glaring at him.
Saying cool me down quickly, put me to sleep soon, let me taste it fast.
Machil tapped his grotesquely bulging thing.
"This guy, catching the smell of money from somewhere. Alright, alright, just hold on a bit. I'll let you thoroughly taste some hole flavor right now."
He'd received his wages yesterday. Every time, he'd stuck all the wages he received into a courtesan's buttocks and chest. That was his only pleasure in life. In a life of being ignored, wasn't it only when embracing a woman and when tormenting Sosam, a human inferior to him, that he felt somewhat alive?
Because of that, he always counted down the days from the first of every month to when he'd receive his wages. Of course, the courtesan, who knew this and fed off Machil, would be the same.
"My pockets are full, so today should I taste Choseon's flesh instead of courtesan? Choseon's body has ripened quite deliciously."
Machil's grotesque thing's prey changed instantaneously.
"Right, how can a person live on rice alone every time? Sometimes you have to eat beef, eat fish, eat young chicken. Hehehehe."
Machil laughed lewdly and got up from his spot.
He immediately departed for Bongyang Inn. The reason he changed his prey was that today his pockets were plumper than usual wage days.
When Machil woke up in the morning and went to organize the weapons, Sosam had already finished the work, and on top of it was a leather pouch. Inside was money, and he could know without thinking who had left it.
"That bastard. He's finally learned how to get by in the world."
Just because you have no power, how could you properly live in the world by only bowing your head every day, kneeling, begging, and pleading? If you have no power, you have to know how to exercise flexibility like this.
Machil decided that from now on, he should torment Sosam a little, just a little less. Though if the tribute amount decreased, it might get worse instead.
A hum naturally flowed from Machil's mouth as he headed to Bongyang Inn.