Forging the Bamboo General
Clearing the Cheon Gi-seong hidden quest was important, of course, but survival came first. So for the past few days, he'd poured every moment into securing food and fresh water.
On rainy days, he collected rainwater in the liquor barrels, and when even that fell short, he tried distilling it. To avoid spoilage, he gathered fruits and seafood only as needed, while salting and preserving the fish he'd caught in advance.
The first day's haul had been a total disaster, leaving him thinking like some special forces guy from a documentary—ranting about protein and wondering if he should eat bugs. But things had somehow worked out, thank god.
As supplies piled up bit by bit, he could feel himself gaining some breathing room in his movements.
"Huff, huff."
Once night fell, the monsters restricted his range, so he killed time with workouts.
Of course, the real reason was that if he didn't tire himself out like this, the nightmares hit harder after he dozed off. But hey, silver lining.
His body, already specialized in waigong, combined with knowledge from his past life, felt even stronger.
The falconet he'd found on the pier—handle and all—was too rusted for actual use, but it made a decent grab-and-weight tool. Perfect for workouts, far from its original purpose.
⚡ Strength:+1
Life on this godforsaken uninhabited island, which had seemed like pure hell, turned out more adaptable than expected.
His head knew this was reality, but it felt like he'd become the protagonist in a survival flick. Just two gripes: the monsters that shrank his turf every night, and...
"Jeez, old man, you talk way too damn much."
In a natural bamboo grove on one side of the island, he grumbled while hacking away diligently.
Hendrick van Demer's presence was a huge help. The downside? The guy never shut up.
Still, silver lining—he'd reached the point where he could tune out the fluff and snag only the key info.
Though Hendrick occasionally went, "Are you even listening?" forcing some awkward backpedaling. Self-proclaimed macho that he was, the bearded sailor would sulk if ignored, leaving Yujin sweating to soothe him. Reality check.
As he bitched internally, he'd gathered enough materials.
He bundled them roughly with vines, slung them on, and headed back to the wreck.
Early on, every task wrapped up just as night fell. Now, even after chopping wood, it was lunchtime. Things were getting routine.
Maybe this suits me better?
Why had he clung to that shitty old life? Looking back, it was ironic as hell.
Minus martial arts, what was he lacking? Great physique meant stamina and decent handiwork.
If he'd ditched the clan from the start, bailed on that crap, would he be flailing like before? Hard not to wonder.
Was it the scenario's compulsion? If so, the forced fate felt a tad creepy.
Or just habit's inertia—like a bird caged too long, scared of open sky.
[You're back?]
Clunk. He dropped the bamboo and vines on the deck, and Hendrick zipped over like he'd been waiting.
Normally, the "You're back?" line came with zero enthusiasm—just lip service. But this morning, when Yujin mentioned starting weapons for real, the ghost's eyes had sparkled.
Hendrick seemed the type who loved teaching hidden knowledge.
[Heh heh, finally time to show off this body's fine skills firsthand.]
That subtly upbeat tone said it all.
Yujin had never done this stuff—would he keep up? He'd gathered materials without a worry, but now, facing actual instruction, doubts crept in.
Hendrick, eyeballing materials, launched into what they'd make.
[The Bamboo Cannon is plenty fine for conversing with those monsters.]
"What's a Bamboo Cannon?"
He got it was a weapon name, but details?
The materials screamed "bamboo gun," but did that even work?
[The Bamboo Cannon is the most primitive firearm. Can't claim great performance, but easy to source, simple materials, quick to make—that's the upside.]
Gunpowder weapon, as expected. Firearms in a murim world—imaginable yet weird.
Usually, barrels meant solid metal chunks. Yujin couldn't hide his skepticism.
[Student Yujin, you look confused. Questions?]
"Can bamboo really handle a barrel?"
[¡Vaya pregunta! Excellent question. As you say, bamboo can't withstand explosion pressure. Weak firepower, short range, poor durability—listing flaws, it's trash! In short, near single-use.]
Hendrick explained with newbie-teacher zeal.
... Fuck, too wordy.
Just the essentials would've sufficed. Yujin knew the ghost was chatty, but in his wheelhouse? Overwhelming.
Half breaths, half drivel—expertise mixed with nonsense, dominating time and sanity. Yujin had half-given up, numbly absorbing the info dump.
Stuck in rote learning even here—sudden melancholy hit.
Scrape, scrape. Rattle.
Under guidance, he sectioned bamboo by nodes, finished with cloth and vines from the ship. Poured gunpowder from a wax-sealed box into the hollow, topped with sharp stones and bones.
Huh, looks decent?
Unlike his worries, this pro one-on-one on a simple design wrapped quick.
"Hm."
First try, felt good in his hands—solid work. System agreed: objectively top-notch.
[...Beginner's luck? Nicely done. Artisan world's deep—won't let you get cocky. One more!]
* [...You said martial artist, right? Never held a hammer before? Makes no sense otherwise.]
Cheon Gi-seong (Heavenly Craft Star)'s talent imbues the tool.
Equip conditions become more complex.
Performance greatly enhanced.
Beginner Blacksmithing Skill acquired.
'... Cheon Gi-seong? Oh.'
Cheon Gi-seong—hearing the system's term clicked why he'd struggled so hard without martial arts.
Hongsim Yeonhwa had a constellation system: chosen stars boosted skills and stats variably.
Random at character creation, it wasted tons of time on rerolls.
And Cheon Gi-seong? Prime trash-tier.
Production-class star boosting crafted item stats/performance.
To see gains, needed high crafting skills—which meant grinding materials galore.
Lowbies couldn't source that. Its boon scaled with performance, demanding more materials for same items.
Even maxed, clan heirlooms outclassed them mid-story. Endgame encounters? God-tier gear, no swaps needed.
Fine, survivable—legendaries rare, heirlooms late-game.
But the killer demerit: no inner power skills. Utter garbage.
Some endgame builders/farmers enjoyed it, but niche.
Anyway, his production build trying combat? Recipe for disaster.
...Rage-inducing, but past now.
[This bamboo? Feels too sturdy.]
"Guess it was good quality. Bamboo ain't all the same, right?"
Hendrick, inspecting the Bamboo Cannon nonstop, looked unconvinced.
Why the fuss? He'd picked the materials himself—now you complain?
Self-praise for his eye? Yujin tuned him out, focused on quest-clear crafting.
Three, four, five.
[¡Increíble! Splendid.]
Hidden Quest: [Lost Wreckage] Chapter 1 — 'Hendrick's Advice' cleared.
📍 Next: Chapter 2, 'Hendrick's Guidance' begins.
In his sailor days, Hendrick was the merchant ship's dedicated armorer. Overflowing with confidence matching his skill, one regret: no apprentice.
He wishes to pass his craft to you, of fine talent.
🎁 Story Clear: Raise Hendrick's favor. Master Beginner Blacksmithing.
🎁 Chapter 2 Clear: Craft as directed (3-Barrel 0/1 → Victory Cannon 0/1 → Twin Cannon 0/1)
💎 Rewards: ???, Bond with ???
Hendrick's shock turned to praise amid the confusion, as the quest updated on completion.
Compared to game quests, this was a cakewalk.
Speculation, but production quests probably easier than combat ones.
'Lost Wreckage' Quest: Clear story segments to trigger monster assaults.
'Classic of Mountains and Seas Demonic Beast 1'
📍 Description: 'Gu'—lizard head, monkey body—quietly haunts dark woods unless provoked. Weak singly, but packs demand caution.
Prove the beach yours by exterminating them.
🎁 Conditions: Assaults at night. No safe zone access during. Slay all Gu (0/16).
💎 Rewards: Beach zone becomes safe. Hendrick's range expands: deck → beach.
Sigh, yeah—no free lunch.
Subquest popped right after Chapter 1. Classic hidden quest—devs' malice denying endgame gear.
Quest log's monster count: insane. Same pack from before, apparently.
"Well, unlike last time, I've got real weapons now... doable..."
Ah, fuck.
Wait—didn't Hendrick say Bamboo Cannons are single-use?
Red alert flashed; frozen brain spun.
Simple math: one shot, one kill. 16 minus 5?
11. Duh—even idiots nail subtraction. Haha.
11? Hm.
"...We're fucked."
This screamed "die already." Inevitable sigh.