Ggobongi (3)

There is an internet term known as a "meme."

Broadly speaking, it is akin to a viral trend or buzzword, yet it is never confined to mere language. It encompasses images, video clips, and even living people. Much like an emoticon, it carries an unspoken shorthand, infinitely funnier to those in the know. And since the Gallery was, for all practical purposes, essentially the internet, memes naturally thrived within its digital halls.

From image macros tailored for every conceivable witty remark to reaction clips, humor ran rampant. Even the sudden, horrifying visual flashbangs one occasionally stumbled upon while browsing the boards could be considered a form of meme.

Yet among them all lurked one particularly virulent, toxic meme—and it centered on the very person I had just inquired about.

The instant I hit post, bizarre replies sprouted like bamboo shoots after a torrential rain. The sheer volume of spam washed in so fast it bewildered me, burying any chance of getting a straight answer.

What on earth is this?

Just who was this Wi Ho-chang to provoke such an explosive, unhinged reaction? Determined to find out, I stubbornly waded through the flooded comment section, scrolling past endless walls of chanting. Fortunately, the thread had not been completely ruined—a sensible voice eventually cut through the noise.

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Despite the bizarre rhythmic battle cries constantly interrupting the dialogue, I managed to piece the tale together. Wi Ho-chang had earned his title as the Blood Demon through pure, indiscriminate butchery. Whatever his grievance was, consumed by vengeance against a specific group of people, he had perpetrated a staggering genocide. A fanatic following congregated around him as well, naturally drawn by their lust for absolute power.

Listening to the explanations, the origin of this Gallery meme became readily apparent. In the aftermath of the Righteous-Blood War, the Blood Demon's death was never definitively confirmed. Certain extremists remained convinced of his survival, and over time, those fanatics trickled into the forum. The Blood Cult already suffered from an abysmal public image, but turning into a bizarre online meme had dragged their reputation into the gutter. Then again, an organization whose primary pastime was murder hardly had the right to expect affection.

If the West had its Undying King, the East had Wi Ho-chang. But while the Undying King had sent his royal scribe brother into the Forest of the Four Seasons, Wi Ho-chang seemed to have stepped into this lethal wilderness in person. Naturally, whether this was truth or fantasy remained unverified; it all rested on Ggobongi's brief testimony. I needed to dig deeper, and fortunately, the questionnaire in my hands contained a relevant follow-up.

"Ggobongi. Answer this one too."

"..."

Ggobongi squinted his eyes as he had before, scrutinizing the paper. The question asked where that man was right now. Ggobongi grunted out an answer in staccato syllables, and I promptly forwarded the audio to the Heavenly Demon for translation.

So that's why Ppareumbo didn't recognize him. An albino ape possessed features far too distinct to forget; if Ggobongi had been absent from the troop since his youth, it explained why the sloth hadn't made the connection.

"@$@%& %@#!"

Perhaps talking about someone familiar stirred up old nostalgia, because without any prompting, Ggobongi began rambling in earnest. Naturally, it was ancient Zhongyuan dialect, meaning I couldn't comprehend a single syllable, so once more I relied on the Heavenly Demon's ears.

A piercingly sharp observation. In truth, humans lower than beasts crawled across every corner of reality. Because mankind possessed higher intelligence, they were capable of inflicting atrocities far more sadistic than any wild animal could conceive.

Listening to Ggobongi's past, my thoughts drifted back to the Blood Demon. Regardless of his motives, isn't he still a ruthless criminal? Even in an era where self-defense laws leaned loose and bloody, the Blood Demon had crossed every boundary. Though reduced to a running internet joke today, he was a monster who had popped human skulls like roasted peanuts.

Fortunately, the odds were overwhelming that he was no longer among the living. Had he been alive, the Chief Gorilla would have reported to him immediately, and our paths would have inevitably crossed.

They said the Righteous-Blood War broke out roughly fifty or sixty years ago... When Wi Ho-chang made his final public appearance, he was already well into his fifties. Factoring in the passing years, he would easily be past a century old by now—an age where dying of natural causes was entirely expected. For someone possessing monstrous might, surviving in the Forest of the Four Seasons wouldn't have been an insurmountable ordeal.

Wait a minute. That means even a man like that couldn't escape this forest?

Whether he had been unable to escape or had simply chosen not to leave remained unclear, though the former seemed far more probable. According to the forum posts, the Blood Demon possessed sky-high pride. Why would such a proud, transcendent master mingle with a pack of lowly apes, teaching them language, writing, and even martial arts? Something smelled bizarre.

To confirm it, I would have to uncover traces of his existence, but the Chief Gorilla likely held those answers. The ragged clothes that leader wore must have belonged to the Blood Demon.

While certain puzzle pieces were falling into place, far more questions remained shrouded in fog. Had his mentality shifted upon entering the forest, or had he simply surrendered in despair after realizing escape was impossible? It was a complete enigma, but one I could unravel at my leisure. For now, the most critical piece was gauging his raw martial caliber.

Beyond being freakishly powerful, the man had been an unstoppable catastrophe. And yet, even an existence of that caliber had failed to break free from this forest. Whether severe internal injuries sustained during the war had crippled him, or whether an entirely different barrier blocked the way, remained an open question.

Deciding to gather information on Wi Ho-chang at a steadier pace, I moved on to the next query. In a way, this might be the most crucial question of all.

I needed to know why he had harmed my senior survivor, Lyse Kraone. According to Lyse's final journal entries, he had been ambushed by Ggobongi and ultimately succumbed to the wounds inflicted during that attack. Had Ggobongi merely inherited the Blood Demon's rotten, homicidal disposition, or had there been a distinct motive? If he had killed solely for personal amusement... frankly, I would execute him on the spot. Without justifiable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠provocation, cold-blooded murder was a line I could never stomach.

"..."

Ggobongi's brows furrowed deeply as he read the question. Then, he snorted contemptuously. Disdain rolled off him in waves, making his explanation all the more anticipated. When he finally grunted his answer, I forwarded it once more to the Heavenly Demon.

The truth was out. A grudge over stolen food. In an unforgiving wilderness, theft of rations was practically an act of war, and with Ggobongi's abysmal eyesight, giving chase after the fact must have been an infuriating nightmare.

Wait... can an albino get fitted for glasses?

The thought suddenly struck me: could I improve Ggobongi's eyesight? Some might argue that enhancing a captive beast's vision was a reckless hazard to my own safety, but the reality was the exact opposite. When putting him to hard labor, clear vision was vital to prevent workplace accidents—industrial hazards, if you will. Better yet, gifting him the ability to see properly would earn tremendous goodwill. Like it or not, we were sharing the same pot of stew moving forward; providing basic accommodations was simply pragmatic management.

Alongside spectacles, suggestions flooded in urging me to clothe the beast. It was a valid point; striking white fur presented a catastrophic disadvantage for wilderness survival. While his martial prowess had previously offset that liability, his strength was currently locked away beneath the suppressor collar. Still, I resolved to hand over the glasses first and deliberate on clothes later.

Now that's what I call a vintage frame.

The spectacles Praise the Sun sent over resembled antique eyewear straight out of an old historical drama. Circular wire rims met at an inverted V-shaped nose bridge. In a world devoid of plastics, this was undoubtedly the standard silhouette for fine opticals.

"Ggobongi. Try putting this on."

"..."

As I offered the wire spectacles, Ggobongi regarded me with deep, naked suspicion. Being bound by a shock collar naturally made him wary of every gesture. Yet this was purely an item bestowed for his benefit. When I persistently thrust them forward, silently urging him to take them, Ggobongi hesitated before reluctantly accepting the strange contraption.

"...Uoh?"

Ggobongi hooked the temples over his ears, his scowl still dripping with distrust. Yet that skepticism didn't last a heartbeat.

"Uoh? Uooh!"

Doubt dissolved into astonishment, and astonishment rapidly gave way to overwhelming awe.

"Oooooh!!!"

A thunderous bellow burst from his chest, his reaction that of a mortal beholding a brand-new universe for the very first time. Ggobongi obsessively pulled the glasses off, stared through them, and shoved them back onto his face in rapid succession. His eyes grew endlessly wide and luminous, every ounce of ferocity melting from his features. His lips curled into a rounded, childlike 'O'—an innocent expression befitting a regular, curious ape.

"Ooooh...!"

Wearing the spectacles, Ggobongi turned and began strolling away, his heavy steps carrying him deep into the emerald thickness of the forest.

A warm, paternal smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I watched his retreating back.

"...Wait a minute."

Where the hell was he going?