A Different Kind of King
In that process, quite a few minor clashes occurred, but they remained strictly minor and never escalated into the kind of life-or-death struggles the serpent had waged. To reiterate, the river was vast; if things looked unfavorable, one could simply move to a slightly less desirable spot. Thus, the period of petty disputes passed, and the river's ecosystem found peace. Occasionally, there were tense standoffs over prey, and a few water beasts unable to control their feral natures would pick fights with others, but such incidents were nothing more than a light, passing breeze. It was a peace draped over a settled balance—not entirely silent, but stable in its own way. Yet, this peace vanished in an instant, like a midsummer night's dream. The serpent, who had seemed content to stay in his territory and mind his own business, suddenly ambushed and slaughtered a water beast basking in the sunlight on the river's surface. It was a completely unprovoked, literal ambush. The water beasts who witnessed the scene firsthand fell into a panicked confusion. Some trembled in fear, while others, provoked, bared their fangs. Yet, none of them dared to attack the serpent. It was for the exact same reason as before. They instinctively feared getting injured in a fight against a powerful foe and sought to avoid it. While they wavered in their confusion and hesitation, the struggle ended, and the serpent, drenched in blood, returned to his territory. His demeanor, his posture, seemed entirely mundane, as if he were merely returning from a routine hunt. In that seemingly ordinary—and therefore all the more terrifying—display, the water beasts finally caught a dim glimmer of the difference between themselves and the serpent. To them, they were rivals and enemies to one another. But the serpent did not seem to view them as rivals, enemies, or even of the same kind. To the serpent, they were nothing more than prey, no different from the ordinary fish swimming in the water.
Jekyeong let out a thunderous roar, warning the rabble not to set foot in his territory even by mistake. It was a simple method, but against these fish-brained creatures, simplicity was highly effective. It still stings a bit. The eel-like Yo-beast he had hunted three days ago. There was nothing particularly special about it, but its sheer will to live was the strongest among all the Yo-beasts he had hunted so far. That intense will to survive had transformed into an extreme combative spirit the moment its life hung in the balance, forcing Jekyeong to shed a considerable amount of blood before he could finally put it down. In particular, the wound on the side of his head, sustained when the beast bit him just as he was about to deliver the killing blow, was severe. That final, desperate strike from the eel Yo-beast had been powerful enough to effortlessly shatter his scales, which were harder than solid rock.
After completing the hunt, Jekyeong had immediately headed toward the Medicinal Water, but once he stood before it, he hesitated. The Medicinal Water, which had been reduced by half after he used it to heal his eye, had replenished itself by about ten percent, but to Jekyeong's eyes, it still seemed far too scarce. When the thought crossed his mind that he might be wasting a treasure equivalent to an extra life on such a minor injury, he couldn't bring himself to use the Medicinal Water for a mere handful of shattered scales and torn flesh. Staring at the Medicinal Water like a starving man gazing at a salted fish hanging from the ceiling, Jekyeong ultimately decided against using it. Though there was a saying that hoarding things only lets them go to waste, there was also wisdom in not squandering medicine on every minor ailment. Compared to losing an eye, a wound of this scale was perfectly tolerable, and Jekyeong possessed a fair amount of confidence in his own regenerative abilities.
Thus, Jekyeong slept before the Medicinal Water for three days, and when he opened his eyes, the wound on the side of his head had knit together slightly. Though his scales were still torn away and his raw flesh was exposed, it could still be considered in good condition compared to three days ago. I should keep a low profile for the time being. Hunting was fine, and flaunting his power was all well and good, but such things only mattered if his body was intact. No matter how much fear he instilled in the water beasts, if a day came when he was weak and ailing, that day would surely be his last. After all, whether they lived in the water or on land, these Yo-beasts possessed an instinctual, terrifyingly sharp ability to sniff out the scent of blood.
After thoroughly checking his physical condition aside from his injured head, Jekyeong soon left his territory and swam toward the surface. During his ascent, he sensed the presence of quite a few water beasts. The moment they detected Jekyeong's aura, they scrambled to flee as if their tails were on fire. It seems my efforts weren't in vain. There was a clear reward for going around shedding blood like a madman. The roar he had unleashed with all his might moments ago would have echoed throughout the entire Spiritual Spring, so his territory would remain peaceful for the foreseeable future.
It was an unavoidable choice, but looking at it now, this isn't bad either. Jekyeong knew better than anyone that he could neither act like the Catfish nor become like it. Therefore, he had decided to throw the gates of the river—of the Spiritual Spring—wide open. He allowed the water beasts that the Catfish had once driven out to enter, guiding them to establish their own territories. As a result, the Spiritual Spring, which had once felt so desolate it bordered on empty, was now teeming with all kinds of water beasts—but to Jekyeong, this was no loss. After all, as long as he could protect the location of the Medicinal Water, nothing else really mattered to him.
His only concern was that with such a massive influx of water beasts into the Spiritual Spring, someone would eventually covet his territory—specifically, the Medicinal Water. Whether that day would come in ten days or a month, it was an absolute certainty that such a day would eventually arrive. If he camped out in front of the Medicinal Water and guarded it constantly, he could mitigate the risk, but Jekyeong obviously could not do that. He had to hunt, which required him to leave his territory and even venture out of the water entirely. How could he possibly sit in front of the Medicinal Water like a watchdog?
Thus, Jekyeong had to seek another way. The solution he ultimately devised was to shed blood. It was to demonstrate to the water beasts gathered in the Spiritual Spring just how violent and ruthless he could be. Humans feel fear toward a king upon a throne, but they also feel fear toward a thug in a back alley. It was no different for Yo-beasts. Jekyeong capitalized on this truth, unleashing his feral, savage nature without hesitation. As a result, he became a king of a different sort than the Catfish. The water beasts might not openly acknowledge it, but their instinctual retreat and flight spoke volumes.
Dreaming of the Great Dao, a tree monster so colossal that even the word "giant" felt inadequate was basking in the sun on the riverbank, with half of its roots anchored in the earth and the other half submerged in the river. Its leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, a few plump fruits hung invitingly from its boughs, and a large bird dozed peacefully upon one of its branches. Had the surrounding soil not been so dry and utterly devoid of vitality, any ignorant passerby would have mistaken this tree monster for a sacred, divine tree. But what kind of divine tree would drain the life of everything around it to sustain its own vibrant vitality? Therefore, the tree was not a divine tree, but a wood-attribute Yo-beast.
“Muk-su, when is Jekyeong coming back?”
Rumble—
“You don't know either? I figured as much.”
Rumble, rumble—
“Why did I ask? Just because. Not everything needs a reason, right? Don't you think so too?”
The name Muk-su had been given to it by Jekyeong. Since he and Cheongo both had proper names, Jekyeong felt it wouldn't do to keep calling this fellow by the generic, characterless label of "wood Yo-beast" forever. Cheongo had made a huge fuss, celebrating the decision, but Muk-su, the recipient of the name, showed no real reaction. It neither disliked nor liked it. To the tree, a name seemed to hold no particular meaning. Cheongo could not understand Muk-su's indifference. In the bird's mind, this easygoing tree should have been overjoyed.
“Why aren't you happy? Isn't it great to have a name? It belongs to you. Plus, no one can ever steal it from you.”
Muk-su tolerated Cheongo's chatter well. Partly because of its naturally slow-paced, tree-like disposition, and partly because Cheongo's endless babble helped stave off boredom.
Rumble—
Muk-su conveyed that, in its view, a name was merely like a gaze. Since it didn't care how others looked at it or what they called it, there was nothing particularly good or bad about having one. Cheongo failed to comprehend this philosophy and felt slightly disgruntled. However, the bird did not force its opinion on Muk-su. It knew doing so would be a pointless waste of effort.
“Muk-su, can I eat one of your fruits? What do you mean, didn't I just eat one a few days ago? I want to eat another one precisely because it's been a few days. If I had eaten one yesterday, I wouldn't even be asking.”
Regardless of what Muk-su thought, Cheongo quite liked the name Muk-su. Though, in truth, Cheongo had also liked simply calling it "Tree" before, even if it wasn't a real name.
“Muk-su, how is it underwater? There are lots of fish, right? Jekyeong said there are lots of Yo-beasts down there too. Water beasts, I mean. But he said they're even stupider than the Yo-beasts on land. Do you think so too? You don't know? Why don't you know? You must have seen them. By the way, how do you even see? Do you have eyes? Where are they? Ah, they were hidden over there? I didn't realize because they don't look like eyes. Come to think of it...”
By the time Jekyeong arrived, Muk-su was on the verge of being utterly drained by Cheongo's relentless chatter. Cheongo greeted Jekyeong warmly as his head broke the water's surface, and Muk-su let out a silent sigh of relief.
“Huh? Jekyeong, you're hurt!”
Cheongo's eyes widened as it stared at the side of Jekyeong's head.
“It happened.”
“Was there really someone that strong in the river?”
“There was.”
There had been a strong opponent. To be precise, one that was only strong right before its death. When his flesh had been torn away, he had felt both angry and bewildered, but looking back now, he considered it a cheap lesson well-learned. As long as he remembered this pain, he would never make such a foolish mistake again.
“How about you two? Anything happen?”
“Nope! Nothing at all. I could sleep right out in the open and nothing happened.”
“That's probably because even if you fall asleep, Muk-su doesn't.”
Cheongo had claimed one of Muk-su's branches as its roost. Previously, the bird had always flown off to a secluded spot to sleep, a habit it maintained even after becoming a Yo-beast. But things had changed once the wood Yo-beast received the name Muk-su. As if casting aside even the barest minimum of its remaining wariness, Cheongo now spent all its time perched on Muk-su's branches, except when it flew around for various errands.
“How is your training with the Presence-Concealing Technique going?”
“It's still not going very well.”
The moment the Presence-Concealing Technique was mentioned, the lively Cheongo hung its head. Its wings, which had been flapping excitedly, drooped listlessly.
Seeing this, Jekyeong clicked his tongue inwardly. For some time now, he had been teaching Cheongo the concepts and training methods of the Presence-Concealing Technique. It was partly a favor to Cheongo, but also preparation for what lay ahead. Yet, for a bird that was usually so clever, it was surprising to see it struggle so miserably when it came to actual cultivation. Did it simply lack talent for cultivation? Or was it because, no matter how smart it was, it was ultimately just a Yo-beast?
Perhaps I was the anomaly, and this is what's normal. Grasping the core concept of the Presence-Concealing Technique the instant he heard it and achieving results on his very first attempt at training—looking back now, that had indeed been excessively fast. The only reason such rapid progress had been possible in a Yo-beast's body was likely due to the human soul dwelling within him. But Cheongo was a pure Yo-beast, both inside and out, so it was only natural that its training could not match Jekyeong's pace.
“Jekyeong, maybe it's not my fault. What if Muk-su is just too sharp? I bet even you would have a hard time fooling this guy.”
The instant Cheongo finished speaking, Jekyeong's presence vanished completely.
At that, Muk-su flinched, waving one of its branches up and down. The gesture seemed like a declaration of surrender, or perhaps a grumble telling them not to blame it. In the end, a thoroughly dejected Cheongo could only mumble that it would work harder.
“If you aren't ready, we can't even begin our work. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I'll work harder.”
After defeating the Catfish and obtaining the Medicinal Water, Jekyeong had gained a new perspective on his path of cultivation. It would be fair to say his horizons had broadened. Previously, while he pursued efficiency, he had always laid a foundation of stability and safety beneath it. Some might mock him as overly cautious or cowardly, but to Jekyeong, this was only natural. If you died, cultivation and everything else came to an end, didn't it? Therefore, to continue his cultivation, he had to prioritize his own life above all else. Even now, that belief remained unchanged. However, his understanding of the concepts of stability and safety had evolved. He had begun to look further and wider.
For instance, the current Jekyeong did not shy away from battles where he might get hurt. In the past, such a thing would have been utterly unthinkable, but now that he had a reliable safety net like the Medicinal Water, things were different. Jekyeong's philosophy on treasures remained unchanged. If it had a practical use, it was a treasure. Conversely, no matter how precious an object was, if it had no use or was too restricted to be used properly, it was nothing but a white elephant. Having realized that the Medicinal Water was not a one-time treasure that would vanish forever after a single use, Jekyeong abandoned any notion of treating it like a fragile relic to be hoarded. Of course, this didn't mean he intended to throw himself recklessly into danger, but he was now willing to take calculated risks if necessary. And as it happened, a certain idea had crossed his mind. It was a thought that had been lingering in his head ever since he obtained the treasure of the Medicinal Water from the Catfish's territory in the Spiritual Spring.