A New Kaeyi Customer
Seojun took off his work gloves and looked down at his own hands. Calloused, rough palms. To the naked eye, there was nothing unusual. But deep beneath the skin, a faint wriggling heat stirred. It was a symptom that had appeared since the resonance began yesterday.
Just my imagination?
He deliberately clenched and unclenched his fist. The blood coursing through his veins felt a little hotter, a little faster than usual. As if his body were waiting for something.
Clang!Clang!
To shake off the stray thoughts, Seojun swung his hammer. Today, he had to tackle the backlog of regular commissions. Straightening the dented surface of a cheap shield from some D-rank hunters. Simple, monotonous repetition.
Was it the lingering sensation from handling kaeyi materials yesterday still tingling in his fingertips? Metal impurities and hairline cracks he'd normally breeze past now grated on him with vivid clarity.
Has my eyesight sharpened? Or my senses?
His hammer strikes landed with far greater precision than before. Shaping the metal along its grain without wasting a drop of strength. Faster pace meant less fatigue. A positive change from the resonance, at least.
Of course, he had no idea what the cost might be.
The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long in the alley. Light filtering into the forge shifted from orange to deep indigo.
Seojun finished sorting the last commission and swept metal shavings from the workbench.
"Another day without drama."
He muttered it as he reached for the shutter.
Drag, drag.
A sound scraping the ground. Something heavy and rough gouging the asphalt, drawing near.
Drag, thud. Drag, thud.
Heat flared in Seojun's palm again. No mere itch this time—a scorching blaze.
Kaeyi.
Instinct yanked his hand from the shutter. He fixed on the forge entrance.
From the alley's shadowed end, a hunched shape shuffled into view.
Worn hemp rags, straw shoes woven rough. An old man with a frayed bamboo hat jammed low.
But Seojun's eyes skipped the face, locking on the old man's back.
A colossal net bag loomed there, dwarfing the man—at least two meters across.
The scraping culprit.
The old man hauled it to the forge front without a grunt of effort. Beneath the hat, gleaming eyes peered up at Seojun. Wrinkled skin like shriveled jujube rind, mouth rimmed in blackened rot.
[...Master.]
A raspy voice, like metal on metal.
Seojun swallowed hard.
[My net bag... got a tear.]
Net Bag Grandpa—no, the old man—thumped it down from his back.
That instant.
-Kieeeek!
Save me! Let me out! Mom! Mommyyy!
Screams and wails exploded from inside. A nightmare chorus, dozens or hundreds of voices tangled in agony.
The net bag's weave bulged and receded erratically. Something thrashed inside, desperate to escape. Human hands, faces ghosted through the coarse mesh.
Seojun's face set hard.
Ghost stories said Net Bag Grandpa snatched naughty kids. But were these souls? Demons? No telling.
One thing clear: they could not get out.
"Where's the damage?"
Seojun forced calm.
Net Bag Grandpa bared yellowed teeth in a grin.
[These new ones... too damn strong. Keep clawing out.]
He jabbed at the net bag's base.
Seojun stepped close, inspected.
No ordinary straw or twine.
Hair?
Black, tough human hair twisted into ropes, laced with beast sinew.
The bottom frayed to shreds from inside scratches, a two-finger hole punched through.
Worst: a black, smoky finger poked out, clawing air.
Thwack!
Net Bag Grandpa cracked it with his staff. Scream—finger vanished.
[Sew it. Never tear again. Ironclad.]
"Materials?"
[Nah. Heard you're the best, Master... improvise.]
Blunt as a hammer, no room to say no. Dark red killing intent dripped from the staff tip.
Seojun hefted the net bag onto the workbench.
Wriggle, wriggle.
It squirmed like a living beast. Workbench rattled.
Regular thread? Laughable. Needed tougher than hair rope, to crush their struggles.
Warehouse stock flashed in his mind.
Wire? Snaps. Mithril thread? No give.
Then: the jarred kaeyi egg byproduct.
Shape memory, shock absorption. Slime could amp thread durability.
Still short. Inside things spewed not just muscle, but curse-mana.
Need suppression.
Seojun yanked ogre sinew from the corner. Tough as they come.
Deep drawer: small box.
Talisman ash.
From a famous shaman's leftovers, burned for hunters' anti-evil blades.
Seojun prepped fast.
Shred sinew to threads.
Mix leftover egg slime, ash.
Shiiiik—
Gray slime done.
Dunked sinew threads.
Drip, drip.
Sinew emerged sticky, eerily elastic.
"Grip it tight. Can't stitch if they buck."
[Khkh... On it.]
Net Bag Grandpa clamped the hole with gnarled hands.
Rending screams inside—he ignored.
Seojun loaded special thread into a massive needle carved from whale bone.
Pook!
First pierce. Hair rope resisted like thick hide—feedback jolted his fingers.
Wooo—
Beings swarmed the needle. Hands shoved back.
These fuckers.
Seojun ground his teeth. No brute push.
In Progress...
A red message blinked before his eyes.
Palm heat flowed needle to thread.
His mana sparked the slime coat.
Shaaak!
Thread pierced inside—slime spiked like barbs, impaling souls.
Talisman ash's sanctity, kaeyi byproduct's physics—double strike.
Kieek!
Retreat rippled from within.
Seojun seized it.
Thud!Whoosh!Thud!Whoosh!
Hands blurred. Less sewing, more war.
X-cross stitched the hole.
Slime thread fused to hair rope on contact. Shape memory cinched tight.
"Hup!"
Seojun steadied breath, pumped mana.
Thread flushed red.
No mere patch. Reinforcement ritual woven through the whole bag.
Red veins on his palm sharpened. Now snaking to wrists under sleeves.
No pain. Exhilaration surged, vitality electric.
Unlike hammering. Delicate, relentless focus.
Final knot time.
Seojun yanked thread taut.
Twung.
Gayageum string plucked.
"Done."
Knotted, snipped.
Scarred bulge, but toughest spot. Gray thread merged seamless.
Net Bag Grandpa released, probed.
Stroke, stroke.
Inside battered it—thread held. Shock-absorbed bounce: thud!crash!
[Ho... Masterful.]
Mouth split ear-to-ear, glee.
[They'll rage all they want—ain't budging. That sticky cling? Chef's kiss.]
"Glad it works."
Seojun wiped brow sweat, doffed gloves.
Palm ballooned red. No bruise. Kaeyi taint.
[Payment time.]
Net Bag Grandpa rummaged his bosom.
No cash hopes. Kaeyi scorned human coin.
Out came coiled black thread skein.
[Thread for my net bag. Shadow Thread, they call it.]
Workbench skein drank light, void-black. Strands twitched if stared at.
[Stitch shadows, body freezes too. You'll make magic with it.]
Prime binding material. Priceless for restraint gear.
[Tears again? I'll be back.]
Net Bag Grandpa shouldered the beast.
Drag, drag—
Vanished into dark. Inside hushed.
Alone, Seojun grasped Shadow Thread.
It uncoiled, nuzzled his wrist like a pup.
No malice. Affectionate claim.
Kaeyi Affinity: 1%
The kaeyi system message flickered up again.
Seojun rolled his sleeve. Red veins from wrist? Gone.
But the rooted inner sense lingered.
"1%..."
Kaeyi Affinity ticking up? No welcome news. Unclear meaning, but unease stuck.
Nothing to do about it now.
"Eh, it'll sort itself."