Dwarves (2): The Dwarf Expedition
Dwarves.
An expedition was formed to seek out the Dwarf clan.
We called it an expedition for good reason—the Dwarves made their home in the very heart of Jangbaek Mountain.
Even the formidable Cat Tribe, sightless as they were, could not endure that place and had fled from the depths of Jangbaek. For anyone to have held that ground as longstanding masters meant they were no ordinary folk.
Reaching the mountain’s core was one thing. Matching them as equals at the negotiating table demanded we bring proper force of our own.
True peacemakers, after all, greet the other side with a blade in one hand and treasure in the other.
So assembling the expedition took a fair amount of time.
If we’re putting a team together, we might as well do it right.
We armed the members with iron ore scraped from the abandoned mines, packed plenty of Gukbap ingredients to keep their strength up, and loaded sugarcane charcoal to ward off the cold. Anticipating a long search, we even scraped together rolls of barbed wire, and petitioned the Cat Tribe for a contingent of their warriors.
In short, an expedition that could not fail.
Sir Bearwolf, appointed expedition commander, snorted a plume of breath and bellowed,
“Young Master! The expedition is ready!”
The Knight of Iron Ore, Sir Bearwolf, had been burning with enthusiasm the moment he heard they were going after the Dwarves. Fresh off another expedition the day before, he still looked as if he could march for days.
Well, of course. Finding the Dwarves would bring the first real revolution to the iron mines. No reason for him not to be thrilled.
“Sir Bearwolf. The day you achieve enlightenment, I shall call you the Knight of Steel without fail.”
“The Knight of Steel? Hahaha! Now that is a title with a fine ring! Very well. This Knight of Steel, Bearwolf, will escort you and open the gates to the Dwarf clan!”
Naturally, I joined the expedition myself.
Under ordinary circumstances that would have been a difficult decision. Jangbaek was no neighborhood hill; its depths were the kind of place the Empire itself labeled forbidden territory or a demonic realm.
Two reasons made it possible. First, the Dwarves were no minor power—negotiations required someone with real authority, and that meant me. Second, the Nyan-Nyan Punch the Cat Tribe had gifted me had at least given me enough strength to protect my own neck.
With every preparation complete, we set out for Jangbaek Mountain.
We reached Jangbaek.
Vast enough to be called a mountain range, Jangbaek was nature itself, utterly indifferent to human trespass.
But who were we?
The GOAT species for fucking over nature in Earth’s entire history—us humans, of course.
“Vice Commander, the dense forest is blocking the path.”
“Cut it down.”
“Vice Commander, even if every Aura user joins in, it will take far too long.”
“Then burn it.”
Where the path was blocked we smashed through. Where there was no path we made one and kept going.
Forest destruction? Nature violation?
Modern environmentalists might have gone cross-eyed, but such words carried zero weight in the North.
Whoosh—!
“Burns well!”
“Haha! All thanks to the charcoal the Young Master made for us! To light a fire this easily even in freezing Jangbaek!”
Dozens, hundreds of trees went up in flames while the people responsible sipped hot bubble tea and enjoyed the campfire.
At first I wondered if this was really okay. After a few repetitions I was enjoying it myself.
How many trees had we already burned just getting this far?
Maybe the whole “we’re short on timber” thing was pure bullshit.
Jangbaek Mountain.
I had heard the reputation, but it truly was no place for people.
Broken paths outnumbered continuous ones, and terrain closer to vertical than horizontal was the rule rather than the exception.
My fragile legs screamed the entire way. If this ever succeeded I wanted to tech-rush bombers and simply flatten the whole mountain.
“Young Master, are you finding it very difficult?”
“…It isn’t easy.”
The hardest part was knowing this was the relatively comfortable route.
“There’s a path over there, nya!”
“Good. Send in the axe-bearers.”
“Having the Cat Tribe makes this so much easier.”
“True. In a forest so thick you can’t see an inch ahead, finding trails this fast is something else.”
Cat Tribe warriors darted through the three-dimensional nightmare of Jangbaek with feline grace. They scouted ground no one else could reach or even see; then sturdy Northern warriors chopped paths open with axes or simply set fires.
Broken trails were no different. True to their future role as members of the Toll Road Guild, the Cat warriors parkoured from cliff to cliff stringing wire, and the rest of us followed to complete the path.
When I asked how they managed without such tricks, the answer was pure Northern bluntness: pick a direction, keep walking, rappel down any cliff you hit, then free-climb the far side.
Not easy. Not easy at all.
Every time I thought I was adjusting to the North, something reminded me there was always another sky above the one I could see.
“All right, gather up! Time to make camp and eat!”
Even the manliest men still needed meals. For them, three square meals mattered more than a little forest clearance.
Northern warriors, covered in tree sap, blood, and pine resin from clearing timber and butchering the monsters that burst out, came running the moment they heard the word “food,” grinning like children.
“Start digging. You need proper heat to boil water. No matter how good the charcoal is, a bad fire pit means no hot soup in your bellies.”
“Understood!!”
“Yes, sir!!!”
Under Sir Bearwolf’s orders they formed ranks and began shoveling. Battle-axes and morningstars that had been crushing monsters moments earlier now hammered the frozen slopes of Jangbaek, flattening the uneven ground.
The sun was already sinking; mountain nights came early, so they chose the campsite well in advance.
Already the third day.
Three days had passed since we entered Jangbaek. Searching the foothills would have been one thing, but we were heading for the core, so the journey dragged. A large force also meant constant monster ambushes that slowed the march even further.
Logwell Wintershield’s frail body screamed the whole way, yet I never let a word of complaint escape. The reason was simple.
“Get the barbed wire up first!”
“Yes!!!”
Of everyone here, I was traveling in the greatest comfort.
Thud!! Thud!!!
Compressed barbed wire was driven deep into the frozen earth. Carts were useless on trails this brutal; nearly everything had to be carried on the soldiers’ backs. The wire was no exception.
On top of personal weapons they hauled preserved rations, cauldrons, and coils of barbed wire through the mountains, then unpacked and set it all up every single night when camp was chosen.
Back when we did hundred-kilometer marches we spent all our energy figuring out how to fake-empty our packs. These Northerners put on a Truman Show every step of the way.
Their packs were crammed without a single wasted gap, then loaded with shared gear—cauldrons, wire, the works. Watching it all unpack and transform into a proper temporary fort was a spectacle.
If our three-star octopus-headed general ever saw this he’d cry tears of joy and give a standing ovation.
In moments a temporary stronghold took shape. At the center, large pits were dug and rocks stacked into several makeshift hearths. Cauldrons settled into place; water carried in beast-hide pouches from earlier hunts filled them. Freshly butchered monster meat followed.
“Tonight it’s Minotaur Head Gukbap!”
“Minotaur Head Gukbap!”
“Northern yahoooo!”
Faces still painted scarlet with blood, they beamed like kids at the mere mention of food. The contrast was jarring, yet I sat down and ate with them all the same.
“Young Master! Eat it while it’s hot!”
I had insisted the hardest workers eat first, so my bowl came last. Sir Bearwolf himself ladled it—minced head meat of what had once been a minotaur, piled high.
Gukbap so finely chopped the original shape was gone. One spoonful filled my mouth with a thick, fishy reek.
Urgh. How the hell do you eat this.
Gukbap is not simply meat boiled in water. Balancing ingredients matters, and long simmering is needed to mellow the gaminess. Out here long cooking was impossible. Even with the longest boil the fort construction allowed—barely three hours—the raw stink of blood and musk still coated every bite. The astonishing part was—
“KRAAAAH!! Fuck yeah!! This is the taste!!”
“Nothing beats Minotaur Head Gukbap!”
—to these Northern tough guys, even this was a delicacy.
“All thanks to the Young Master.”
“Damn right. Used to be nothing but brick-hard trail rations. Now we get soft meat like this even in the field…”
“Heh, never knew monster meat could taste this good. Think I’m getting addicted.”
At first I wondered if they were putting on a show because I was sitting right there.
“Young Master!! How is it?! I cooked yours myself!!”
Fuck, no way this is acting.
Sir Bearwolf’s eyes sparkled as he asked. These men genuinely savored the fishy, musky funk. Pure Northern tough-guy vibes.
Even the grandpas at Busan market wouldn’t enjoy it this hard.
I forced my reluctant thumbs into a double thumbs-up. Only after I delivered the required “Delicious—Northern Gukbap is the best!” reactions did Bearwolf return to his seat, satisfied.
Then old Max approached.
“You are enduring a great deal.”
“…You noticed?”
“How many years have I served you, Young Master? I can read it from the muscles of your face alone.”
I suppose so. Different contents, same original body—Logwell Wintershield. Max had spotted the daily ordeal through the tiniest facial twitches. I gave a bitter smile.
“Well, it is true that I am traveling more comfortably than anyone else here.”
Honestly it was hellishly hard. I had thought more than once about turning around, about going home right now. The temptation to send Max in my place for the Dwarf talks kept whispering.
I gritted my teeth and refused to show it because—
“Haha. What is comfortable for you is not the body, is it, Young Master? Seeing them improved, watching them smile and take natural joy in the things you created—that is what keeps your feet moving.”
“You could almost be a priest.”
Yes.
Because the sight of them was… rather good.
About three months now, give or take.
Roughly three months since I opened my eyes in this body. The time had been busy and chaotic. I had started a great many projects and cleaned up after most of them, yet I still could not measure how much real improvement had reached daily Northern life—or the field.
The new villages would show something, but those are model houses. Even in the army the roads the commander travels always look perfect. Hell, even North Korea has apartment forests in Pyongyang.
What I truly wanted to know was how much the raw, unscripted field had changed.
And the result… does not look half bad.
The march was grueling, yet the faces of the Northerners drinking hot broth held no shadows. Exhaustion and fatigue, yes—but no darkness.
Of course I could never be certain. Maybe even this was the ultimate performance staged for the commander’s eyes.
But if they go that far to put on a show, the least a decent human can do is pretend to fall for it.
I smiled openly.
“You’re right, Max.”
This scenery right now…
“Looks good.”