Boodog and the Crafty Dragon
"What... is this?"
"It's a dish called boodog. A traditional meal of the grasslands."
Catch a goat that may or may not have an owner, strip out the innards and flesh entirely, then use the hollowed-out carcass itself as the vessel—fill it with piping-hot stones and the meat you carved away, tie the opening shut, and let it cook from within.
"Seems like a lot of work."
"It's a rare dish. It's worth it."
As the stones cooked the inside, you singe the outer hide with flame. If it burst open, it would practically turn into a bomb—dangerous work, but that danger came with a guaranteed reward in flavor.
This was Samryong's cooking for Seol Mokyeon, who had spent three days nursing him back to consciousness, quite literally with her whole body.
Did it my way based on my past-life memories... and it turned out well.
He remembered doing something similar with monsters back in dungeons, back when he was a hunter. The hide had been too tough to burst, which gave it a certain reliability—but aside from a few parts, most of it had been so rubbery he'd spat it out and thrown the rest away.
Please, let this work.
"Can I try cutting it?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
Seol Mokyeon drew the short blade Samryong handed her and slowly sliced into the fully cooked boodog.
White steam rose to meet the steppe's cutting wind, and the juices that had been sealed inside came spilling out with it.
Sssslik.
A soft, clean cut through the cross-section.
And with it, a rich, nutty aroma flooded her senses.
"It's so tender... so this is what hot stones can do."
To the girl watching in wide-eyed wonder, Samryong held out a piece of perfectly cooked meat.
"Slowly. It's hot."
"Wow! It really is tender!"
Just how much food could that small, slight body of hers hold?
"Where does it all even go?"
He did have a reasonable suspicion about one particular destination, but he kept it to himself.
And so the two of them filled their bellies with a hearty, satisfying meal.
Afterwards, the long march toward the North Sea Ice Palace began for Samryong and Seol Mokyeon.
They had no horses at first, so they ran on nothing but their own two sturdy legs.
My light-foot skill's going to improve a lot at this rate.
At this pace, he might actually master the Lightness Trace Art altogether.
Along the way they met nomads and gathered information, captured wild horses to ride, and when hunger struck, they ran on dried goat meat and uurum—the clotted milk snacks they'd obtained from the nomads.
Midway, they bent their route to avoid the Sword of the North, met a merchant caravan and gathered more news, bartered the hides and meat of hunted livestock for food and water, sent a letter off with the traders to the Ming army, and kept running north, the two of them together.
After a full week of that, Samryong finally reached his destination.
"The Ice Palace must be close."
"How can you tell?"
"It's cold."
"This? Oh! I suppose it would be, for you. Want my outer coat?"
"I'm fine."
"Then should we hurry? There's a village just a little farther from here. It has an inn, and you can see the lake from it. Food tastes so much better with a lake view."
"Let's do that."
So Samryong kicked his horse back into motion and ran on.
The icy wind stung his cheeks, but Seol Mokyeon's warm hands from time to time made it bearable.
"You know, the war's going better than I expected."
"They attacked the Ming army recklessly trying to take back the Imperial Grandson, and got beaten in return."
Piecing together what they'd heard from the nomads and traders along the way, the Sword of the North had thrown itself recklessly at the Ming forces to reclaim Tolga—only to be counterattacked by Hang Jeoksan and driven back in defeat.
Sword of the North or not, attacking without proper rest against a Ming army that had been preparing its counterstrike meant they'd taken a real beating.
And with that, word came that the blockade around the region was gradually weakening.
No problems on the way back once the job's done. As long as that letter arrives safely.
Praying that the letter he'd entrusted to the merchants had made it through, Samryong finally reached the village Seol Mokyeon had spoken of.
A village one hour's journey from the Ice Palace, where trade goods from the palace and the Central Plains changed hands—charming for its beautiful frozen lake. Barren compared to the heartlands, and yet a bustling place where many people still made their lives.
"What a pretty beggar!"
"Don't go saying things like that!"
"We are beggars, though, aren't we?"
"True enough."
Considering their actual state, they were all but indistinguishable from beggars, so it wasn't exactly wrong. And even so, the child's eye for what was pretty remained, as ever, dead accurate.
"There are a lot of people, though. Is it because it's a trade village?"
Seol Mokyeon tilted her head slightly.
"It must be the martial tournament. Normally the pressure from the Sword of the North keeps it from ever getting this crowded."
Should one say that the losses inflicted by the Sword of the North's reckless assault on the Ming army had somewhat diminished the influence the blades had held over the entire steppe? Because of that, more people had come to the Ice Palace than expected.
Yes—before the Sword of the North came, the Ice Palace had looked much like this.
"Almost there, then."
Seeing this scene, he could feel just how close they were.
"Whew..."
"Nervous?"
"A little? Still, I can't turn back now."
"Shall we head to that inn I mentioned?"
"Yes."
He considered simply pressing on, but in the end they decided to stop at the inn first—to steel her nerves, and to warm themselves up a little before the final stretch.
A low murmur of voices.
The moment they stepped through the entrance, they could see crowds of people eating meals or sipping tea.
Judging by most of their clothing, they were outsiders.
"Welcome~ Just the two of you?"
They looked like beggars, sure—but thanks to Seol Mokyeon's unmistakable air of noble breeding, the staff didn't seem to mind at all.
Had Samryong been alone, he might well have been thrown out.
"Do you have a table?"
"As it happens, we have one left. Right this way!"
Following the friendly innkeeper's guidance, they were led to the most scenic spot in the house.
"You're in luck. This is the best view in our establishment. You can see the frozen lake off in the distance, and if you turn your head just a little, the whole village spreads out below you like this... and..."
Chatter was the innkeeper's defining trait, one might say. To regulars it was pointless noise, but to an outsider like Samryong, it was valuable information and genuinely interesting besides.
"Ah! And with the Sword of the North raiding fortresses far less these days, this really is a fine place to live!"
At the innkeeper's bright expression, Seol Mokyeon's face lightened, and she smiled.
"What will you have?"
"Your most famous—"
At that moment, Seol Mokyeon took Samryong's hand and gently stopped him.
"We've been running too long—our stomachs are unsettled. Just a simple soup dish, please. With hot tea."
"Oh, of course! You have clearly been through a great deal. Though... miss, you look so familiar somehow..."
The innkeeper found Seol Mokyeon strangely, unreasonably familiar.
"People often tell me I resemble someone."
"Pardon?"
Wearing an expression of incomprehension for a moment, the innkeeper then noticed the sword at the girl's waist and thought better of asking further.
Long years of running an inn had taught her that tangling with martial artists for no good reason only ended in broken furniture. With the tournament to select the Young Palace Master's future husband drawing crowds, this was all the more a time for caution.
Once the innkeeper left, Seol Mokyeon gazed out the window and spoke.
"When I was a child, I thought this village was the whole of the world."
"Did you?"
"But once I left this place, there was this vast, endless steppe waiting."
Then she began recounting their journey here, her expression wistful, unable to let it go.
"Sad to be heading back?"
"A little? I wonder what the Central Plains is like. What a lake that isn't frozen over looks like, or the sea. What those towering peaks called the Five Great Mountains are like."
Having known the world only through books, the expedition had only deepened her curiosity about it.
To that, Samryong answered with a smile.
"Then go see it."
"Will there be a chance?"
Watching the faintly resigned look on her face, Samryong quietly turned his gaze to the frozen lake far in the distance.
"A chance, huh..."
"Your food's ready!"
The innkeeper's voice broke through his musing.
And with it, a rich, savory aroma filled his nose.
"Smells delicious."
"Don't eat too much. We'll be eating again at the Ice Palace."
"I know."
A low murmur of voices.
Just as they were savoring the hearty soup, the lower floor erupted into commotion.
"What's going on?"
Call it eyes drawn against their will—the source of the disturbance wasn't hard to find.
"What do you mean, there are no tables?!"
"Look for yourself, sir. Is the inn not completely full?"
"Ha! And so! You would have the second son of our great and glorious Moyong Clan, Young Master Moyong Seon of the Crafty Dragon Sword, and his younger sister, the Lady Moyong Yeong of the Wind Blade Blossom, simply walk out like this?!"
A middle-aged man—servant or bodyguard, impossible to say—glared around the inn with the look of a man daring anyone to try something.
Well, well?
The Moyong Clan, one of the Six Great Clans.
Descendants of the old Yan dynasty and of Xianbei blood, they prized ritual and character above all, and were said to be incapable of swallowing an insult.
Having roamed the Central Plains since antiquity vowing to restore Yan, collecting and mastering martial arts wherever they went, they had become specialists in dismantling and reversing an opponent's techniques.
Specializing in reading an enemy's weakness and striking at the opening, their signature arts had become swift-sword and swift-blade techniques. There were old tales that they once wielded sword in the left hand and blade in the right, and of a legendary art called Stars Wheeling in the Night Sky, which returned an opponent's own technique upon them.
Both were regarded as legend now, but someday, Samryong suspected, a genius would appear and recreate them both.
Impressive in their way, sure... but in truth they're just a pack of elitists drunk on their own superiority.
Arrogant as befitted the heirs of Yan—and somehow, that arrogance suited them perfectly. Which was precisely why the Tang Clan had never gotten along with them.
Both were among the Six Great Clans, yet relations had always been sour. The Moyong called the Tang a band of cowardly small men who fought with poison and dirty tricks; the Tang called the Moyong fools who couldn't let go of past glory.
Why would those arrogant bastards crawl all the way out here?
Was a clan of such standing competing in this tournament? Samryong studied Moyong Seon and Moyong Yeong.
Those twins. Been a while.
Just as he was dredging up some not-particularly-fond old memories, the innkeeper's voice rang out, urgent and pleading.
"There are other inns besides this one, so if you'd allow me to guide you—"
"Silence! Out of the way!"
The bodyguards prowled the inn menacingly, looking ready to drag out every last customer by force.
Everyone hesitated to act rashly against the name of Moyong—but there is always at least one person who cannot simply stand by and watch such things.
"Moyong or not, this is beyond the pale!"
At the young chivalrous warrior's entrance, every eye in the room turned toward him.
Ordinary martial garb, an ordinary iron sword—a young man who looked for all the world like a wandering ronin.
Moyong Yeong studied him for a long moment, then approached slowly.
"And who might you be?"
"No one of any name... and yet."
At the ronin's words, Moyong Yeong replied without a flicker of expression.
"A lowborn wretch... daring to obstruct the affairs of Moyong."
"Moyong or not, you can't just—"
That lunatic woman—!
Shing!
So this was what a swift blade meant? Her flash-fast dao flew for the chivalrous youth's throat, and the instant Samryong saw it, he hurled one of his hidden blades to intercept.
"Hm?"
Moyong Yeong realized her blade had been blocked by something, and swept her gaze around the room.
"Find them."
"Yes, my lady!"
At her command, the bodyguards began prowling about as though hunting a fugitive.
"Who dared strike a member of the great Moyong Clan!"
"Come out, this instant!"
"Whoa, hey! What's the matter with you people!"
Watching them persecute even innocent bystanders, Seol Mokyeon finally rose from her seat.
"What is the meaning of this?! Persecuting people who have done nothing wrong!"
"Ha... I suppose this is what comes of the Beyond—the beggars here eat at proper inns too."
Moyong Seon wrinkled his nose as he looked her up and down.
The face of a man beholding something truly beneath notice.
Those bastards haven't changed a bit.
He'd crossed paths with them at a gathering of the Six Great Clans as a child, and even then they'd been exactly like this.
"I want that table. Clear it away."
At Moyong Seon's word, the bodyguards closed in with menace.
"Hand the table over quietly, and you'll keep your lives."
"You would speak of lives over a mere seat?! You people of Moyong—"
It was Samryong, cutting her off.
If you step in, this could blow up badly.
Having calmed her with a voice transmission, Samryong rose slowly from his seat and picked up his chopsticks.
"But—"
"It's fine."
"You insolent wretch! Did you not hear the Young Master's word!"
"Seriously, you people and your masters alike... always with the 'lowborn this, lowborn that.' It's practically a verbal tic."
"How dare—! A wretch like you, to the Young Master—!"
Crack! CRASH!
The bodyguard who took the slap went flying straight off the second floor and down to the ground floor.
One blow—but it was enough to leave him foaming at the mouth, unconscious.
The shock lasted only a moment before the remaining bodyguards drew their swords and rushed Samryong.
"Ah, the inn! Of course. Trouble always finds you in an inn."
Samryong said this, hooked a chair with his foot, and sent it flying like a ball—straight into a bodyguard's face.
THWACK!
The chair shattered to splinters, and the charging man toppled, spitting blood.
"You lowborn piece of—!"
"You really do have a foul mouth. Should I just pull it out?"
"Argh! Aaargh!"
The bodyguard had stabbed his sword at Samryong, only to be lightly evaded and caught in a joint lock.
Samryong grabbed the man's tongue and yanked.
"Your breath is as foul as your talk."
SLAP!
Another palm-strike, charged with force, across the man's face!
Then—behind him—a razor-sharp killing intent.
But having reached the Peak Realm, the trajectory read itself to him instinctively; Samryong slipped the attack with an easy movement and seized the man's wrist.
"That's a cowardly little trick, isn't it?"
"Kgh... gkuh!"
"Don't pick up a sword again for a while."
"GRAAAAAGH!"
CRUNCH!
The sickening sound of bone breaking.
Then Samryong kicked the bodyguard down through the floor to the first level below.
The remaining bodyguards faltered, realizing their opponent was no ordinary master.
"Everyone, withdraw."
At that moment, Moyong Seon came slowly up the stairs, arrogance dripping from his voice.
"And who might you be, that you dare obstruct the affairs of the great Moyong Clan?"
Samryong answered him with a smile so bright it showed his teeth.
"Tang Samryong. Of the Tang Clan."
Moyong Seon's and Moyong Yeong's eyes flew open wide enough to tear.