How Could You Be So Generous? (3)
In the dead of night, Chung Myung slipped quietly behind the Sect Leader’s quarters without anyone noticing.
Heeheeheehee.
Even with the hood of his night clothes pulled low, the grin on his face never faded.
Why the hell didn’t I think of this?
No—he had thought of it. He’d simply had no reason to act on it before.
Until now, Mount Hua hadn’t really needed Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron, and even if it had, they had no way to cut it.
Even if an enormous amount of it were buried under that little hill.
Krrr.
Chung Myung stared at the small mountain behind the Sect Leader’s quarters with a moved expression.
If that thing hadn’t been there, we’d have suffered twice as much.
No—what was twice as much?
They had nearly lost every last building and been driven out entirely. Just thinking back on it made the tip of his nose sting—no, made the back of his neck begin to tighten.
Damn it. Seriously.
Come to think of it, they had come a long way.
Hadn’t he grabbed a sect so poor it couldn’t even afford food and dragged it all the way here by the hair?
“Haa. Still, there’s a long way to go. A long way.”
At any rate, if they could get through this mess cleanly, things would definitely improve!
Chung Myung sharpened his eyes and glared at the mountain.
“Right. No time for this!”
He drew the sword he’d brought with him, took a deep breath, and hardened his expression.
“Here I go!”
Swishswishswishswishswish—!
Earth burst outward like water from a rushing stream. Chung Myung swung his sword like a pickaxe and cut through the soil as easily as tofu.
In an instant, he had dug into the mountain, then changed direction and surged forward with unstoppable momentum.
Swishswishswishswishswishswish—!
The sound of dirt scattering was like rain.
Back then, this was a damn nightmare.
Now it was nothing. In just the past two years and a few months, he had become that much stronger—he could feel it in an instant.
Clang.
“Oh?”
He sliced the rock blocking his path in one stroke and gauged his direction.
So it was around here…
Downward. Right.
Before, he had opened the mechanism at the front and gone in that way, but this time he intended to do things differently. The more he kept messing with the mechanism, the greater the chance Hyun Jong would catch on, and now there was no need to pass through it anyway.
“It should’ve been around here.”
Chung Myung lifted his sword and tapped the air above his head.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“No?”
Claaang!
“Oh!”
Color flashed across Chung Myung’s face.
Nice. I dug in the right place.
Something hard had caught the tip of his blade. It couldn’t be a mere rock stopping a sword infused with sword aura, so what he’d hit must surely be the storage chamber of that Sect Leader bastard’s private stash—no, the Mount Hua Sect Leader’s secret vault.
“Let’s see.”
Chung Myung gave his sword a light flick.
The soil above his head came crashing down in a rumble, revealing a dark, square ceiling.
Looking at the exposed ceiling—meaning the floor of the vault—Chung Myung said in admiration, “Krrr! Sect Leader Brother! How could you be so generous?”
You’re giving away everything in the warehouse, and now you’re even going to cut open the vault for me?
This junior doesn’t know where to put himself!
“Hey, you little robber—”
“Ah, let’s talk later, later. I’m busy right now.”
He shoved away the hallucinated voice in his ear and poked the bottom of the vault with his sword.
Clang. Clang.
Definitely solid.
Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron was exactly what it sounded like. If he hadn’t recently forced his internal energy up all at once, he wouldn’t have even dared try cutting it.
“But not now.”
Chung Myung narrowed his eyes slightly.
Then he moved his sword slowly.
Internal energy from his dantian responded to the motion and surged up like a grassfire. In the blink of an eye, it raced through his entire body and poured rapidly into his blade.
Wooooooong!
A clear sword hum rang out from Chung Myung’s sword.
With a slightly dazed expression, Chung Myung slowly raised the blade.
It drew a soft, languid arc through the air.
Swish—
With one casual sweep, Chung Myung withdrew the sword and slid it back into its scabbard.
“Good!”
He opened his eyes wide again and lifted his head with a delighted grin.
“Now! I’ve cut it…”
At that exact moment, the great circular slab of Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron fell straight down onto Chung Myung’s head.
“Huh?”
Thunk!
“…”
Flop.
He sprawled flat on the ground, the toes of his feet twitching weakly beneath the iron pressing down over him.
“Grrrgh.”
He heaved and shoved the cold iron off his body, then spat out a curse.
“What, do you carry your brain around for decoration?”
Of course the ceiling would fall if you cut it, you bastard!
He wiped the nosebleed trickling down his face and looked at the iron slab lying on the floor.
“Still… this should do, I think?”
It was about the size of a person lying flat on their back. With something this big, he could make a massive cauldron without any issue.
There was just one problem…
“Isn’t this thinner than I expected?”
Well, of course it was.
If a vault this big had been thick as well, then even if Shaolin had built it, it would have cost them a couple of pillars. If Mount Hua had tried that, they’d have gone bankrupt on the spot.
Chung Myung frowned at the nearly paper-thin iron plate.
“Then this is….”
His original plan had been to hollow out a thick iron slab with his sword and turn it into a cauldron. But if it was this thin, there was nowhere to hollow out.
Which meant…
…Do I have to bend this thing?
Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron?
Me?
Chung Myung’s eye twitched.
At this point, the only thing left to do was pound the iron plate into shape, bend it, and then cast it into the form of a cauldron.
The miserable truth was that not only Mount Hua, but the entirety of Shaanxi, had no one who could possibly do such a thing.
Well, there probably was a place that could manage it. Maybe the Sect Leader or the elders of the Southern Edge Sect?
Yes.
They’d do it with great joy.
“Heh heh. To be of help to Mount Hua, what a joyous thing this is, you bastards!”
Something like that.
Damn it.
In the end, realizing there was no answer but to do it himself, Chung Myung let out a long sigh.
“…Fine. Better to suffer than die, I suppose.”
Then he sat down heavily right there and dragged the iron plate onto his lap.
His left hand clamped onto the lower edge of the plate.
“Tch.”
Whaaaaash!
His hand turned almost white as it erupted with terrifying heat. At the same time, the iron plate slowly began to glow red.
“How!”
He brought his right hand down hard on the heated section.
Claaang!
“Can’t I get!”
Claaang!
“A single damn thing!”
Claaang!
“To go without me!”
Claaang!
His resentment-laden hands hammered the Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron with abandon. And little by little—only little by little—the indestructible iron began to bend.
By the width of an ant’s eyelash.
“No, you bastard?”
Flames lit in Chung Myung’s eyes.
Who did the iron think it was dealing with?
Wasn’t he the kind of person whose eyes rolled the moment something refused to go his way, no matter the situation?
“Fine! Let’s see whether you win or I do!”
Chung Myung hauled up every ounce of internal energy he had and clenched his fists, pounding the iron plate as if his life depended on it.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Claaaang!
“Aaaaaaaaagh!”
“Hmmm.”
Yun-gak, the Medicine Hall Master, rose to his feet with a grave expression.
He had barely slept last night.
The more I think about it, the more impossible it seems.
To make Honwon Dan, they needed a cauldron made of special iron like cold iron or dark iron.
The problem was that cold iron and dark iron cost a fortune, and even if you had money, getting as much as you wanted was almost impossible.
Can that brat Chung Myung really bring back cold iron?
Even if he could bring it, there was still the matter of making a cauldron out of it, but first they had to obtain the cold iron itself.
Still, no matter how much of a goblin Chung Myung might be, cold iron wasn’t some pebble lying on the roadside. Could he really bring it back in a single night?
For now, I should just say it’s fine.
He had made a grand declaration, so he probably had at least tried, but failure was only natural. It seemed best to comfort him appropriately.
Yun-gak let out a low sigh, opened the door, and stepped outside.
“Right, after everything he’s done so far, even if he only— Good Lord! What on earth is this?”
As Yun-gak walked out with feigned calm, he startled so badly that he leaped backward.
His eyes, widened to the size of saucers, slowly dropped downward.
“Ch-Chung Myung?”
“Puhuuuuuu. Puhuuuuuu.”
“…”
There lay Chung Myung, dead asleep, snoring with all his might.
No, wait…
What on earth had he done overnight to end up looking like a beggar of the worst sort?
He was covered head to toe in dirt. And with how much he’d sweated, dust had mixed with grime and clung to him like filth. Just what had happened yesterday…?
“Hm?”
Yun-gak’s gaze shifted slightly to the side.
This?
A huge cauldron sat next to Chung Myung.
Enormous.
Whenever light struck the black cauldron, a blue sheen rippled across it. It was iron unlike anything he had ever seen before.
“No, surely not?”
Yun-gak’s whole body began to tremble.
No, it couldn’t be, right?
Come on, surely not?
Rrrrriiing.
Slowly, Yun-gak drew the sword hanging at his waist. Then he poured his internal energy into it.
Swallowing dryly, he gathered his resolve and brought the blade straight down onto the cauldron.
Clang!
Spinning end over end, his sword flew apart.
“…”
And then he stared blankly at the sword, neatly broken in two.
Broken?
A sword infused with sword aura had broken?
Th-then…?
“A, ah… c-cold…”
Cold iron?
“T-Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron?”
That insane bastard had actually made a cauldron out of Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron?
He lunged at the cauldron and smashed it several times with all his strength. But all he felt was pain in his hand, as if it might snap; the cauldron itself didn’t even get a scratch.
“S-Sect Leader! Sect Leaaaader! Aaaagh! Sect Leeeeader!”
Panicking, Yun-gak seized the cauldron and ran for the Sect Leader’s quarters.
“Puhuuuuuuuuuu. Puhuuuuuuuuuu.”
In the quiet courtyard of the Medicine Hall, only Chung Myung’s snoring echoed softly.
“Good heavens, cold iron? I’ve never seen so much cold iron in my life.”
“This should do, right?”
The elders crowded around the cauldron and knocked on it with fascination.
“No, Chung Myung. Where on earth did you get this?”
Get it, my ass!
I hammered it into shape, you geezers!
Oh, woe is me. The old man spent the whole night pounding a cauldron with his fists while the youngsters slept like the dead!
Letting out a long sigh, Chung Myung replied indifferently, “Does it really matter where it came from?”
“R-Right. Yes! That’s not what matters!”
Hyun Jong snapped his head around.
“Yun-gak! No, Medicine Hall Master!”
“Yes, Sect Leader!”
“Is it ready now?”
“I’d like to run one last test.”
“Mm. Understood!”
Hyun Jong stepped up to the cauldron, placed his hand on the bottom, and began pouring in his internal energy.
Goooooooom!
The cauldron began to heat up.
“Oh! It’s holding!”
“As expected of Ten Thousand Year Cold Iron! To endure this even though it’s so thin!”
Hyun Jong and Hyun Sang broke into delighted smiles, unable to hide their joy.
“It works! It works! Sect Leader! Now we can make Honwon Dan—no, Jaso-dan!”
“At last!”
Hyun Jong’s eyes grew moist.
This miserable hardship… no, most of the hardship had been done by Chung Myung alone, but after all that suffering they could finally begin making the pill!
With this, Mount Hua will rise another step!
“The ancestors must have watched over us.”
“Damn it.”
“…Hm?”
Hyun Jong turned his head slightly.
Had he heard that wrong?
Chung Myung, utterly spent from hauling up all his internal energy through the night and bending cold iron with it, waved a hand lazily.
“Just get started already. Hurry up….”
“Yes! Yes, exactly! Medicine Hall Master!”
“Yes, Sect Leader! I’ll prepare everything right now.”
Watching the Medicine Hall Master busily dump ingredients into the cauldron while Hyun Jong kept up his nonstop lecturing, Chung Myung shook his head.
The ancestors can go to hell. I… huh? Am I an ancestor now?
…Well, that was true.
Yeah. It was.
“Now, if we add the Liquid Sky Essence and Fire Spirit Water here… and then the dew we collected at dawn….”
Carefully blending the ingredients with meticulous hands right down to the very last step, the Medicine Hall Master stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Then he reached out and grasped the long iron spatula.
Everything was ready.
After taking two or three deep breaths, he shouted with firm conviction, “Please begin!”
“Hyun Sang!”
“Yes, Sect Leader!”
Hyun Jong and Hyun Sang braced the cauldron from either side and raised their internal energy. Before long, the two of them—turning their energy into heat—gripped the cauldron with grave, solemn expressions.
Goooooooom.
Immense firepower gathered at the cauldron’s center, and the ingredients inside began to boil.
“Good! Just like that!”
With a face full of exhilaration, the Medicine Hall Master stirred the contents of the cauldron.
“That’s exactly it! Maintain this!”
“For how long?”
“Just ten days!”
“Oh! Ten—”
Huh?
What?
Hyun Jong and Hyun Sang both lifted their heads at once and stared at the Medicine Hall Master.
“...How long?”
“Ten days!”
“Didn’t you say making the spiritual pill would take ten days? And now you’re saying this process alone takes ten days?”
“Yes! This is all there is to the process!”
“…”
Then you should’ve said so sooner, you idiot!
Hyun Jong and Hyun Sang looked at him with shocked, trembling eyes.
“I-If we stop for a moment and start again….”
“Impossible! Once it’s begun, it cannot be stopped! Ten days! From here on, it’s absolutely ten days!”
Madness shone in the Medicine Hall Master’s eyes.
It was the moment he would create the greatest achievement of his life. What was ten days of stirring a cauldron?
“Uhh… that? Huh?”
Hyun Jong was about to say something when a muttering voice came from behind him.
“Ten days….”
Slowly, Hyun Jong turned his head.
There stood Chung Myung, wearing the face of a demon.
Just from his expression alone, he perfectly conveyed, If you botch the ingredients we spent all that agony obtaining, Mount Hua is going to fly away with them.
Grinding his teeth, Chung Myung said, “You can do it, Sect Leader!”
“…”
“You must! Absolutely! No matter what!”
“…”
“A person won’t die just because they don’t sleep for ten days! If you do die, then at least die while gripping that cauldron! I, this disciple, will never forget that you lived solely for Mount Hua, Sect Leader!”
I’m not dead yet, you brat!
Moisture gathered at the corners of Hyun Jong’s eyes.
Damn it all. This lightning-struck bastard!