The NEET's Bestiary
Jinhyuk spat on the cold training ground floor.
The system window hovering in his retina remained as mechanical and merciless as ever.
[Imprint: Pain Tolerance (F+)]
[EXP: 184/200]
Wow, this is tighter than the Korean job market in hell. Instead of interviewers, some old geezer's poking my pressure points.
Jinhyuk, a 27-year-old unemployed bum who'd flunked interview after interview at obscure small companies despite his history major, bouncing between convenience store and logistics gigs after discharge.
Back when he lounged in his room, forums blaring, drowning in anime, games, and web novels, he'd branded himself a social surplus.
But who could've guessed that his otaku knack—marveling at Mongol decimal units, running Roman century formations through strategy games thousands of times—would become his sole tactical database in this hellish camp?
Day 53 in the camp, day 50 of training past, and Cheonrangdae under Jinhyuk's lead had swelled to nearly 1,300—the camp's largest slave soldier force.
Fresh black道 thugs drawn by tales of Jinhyuk crushing Doksa, plus rootless riffraff joining up.
But they were just numbers—a mob of uncontrolled rabble.
Jinhyuk had to lead these lunatics to relieve the 5,000 slave soldiers—the previous shift—bleeding out beyond the Great Wall.
He grabbed a stick and roughly scratched four characters into the dirt: Division, Platoon, Company, Battalion.
His hand shook on complex strokes half-forgotten, but army drills had burned these unit sizes into his brain.
"Hey! All you literate bastards, crawl out here! Illiterates who can't even write their names get no scraps!"
Beom Dal, the ex-mercenary, came panting to Jinhyuk's side.
His knack for piecing together Jinhyuk's Korean rants and crude hand signals was max-level sharp.
"Great Leader! I... have gathered the literate ones! Huff... huff!"
"Beom Dal, listen up. We're splitting the organization today. 10 men: 1 Division. Five Divisions make 1 Platoon of 50. Two Platoons: 1 Company of 100. Five Companies: 1 Battalion of 500! Got it?"
"Div... Platoon... Company... Battalion... Yes sir! 10! 50! 100! 500! Understood! You maggots hear the Great Leader? Straighten those lines or die!"
Jinhyuk immediately picked his officers.
43 days back, he'd nearly shattered Doksa's jaw with a groin headbutt for survival's sake.
Shoving that memory aside, Jinhyuk scrawled a massive Sorry in the dirt and tapped Doksa's shoulder.
A sign of regret—and recognition as a comrade bound for death's door.
"Doksa, you're Battalion Commander 1. Any gripes?"
"......None. My groin still throbs a bit, but I'll follow orders. Just let me handle those Iron Blood Brigade bastards eyeing our turf."
Doksa shuddered from trauma but yielded to Jinhyuk's weird charisma and endless apologies.
Beom Dal got Battalion 2, the rest 300 as Jinhyuk's direct reserve.
The camp's other factions watched this with mixed reactions.
The Righteous Brigade—800 upright folk with shattered dantians—had their leader clicking his tongue.
"Tch tch. Rabble think scribbling letters makes an army? Barbarians playing house, ignorant of the martial Way."
The pragmatic Black Snake Brigade—800 strong—had their leader narrowing his eyes.
"Impressive headcount, but they'll crumble in real combat. We'll snag their supplies in the chaos."
The 400 Maniac Demons, already crushed by Jinhyuk once, drooled with mad eyes over the ranks.
"Hee hee hee... kill... all gonna die... What sound do necks make snapping? Bones crunching all the way here!"
The Iron Blood Brigade—1,000 ex-Ye Empire military brass and foreign POWs—took the biggest hit.
Strict command from generals and officers made them the camp's elite.
Their Brigade Leader murmured to his adjutant.
"What do you make of that structure?"
"......Eerie. Like nomad decimal units, but with fluid 100-man maneuvers. Designed so subunits judge independently if the commander falls. That's veteran general tactics—not some common barbarian's brainchild."
"That guy's no ordinary barbarian. Maybe from an eastern clan's nobility or warrior house."
Amid the Iron Blood Brigade's shock, Jinhyuk launched full bestiary ops.
He handed 1,300 men sticks and sharp stones.
Charcoal was luxury here; dirt was their only paper.
"Draw everything you've seen beyond the Great Wall! Horn count on beasts, claw curve direction, nomad arrow fletching colors! Miss one detail—no dinner! Got it?!"
The 1,000 who'd been out there started sharing, turning the grounds into pandemonium.
"Great Snow Bear—eye contact makes your heart explode! Boom! Saw it myself!"
"Bullshit! I saw it smash rocks with its tail! Crack! Echoed here! Ten tails at least!"
"You liars! One tail!"
Yells and collar-grabs erupted everywhere.
Jinhyuk scanned the doodle-choked dirt.
Most drew porn or bragged fake exploits instead of weaknesses.
His eyes went ice-cold.
"Beom Dal, make 'em all forehead-plant. Officers first."
"ALL FOREHEADS TO DIRT!!"
Beom Dal's roar sent 1,300—including Doksa and himself—slamming skulls into cold earth.
Thud, groan filled the air.
Jinhyuk wove through, kicking mercilessly.
Thwack! "Ugh!"
"Think this is a forum chat, assholes? Spamming bullshit? This intel's your lifeline out there! Caught lying—you're buried! PT time: 8 full-body twists, go!"
"What's that, Leader?!"
"Shut up and twist! One—straight! Two—figure eight! Auto-exec!"
Screams drowned the grounds. 1,300 slaves rolling and wailing—surreal as hell.
Righteous and Black Snake men couldn't hide their chills.
With discipline ironclad, Jinhyuk spotted a genius illustrator silently scraping away.
No bluster—just precise strokes: nomad fletching, Snow Bear claws, photographic.
Jinhyuk approached.
"You. Name? What landed you here?"
Via ever-present Beom Dal, the guy paused, head up—eyes terror-stricken.
"...They call me Little Three. Pickpocketing in markets, got nabbed by guards—here I am."
"Pickpocket? Nimble fingers. Little Three, you draw damn good."
"Life on the line—gotta. Scoped pouch knots and ties perfect for clean lifts."
Jinhyuk smirked.
"Good. You're my direct illustrator now. Base their brains on your sketches."
Jinhyuk assigned Little Three's art to Cheonrangdae's 200 semi-literates and civvie slaves for intel refinement.
The grounds became a massive 攻略 guidebook etching into 1,300 brains.
Night brought harsher drills.
Hwang-yeonggam pinned Jinhyuk down, mercilessly striking pressure points and grilling meridians.
"Arrrgh! Old fart! I'm dying! Feels like bones snapping!"
"Quiet! Focus! Etch this pain in your bones—recall what you saw! Fade out—you're dead!"
Hwang-yeonggam's heavy voice anchored through agony as qi-tearing pain shredded his body.
Like hot irons on nerves, the system chimed coldly.
[Alert: External Stimulus Triggered Imprint Update]
[Imprint: Pain Tolerance (F+)]
[Cause: Pressure Strikes & Meridian Grilling, Repeated Physical Trauma]
[Effect: Maintain Consciousness & Data Uptake Under Extreme Pain]
Jinhyuk swallowed screams, force-imprinting beast patterns and formations into his neurons amid the dirt visions.
Survival rate from 8.4% crept up thanks to this madness.
[Group Training & Tactics Comprehension ↑]
[Current Survival Rate: 14.7%]
Final training day: 1,300 slaves stood with crude wooden clubs and splintered plank shields.
"1st Division, advance! Shields up!"
"Haaah!"
Thwack! Thud thud! Thump!
Dull club-on-shield rhythm echoed regular.
Division-Platoon-Company-Battalion sync shook the grounds with thrusts and raises.
Dust-veiled eyes burned venomous; 200 Survival Demons—including blade demon Do-gwi, puffing pipe at the perimeter—watched sharp.
"Whew... after that bullshit... least one in ten might return. That barbarian's no amateur."
Do-gwi's smoke scattered in the north wind.
Jinhyuk scuffed out the Cheonrang carved at his feet.
Prep done.
Days later, gates open: reclaim spears and shields from Great Wall troops, swap with 5,000 bleeding out there.
14.7%... History major mixed with Mongol and Rome, still this bad. Real hell commute.
Jinhyuk grinned shamelessly, regripping his battered club. This twig would soon spear beasts beyond the wall.