Salt, This Is Why!
So Jinpyeong spent a few days at the Outpost, wrapping up a perfunctory inspection.
Inspector So Jinpyeong showed remarkable consistency during his stay.
He'd rise late in the morning, splash his face haphazardly, then drag a handful of soldiers around to skim the watchtowers and beacon platforms.
His "work" amounted to smacking the backs of a few a few dozing slave soldiers.
He paid no real mind to practical matters—like whether the beacon had enough firewood or the watchtowers had clear sightlines.
It was all just a formality to scribble "Inspection Complete" in the ledger.
"Heh heh, Captain Kang. Your men have some real discipline here. The beastkin'll think twice before coming near. I've stocked the inner warehouse with supplies I brought myself—manage them well."
After a cursory glance at the watchtower garrisons and beacons, he boasted as he unloaded his "official" supplies into the inner warehouse.
"Heh heh heh, Captain Kang, I'm quite satisfied with this inspection. I'll make sure your efforts reach the Left Army command. Heh heh heh!"
Crude wooden windows made from low-grade iron fittings. Shoddy round shields. Sacks of coarse grains so hard even horses would choke on them.
But the crowning turd: bags of low-grade rock salt, murky black with impurities.
Jinhyuk stared at the mess and spoke up.
"Whoa, Inspector So. This is straight-up inventory dump. Even military rations are better. You expect us to fight on this shit? Where's your conscience?"
Beom Dal, standing beside him, didn't blink. He jumped right in.
"Inspector! Our captain is deeply moved by your meticulous care. Seeing this precious rock salt and weaponry, he vows to bury his bones in the empire's grace!"
So Jinpyeong stroked his beard, nodding contentedly.
"Mm, good. Use my sincerity wisely. Well, we should head back now..."
Jinhyuk flashed a sly grin, nodding toward the inspection team's caravan waiting beyond the south gate.
Midway through the line sat Han Noya's cart, loaded with prime beast hides he'd squirreled away, flanked by his wary escorts.
Behind them trailed merchants from other factions, their wagons stuffed with whatever beast skins they'd skimmed via backroom deals.
At the front: neatly boxed hides of Seol-rang, Baek-rang, and Cheong-rang—meticulously repaired over days—loaded onto the supply cart. So Jinpyeong's aides, who'd pocketed top-grade rock salt via Doksa, grinned smugly.
So Jinpyeong eyed the hide-laden cart, greed twisting his lips into a grin. He cracked his whip across the horse's flank.
Neighhh~
The horses stamped and surged forward. Dry dirt piled at the gate exploded into a choking dust storm, shrouding the Outpost's main entrance.
Jinhyuk scrawled 信 on a plank with charcoal, bowing obsequiously until So Jinpyeong's silhouette faded into the dust.
"Gone? Beom Dal, that fucker out of sight?"
"Yes, Captain. Flags are gone. But why keep checking...?"
Only after Beom Dal confirmed the caravan's departure did Jinhyuk straighten up.
He inhaled the swirling dust, gathering the boiling disgust from deep in his throat.
Hack!Ptoo!
"Hey, So Jinpyeong! You played nice till you left, asshole. Kicking up dust, stealing credit, and dipping? Know your limits, fuck. Don't come back—bad luck sticks to you. Dizzy as shit, you prick."
Beom Dal, waiting nearby, caught the harsh phlegm and glare. Wary of backlash, he nodded vigorously.
I've gotta sprinkle salt. Worst jinx ever...
The lingering grime wouldn't fade. I scowled.
An old custom flashed to mind: scattering salt outside after unwelcome guests to ward off bad vibes.
Folklore from my history days flooded back. Salt symbolized purification in East Asian traditions.
It repelled evil spirits, blocked negative energy—a sturdy barrier.
Superstition or not, in this bizarre Yeon Empire rife with demonic qi and yokai, it was worth a shot. Worst case, no loss.
Hell, this "purifier" might actually hurt the local beasts. Gut feeling.
"Beom Dal!"
I scrawled on the plank again.
咒防
Curse Ward
"Beom Dal, tell all our guys and the other factions to gather at the inner warehouse."
"...Inner warehouse?"
"Gotta make 'em pay for their meals."
Moments later, Baek Unhak—head of the Jeonggi Unit on the east wall—and Sima Chung—head of the Heuksa Unit on the west—shuffled up sheepishly.
Just days ago, at my grand feast, they'd gorged on fatty beast meat, salt-cured chunks, thick broth from beast bones, and mixed-grain rice (no white stuff, but filling).
The thin backdeal intel they'd fed Beom Dal for market rates? Pennies compared to that grub.
I jerked my chin at the murky rock salt lumps, laying down the law.
"Hey, I saw you pigs downing bowls of stew the other night. No dine-and-dash. Smash every bit and spread it along the walls. Pay up your meal tab."
Beom Dal translated smoothly.
Baek Unhak, from the righteous Jeonggi Unit, frowned at the salt bags.
"Captain Kang, salt's the people's lifeblood—a precious resource. Even low-grade, wasting it on the ground offends righteousness, no?"
Sima Chung, the shady Heuksa leader, snorted coldly.
"Heh heh heh, Captain Kang. Tossing this treasure? Madness. Feed it to our boys instead—need strength to crack beast skulls, right?"
I thwacked the plank instead of answering.
Beom Dal blended the hanja with my sharp edge into epic translation.
"Listen up! The captain already rewarded you justly at the feast! Baek, is your 'righteousness' defying orders after slurping stew? Sima, does your 'strength' come from a pinch more salt?"
Beom Dal's voice boomed like frostbite.
"This is a secret rite from the captain's clan—passed down through select Eastern tribes! To settle your meal debt, and safeguard every slave soldier here, we'll crush salt to suppress demonic qi! The ungrateful who ignore favors have no place in this Outpost!"
'Meal debt,' 'righteousness,' 'safety,' 'survival'—the leaders shut up.
That greasy meat lingered on their tongues. Their intel swap? Overkill generosity.
"...Ignoring grace spits on righteousness and brotherhood. Fine, we'll spread it."
Baek Unhak nodded first. Sima Chung tsked, grabbing his hammer.
"Tch, tripped by meat flavor. Hey, Heuksa! Pay your tabs! Smash 'em good!"
Clang!Crack!Crunch!
Hammers—wood and iron—shattered salt across the warehouse yard.
Coarse grains powdered like sand, scattering along gates and outer walls.
I watched, feeling cleansed.
Then, mechanical text floated in my vision.
> Current Survival Rate: 39.99%
Jinhyuk's eyes widened in spasm.
Even with archery engravings and body buffs, it'd clung below 38%—never breaching the cursed 40%.
Now it jittered by decimals.
> Current Survival Rate: 40.05%
> Current Survival Rate: 40.10%
Crazy... why... it actually works?
Just a whim to purge So Jinpyeong's filth.
Proof: salt's purification clashed with this world's demonic qi, yielding real defense.
"Hey! Beom Dal! Doksa! Mobilize everyone—ours, Jeonggi, Heuksa, all! Spread thicker! Plaster every wall crack white with salt! Grab every low-grade lump!!"
Jinhyuk's manic shout rang out. Beom Dal hoisted the plank.
"The captain's secret rite takes shape! Waste not a grain! This barrier saves your lives!"
The warehouse turned to frenzy: even low-grade lumps smashed by hordes of slave soldiers settling debts.
To blanket the Outpost in white salt—a barbaric rite—even night shifts from Manma-gwang and civilian slaves joined.
But my lips curled at the climbing system numbers.
> Current Survival Rate: 40.15%
"Whew, good. Feels livable now."
Jinhyuk dusted charcoal from his hands and climbed the wall.
Below: a white salt path along cracks and base, gleaming coldly in moonlight.
So Jinpyeong's hides would soon ripple the Great Wall forces. Han Noya-types would swarm for Out for Out for Outpost pelts.
But Jinhyuk felt no fear.
2,200 slave soldiers bound tight by the feast. Salt barrier—superstition turned system-proof—guarded him.