A Bowl of Blood Porridge Instead of Capsaicin
The sun sank beyond the western mountains, staining the sky in a bizarre blend of blood-red and violet.
The cracked courtyard inside The Outpost's weathered gates buzzed with rough energy, shattering days of rote drills and drudgery.
Cart wheels screeched against stones, foreign horses snorted roughly, and Black Wolf soldiers grunted as they unloaded supplies—the sounds all tangled together.
Jinhyuk brushed dust from his hands onto a fresh head of cabbage, peeling back its outer leaves.
The crisp texture under his fingertips, the sharp garlic sting in his nose, the overwhelming heft of crates packed with iron ingots.
In the barren life beyond the Great Wall, these weren't mere provisions—they were civilization's warmth itself.
These whetstones to sharpen blades, these ingots to reforge broken spearheads, these bundles of thread to mend torn leather armor. The reality hit him square in the chest.
But there was no time to dwell.
Han Noya, pipe clamped in his teeth and leaning crooked against the cart, grabbed Jinhyuk's arm with a heavy hand—his voice low enough for only Jinhyuk to hear.
The Black Wolf soldiers moved in perfect sync, hauling goods, while Hwang-yeonggam and the Survival Demons circled warily. But Han Noya's eyes weren't on the slave soldiers inside the walls—they fixed on the deepening shadows beyond the gates, toward the Great Wall.
It was the cool vigilance of a veteran trader who'd cut backroom deals with slave soldiers for years.
"...Jin, snap out of it. Sightsee later—listen sharp."
Han Noya's words carried the chill tension of decades grinding in the Wall Army.
"The Central Army's mood is off. Rumors say the Supreme Commander's tally sticks dropped on the Left and Right Army brass at once. Old monsters who never budge are sending couriers themselves. Grain rations doubling, patrols doubling. This ain't prepping for a few beasts."
Jinhyuk's eyes narrowed.
'Supreme Commander' and 'tally sticks.' Living fossils holding imperial tally sticks to command entire armies and grip provincial military power were moving. It meant unprecedented force piling up on the frontier.
Jinhyuk paused in thought, then snatched a stick and scratched hanja into the dirt.
Premonition of War
Han Noya glanced at the characters, sucked deep on his pipe, and exhaled acrid smoke.
"Who knows... war, or somethin' else. But nasty either way. The whole Wall Army's mobilizing like full conscription. Means no inspectors dropping to this ass-end outpost anytime soon. Hell, we'll be forgotten. All hands and supplies funneled straight to the Supreme and Grand Commanders' defenses at the Wall."
Han Noya pointed bitterly at the inner keep Jinhyuk had claimed.
"Top clerks clamping supplies personally, or treating scum like us as discarded bastards—no next inspection. This haul might be your last drop. Supply lines cut, isolated, facing beasts beyond the Wall and storms past them head-on."
Jinhyuk scrawled more in the dirt.
Isolation
Fend for Yourself or Die
"Spot on. Can't carve your own path, you're dead. No inspectors means no overseers—but also the deal strings propping up the slave soldiers snap. Assume the worst, prep accordingly. Forge these into sharp fangs or tough hide... my contacts drying up is secondary. Your leashes snap first."
As Han Noya led his caravan back out the south gate into the sunset glow, tension and strange vigor hung thick in The Outpost's yard.
Jinhyuk stared at the fading dust cloud for a long beat, then clutched his cabbage sack tight.
"Screw it. Isolation, war—whatever. Gotta eat hearty to fight. Even Diamond Mountain's best after a meal."
Jinhyuk hauled the sack toward the kitchens, swallowing saliva pooling in his mouth.
The garlic and leeks he'd checked earlier, plus this fresh cabbage. Dozens of recipes flashed through his mind the instant he saw the combo.
"Ah... but no peppers. Chili powder would've made quick kimchi with this cabbage, perfect with meat."
Jinhyuk muttered in Korean.
No peppers, not even rare numbing agents like green pepper or sansho. The void left by fiery red capsaicin loomed huge here.
Even back in his shut-in days, job-hunting failures funded by instant ramen and pro streams, a bit of kimchi kept him going.
'Grill pork belly, fry it with ripe kimchi—done. Or kimchi stew with pork fat floating, mix two bowls of rice—pure bliss. Man, starving.'
Jinhyuk's gut twisted at the fantasy alone.
White rice, one red kimchi bite. That simple luxury for modern Koreans felt more vital here than legendary elixirs.
No peppers, but Jinhyuk made do—chopping garlic heavy, prepping fatty cuts from the Great Snow Bear.
"Hey, Beom Dal! Fire up the pot! No peppers, but load garlic and leeks, boil real meat stew. Full special menu tonight!"
Black Wolf soldiers in the inner keep sprang to life at Jinhyuk's shout.
One yard corner sparked with crimson flames as weapons sharpened; the other wafted thick garlic and meat scents.
Ninety ingots' solidity, one cabbage's comfort.
Jinhyuk knew this odd pair bound his men tighter than anything.
Jinhyuk hung a sign at the forge entrance: Soldier / Strong / Fast.
Soldier / Strong / Fast
Two hundred technician slave soldiers clustered at the furnaces.
Blacksmith 'Iron Jaw' hammered a heated low-grade ingot; beside him, someone sprinkled fine monster bone dust.
Sizzle—!
Instantly, blue flames erupted across the glowing red ingot.
No oil poured, nothing added—yet the forge heated up in seconds.
Hidden demonic energy in the gray bone dust met the forge fire, fusing vicious demonic flame aura into the metal.
"Commander, look! This ingot ate the bone dust—grain's tightening up, unrecognizable. Monster energy burns out low-grade impurities!"
Iron Jaw quenched a fresh spearhead from low-grade iron. Hiss~—steam billowed massively.
Jinhyuk examined it, then tossed it lightly at a nearby log pillar.
Thud! Crack!
It didn't just embed. The solid oak palisade pierced like tofu; the hole's edges charred black, acrid smoke rising.
'Whoa, weapon from wonder material. Grazes alone would burn. Way deadlier than monster cold or frost.'
Jinhyuk grinned, satisfied.
"Good. Run this mix. 3,000 spearheads, 1,000 javelin tips. Scrap iron into thin plates, mass produce. Stuff every rag armor with these 'Demonic Bone Iron' shards."
Hammers rang rhythmic; The Outpost's night heated with crimson glow.
Low-grade iron's rough texture met bone-bound demonic fury, birthing tools of slaughter rivaling—surpassing—Wall Army standards in savagery.
Watchers from Regular Corps or Black Snake Corps eyed the glow jealously from the fringes but dared not cross into Jinhyuk's inner keep, especially the north sector.
Jinhyuk wiped sweat in the blaze, savoring it.
'System, you watching? Civilization meets monster collab. Isolated or not, one taste of these spears, no one keeps their head.'
But the calm meal and maintenance paused as Dok-an limped from the shadows, shattering the reverie.
In his hand, steam rose from a bowl reeking hideously.
"...Not time to get drunk on meat smells. Secure your carcass first. Before bloodline curse gnaws your flesh again, down this blood porridge from Hwang-yeonggam. Rebuild your body."
Jinhyuk wrinkled his nose at the foul stench.
Dok-an's voice came via System in Korean, but the hanja scrawled roughly on the ground—Qi / Oppression—hinted at the hell awaiting.
Qi / Oppression
"What's this? Not poison, right?"
Jinhyuk grumbled in Korean; Dok-an just thrust the bowl forward.
"Poison or elixir—up to your constitution. What's a bloodline lord good for if he can't guard his own hide? Quit yapping, drink!"
Overpowered by Dok-an's menace, Jinhyuk took the bowl.
The Outpost's night deepened amid forge flames, Jinhyuk's churning gut, and Hwang-yeonggam's blood porridge via Dok-an.