The Stinking Treasure
Leaning crookedly against the weathered wooden railing of the central tower in the training grounds, Jinhyuk turned his gaze toward the northern workshop district, where thick black smoke billowed endlessly.
He clicked his tongue lightly.
With four hundred rough archers and crossbowmen suddenly swarming in to set up camp, the already cramped space had technicians who hammered iron day and night losing their minds.
He could almost hear the echoes from here—the archers and crossbowmen bellowing for prototype fixes on the spot, and the artisans screaming to do things in order.
Jinhyuk pushed off the creaking railing and hurried down the steep wooden stairs of the tower.
Beom Dal, ever silent and unnecessary words absent, shadowed him like a massive beast—loyal as a guardian spirit.
Crossing the dusty training grounds, they finally reached the entrance to the raucous workshop district.
Jinhyuk involuntarily furrowed his brow at the blast of furnace heat rushing out, mingled with the beastly sweat stench from hundreds of men.
The air was thick enough to choke on.
The scene in the workshop courtyard was, as expected, perfect pandemonium.
And at the dizzying heart of that chaos sat So-sam.
Sprawled in the dirt in the middle of the yard, heedless of his soiled clothes, So-sam clutched a stubby stick and madly sketched intricate, complex machine blueprints on the ground.
Around him, the four hundred armed troops pressed close to soot-smeared technicians, heads nearly touching, on the verge of grabbing collars as they fiercely debated.
"No, you stubborn bastard! Shave a mere three pun off the bow tip for a smoother draw—otherwise the string snags!"
"Grease it first, you hack! Without oil, the bolt cluster sticks so bad the trigger pull tanks reload speed—how many times do I gotta say it?"
The frontline archers' and crossbowmen's battle experience translated into precise measurements on So-sam's blueprints.
Technicians, blueprint in hand, busily transferred dimensions to bow staves.
Jinhyuk skirted the powder keg of imminent fistfights—not the forge heat, but another kind—and approached the back of master smith Cheol-sik, who eyed a glowing red furnace in the corner.
Amid artisans sweating buckets in frantic motion, Cheol-sik's hammer strikes maintained an oddly leisurely rhythm, as if time halted just for him.
"Cheol-sik, you slacking? Looks like you've got all the time in the world."
Jinhyuk tossed it out in Korean with a grin.
Beom Dal fixed Cheol-sik's eyes squarely and continued plainly.
"The brigade commander sees your hands moving too leisurely. Match those crossbowmen's specs without error. We need the quota fast, or the Heavenly Wolf Brigade won't turn properly."
Cheol-sik paused his hammer, face stiffening as he glanced between Jinhyuk and Beom Dal.
Then he tensed the veins in his thick forearms and gravely cupped his fists.
"Brigade commander, unless I'm pocketing bribes for a one-way trip to the afterlife, how dare I slack? We haven't forgotten you gave lowly errand-runners like us real work again. From tonight, we'll pull all-nighters to outfit and forge two hundred perfect bows and crossbows that stick right to their hands."
Cheol-sik's reply blended artisan stubbornness with fierce loyalty.
He returned to the furnace at once, snatched a glowing iron lump, and unleashed frenzied hammer blows.
Clang! Clang!
The metallic ring pierced the workshop din like a blade.
Confirming the slackened discipline snap taut once more, Jinhyuk nodded and turned toward a dim, secluded corner of the workshop.
He halted abruptly before a towering stack of yellowish oil jars in the shadows.
A vile, rotten stench assaulted him—not just stinging the nose, but scraping the brain.
"Ugh, fuck!"
Jinhyuk gagged and stumbled back instinctively.
It reeked like beast guts rotting under midsummer sun.
As Jinhyuk pinched his nose and grimaced, Beom Dal peered impassively into the jars at the congealed yellow globs and spoke first.
"Monster oil. Stinks, sure, but useful for kindling or blade cleaning. Folks here make do with it since supplies dried up."
"Man, even so—this crossed the line hard. That rot's no joke. Clear it out fast. My nose is gonna rot off."
From afar, So-sam paused his sketching to chime in at Jinhyuk's grumbling.
"Light a lamp with that oil, and the black soot and stench spread a hundred paces. Draws monsters sniffing it—before our guys notice the smell. That's why the troops here call it 'grave-digging oil' and avoid it."
Beom Dal followed up.
"The smoke and stink are rat poison at night."
That's when lightning struck Jinhyuk's mind.
Wait... oil? Lye? Holy shit, isn't this the cliché soap-making from those alternate history tales?
Jinhyuk burst out laughing.
What others shunned as filth suddenly gleamed as survival gold.
Hygiene meant not just cleanliness, but concealment.
Concealment meant survival.
"Hold up. Beom Dal, that's treasure."
Jinhyuk grabbed a stick, swept So-sam's blueprint aside, and scrawled hanja on the dirt.
Ash (灰) + Fat (脂) = Clean (潔)
Ash + Oil = Cleanliness
Clean (潔) → Hide (隱) → Live (生)
Cleanliness is stealth, and stealth is life
Beom Dal stared piercingly at the ground writing.
Ash and oil make something clean (潔), cleanliness hides you (隱), and that leads to survival (生)?
Beom Dal's eyes flashed wide.
Jinhyuk pointed at a cauldron, chuckling.
"Beom Dal, round up the guys. Scrape every bit of wood ash and lye. Time for a little hard work."
Beom Dal grasped Jinhyuk's intent fully and bellowed across the workshop.
"All hands, attention! Assemble at the cauldrons! Gather every scrap of wood ash and lye around! The brigade commander will craft a divine tool to erase our traces!"
Under Jinhyuk's command, the courtyard morphed into a massive soap factory in moments.
Vile monster oil and soldiers' scraped lye mixed in exact ratios, bubbling furiously in giant boiling cauldrons.
As saponification raged and the liquid thickened to sticky paste, Jinhyuk ordered the technicians to lower the fire.
Once the scalding heat subsided, to fully kill any lingering monster reek, he dumped in crushed dried petals and bitter herb powder from the Black Forest.
To etch this strange item's identity into everyone's minds, he boldly wrote new hanja on the ground.
Soap (飛奴) — Washes away stench, sends it flying far
"Beom Dal, drill it into the guys. This is soap (飛奴). Apt name... Don't wanna get torn apart ugly? Wash to live."
Beom Dal hoisted a bar high, sweeping the men with a cold gaze.
He unpacked the survival principle from writing into his tongue.
"This is called soap (飛奴)! Wash with it to erase your stench! Your crusted stink is a beacon screaming 'come eat me' to monsters. Erase traces to hide, hide to live. From now on, no wash? You're monster bait!"
As the men snatched soap like it was magic, Jinhyuk had them render clean candles from leftover fat.
Sootless flames lit the workshop corners, making So-sam's blueprint numbers sharper than ever.
Finally, Jinhyuk pointed at the armory where technicians tangled with troops and wrote on the ground.
One's Own (自身) Weapons (兵器)
Jinhyuk added in Korean.
"Beom Dal, tell those guys: don't just spectate—stick to the techs. It's their gear; if it doesn't fit the hand, their loss."
Beom Dal nodded, reading the writing and words: not wild hammering when iron was precious, but infuse user feel into crafting to cut defects and max efficiency.
Beom Dal roared thunderously.
"Heavenly Wolf Brigade, attention! Infuse your archer and crossbow senses into the techs' hammers! Test the bow draw, bolt cluster weight on your fingers—right there! No room for field fumbles with ill-fitting gear!"
Under Beom Dal's icy command, attitudes shifted.
Troops crouched by techs, drawing bows to body fit or hefting crossbow stocks for fine tweaks.
"Elder, my arms are half a cubit longer—shave one pun more off the end."
"Oh, that ingot's balance. This heft's perfect for quick reloads on the run."
So-sam's blueprints, techs' precision crafting, and veterans' razor-sharp field sense fused into perfect trinity.
The workshop's massive gears exploded back into frenzy with peak efficiency.
Not a scrap of precious hoarded iron wasted—reborn solely for ripping monster flesh.
As weapon refits and soap production stabilized the workshop blaze,
Jinhyuk pocketed fresh soap bars smelling crisp like forest, called sweat-wiping Beom Dal over.
"Beom Dal, can't visit Elder empty-handed. Those two hundred tough Survival Demons in the ruins—don't they deserve a proper feed tonight, beast to man? Grab plenty of liquor. Dash to storage now. And tell the kitchen crew: scrape every ingredient, soul-stirring sides—go wild."
Light dawned in Beom Dal's eyes.
The commander wasn't just treating Elder Hwang-yeonggam—he aimed to embrace all two hundred each-man-for-himself Survival Demons into the Heavenly Wolf fold.
Beom Dal threw open storage, loaded heavy jars onto carts, relayed Jinhyuk's iron order to the kitchen.
Soon, head cook Bi-ho and crew gripped knives amid dinner prep.
Tender prime monster cuts and veggies danced on boards from reserves.
Bi-ho slammed his giant wok, brimming confidence.
"Worry not, brigade commander! For Elder Hwang-yeonggam's old-day nostalgia: rich Dongpo pork simmered in pork fat! For these starving Survival Demons to loosen belts and gorge: thick-sliced fried pork chunks, and wood-ear mushroom mountain Mu Xu pork seared fierce for smoky char—all carts groaning full!"
Bi-ho and cooks' heartfelt dishes piled carts high.
The aroma—saliva-forcing for anyone—wafted through the outpost's chill night air.
Rich spices and meat oils pierced the cold.
Jinhyuk and Beom Dal pushed the lavish booze-cart toward the Survival Demons' haunt.