Fragrant Veterans
The southern sector of the inner fortress at the Outpost.
In the days when the regular Great Wall garrison held this place, it had been the empire's northern hub—a massive arsenal, supply depot, and cluster of forges where every resource for the base was stockpiled and hammered into shape.
Now, it was just crumbling stone warehouses and leaky wooden sheds left to rot without a caretaker's touch, squatting there like ugly scars.
But what truly ruled this place was the venom of the trapped—men with nowhere left to run.
The old empire's Great Wall forces had long ago demolished the century-old underground shelters to keep slave soldiers from hiding there during raids, burying them deep.
With no escape routes on the surface and damp earth rising like a shroud, the southern warehouses had become home to two hundred Survival Demons—a meeting hall, a rest spot, and a vast cage where they lived cut off from the world.
Inside this massive warehouse, the air was already thick—not just hot, but foul from a full day of tongue-lashing debates.
Two hundred Survival Demons.
Old hands who'd each carved out a name in the Central Plains' martial world or the military, now clashing over one single issue.
'Should we unite with Slave Soldier Kang Jinhyuk—no, Commander Kang's Black Wolf Corps? Or keep scraping by on our own?'
At the center of the chaos, Hwang-yeonggam sat silent, an old pipe clenched in his teeth.
Through the haze of smoke drifting thick now and then, his eyes sank like deep pools, that silence heavier than any shout in the warehouse.
"Commander Kang? Sure, I took interest 'cause he's a slave soldier with no martial arts. The respect at the banquet, surviving this long—got a sliver of liking for him. But that's it!"
Cheongun spat coldly, grinding his sword on a whetstone.
Scrape. Scrape.
The steady rasp cut through the noise.
"We're fallen to slave soldiers, but we carry the true spirit of the Central Plains' martial artists. Some barbarian meat shield rolls in from god-knows-where, sets up a freak barbarian system in that black path crew called the Black Wolf Corps, and wants to leash us? You saying we hand over our collars just like that? Alliances without cause crumble like sandcastles!"
Cheongun's shout drew nods and rising voices from his side.
"Right! Better starve here than wear a 'barbarian's dog' tag and get whipped around without cause!"
"Even if we can't muster a wisp of sword qi, a Central Plains warrior's spine is intact!"
A snort exploded from the opposition.
Bam.
"Heh heh heh! Brother Cheongun, belly still half-full? You think cause feeds us?"
Dogwi, the saber demon from the unorthodox paths, slammed the floor with a murderous grin.
"Heh heh heh! Why so uptight, everyone? Forgot how Jinhyuk put us at the head table at the banquet, treated us right? First time in twenty years patrolling the Wall I've seen a fellow slave soldier show that kind of respect—when any of us could drop dead tomorrow!"
Dogwi cackled, lightening the mood.
His allies jumped in.
"Brother Dogwi's right! At that banquet, Jinhyuk shelled out meat and booze like it was nothing!"
"Frankly, better working under a guy who respects us than groveling for those Black Snake or Orthodox Banner clowns. A thousand times easier on the gut!"
He was already hooked on Jinhyuk's bold moves.
Next to him, Dokan—the one-eyed demonic cult survivor—flashed his good eye and growled support.
"Dogwi's got it. Scraping by alone? When beast hordes come, don't we end up back-to-back anyway? That's survival here. He's offering the stage—why say no? I'm for it."
But Cheongun halted his whetstone with a icy bark.
Clang!
"Shut your hole. Respect? Liking? That's personal taste. We're Central Plains martial artists, even as slave soldiers. He wants us under him, and you say hand the collar to a barbarian?"
As the debate heated, Cheoljeon, ex-empire military, cut in.
"I'm against joining too. Get tangled in Black Wolf Corps faction games, catch the Wall garrison or court's eye—boom, rebels or traitors. Better stay low like now. Don't stir shit."
The status-quo crowd chimed in.
"Yeah. Get mixed in, massacred wholesale. Quiet beast-hunting's fine."
"This setup's perfect. Can't stand watching some 'commander' play boss."
From the corner, Mumyeong—the ex-ronin nursing a bottle—muttered.
"In the end, we're the ones dying up front. Who knows if that Black Wolf head treats us human—or just fancier cannon fodder?"
Pro-union, anti, status-quo, neutral, skeptics—five factions among the two hundred men, shouts flying as they fiddled with battered weapons.
Then—
Rumble. Rumble rumble.
A heavy cart's groan rolled in, a fresh scent overwhelming the sweat-stink and mold in one breath.
Creeeak.
The warehouse door swung open. Jinhyuk stepped in.
Ditching his usual slouch, he cupped his fists formally, bowing to Hwang-yeonggam and the Survival Demon leaders.
"Brothers, sorry I'm late. Took time gathering treats for you elders."
The killer glares softened at his polish.
Jinhyuk swept the cloth off the cart, continuing smoothly.
"Truth is, you brothers holding out here over ten years is a miracle—and skill. That's why I respect you. But we can't hide like beasts in this hell forever. Pride, gain—it only matters if we live like people."
Beom Dal, master of reading the room, caught the weight of Jinhyuk's courtesy and boomed a formal martial translation that hit heavy.
"The brigade commander says: Your graces enduring a decade in this pit—none value that prowess higher. Yet how can a warrior's spirit rot in this dark hole? Time to rise, scent the human world, and swing your blades proud!"
Jinhyuk pulled neatly wrapped soaps from his robes, handing them personally to the leaders.
"This is soap. You're my comrades, my brothers-in-arms. But beasts track us by scent—slave soldier stink especially. Prepared this to reclaim a human life and fragrance, stay stealthier, stronger."
Beom Dal held a bar high, proclaiming with full ceremony.
"The brigade commander offers this precious elixir to you graces! Washes blood-reek, hides your presence—a treasure. He honors you not as mere slaves, but fellow warriors to storm the field. Accept his sincerity!"
Jinhyuk picked up a stick, scrawling big letters in the dirt.
CLEAN → HIDE → SURVIVE
"Key is us two hundred as a team—supplies sorted, beasts hunted efficient, surviving together. Instead of dying alone, join me: wash up, eat real food, drink, set the board proper. Deal?"
Beom Dal drove it home, grave and polite.
"Will you unite with the brigade commander, reclaim human dignity? Or fade alone as before? He humbly begs you open this new path with us!"
Jinhyuk's pitch and Beom Dal's heavy words left a chill quiet in their wake.
The two hundred Survival Demons stared hard at the dirt-scratched [CLEAN → HIDE → SURVIVE], lost in thought.
Cheongun broke the silence first, surprisingly.
He traced his chipped blade, deep hum escaping.
"...Hmph. Human life, human scent..."
Cheongun sniffed his ragged sleeve.
Fifteen years of beast reek, corpse rot, underground mold.
Eyes shut, he savored the soap's faint fragrance again.
"Shouted Central Plains pride, but really just hunkered in a corner stinking like beasts... You say 'only means something living human'—barbarian... no, Commander Kang's words gut me."
Cheongun sheathed his sword, nodding. The opposition's fire dimmed.
Dogwi, pro-union, slapped his knee with a hearty laugh.
"See? Even Cheongun can't resist that soap scent! Commander—no, Brigade Commander! Should've led with this! Who'd refuse treatment as humans? I'm all in!"
Dokan eyed the cart's braised pork, one eye gleaming.
"Heh heh heh, demonic cult heirs don't chase empty gains. You call us pros, Brigade Commander? Gladly accept. That meat scent's already thrilling."
Even skeptical Mumyeong and Cheoljeon exchanged glances, rising slowly.
"...Fighting together beats dying alone by hundreds."
"Even dodging the capital's court dogs needs a full belly. Eat, wash first."
As the two hundred stirred toward Jinhyuk, all eyes locked on the last man: Hwang-yeonggam.
He tapped out his pipe slow, snuffing the embers, and stood.
"Heh heh... Your courtesy and this scent's opened the eyes of two hundred half-dead ghosts. Dantian shattered, but we all crave warrior's—human's—treatment over slave scraps."
His kind but weighty words drained the noise like an ebbing tide.
Beom Dal had already set dishes and soaps from the cart. Before Hwang-yeonggam: braised pork, booze, soap.
Jinhyuk poured his cup himself.
"Hwang-yeonggam, no—now the Black Wolf Corps' elder. Here's to us."
Clink!