Defending the Rice Bowl
“Gah... uwaaaagh! Ah, damn it! Cut it out, you bastard system! You’re gonna kill me!”
Jinhyuk’s fingernails scraped the barracks floor of the slave camp until the tips turned white.
Just a few hours earlier that night, he’d crushed Doksa—the so-called “lord of the night” in the camp—and his gang with an unprecedented, utterly ridiculous groin headbutt.
Forget any thrill of victory.
The moment he collapsed in the barracks, his vision filled not with triumph, but a system window far larger and colder than the one from the wolf pack on the snowfield.
> [Second real combat results being settled]
> [Settlement: Survival and subjugation successful]
> Eye dust throw x1
> Bizarre footwork (failed) x1
> Cowardly groin headbutt x1
> Shame explosion x1
“What the hell? Why log the shame explosion? You crazy machine! What does that have to do with my survival?!”
Jinhyuk tried to point accusingly at the air, but his body reacted first.
> [Body reconstruction beginning: Reflecting 'Survival Optimization' request]
The moment that message appeared, his entire body twisted grotesquely.
Crack, crunch! Pop!
“Aaaagh—! Mom! I’m dying! Save me! Aigoo, this is killing me!”
Screams burst from his lips before he could cover his mouth.
The sounds of joints dislocating and being forcibly reset echoed through the empty barracks.
The “real-world labor muscles” honed unloading thousands of parcels at the Gonjiam depot now screamed under the system’s compulsion.
But the system wasn’t just bulking him up.
To boost headbutt power, it hardened his frontal skull density to stone-like levels.
To make crawling easier, it twisted his scapula mobility into something creepy.
“Huff, huff... ugh... Is this even a wuxia novel? What, turning me into an Alien experiment? My precious shoulders... my neck vertebrae...!”
Jinhyuk panted like a dog, finally passing out only after the storm of pain subsided.
This was no noble martial enhancement.
It was the grotesque pinnacle of body modification purely for survival.
Twenty days passed since then.
Training period remaining: 59 days.
The camp’s drill ground choked daily with swirling dust storms.
The endless frozen air of the snowfields Jinhyuk first saw was gone.
Now sweat, blood, and pent-up killing intent dominated the yard.
Whish—! Thwack! Thud!
“You worthless bugs! Can’t even match steps?! You call yourselves Central Plains men? Huh? Wanna die?!”
The overseer’s whip sliced air, flaying slave soldiers’ backs.
Each sickening rip of leather into flesh drew swallowed screams from the slaves.
This overseer had staked his family’s fate on this mission.
With 30 of 90 days gone, he had to forge these rabble into “meat shields” within the remaining 60—including today.
The conscript zone beyond the fence was a different world.
They drilled with steel swords and weapons, basic martial arts.
Jinhyuk’s Cheonrang Company and the slaves got only battered wooden shields and blunt training clubs.
“Screw these cheapskates. Not even one sword? What, theme park security gig? Hey, Overseer! Get over here!”
Jinhyuk grumbled in Korean, beckoning the soldier Overseer.
The soldier couldn’t understand the barbarian youth’s words, but the aura in his eyes made him shuffle over meekly.
Jinhyuk began implanting his Gonjiam “unloading efficiency system” into the troops.
“Raise—!”
Boom—!
His booming command slammed hundreds of wooden shields into the ground in unison.
Dust erupted from the yard, creating a spectacle.
Even the Great Wall garrison gawked at slaves syncing steps like this.
“Thrust—!”
Whoosh—!
Clubs stabbed from shield gaps into the air on cue.
Blunt wood, but hundreds unleashed together packed real weight.
Jinhyuk darted through ranks, jabbing sloppy hips with his club.
“Hey, you! Not there! That’d burst the parcels! Chest, hit the chest! Angle wrong? Army’s no joke, huh?”
He nagged nonstop in Korean.
They didn’t understand words, but ghosted his finger to solar plexus and groin targets.
They now saw him not as Cheonrang’s mad captain, but an instructor from hell.
The watching soldier swallowed hard.
A soon-to-discharge sergeant with two months left, he sensed these slaves’ aura wasn’t beastly anymore.
Jinhyuk pulled the soldier aside, etching letters in dirt.
[Rations] — Gimme food
Jinhyuk stared into the soldier’s eyes, tapping his rice bowl.
Then pointed at a nearby rock, flexing his forearm muscle.
Feed us right, and these weapons obey you. Skimp, and this fist cracks your skull.
Clear silent pressure.
“Got it, got it! You crazy barbarian! Don’t glare like that! More meat, fine!”
The soldier nodded frantically.
No words shared, yet Jinhyuk ruled as Doksa’s successor—the camp’s mad dog, new Cheonrang head.
In the drill yard’s shaded wall nook, the white-haired “Survival Demons” watched Jinhyuk’s drill with fascination.
“Heh, see that guy? How’s third-rate trash footwork carry that momentum?”
“Moves suck, but body use is genius. Zero waste, like he’s shifted cargo ten thousand times. Peak efficiency.”
Dogui and Guian clicked tongues.
Only Hwang-yeonggam chuckled wheezily, orbiting Jinhyuk.
Nightly, Jinhyuk approached the old man, scratching dirt.
[Step] — Footwork
He tapped his legs, eyes pleading.
Hwang-yeonggam cackled, roughly jabbing knee-back and flank acupoints.
“Ow! Hey, old man! Hurts! Damn it, ease up! Gonna break bones!”
Jinhyuk screamed in Korean, but shuddered at the searing surge piercing his body.
The old fingers mapped energy paths via pain—where qi should flow, now signposted.
Forced acupoint awakening.
No qi infusion, no verbal arts, just brutal pain-imprinting of the “path.” A master’s merciless way.
> [Acupoint stimulation data collecting]
> ['Inefficient Map' forcibly activating. Comprehension: 55%]
“Whoa... what? I feel something real? Body’s heating up!”
Jinhyuk’s eyes sparkled.
Beyond gut-wrenching pain, a bizarre vitality bloomed—more than system numbers.
On the first month’s night, his vision flashed red again: body change alert.
Labor-honed muscles rearranged into high-density fibers via old man’s acupoint data.
> [Engraving confirmed: Practical Compressed Muscle (D-)]
“Ooh, my body... it’s turned to rock! D-grade power, huh? Lighter than my unloading days, but twice the strength!”
Jinhyuk stroked his arm, awed.
Smaller volume, steel-hard now—low-tier warrior power without qi.
Worlds from his baggy groin-victory bod.
The incident hit a peaceful supply-cart afternoon.
Demonic cult slave faction “Manma Hall” invaded Cheonrang turf.
Clang—! Crash!
Cart flipped; meat scraps Jinhyuk bullied from the soldier dirtied the ground.
Manma giants sneered forward.
“Hey, barbarian runts. This meat’s ours now. Hungry? Dig dirt in the corner. Huh?”
Blue flames sparked in Jinhyuk’s eyes.
“You fuckers... what’d you just say? My meat... my protein...!”
He growled low in Korean.
Food was survival; messing with his bowl was blood feud.
He scratched “殺” (kill) in dirt, big X over it.
No killing, but soul-crush so they never eye the bowl again.
殺 — Don’t kill
“Hey! Cheonrang! Bowl raided! Everyone out! No meat today, we all die!”
Cheonrang moved in perfect sync.
“Raise—!”
Boom boom—!
Shields locked wall-like, pressing Manma.
The camp-shaking momentum stalled even cult giants.
> [Cowardly Groin Headbutt (F) manifesting]
> [Group command 'Overwhelm' applied]
Jinhyuk sneered.
“Cowardly? Full belly’s what counts! Thrust—! Smash ’em!”
Thud—! Crunch! Argh!
Clubs snaked from shields.
Old man’s vital data + Gonjiam speed = carnage.
Solar plexus, throats, groins hit precisely.
No flashy forms, no qi harmony—just brute angles and timing in mass barrage.
“Gaaah! My... my balls...! You cowards!”
“Mercy! Barbarians! No meat! We don’t want it!”
Manma pride shattered under Cheonrang’s dumb sticks.
Jinhyuk stepped through fallen, picked dirtied meat, dusted, chewed slow before their boss’s nose.
“Idiot, Koreans run on rice power. Touch the bowl, big trouble. Got it? Next time, not groin—neck snap.”
He quelled shaking hands, wrote in dirt:
[60 Days Remaining]
Long road ahead.
To survive this snake pit, get meaner.
Groin triumph over Doksa was desperate thrash.
Today’s “Rice Bowl Defense” birthed Cheonrang as true “organization,” not mere slaves.
Rooftop Survival Demons watched, smiles gone.
They saw it:
A no-martial foreigner forging their massive “army” on raw survival instinct and unload efficiency.
Jinhyuk stared past shields into the Great Wall’s outer dark, thinking.
60 days left... When I leave, I own this camp.
Night air chilled with his resolve.
The camp’s new order rewrote itself—right on that rice bowl.