Episode 120: "Is the Story Over?"
Sudden voice broke the silence, and Ian turned his head. Pyra and the others were waiting, including him.
"You were talking so seriously, I couldn't butt in... but it looks like it worked out fine."
Pyra had noticed that Ian was in contact with the mystery. But for the sake of Ian's smooth conversation, he'd held his tongue on purpose. Conversations were best one-on-one; if someone jumped in suddenly, even a good talk could go off the rails.
"Must've been a shock."
"A bit?"
"Sorry I couldn't warn you ahead of time."
Pyra eyed Ian with a strange smile. Northern shamans shied away from direct contact with mysteries. Their neighborhoods were rough places, full of wild types. But this young mage from the Empire? He wasn't afraid to chat with them at all. Was it the guy's personality? Or just how Empire mages rolled? Pyra didn't know.
What he did know was that he didn't mind watching Ian converse with the mystery. It was bold and free in a way shamans never were.
"Nah. You're not a kid. Can't watch your every move."
With the phoenix's spirit gone, the surroundings fell quiet. Pyra grinned ear to ear as he pocketed Hrun Dal's Tears.
"This much? We can each take a sip."
Ian examined the elixir Pyra offered. It looked like milky liquid, no off-putting smell. He tasted a drop—tasteless, like plain water.
Limestone water or something?
Ian eyed it suspiciously. Back in the Empire, lime-mixed water was common, thanks to underground limestone layers. He'd seen plenty of milky mountain spring water.
Consumed Hrun Dal's Tears.
Spiritual Defense greatly increased.
The ever-helpful Status Window popped up. Definitely some healthy elixir. Ian's eyes widened as he scanned around. The world's colors felt richer. His capacity to accept mysteries had strengthened. Now he could handle even stronger mystery power more safely.
"No need for meditation or anything?"
[Huh? Medita... what?]
Ah, right—Western fantasy folk, not big on hanja.
"Like a meditative brunch."
[No idea what that is... but you don't need to.]
In wuxia novels, you had to circulate qi after elixirs for proper absorption. But this world had no such concept, so eating it straight worked fine.
"...?"
Then Ian felt a subtle mystical energy in his gut. Spreading ever so slowly through his veins, across his body. Especially zipping up his spine to his nape—it tingled.
Ian didn't know it, but the pineal gland deep in the brain played a key role in perceiving mysteries. A fact proven by horror master Howard Phillips Lovecraft. The elixir was boosting that gland's function.
Nice.
Ian had low resistance to mysteries compared to his magical prowess. Simple reason: he was a munchkin cheater pumping stats without enlightenment. Classic case of leveling realms sans insight. He could wield spells via skills, but it strained his body sometimes.
This elixir would prevent that. Though clashing head-on with something nasty like "lunchtime mystery" was still insane.
"Shall we head back now?"
Pyra nodded at Ian's suggestion. With Hrun Dal's Tears secured, folks could go home.
"Ian... you sure you're okay?"
On the way back to camp, Takarion whined beside him.
"I, I didn't do anything?"
Takarion seemed convinced he had some vital role. Ian had hyped him up that way—super important guy, gotta bring him. Total BS, though.
"Takarion. Serious question: do you really think Hrun Dal invited you?"
"...No?"
Too much MSG? The fake info to fool the Red Bear tribe had hooked Takarion too. Ian hyped him so much, he started thinking, Wait, am I actually important? Classic loser fantasy: awakening hidden power.
"Actually, I'm the hero chosen by the Northern God..."
"Yeah, right."
Takarion was a totem at best. Bring him for good luck~ Ian had fetched the tears safely, so now he could say, "Thanks to Takarion~," and drag the guy back to the Empire.
"No, but what if I met the Northern God and awakened..."
"Takarion."
The monk casually name-dropped pagan gods. Otakus didn't sweat that stuff.
Ian patted his shoulder.
"Use that wild imagination for your Gospel sequel."
"..."
"I'm actually waiting for it."
No empty words—he meant it. In this entertainment-poor world, Takarion's Gospels were guilty-pleasure gems. Ian planned to read the next one seriously.
"Sob...!"
Takarion was genuinely sad. Ian was baffled. Just days ago, the guy was yapping about heart-ripping. Forgotten already? What an imagination.
Back with the elixir, northerners swarmed to gawk. Bustling and noisy, but Ian let it slide. Imagine someone hauling back wild ginseng— who'd resist peeking?
"Ooh! This is it!"
"Miraculous! So miraculous!"
Pyra shooed warriors like chasing birds, then told Ragnar:
"Here. The elixir Ian found."
"Hm..."
"Knew he'd pull it off."
Pyra beamed smugly. Ragnar found him annoying but held his tongue. Results spoke. He'd mocked the flops before, but couldn't now after solid shaman work.
"Empire priest Takarion did his part too, so let him go."
"I'll talk to the chief."
Either way, Ragnar scored upgraded tonic for free. Chief had shame—wouldn't gobble guests after such a gift.
"Back to the village."
Warriors prepped withdrawal. Pyra asked Ian:
"Ian. Anything else on Sacred Mountain?"
"Wanna stay... two more days."
To keep his phoenix promise. Casual sightseeing, checking for spirit worries.
"Wanna probe Sacred Mountain's mysteries."
Solid excuse. Not wrong—might luck into magic-boosting mystery.
"I'll help then."
Ragnar and warriors descended first. Couldn't dawdle with precious elixir. They'd left most gear, so camping was easy.
"Whoa. Snowy mountain camping..."
Ian muttered at the drifting flakes. Killer views, but the knife-sharp wind howling through valleys sent chills.
Next day, at dawn, Ian hit the snowy slopes. "Investigation" was basically a hike.
"Nice weather!"
Belenca and Kira tagged along lightly. Belenca, snow-raised, was chill; Kira gawked at it like a novelty.
"Winnie. Anything you want me to do?"
[No. Just happy being with you.]
It was the spirit's wish, not Winnie's. So Ian made "enjoy epic snow views with Winnie" the goal.
"Awful quiet."
Pyra muttered mid-climb.
"Mountain King's busy? No Grendels at all."
They'd poked deep into his turf already. Pyra figured paths diverged during elixir hunt. But now camping, strolling—no minions? Ignoring them? Mountain King's rep said he'd send at least one for greetings.
"Hm..."
"What's up, Pyra?"
"Nothing. Keep going."
Ian pressed on. Past mid-mountain, deep snow sucked at boots. Freeze-thaw slush stung skin raw.
"Huff. Huff..."
"You good, Takarion?"
"...Still manageable..."
Good. Resolve was shallow; most fizzled after three days. Gym memberships proved it. But Takarion's lasted.
Made things easy for Ian.
"Caw! Master!"
Oberon flapped to Ian's shoulder.
"What, Oberon."
[Spotted humans far off! They're half-frozen!]
"...Humans?"
Ian tilted his head. Humans mid-Sacred Mountain? Mountain King's turf—no casual trespassers.
Shamans?
Suicide aside, they'd be Pyra-types with permission.
Ian whispered with Oberon, then told Pyra:
"Pyra. Change course a bit."
Pyra eyed him oddly. Even to a mystery-handler like him, raven-chat was wizardry. Though it was Maronius tongue vs. Arcana cards difference. Pyra could "talk" beasts indirectly: lay cards, pick fave. Primitive, abstract—but safer, no foot-in-mouth risks.
"Found something?"
"Yeah. That way."
Ian led to Oberon's spot.
"That's..."
"Northern village guys?"
Frozen dead humans. Bitten, then flash-frozen. Less corpses, more meat slabs.
Ian nearly gagged—rare for him.
"...Grendel's work."
Pyra's tone shifted.
"Definitely. Sgonu tribal alliance shamans."
Pyra prodded snowdrifts with staff. An arm burst up.
"Mommy!"
Kira yelped. Belenca drew sword, surged forward—but Pyra stopped her.
"Hold! They're not foes!"
Frozen corpse twisted joints, clawing from snow. Crack... crack... Forcing icy limbs sprayed flesh shards. Barely moved, already ragdoll.
Ian stared calmly.
"Death deferred."
"Yeah. Begged ice mystery for it."
Ian sensed mystery in the corpse. Pre-death plea: hold my soul. Masterful shaman work.
"[Y-you... you're Oka ha folk...]"
"Yes. Sgonu shaman."
Pyra grasped the secret. Facing death, shaman begged mountain mystery, turning self into undead.
"[P-please... take my tale home...]"
"By Hrun Dal's name, I'll tell your tribe."
The deferral? To leave last words.
"[We climbed for Mountain King's wisdom...]"
"Wisdom?"
"[Why the Great Hunt Festival failed...]"