The Life of the Weak
Clop. Clop. Clop.
At the edge of Hubei Province lay Ho Wang Mountain.
The small village nestled below it slumbered in the lazy haze of afternoon.
"This the place?"
I rode in easy, following the info the Monghwan Lou Owner had given me. The sky was clear, a few clouds drifting lazily, but the silence cloaking the village was deep and unnaturally still.
A hush that reeked of foreboding beneath the facade of peace.
"This fucking bastard."
My instincts screamed it.
The lecher demon had struck here too, no doubt.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Reaching the village center, I spotted a modest little inn. I tethered my horse and stepped inside.
Creeeak.
The worn hinges groaned with age, startling the dozing errand boy upright with a yelp.
"Welcome! This is Ho Wang Inn!"
I paused at the threshold, scanning the dim interior.
Just five tables.
A humble spot catering to the occasional traveler in this tiny hamlet.
"Sir hero! Over here! It might look shabby, but our master's cooking is top-notch!"
The friendly boy guided me to a seat, wiping the dust-caked table with a grimy rag.
I plopped down on the chair and set my iron sword beside me.
"What's good?"
"Clear soup and pork meatballs are killer! Roast duck's great too!"
He glanced at my sword and replied with gusto.
"That'll do."
"Right away! Booze?"
"Anything. Might stay a few days—got rooms?"
"Of course! Nice clean ones!"
I fished a copper coin from my pouch and handed it over.
"Prep one then."
"Heh heh heh! You got it, sir hero!"
The boy bowed deeply, grinning ear to ear, then dashed to the kitchen, bellowing my order.
Maybe it was the rare customer.
A fat cook-slash-owner peeked out from the kitchen, eyed me, and ducked back in.
Moments later.
The boy's hype wasn't bullshit—appetizing aromas wafted from the kitchen.
"Sir hero! Booze first!"
"Good."
I took the bottle, poured some into a chipped cup.
Thick, murky rice wine, the country staple.
I knocked it back straight. Sour, but it cleared the road dust from my throat just fine.
"Ahhh."
"To your taste?"
"Not bad."
"Heh heh heh! Glad to hear! Holler if you need anything—I'll fix up the room!"
"Hold up."
I stopped the boy as he turned.
"Yes, sir hero!"
"Something off in the village? Air feels heavy."
"Well... uh..."
He fidgeted, twisting the rag around his finger.
I tossed him another copper.
"Heh heh heh. Thanks, sir hero."
He pocketed it quick, sneaking a glance at the kitchen.
I poured another cup.
"Spill it."
"See, the last few days... two young women in the village up and died."
"Two women?"
I played dumb, feigning surprise.
His tongue loosened; he even dragged over a chair and half-sat.
"Yeah! They weren't even sick! In a village this small, two deaths in a row—folks are freaking, thinking the mountain god's pissed."
His eyes flicked to my cup even as he yapped.
I slid it over.
"Have one."
"Oh no, can't! Boss'll chew me out for drinking on the job!"
"I'm making you. It's fine."
"You're forcing me? Well, if a hero insists..."
He snatched it with both hands.
Young kid, but he downed it like a pro.
"Ahhh! Need a snack though. Shoulda got some dried stuff."
"Keep talking."
"Right! Where was I?"
"Mountain god pissed."
"Yeah! The god!"
These folks weren't total idiots.
Dead bodies and talk of an angry god meant some freaky sign.
"Thing is... the bodies of those women..."
"The bodies?"
"Hard to explain... they were all shriveled up, like..."
"Mummified?"
"Yeah! That's it! Mummified, they said!"
"Hmm."
Mummified.
Bodies dry out after death, sure.
But this quick? Rare as hell.
'Sucked dry of essence...'
Fuck. This lecher wasn't your run-of-the-mill perv.
A mosquito slurping blood—but this fucker drained women's vital essence through his dick.
Not just raping for kicks. Harvesting yin energy to boost his qi.
"Sicker bastard than I thought."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Back to work."
"Oh! Right!"
He smacked his lips regretfully and stood.
"If you wanna know more, chat with the village chief."
"Where?"
"End of the road."
"Got it."
"Food coming up!"
"Yeah."
He bolted to the kitchen.
A scuffle erupted inside—busted for boozing, probably.
"Yin harvesting for real."
Sucking women's vital blood to grow inner power.
Seen it in novels and games from my past life, but first time here.
"Maybe not."
I set down the cup, chugged straight from the bottle.
Murky wine dribbled over my stubbled chin.
But if it was true.
If yin harvesting actually worked.
"Can't half-ass this."
Light gig at first.
But left alone, this prick could spark a real shitstorm.
After eating and unpacking, I headed to the chief's as the boy said.
The sunset painted the western sky red, mingling with a pleasant autumn breeze.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Villagers shied away from the stranger, wary.
At the village edge stood a thatched house with a yard.
"Anyone home?"
I called from outside the gate.
An old man sweeping the yard straightened and turned.
"Who're you?"
His face was a wrinkled map—miracle he was still breathing.
Sun-baked skin looked even darker, shadowed by the lecher's shadow.
"Got questions."
"Hmph. Can't help. Move along."
The chief bristled too.
I eyed his back as he headed inside.
"From the Murim Alliance."
"What?"
The alliance of the Nine Great Sects, Five Great Families, and righteous powers.
Bulwark against corrupt officials, demonic cults, and evil sects—guardian of the common folk.
Never set foot there myself, but what did a backwater chief know?
"Truly from the Alliance?"
"Yes. Jang U-gil of the White Dragon Squad."
"Oho!"
I flashed my token.
He squinted, rubbing his ashen eyes, leaning in.
"Dragon engraving—real?"
"Yes."
He wouldn't know, but it was a damn good fake—indistinguishable from the real Alliance deal.
'Hao Sect crafts these like pros.'
I pocketed it, admiring their work again.
The chief softened, bowing politely.
"What brings an Alliance noble here?"
"Heard of trouble."
"Ah... yes. Two village women died sudden-like."
"Not the mountain god. Demon's work. I'm hunting him."
"R-really? Those girls... killed by a demon?"
"Yes. To confirm if it's my man, I'd like to see the bodies."
His beady eyes bulged.
"Oh dear! Jisun's cremated! But Chohyang's still viewable!"
"Can you guide me?"
"Of course! Follow me!"
God's wrath was inescapable.
The strong's too.
But a master hunter had come—hope swelled in the weak, and the old man ran on spindly legs.