The Price of Health

When he stepped into the defense outpost on the outskirts of the city, the sun had already risen high. Around the urban periphery, diligent hunters were gathering in groups here and there, preparing to head out on the hunt.

Some of them glanced over at Kang Tae-sung or showed interest in the strange, heavily laden leather bundle on his back, but they didn’t seem to imagine that everything he carried could be monster byproducts.

Kang Tae-sung walked all the way to city hall. By the time the exchange came into view, an employee had already spotted him from afar and came running with a greeting.

“Byproducts?”

“There’s quite a bit.”

“I can see that. Please come this way.”

The employee watched quietly as Kang Tae-sung unpacked the leather in a separate area. When even more emerged, the man looked briefly surprised, but soon nodded as if he had reached some understanding.

“I didn’t realize this city had a Level 3 hunter as well.”

He seemed to assume the use of an inventory. There was no need to correct him, so Kang Tae-sung let the matter pass without comment, and the employee asked no further questions.

From their previous dealings, the man already knew Kang Tae-sung wasn’t the talkative type. Yet despite his sparse words, the volume of byproducts he brought was always substantial.

Even assuming he belonged to a hunting team or guild, one thing still didn’t add up: with this much material, extra members usually came along for escort duty. The fact that he had arrived alone was unusual. Still, the notion that one person could have gathered so much was absurd, and since it had nothing to do with the employee’s job, he paid it no mind. His role was simply to purchase byproducts and forward them to his superiors. Anything beyond that wouldn’t raise his salary.

After carefully appraising the additional items, the employee searched the market price listings for each byproduct one by one, just as before, and calculated the total.

“It comes to a little under fifty million won.”

Kang Tae-sung watched the employee show the calculator’s figures and gave a quiet nod.

A couple more staff members approached to carry the byproducts away. Kang Tae-sung followed them to the exchange and received his payment.

Most of the forty-eight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠million won was in fifty-thousand-won notes, yet the stack was still impressively thick. He shoved it roughly into the inner pocket of his jacket; the bulge was obvious at a glance.

Since he wouldn’t be wandering around in that state for long, it wasn’t a real problem. Kang Tae-sung entered the city hall building and headed into the post office, which was still fairly quiet given the early hour.

“Welcome, sir.”

He returned the slight bow of the guide who greeted him at the entrance, then glanced deeper inside and moved forward.

One counter was occupied by a customer consulting about shipping goods to another city. The deposit counter had no line, so he could handle his business immediately.

Opening an account was simple. The post office apparently shared the government’s personal information database; a fingerprint scan was enough to verify identity. No ID card or seal was required.

He let the explanations about interest rates and benefits go in one ear and out the other.

He hadn’t created the account to play the interest game. For now, he deposited seventy million won—combining the proceeds from today’s sale with some of the cash he already carried.

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After receiving a debit card and setting up internet banking, Kang Tae-sung left the post office. He manipulated his nearly dead tablet, officially completed the internet subscription, and arranged for automatic payment from the new account.

“This will be much more convenient from now on.”

With an account, there would be no need to exchange thick bundles of cash in every transaction. It seemed he could even have payments deposited directly instead of receiving physical money when selling byproducts.

Best of all was the ability to trade online. He could buy or sell goods over the internet.

Especially for intangible data-type products, purchases could be made instantly without waiting for delivery. He could buy monster encyclopedias compiled from photographs and characteristics of various creatures, or e-books on swordsmanship, martial arts, and mana breathing techniques.

But mana breathing methods had too many sellers and too many varieties.

It was impossible to tell which were effective and which were fakes, and naturally there was no consumer protection law to rely on. One had to judge from reviews, but just like in the old days, trolls lurked there too, making it difficult in every way.

Mana breathing or whatever.

Kang Tae-sung felt no interest in mana breathing techniques.

He had picked up a few methods on the battlefield, but back then he had rarely found time to practice them, so they had shown little effect.

Breathing techniques were meant to accumulate more mana in the body by sitting still, standing, or performing light movements. The battlefield was not a place that allowed such leisure.

In combat, there was even less room to pay attention to mana breathing. Breath was always ragged, and mana was not accumulated but squeezed out and consumed.

When he considered the results, repeatedly pushing his current mana to its absolute limit had proven far more helpful than trying to stockpile more through breathing.

It did little to enlarge the vessel itself, but when it came to strengthening recovery power, nothing was more reliable.

Vessel size is fine, but recovery rate is what matters.

Vessel size could be handled simply by raising the mental power stat.

There was no need to waste time sitting and breathing. Increased mental power would enlarge the vessel and slightly boost recovery speed, so breathing techniques were unnecessary.

However, information on martial arts might be worth acquiring. Dancing alone with a blade was one thing, but studying a proper sword manual and training from it seemed far better.

When he searched, he found that aside from homemade manuals created by ordinary people, many were selling skill books originally purchased from the system’s point mall.

These weren’t one-time activation skills but books that converted specific sword techniques into learnable skills. Once learned, the knowledge became imprinted in the body as if practiced, without separate training.

Of course, using a single skill book did not make one an expert.

It granted entry-level proficiency. Beyond that, one needed to obtain the same skill to raise its level or advance the technique through personal training.

“Long-distance delivery is a bit worrying.”

Most people seemed to feel the same; tangible goods were usually traded in person.

As a result, deals with other cities were generally avoided. No matter how reliable post office delivery was said to be, unease remained unease.

Just in case, he searched for skill books related to swordsmanship or martial arts being sold in Cheongmyeong City. As expected, nothing appeared.

“Pathetic.”

The sorrow of the provinces.

When he searched the Seoul region instead, countless types of skills appeared, jumbled together at arbitrary prices. He wondered why people were selling instead of using them, but every person had their own circumstances, so he let the thought pass.

I need to earn money first.

Even if something was worth buying, the unchanging truth from past to present was that money was required to obtain it.

What Kang Tae-sung had in mind most of all was the potion category.

Beginning with the 5-point low-grade recovery potion, higher levels offered more expensive and more effective options. It was said that ordinary people could achieve comprehensive improvement—from simple external wounds to illnesses—if they drank them consistently.

Of course, it wasn’t a story of one bottle making cancer cells vanish. But steady long-term consumption could produce clearly meaningful results.

The so-called panacea.

It also had anti-aging effects. While some wealthy individuals spent money to awaken, many others avoided awakening due to the risk of drawing aggro and simply bought and drank potions instead.

Kang Tae-sung’s interest in potions was, naturally, for his parents.

Considering their health, he believed he needed to earn enough to supply them with potions on a regular basis.

Of course he could afford low-grade potions right now, but the general opinion was that their effects were not particularly strong. They worked, but only to a limited degree.

To see reasonably good results, it seemed one needed at least intermediate-grade potions or higher. Intermediate potions could be purchased starting at Level 2 and cost 50 points per bottle—ten times the price of low-grade. One bottle equaled fifty million won.

The consolation was that the volume doubled to two hundred milliliters compared to the low-grade version.

The next tier, advanced potions, could be bought from Level 3 onward. As expected, they cost 500 points—ten times the intermediate price. This point mall showed the characteristic of prices exploding upward with each grade.

Still, advanced potions were said to have such strong effects that anyone seeing an ordinary person drink one would claim they looked more than a year younger. There were even reports of clear differences in measured biological age.

Yet demand far outstripped supply.

Five hundred points was a difficult sum even for a Level 3 hunter to gather. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Some guilds pooled points to buy them, then sold the potions to chaebol families.

They usually received cash or goods in return. Since the item commanded whatever price the seller asked, they could earn far more than simply exchanging the points for cash. The profit was apparently quite attractive.

Kang Tae-sung, however, had no intention of running that kind of business. He only wanted to buy them for his parents, so fluctuations in market price held no interest for him.

Rather than a 500-point advanced potion, ten intermediate ones might be more reasonable.

No matter how effective the advanced version was, what about ten bottles of the intermediate grade?

Which would be better?

He searched for discussions on the topic, but although others shared the same question, no one seemed to have performed a clear comparison. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Only speculation ran wild.

What was certain was that he did not yet have the ability to casually purchase 500-point potions. Reaching Level 3 required collecting two thousand points.

Of course, if someone asked whether his level was more important than his parents, he would answer no without hesitation. But when it came to choosing potion grades, the question grew complicated. It eventually led to whether an advanced potion was truly worth five hundred points.

After leaving city hall, Kang Tae-sung noticed a single-story mart at one corner of the central intersection. It had just finished a full interior renovation. It seemed this was the place that would operate a permanent store where people could spend money on goods.

If there were no goods to buy even when one had money, that was a problem.

Of course, the reverse—having goods but no money in people’s pockets—was equally problematic.

It’s complicated.

Perhaps that was why they were carrying out various large-scale civil engineering projects. It was the simplest method of providing work and distributing money.

Come to think of it, the date to finalize the city’s territory and begin demolition from the outer areas was approaching. Unexpected events could occur, so… he would need to watch carefully.