One More Antidote (1)
The Samhan Empire's military operated on a volunteer system.
Awakeners, mana compatibles, and even ordinary mana adapters could enlist as privates or non-commissioned officers.
Officers were divided into field officers and administrative officers, with field roles naturally offering higher pay, better treatment, and faster promotions.
What about generals?
There was one absolute requirement to wear stars in the Imperial Army: becoming a Master.
Fail to reach Master rank, and you'd retire as a colonel upon hitting mandatory retirement age.
Master was the pinnacle of the system ranks.
Of course, there were disparities among individuals.
Those far stronger than average Masters were sometimes called Grand Masters, but officially, they were all Masters.
The Imperial Army had 108 Masters—most governed territories or commanded field units, though some served as senior officers in army, navy, air force HQs, or the Joint Chiefs.
Even becoming a Master didn't guarantee a field command; you needed proven leadership to helm combat units.
Major generals started with a single star and received a territory.
But that territory wasn't yours forever—rights lasted only three generations.
Even if your child didn't become a Master, if your grandchild did, the tenure extended another three generations.
Master talent was largely hereditary; a Master's child had high odds of becoming one too.
That's why territory lords sired many children—some raised twenty or more.
Manage and develop your granted territory well, earn recognition, promote to brigadier general, and take command.
Yet Brigadier General Kim Ungbang had reached Master in his twenties but, even in his fifties, never landed a field command. Few children, too.
It was inevitable.
Paju Territory was a wreck.
How could anyone recognize his leadership?
By contrast, Lieutenant General Oh Jinhyeong ruled Sinuiju Territory and commanded the Jirisan Monster Defense Legion.
Excelling in governance and proven in command.
Jirisan was a frontier, but still a legion command.
And from this man's mouth came the name of his discarded eldest son—practically a stranger.
Begging him to persuade his son for mosquito poison antidote supplies, promising help with promotion reviews in return.
Even after hanging up, Brigadier General Kim Ungbang stared in disbelief.
Three months since his son's discharge?
What had happened in that time?
More importantly, was that really Taeju?
Honda Mitsui was just as baffled.
But she'd checked herself.
Smartphone search: Jirisan jungle, mosquito poison antidote.
"Ah..."
Articles flooded in.
Mosquito poison antidote's explosive popularity, daily sellouts, out-of-towners trekking to Gurye for it, its economic impact, and developer Kim Taeju.
Raking in cash.
Inevitable.
She vaguely recalled hearing it: in Jirisan jungle, the scariest weren't giant moon bears or steel-feathered owls, but tiny mosquitoes.
And those three-striped mutant mosquitoes didn't just haunt Jirisan.
Her homeland, Kyushu Territory's monster zones, had them too.
'Even a worm knows how to wriggle.'
Honda Mitsui's mind raced.
Just convince Taeju to supply the military?
Promotion reviews would favor her husband; he'd pin on brigadier general stars and command a unit.
Then Imperial support for Paju Territory.
'And that's not all.'
Ship antidote to Kyushu?
It'd be a huge boost.
Plus Taeju's piles of money.
Why not claim a share?
If none existed, make one.
Honda Mitsui had already forgotten trying to kill Taeju.
Beaming, she told Kim Ungbang,
"Who knew Taeju learned all this? We couldn't even send him to college—his health was too frail."
"Sigh, indeed."
"I always believed our Taeju would do something big someday."
"..."
Kim Ungbang fell silent.
Our Taeju, out of nowhere?
"Dear, shouldn't we go meet him ourselves?"
"Why?"
"Taeju lacks real-world experience. With all that money now, what if he falls for scammers?"
"Hah."
"We have parental duties. Book train tickets quick—"
"Leave him be!!!"
Kim Ungbang's groan-like outburst.
"Pardon? What..."
"Just leave him. He's long left our home."
"Left?"
"Erased from the family registry. Strangers now."
Honda Mitsui's face twisted.
Right.
She'd removed him.
Shouldn't have, knowing this.
Per her husband, Kim Taeju was a stranger.
No parental rights.
"Registry's one thing—can you sever blood ties so easily? Three hundred years ago, registries were untouchable."
"Times change. Enough ancient talk—don't bother."
"Not bothering—offering help."
How brazen.
Truly shameless woman.
Flipping stances for convenience.
Kim Ungbang despaired over his wife again.
Sensing it, Mitsui softened her tone.
"Fine, straight talk. You know Paju's state."
"What of it?"
"Forever leaning on your father-in-law? Taeju grew up in Paju. I raised him. Shouldn't he contribute?"
"If he had any conscience..."
Mitsui's face sharpened.
"Conscience? What did I do?"
"You tried to..."
Kim Ungbang couldn't finish.
'You tried to kill Taeju.'
Silence fell.
Mitsui stayed quiet too.
'Does he know?'
That she'd ordered Taeju's murder.
Even if he did, no matter.
Lieutenant Jang Indong, her tool, was dead. No evidence.
"...Go meet him. Just say supply the military. We need the antidote."
"This far?"
"Taeju's your only son? What of Taepyeong and Taecheon? Their futures mean nothing? Cadet tuition's tight already—you know Paju's finances!"
"Then go yourself."
"..."
Honda Mitsui had no retort.
Her guilt silenced her.
'Drove him out too hastily?'
Even hating him, should have kept him close.
Never imagined this.
An uneducated kid making antidote?
'If not for the assassination order...'
Antidote sales weren't seasonal.
Money fountain.
Honda Mitsui burned to know Taeju's earnings.
Finishing the call with Kim Ungbang, Lieutenant General Oh Jinhyeong tilted his head.
'Odd.'
Suspicious.
Father hearing son's news from him first?
A child achieving this, parents clueless?
'Something's off.'
He'd planned using the father angle to approach developer Kim Taeju.
- Spoke with your father.
- He was thrilled.
- You served in the military once.
- Considering that, supply the army with antidote.
But tangled now.
Time to investigate.
'Hold off.'
Felt like backstory.
Mana rejector son as officer? Sudden discharge? Not returning home, heading to Gurye?
Oh Jinhyeong summoned his aide.
"Dig deeper on Kim Taeju. Paju situation, Seoraksan Outpost incidents, discharge reason."
"Yes, sir!"
Decide after facts—even if late.
After meeting YJ Drugstore's CEO Jo Hoonseok, Taeju plunged into Jirisan jungle.
Mood soured.
A mere drugstore boss daring to threaten him?
A pharma CEO, maybe.
'No—chaebol chairman or whatever!'
No one got a pass.
Not even the Samhan Emperor.
Absolute Poison Demon Dang Gunak.
His pride pierced the heavens.
Arrogant? Countless times.
Fine.
He earned it.
But current Kim Taeju fell short.
Even inheriting Dang Gunak's memories and experience.
Needed power.
Then scum like Jo Hoonseok wouldn't dare.
Physical strength? Ample.
Time would handle growth.
But as vital as martial arts: money.
Dang Gunak knew money's might.
Without it, no expelling Demonic Cult, dominating the martial world, elevating Sichuan Dang Clan to Central Plains supremacy.
More money, better.
Yes—earn uncontrollably.
Mosquito antidote insufficient.
Taeju fired up his smartphone map app, pushing deeper.
Monsters ambushed en route.
Tzzip!
Leaf-shaped flying dagger from wrist guard.
Kwak!
"Kek!"
Saber-toothed marten, dagger in skull, legs skyward, sprawled.
No need harvesting monster byproducts.
Time sink, hassle.
'Hidden weapons rule.'
Fit like gloves.
Replica of Dang Gunak's arsenal.
'Stick to leaf daggers awhile.'
Most versatile.
Balanced.
Storm flower needles or iron balls lacked raw lethality alone.
Small size; miss vitals, just wound—not instant kill.
Needed poison infusion.
Leaf daggers? Lethal standalone.
Suk!
Taeju yanked dagger from marten's head.
Shook off blood, reholstered.
Skip byproducts; recover weapons.
'One dagger costs.'
Money aside, shortages meant reordering waits.
At 7th stage Hunwon Musang Dokryeong Gong, remote retrieval via qi.
Like air-grab; not there yet—manual it was.
Storm flowers, needles, balls for emergencies.
Area denial.
"Kyak!"
Mottled-fur monster charged from nowhere.
Tzzip!
Instant leaf dagger.
Puk!
'Huh? Dodged?'
Aimed head; hit torso.
Not saber-tooth marten.
It flipped mid-air despite hit, menacing Taeju.
'Oh! Poison claw civet.'
Welcome.
Poisonous monsters always.
Can't one-shot?
Tzzip! Tzpipipit!
Five suffices.
Pupupupuk!
Thud!
Poison claw civet down.
'Not elite.'
Some same-species monsters unusually tough.
Mutant superiors: elite monsters.
This, regular.
Elite encounter?
Simple: poison weapons.
Taeju carefully excised civet's claws.
Nibbled one.
'Sharp.'
Another poison DNA in poison essence.
Animal venom, too.
'Where's the gland...'
Sliced belly.
Poison sac by gall bladder.
Gently harvested, bagged.
Resumed trek.
Jirisan's sticky swelter.
Phantom fox leather coat regulated temp—bearable.
'Need to bag one quick.'
Taeju's goal: spore poison camel musk deer.
Not mighty.
Weaker physique than marten.
Passive monster.
But wave outbreaks? Top human-killers.
Blends animal-plant traits.
Attacked? Back hump bursts, spewing tens of thousands spores.
Tiny as dust; spreads horror.
Deer spores carry seven-spot moth-level toxin.
Invisible; eyes, mouth, nose, even skin contact.
Gas masks? Filters melt.
Toxicity fades over time, but one minute direct exposure: death.
Yet mad hunters pursued them.
For exquisite meat.
No poison outside hump; proper prep yields gourmet.
Rumors draw Imperial officials buying for palace.
Still, best avoid.
Life first.
Passive normally—leaves if ignored.
Waves change it to aggressive.
Imagine hordes blanketing cities in spores.
'Nightmare.'
Make spore poison antidote.
Prep for potential waves.
And taste the meat.
One More Antidote (1) End