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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Demonic Taoist
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⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Name: Mysterious Frost Blade Classification: Level 3 Type: Close-range sword Attribute: Frost Sword – Inflicts slow or stiffen effects based on attribute (stats bound to level) Details: This enigmatic blade, with its peculiar appearance, was the final masterpiece crafted by 'Yeom Byeong-eun,' a former slave of the North Sea Ice Palace who rose to the ranks of master smiths some 150 years ago before his death. The palace lord 'Seol Won-gyeong,' amid the declining fortunes of the North Sea Ice Palace, wielded this Mysterious Frost Blade to propel the sect back to prominence among the strongholds of the Northern Plains. After Seol Won-gyeong's death, his son and successor, 'Seol Ga-chang,' entombed the blade alongside his father's corpse in an ice tomb. Rumors later spread through the martial world that the tomb had been robbed by grave looters, though the North Sea Ice Palace never officially confirmed it.
Oh ho. So the system has this handy feature...
'Meaning there's a list of divine treasures called the 108 Fortuitous Encounters in the system's database, complete with their little backstories.'
It seemed like the system's way of ensuring he wouldn't miss important items.
Han Ibi quickly rummaged through the burly man's belt and pulled out a sword, hoisting it up.
'Eek. It's small, but insanely heavy.'
Indeed.
It was incredibly heavy.
Despite being less than half the size of a normal sword...
At that moment, a cheerful 'ding-dong' melody rang out.
'What's this now?'
He could see a change in his status window.
The icon for the Mysterious Frost Blade among the 108 Fortuitous Encounters had lit up.
Han Ibi's eyes sparkled.
It looked like the 108 Fortuitous Encounters each had their own dedicated storage slot.
'A collection system, huh?'
As expected of a system that had everything.
Judging by that thick, blunt blade, the former North Sea Ice Palace lord Seol Won-gyeong must have been quite the squat fellow.
But...
'How did a mere assassination squad end up with a treasure like this?'
Then another thought struck him.
'These guys... aren't they packing something special? Sure, that weird old man took them down in seconds, but maybe he's just that strong... Plus, the fact that they smashed the Zhongli Clan—people called martial descendants—in an instant means they're no ordinary thugs.'
For some reason, Han Ibi felt like he'd struck gold, and his mood lifted.
'But where do I store this heavy thing?'
Han Ibi decided to tuck the Mysterious Frost Blade into his bosom for now.
In wuxia novels, you always stashed things in your bosom.
But...
'Huh? It's lighter now that it's inside...'
Strangely, he felt no weight at all.
Wondering if something was wrong, Han Ibi reached into his bosom again. The status window activated.
So this was like an inventory!
What an incredibly convenient system!
Han Ibi drew out the Mysterious Frost Blade. The hefty weight returned immediately.
'Aha! It works.'
On a whim, he started searching the masked leader's pockets.
There was a sword. Its edge was sharp enough, but nothing special stood out.
The system showed no reaction to the masked leader's outwardly decent-looking sword.
'Still better than a rusty one.'
Han Ibi pocketed the leader's sword as well.
Over nearly an hour, Han Ibi grunted and heaved the masked assassins' corpses one by one, hurling them off the cliff.
Carrying the burly man was like military ranger training—no joke. He felt like collapsing any second.
But... he endured. And endured some more.
He had to clean up properly to score points with the old man.
Finally, it was the masked leader's turn.
As Han Ibi hoisted him up and headed for the cliff, something caught his eye—dark letters-like markings inside the man's clothing.
'Huh? Did I see that wrong?'
Han Ibi set the corpse back down and peered inside the masked leader's clothes.
'Ah! No mistake.'
Indeed.
Tiny characters and diagrams covered the inside of his robes.
In typical wuxia novels, stuff like this was worth checking out. Han Ibi drew the Mysterious Frost Blade.
Being so short and stubby, it wasn't ideal for slicing sleeves.
He practically tore off the dead leader's sleeve, barely managing to cut sections with the blade.
Anyone watching would have found the sight grotesque.
'Is it okay to do this to a corpse...'
Even so, his hands kept stripping away the clothing.
'Looks crude, but it's impressive.'
He hadn't been mistaken. The inner lining was packed with minuscule script and illustrations.
'This has to be something...'
Han Ibi waited a moment. But the system didn't react.
Probably not one of the 108 Fortuitous Encounters.
'Still... might be worth keeping.'
Han Ibi gave the masked leader a send-off over the sheer cliff and clutched the upper garment tightly.
Then he returned to the cabin.
But... it wasn't over yet.
Bloodstains splattered the dirt floor here and there.
Han Ibi pondered briefly, then plowed them over with the Mysterious Frost Blade.
'Hahaha. I'm a genius after all.'
Not perfect, but the scene looked somewhat natural again.
That was when it happened.
Footsteps approached—thud, thud—and the old man's figure appeared in the distance.
He had a sack slung over his shoulder.
Han Ibi greeted him with an awkward smile. The old man scowled upon seeing him.
"You brat. Still haven't left?"
Han Ibi chuckled sheepishly.
"You must be tired from your trip, but I figured I should clean up thoroughly."
The old man glanced around and strode into the cabin without a word.
'Damn. I slaved all day, and he won't even spare me a look.'
Han Ibi cautiously followed into the cabin.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Han Ibi fell asleep even more tense than before.
Perhaps because of that, even the old man's faint rustling woke him with a start.
The old man was preparing to leave silently, just like yesterday. Han Ibi hurriedly did the same.
He had nothing to pack since he was empty-handed anyway...
Fortunately, the old man didn't chase him away.
He simply strode toward the upper slopes.
Han Ibi hurried after him.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Han Ibi's lungs pounded like they might burst any second.
The thumping echoed in his ears.
'Damn it, does he think he's a squirrel or something? How's he so fast?'
Indeed.
The old man ascended the treacherous slope at an impossibly nimble pace.
Han Ibi trailed desperately, his breath reeking of blood.
'Argh, I can't go any further!'
Just as he was about to give up, the old man stopped.
Han Ibi stared at him, tongue lolling like a dog in midsummer heat, panting heavily. Suddenly, the old man pushed through the dense underbrush.
Han Ibi startled and rushed after him.
But the old man was already crouched down.
Han Ibi bent carefully to see what he was doing.
The old man was digging in the dirt. With both hands, delicately.
What on earth...?
Then, with the gentleness of handling a sleeping infant, he extracted a plant root.
Exactly.
Han Ibi's guess was right. That sauna-like scent from the dried herbs in the cabin.
The old man was an herbalist.
'Could he be practicing poison arts?'
Han Ibi flinched involuntarily.
He'd read countless wuxia novels, and martial experts foraging herbs were usually physicians—or poison users.
'Doesn't look like a physician type at all. So maybe...'
Han Ibi recalled the black eyes he'd glimpsed during the fight with the masked men.
Cold sweat trickled down suddenly.
If he was a poison master, Han Ibi had to watch his every move.
A moment's carelessness could end him in an instant.
The old man stood abruptly and extended his hand. Han Ibi jumped again.
He looked down at the old man's palm.
The sack was there. Clearly, an order to carry it.
So, porter duty.
Haha. Progress, at least.
Han Ibi gladly took the sack.
At once, the old man emerged from the brush at a brisk pace. The mountain march resumed.
Han Ibi clutched his bursting lungs and followed.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Days passed like that. The daily routine barely varied.
Rise at dawn, climb the mountain, gather herbs into the sack, occasionally hunt rabbits or pheasants, process the gathered plants, and hang them in the cabin.
Just once.
Only once.
The old man personally demonstrated gutting a rabbit, removing innards, and boiling it.
After that, Han Ibi had to do the gruesome task himself.
At least he could use the fire starter instead of rubbing sticks like a caveman.
On the seventh day.
Once the old man slept, Han Ibi stepped outside to practice the martial arts of Jong Ri-mae.
If it could even be called practice.
Zhongli Pure Swordsmanship.
Surprisingly, Han Ibi's brain, synced with Jong Ri-mae, remembered it.
Jong Ri-mae had neglected his training so badly that parts were spotty...
Han Ibi drew the Mysterious Frost Blade and tried executing the forms.
But... it was too short. Way too short.
With such short reach and weight, what kind of weapon was this?
Han Ibi suspected the system was trolling him.
'Better to use the masked leader's sword. It's Zhongli Pure Swordsmanship, not saber art. I got greedy listening to that woman.'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Two weeks had passed since intruding into the cabin as an uninvited guest.
He'd built stamina for the treks—no longer the near-death agony of day one.
That alone was a blessing.
'But you know... it's really weird.'
Han Ibi thought to himself.
To him, one weed looked much like another, yet the old man unfailingly picked the valuable medicinal roots.
Of course, that wasn't weird—basic skill for an herbalist.
What struck Han Ibi as odd was the sense that the old man was searching for something specific.
Yes... he was gathering herbs, but it felt like he was after something else too...
Suddenly, Han Ibi called out to the old man ahead.
"Um... Elder."
No reply, naturally. Still, Han Ibi pressed on undeterred.
"By the way... what mountain is this?"
Silence.
After a pause, Han Ibi tried again.
"Is this mountain called...?"
"Idiot."
Eek.
"You roamed around without even knowing the name of the mountain you entered?"
Of course. I'm from Seoul, after all.
"This is Demon Valley Mountain."
"Ahaha... I see. Demon Valley Mountain. Nice name."
A lie. The eerie, rugged peak even oozed demonic energy in its name.
Han Ibi continued.
"But, Elder... it's been a while since I started following you, and I still don't know your name."
The old man remained silent, as expected.
Frustrated, Han Ibi blurted.
"Elder. I have no intention of being a nuisance. But since we're seeing each other every day, at least your name..."
"Song Myeong-cheon. That's my name."
Thud.
Han Ibi was stunned.
Internally, of course.
He'd never appeared directly in Dream of the Ant Snake, but his name cropped up indirectly several times.
According to in-story accounts, Song Myeong-cheon was once a promising Qingcheng Sect Taoist, exiled for grave sins.
He later forsook even his Taoist vows, attempting to assassinate Wudang Sect Leader Tak Bu-yong, the noble and benevolent figurehead.
The attempt failed, but he slew numerous orthodox experts in the process.
The incident lived on as a 'shocking terrorist act' in martial artists' memories, cementing his status as a public enemy.
That's how he earned the moniker Demonic Taoist.
And now... he was traveling with that very man!
"Ah, yes, Elder. I see. Your name exudes dignity."
"Hmph. Spare me the flattery. I despise that nonsense."
"Yes, yes. Understood. But, Elder."
"..."
"Are you looking for a specific herb? I noticed last time too..."
Song Myeong-cheon suddenly bellowed.
"Want to die right now? I humored you a few times because you seemed harmless, and now you climb all over me?!"
Han Ibi clammed up, cowed.
But he realized it. The old man was definitely searching for something...
(To be continued)