TFN C64

Chapter 64

Fidgeting irritably, Wonhyo fanned the hem of his jacket before reaching into the half-open coat he had practically stripped off. Something crackled faintly inside.

He felt the smooth edge of paper beneath his fingers.

“Right… I put them in here earlier.”

Frowning, he checked through the talismans he had stuffed into his pocket, searching for anything that might still be useful.

Most of them were spirit-suppressing charms—precautions he’d prepared for emergencies.

“I should’ve just slapped one of these on that NPC instead of accepting the quest,” he muttered under his breath, half in regret.

But he shook his head almost immediately, banishing the thought. What was done was done.

With a sigh, he fanned the hem of his fleece shirt to try cooling his body down.

“Anyway, if the next trial’s supposed to involve fruit, I wonder how far we still have to go.”

At that, Cheongmun blinked and tilted his head upward.

Something about his reaction made Wonhyo look up as well.

“What the—”

Clusters of bright red berries hung above them.

They were crimson like strawberries, yet bunched together like grapes. Under the sunlight, their skins gleamed iridescently, almost like pearls.

Just looking at them made Wonhyo imagine biting into one and feeling a flood of sweet juice burst over his tongue.

“They’re probably poisonous, right?”

He muttered with the same bitterness as a fox staring up at unreachable grapes.

Anything that vivid and beautiful in the wild was best avoided—like brightly colored mushrooms, they were nature’s warning signs.

Cheongmun stood up and plucked one of the smaller, shriveled fruits near the cluster of ripe ones.

[]

A fruit containing five distinct flavors. One berry will stave off hunger entirely. Effective for relieving thirst and fatigue.

“Fresh Omija,” Cheongmun said evenly.

“Wait—seriously?”

Wonhyo’s voice cracked in disbelief.

A fruit that could actually be eaten?

And not just edible—it relieved hunger, thirst, and fatigue.

His pulse quickened.

The description appearing meant it was a real item.

Just one berry could keep him full? That sounded like a miracle.

“Do you want to eat it?” Cheongmun asked with a faint smile.

“I want to sell it,” Wonhyo replied immediately.

If he could harvest the whole tree and take the berries outside, he could make a fortune.

He could already picture them on the Hunter Market, branded as the next revolutionary diet supplement.

It was greed triumphing over appetite—but somehow, that wasn’t comforting.

Wonhyo reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his talismans. Pressing it against his lips, he murmured a short incantation.

The charm sealed itself in place with a faint hiss.

He stood up, muffled by the seal on his mouth. “Mmph!”

He jerked his chin toward the downhill path. Cheongmun immediately understood and rose, brushing off his coat.

Tears pricked Wonhyo’s eyes as he walked away from what could’ve been his one-in-a-lifetime jackpot—but he didn’t regret placing the sealing charm on his lips.

If he hadn’t, he might’ve been tempted to start plucking fruit and carrying them off by the handful.

He’d kept two of the old man’s warnings so far. Only one remained.

Leaving the shade of the trees behind, Wonhyo glanced up at the sky.

It was an unbroken expanse of blue, cloudless and serene—certainly not one that looked ready to rain. But he knew better. When the time came, the clouds would gather.

Without looking back, he started down toward the village.

“Hah—hah!”

His lungs burned. His head felt like it would explode.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced one foot in front of the other.

The bundle, once as light as a feather, had grown so heavy it felt like carrying a massive boulder pressing down on his chest.

“Let’s rest for a bit,” Cheongmun said quietly, steadying the burden with his hands.

The sudden relief from weight allowed Wonhyo to draw in a shaky breath.

He wiped the rain-slick sweat from his forehead, grateful that he’d removed the sealing charm earlier. If he’d kept it on any longer, it might’ve suffocated him.

“If only I could help you carry it like this the whole way,” Cheongmun murmured.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Wonhyo said, half laughing, half sighing.

But they both knew it wasn’t possible.

The moment Cheongmun touched the bundle, Wonhyo’s feet had frozen in place—as if nailed to the ground.

The quest wouldn’t even let him pretend to share the load.

As if to remind him: This is your job quest. Yours alone.

Groaning under his breath, Wonhyo hefted the bundle again with both arms.

A brief rest was enough. His legs felt steadier now.

“We’re almost there,” Cheongmun said. “Look—there’s the pavilion.”

“The pavilion?”

Wonhyo had been so focused on moving his legs that he hadn’t noticed his surroundings. Now he looked up—and sure enough, far below, stood the same hexagonal pavilion they had seen from the mountain earlier.

“Wow…”

It wasn’t a happy exclamation.

More like disbelief.

“We really made it,” he breathed.

“Yes,” Cheongmun replied. “Which means it’s about to start raining.”

Wonhyo followed his gaze to the sky. Dark clouds had begun to gather—humid and heavy, pressing low but still holding back the rain.

Then—

Kwarreung! Boom!

Thunder cracked so violently it made the ground tremble.

Wonhyo flinched, trembling as he kept moving.

If he stopped walking, he felt like the rain might stop too.

So he pressed forward, one foot after another, slow but unyielding.

When the pavilion finally came into view, thick raindrops began to fall.

The first one struck his forehead; instinctively, he tilted his head back and stuck out his tongue.

But the drops were too sparse to drink.

Then, as if the sky had heard him—

The rain intensified, crashing down like a waterfall.

Shhhhhhh!

The droplets were so heavy they stung against his skin.

Wonhyo paused, wondering if he should pull his hood up.

“Let’s take cover for a moment,” Cheongmun suggested, opening his coat slightly.

Wonhyo looked at him—and shook his head.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to avoid the rain.”

He had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the downpour.

Cheongmun looked at him, then slowly folded his coat again.

He took off his gloves, cupped his hands, and caught some of the rainwater.

“Drink,” he said.

Wonhyo hesitated, staring at the small pool forming in Cheongmun’s palms.

When Cheongmun brought it close to his lips, Wonhyo closed his eyes—and drank.

The cool water ran down his parched throat, washing away the burning dryness.

No system message appeared. No curse, no status effect.

“Want another?”

Wonhyo nodded eagerly.

He drank again, just enough to soothe his throat. The metallic taste of blood that had lingered in his mouth was gone now.

Cheongmun also lifted his hands to the sky, catching and drinking the rain himself.

Wonhyo exhaled deeply.

“So… we’re not even allowed to cover ourselves from the rain?”

Cheongmun asked, pushing his wet hair back and removing his fogged glasses.

Wonhyo hesitated, then nodded.

“I think anything that resists the rain counts as breaking the rule. It’s falling from the heavens—we can’t reject it.”

Cheongmun frowned faintly, still looking unconvinced.

“This has to do with the thing you couldn’t tell me before, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s from—wait.”

Wonhyo froze.

He had tried to mouth the words again, expecting silence—but his voice actually came out.

Startled, he stopped mid-sentence, then quickly spoke again.

“It’s from an old muga—a shamanic song.”

“A muga?”

“Yeah. It’s a kind of ritual song that tells sacred stories. There’s one from Hamgyeong Province called the Legend of Yeongsan Gaksi.”

He had been uncertain at first, but when he heard the old man’s warnings, the memory had struck him like lightning.

“Muga songs often carry old myths,” he continued. “Like the story of Princess Bari—how she crossed the underworld to become a goddess who guides the dead. Or other tales about shamans who wander the mountains to pray and appease spirits.”

Such stories were not just myths; they explained why shamans performed certain rituals—how they calmed restless souls and drove out evil by channeling divine power.

“The Yeongsan Gaksi story is similar,” Wonhyo said softly. “It’s about why a shaman must journey through the mountains to offer prayers. It teaches that humans shouldn’t try to force nature to obey them.”

Cheongmun’s expression twitched. “And the husband in that story—why was he like that?”

Wonhyo grimaced.

The husband in the Yeongsan Gaksi tale had received the same warnings they did—

but he drank the clear water, ate all the forbidden fruit, and took shelter from the rain.

In the end, he was cursed.

“Well,” Wonhyo muttered, “let’s just say there’s never been a sensible husband in those stories.”

Cheongmun gave a faint smile.

“In any case,” Wonhyo continued, “that’s why we can’t go against nature here. We’ve done well so far, and I don’t plan to ruin it at the end.”

Cheongmun nodded once, glancing between the bundle in Wonhyo’s arms and the steep slope that remained.

“Understood.”

Knowing there wasn’t much farther to go, Wonhyo gathered the last of his strength and pushed on.

Kwarreung—BOOM!

Lightning split the sky.

The world alternated between blinding brightness and darkness as thunder crashed around them, echoing like the wrath of heaven itself.

“Almost there,” Wonhyo gasped. “Just a little further. We’re almost there.”

He realized they had finally left the mountain trail—but he didn’t stop.

The rain still poured.

Moments ago, he had been burning alive in the heat—

now, he longed desperately for warmth.

📝 Notes:

• Muga (무가) – Traditional Korean shamanic chants or ritual songs that recount myths of deities and spirits. 
• Yeongsan Gaksi (영산 각시) – “Bride of Yeongsan,” a Hamgyeong Province shamanic legend about respecting natural order; often used to warn against defying divine or natural law. 
• Omija (오미자) – Literally “five-flavor berry,” a real Korean fruit known for its combination of sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and pungent tastes; symbolically tied to vitality and purification in folklore.