TFN C63

Chapter 63

Cheongmun’s eyes narrowed as he watched Wonhyo open and close his mouth soundlessly.

“There’s a restriction preventing you from speaking about the quest, isn’t there?”

Wonhyo nodded.

“And you understand what that old man’s warnings meant?”

He nodded again.

“Then that’s fine. It seems like all we have to do is avoid doing what he told us not to do, correct?”

Wonhyo silently mouthed a few words again, then sighed in frustration at being unable to respond properly. Finally, he gestured with his hands.

Cheongmun turned and examined the path leading down the mountain.

Clusters of thatched rooftops could be seen below, huddled together like miniature models of a quiet village.

With a single movement skill, they could reach it in less than a minute.

He raised his hand to summon a cube—but only dark wisps of energy seeped from his fingertips. The skill didn’t activate.

He recalled the old man’s warnings—

the advice for when they became thirsty, or hungry.

It seemed unlikely that reaching the village would take long enough for those things to matter, yet somehow, he suspected it would.

“My skills are sealed,” Cheongmun said, “and so is the inventory.”

Wonhyo, startled, waved his hand to test it—and gasped.

“I should’ve taken out a bottle of water first!”

He recalled the message about the quest’s difficulty having risen and felt another surge of irritation.

“It’s probably because of that difficulty increase,” Cheongmun reasoned calmly.

“That’s usually how it works. Besides, if you had left the water outside your inventory, it might’ve been contaminated by now. The old man told us how to tell which water is safe to drink, so we shouldn’t be in danger.”

He briefly explained how the Tower’s air was notorious for contaminating food and water. Anything not immediately consumed after being taken out of storage became risky.

Wonhyo’s shoulders slumped.

The village was visible in the distance, yet the path ahead felt heavy—foreboding. The sight of it brought no relief.

It felt as if he were walking toward the underworld itself, disguised under peaceful sunlight.

Still, he had no choice but to continue.

The bundle he carried was a small chest wrapped in a cloth.

He didn’t know what material the chest was made of, but it felt solid and compact, with no sound from within.

Despite that, it was light enough to carry easily in one hand.

As the low shrubs along the path gave way to towering trees that loomed overhead, something strange happened.

The once feather-light bundle began to change.

“Huh?”

Wonhyo stopped walking, lifting and lowering his arm as he inspected it.

“It’s getting heavier.”

The weight continued to grow even as he tried to explain the situation to Cheongmun.

“Let me see it.”

Cheongmun reached out his hands.

Wonhyo, bracing his arms, passed the bundle toward him.

Cheongmun grasped the chest with both hands—but when Wonhyo tried to let go, his fingers refused to move.

“What the—?”

When he finally pulled his hand back, the chest came with it, clinging to his fingers as though glued there. Even when he shook his arm, it wouldn’t budge.

“Seems like the quest allowed me to accompany you,” Cheongmun said, “but not to take over your task.”

Of course—it was a job quest.

Wonhyo had already guessed as much, but still couldn’t let go of the faint hope that maybe Cheongmun could carry it instead.

No such luck.

He sighed and adjusted his grip. The bundle was now too heavy for one arm, so he had to cradle it with both.

He could feel it in his bones—

this was only the beginning.

“‘If you grow thirsty, drink cloudy water, not clear.’”

He murmured the old man’s words under his breath.

And with that, they began walking toward their first trial.

Waves of heat shimmered in the air.

Though a faint breeze slipped through the half-unzipped front of Wonhyo’s jacket, it offered little comfort.

He panted heavily, glancing up at the sky.

Judging from the shadows, the sun should have still been high above—but it felt as though it was right overhead, searing through his skull.

Cheongmun, who had draped his coat over one arm, fanned himself lazily, but all it did was stir more hot air.

“Would it help to take off your pants?” he asked, completely serious.

It was a practical suggestion—if Wonhyo couldn’t remove his jacket while holding the bundle, perhaps he could at least do without the thick winter trousers.

For a moment, Wonhyo was tempted. Then he shook his head quickly.

The temperature and humidity had risen sharply, as if winter had turned to midsummer in an instant.

It didn’t just feel like a rainforest—it was as hot as one.

But he couldn’t expose his skin here.

Even though this wasn’t some ridiculous punishment game, he had a strange, uneasy feeling that if he took his pants off, the next thing to go would be his shirt.

“I’ll manage,” he muttered.

He hefted the bundle in his arms again.

The path, which had looked so short from above, stretched endlessly onward.

The heat pressed against his skin like a suffocating blanket, but he wasn’t at his limit yet.

He clenched his teeth and kept moving.

His throat was dry—so dry it felt as if the moisture had been wrung from every cell in his body.

A few minutes later, Cheongmun raised a hand.

“I hear running water.”

That could only mean one thing—drinkable water nearby.

Reinvigorated by hope, Wonhyo quickened his pace despite the heat dragging at his limbs.

The sound grew clearer.

They followed it until a small spring appeared beside the trail, trickling down from a large rock in two narrow streams.

“One’s clear… the other’s murky?” Wonhyo said, squinting.

But the “murky” water wasn’t at all what he’d imagined.

He’d expected muddy brown water—but instead, it was a thick, bubbling green, frothing like something toxic.

Cheongmun crouched down to inspect it, since Wonhyo couldn’t use his hands.

[]

Water suitable for drinking. Restores stamina upon consumption.

[]

Infused with the aura of death. Drinking it may cause poisoning (99.9% chance).

Wonhyo blinked and swallowed hard, his parched throat aching.

“So we can’t drink either of them,” Cheongmun said matter-of-factly.

It made sense. The “underworld water” would practically burn a hole through his throat.

He imagined it vividly enough to feel it already.

“I’d take some with me, just in case,” Cheongmun mused, “but…”

“…my hand would probably rot off the moment it touched that,” Wonhyo finished.

With their inventories locked, they had no bottles, no flasks—nothing but their bare hands.

And he didn’t even want to touch that color, let alone drink it.

Just looking at the water made his thirst worse.

He licked his lips and turned away. “We should just keep going.”

He wasn’t supposed to drink the clear water anyway.

If he had to choose between the two, he might as well drink poison—but in truth, neither was required.

“The old man said you can drink it,” Cheongmun reminded him.

Wonhyo shook his head.

“He said we can, not that we should. I could drink it once, sure—but I doubt I’d get a second chance after that.”

Cheongmun’s eyes softened slightly. “Are you very thirsty?”

Wonhyo licked his lips again before answering. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I see.”

Cheongmun’s eyes narrowed, a thought forming behind them.

“If you can’t drink water,” he said, “perhaps we can try something else.”

Wonhyo blinked. “You have a way?”

Truthfully, his throat felt like it was tearing open from the dryness, so any suggestion sounded like salvation.

He looked up expectantly.

Cheongmun’s lips curved faintly.

“Open your mouth.”

Wonhyo froze. The words struck an uncanny sense of déjà vu.

Still, uncertain but obedient, he parted his lips slightly.

Without hesitation, Cheongmun leaned forward.

A warm tongue pressed between his lips, sliding against his parched mouth.

The sudden wetness sent a shiver through his nerves, dulling the ache of thirst.

Soft, wet sounds filled the air.

Cheongmun’s lips moved over his—sometimes biting lightly, sometimes pulling gently—and Wonhyo’s breath hitched.

His tongue tangled with Cheongmun’s, and he swallowed unconsciously, throat working as if to drink in the moisture.

Each time he did, the lips pressing against his moved again, slow and deliberate, as if praising him.

By the time their mouths finally parted, his throat felt cool and wet again.

“How do you feel?” Cheongmun asked quietly.

“…Better,” Wonhyo admitted.

“Good,” said Cheongmun with a small nod. “If that hadn’t worked, I had another method in mind.”

Wonhyo didn’t dare ask what that other method might have been.

But his gaze involuntarily dipped lower, and his spine prickled with memory—

of dreams where mouths and skin had met in far more dangerous ways.

“Haha… No, this was plenty. Let’s just keep going.”

Wonhyo quickened his pace, leaving the small spring behind.

The first trial had passed. The second would come soon.

The heat, however, only intensified.

Even the wind had stilled, leaving their clothes drenched in sweat. Still, he refused to stop.

Even as the bundle grew heavier in his arms—

“Ugh!”

By now, it was so heavy he could barely stand straight.

He trudged forward, one slow step at a time.

Just when the dizziness became unbearable, they came upon a patch of deep, cool shade beneath a massive tree.

“…Let’s rest a moment before continuing,” Cheongmun suggested, glancing at Wonhyo’s pale face.

He helped him sit down, and Wonhyo collapsed heavily, fanning himself weakly with his free hand.

“I could kill for an iced coffee right now,” he muttered. “An iced Americano, extra cold.”

Just one glass—floating with ice cubes—would’ve made life worth living again.

Instead, he was sitting there in a thick winter coat, halfway through a hellish quest, fighting the urge to vomit from exhaustion.