Master Lin’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Yu Ryang, realizing the man had no intention of negotiating in good faith. “Twenty-five for the town’s protection?” he repeated, his voice strained with controlled frustration.
Yu Ryang leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands in a mock display of generosity. “Of course. We can’t let the town go unprotected, can we? Bandits are everywhere these days… and I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen.”
Master Lin clenched his jaw, his expression tense as he weighed the options before him. Resistance would only invite more trouble for his town, and he knew it. With a heavy sigh, he nodded. “Fine. Twenty-five gold coins it is,” he agreed. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “However, other terms—such as recruiting the young men of the town or allowing free access to our homes—are off the table.”
Yu Ryang’s smile widened as if he found the statement amusing. “Master Lin, I respect you, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting special treatment. I pride myself on being a fair leader,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of false sincerity. “However, I can agree to one thing—young men under the age of 20 won’t be recruited. But as for free access, that’s non-negotiable. My men need to be able to move freely. If they’re lost in the forest, they should have a safe place to rest. Being able to enter homes and sleep there is a privilege I offer to all of my Brotherhood members.”
Before Master Lin could respond, one of the bandits standing by Yu Ryang’s side, a younger man, snickered and added, “Yeah, and sleeping alongside the women in the house, too.”
The crude comment echoed in the room, cutting through the tension. Master Lin’s eyes sharpened, his stare piercing like a blade. The young bandit froze, feeling the weight of Lin’s gaze as if he were standing before a seasoned warrior ready to tear him apart. Yu Ryang, sensing the danger, quickly intervened. “Shut up, you fool!” he barked, glaring at the bandit. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”
The young man recoiled in fear as Yu Ryang turned back to Master Lin, sweat beading on his forehead despite his attempt to maintain a pleasant demeanor. “For that… disrespect, I’ll do what I can to restrict their access,” he said with a strained smile, clearly trying to salvage the situation.
Master Lin remained stone-faced, his voice calm but carrying a quiet menace. “We’ll see how well they sleep,” he said, signing the agreement with an intensity that felt like a promise of retribution. He stood up, gripping his cane as he limped toward the door. Without another word, he left, his silent departure carrying more weight than any threat could.
As soon as the door closed behind Master Lin, Yu Ryang’s forced calm evaporated. He turned on his assistant, fury burning in his eyes. “What were you thinking?!” he snarled, kicking the young man hard enough to send him stumbling. “Did I give you permission to speak?!”
The assistant, still on the ground, stammered, “But, senior brother Yu Ryang, why are you so afraid? He’s just an old man!”
Yu Ryang shot him a sharp glare, his voice lowering dangerously. “Just an old man? Do you know who that ‘old man’ is? He’s Lin Cho, a retired Imperial Commander. He served directly under the Imperial Guard.”
The assistant blinked in shock, struggling to understand. “But… if he’s so powerful, why would he retire to such a remote place?”
Yu Ryang sighed, his anger simmering as he explained. “He retired here because his wife didn’t want to leave these mountains where she grew up. He stayed even after her death, living here quietly with his daughter.”
The assistant still didn’t seem convinced. “But he’s just one man, even if he’s a great strategist. How much harm could he really do to us?”
Yu Ryang’s expression darkened. “You fool! He may be one man, but he’s no ordinary man. If he chooses to fight us, he could do serious damage. Lin Cho might not win, but he would tear through our ranks before he falls. A man like him could take on at least thirty of our men single-handedly, even in his current state.”
The assistant paled at the thought. Yu Ryang wasn’t finished, though. “Now get up. Your punishment isn’t over.” He loomed over the young bandit, rage still simmering beneath his calm exterior, prepared to remind the man of the consequences of underestimating an opponent like Lin Cho.
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The weight of Lin Cho’s presence lingered in Yu Ryang’s mind. The Greenwood Brotherhood might control the Jing Mountains, but even they weren’t immune to the dangers posed by a man like that.
Meanwhile, as the sun dipped behind the peaks of the Jing Mountains, casting long shadows over the rugged terrain, Shun and Gu prepared for another expedition into the depths of the cave. Shun and Gu packed extra supplies this time—more water than before, along with a handful of berries they’d foraged earlier that day.
After lighting their torches, they shared a nod of understanding, and without a word, they ventured deeper into the dark, twisting tunnels, the flickering flames of their torches casting eerie shadows on the jagged stone walls.
Back at the entrance, Tao settled into her guard post, keeping watch for any sign of danger. She sat cross-legged near the cave’s opening, her eyes darting between the surrounding forest and the path leading into the cave, her senses alert for any intruders.
Minho, meanwhile, retreated into the small hut, pretending to settle down for the night. But sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. She had a much more pressing problem—her [Smartphone].
Her only connection to the vast, near-infinite knowledge of the [Internet], and if the battery died, she would lose access to everything it offered. Her stomach churned with anxiety at the thought. She had to find a way to charge it, or all the valuable information it held would be lost to her.
Once she was certain Tao was focused on her guard duty and wouldn’t check on her, Minho carefully pulled the [Smartphone] out of her pocket. She pressed the side button, and the screen came to life with a soft glow, illuminating her face in the dim light of the cave.
Her eyes darted to the top right corner of the screen, where the battery indicator showed 24%—a drop of 1% since the night before. The situation was becoming dire. At this rate, she wouldn’t be able to use the phone for much longer. A knot tightened in her chest as she remembered something she’d noted down from earlier explorations of the device. There was a [Battery] option in the [Settings] menu.
With a quick swipe of her finger, she navigated to [Settings], her hands slightly shaking with urgency. Once there, she tapped on [Battery], and a series of options appeared before her. As usual, it took her time to read and comprehend the information, jotting notes down carefully as she did so.
The [Battery] screen showed her the current condition of the device’s power supply, along with various settings like [Battery Saver], which was already turned on due to the low battery percentage. But what caught Minho’s eye—and offered her a brief moment of relief—was the estimated remaining time for the battery's life.
It read: 2 days and 3 hours.
Her heart raced with a mix of relief and tension. Two days. That was how long she had before the phone would completely run out of power. It wasn’t much, but at least it wasn’t imminent. The countdown had begun, and she had 48 hours to find a solution.
Exiting [Settings] with a quick tap of the back button, Minho immediately opened the [Browser] by tapping the familiar icon. Once inside, she clicked on the [URL Bar], her fingers hovering above the screen in hesitation. Next to her, the Kalie Language book, her scattered notes, and a charred piece of firewood sat ready—tools she’d been using in her efforts to decipher the strange language. Writing in this new tongue was like piecing together fragments of an unfamiliar puzzle. She had to get it right, or her question would remain lost in translation.
Determined, Minho leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had tried writing phrases and sentences from her notes and the language book on the firewood, practicing as if she were etching knowledge into the cave walls of her mind. Now, it was time to test what she had learned. If she could figure out how to phrase the right question, the vast archives of the [Internet] would reveal their secrets to her.
With her heart pounding, she typed into the [URL Bar] the broken phrase: “refill [Smartphone] [Battery] no [Charger].” She held her breath, unsure if the jumble of words would make any sense.
To her surprise, the [Internet] responded with something far more coherent than her original attempt. The system, with its seemingly endless wisdom, corrected her broken request.
“Did you mean: How to recharge [Smartphone] [Battery] with no [Charger]?”
Minho blinked, astonished. She hadn't expected the [Internet] to be so intuitive, so forgiving of her mistakes. Relief washed over her, but there was no time to celebrate. Her eyes scanned the screen, locking onto the first result, a [Website] that seemed promising.
Taking her time, Minho began reading, translating what she could with her notes. It seemed to be some sort of guide. The sentences were difficult, but after struggling through several lines, she gathered that it was written by someone who knew how to survive in harsh conditions—someone who, like her, needed to find a way to recharge the [Smartphone] without the strange “charger” it required.
One section, in particular, captured her attention. It described something called an [Acidic Battery], a device made from common materials that could generate power. Minho didn’t understand all of the details, but she grasped the basic concept: using certain metals and something acidic, she could create enough energy to recharge the [Smartphone].
Her heart raced as her mind pieced together the instructions. The words described how to use metal pieces—specifically copper and iron—alongside something acidic, like certain fruits, to generate a flow of energy. It was similar to the way she would use flint to spark a fire, she realized. It was a method of creating power from basic materials. And while she didn’t fully understand the science behind it, the instructions seemed clear enough for her to follow.
The realization sparked hope inside her. She mentally checked off the items she would need. The acidic fruits mentioned in the guide—could the berries she likes, They were extremely sour, help in powering the device? As for the metals, Minho remembered something.
Gu and Shun had just returned from their expedition into the tunnel deeper inside the cave, and they had brought back a collection of metallic scraps they found near the strange door. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now it seemed like fate had placed exactly what she needed right into her hands.
With renewed determination, Minho began to formulate a plan. She would need to gather the sour berries and test if they were strong enough to create the acidic effect the guide described. Then, she would need to carefully inspect the metals Gu and Shun brought back—perhaps they contained copper or iron that she could use. She didn’t know how long it would take or if it would even work, but she had no other choice.
Two days, she reminded herself, glancing at the dimly lit [Battery] icon on the screen. Two days to figure this out before the [Smartphone] became a useless mirror.