Chapter 5: The King of Yulsi Mountain

And so, a man and a massive tiger stood side by side on the rugged mountainside, peering down at the carriage approaching from the valley far below.

As could be seen from their high vantage point, the carriage had barely reached the mouth of the pass as twilight descended.

Normally, Yun-jo would not have been here at all.

In reality, he only slept during the night, meaning most of the time he spent in this realm transpired during the bright hours of the day.

By this late hour, he would typically have already woken up and departed.

Thus, the timing had proven miraculously fortunate.

Had the carriage arrived when he was absent, Beom-il alone would never have tolerated such a sight in his domain.

‘Hurry up and pass through already.’

Yun-jo urged the procession forward in his mind.

Suddenly, Beom-il stood straight up, his golden eyes fixing sharply on the distant foothills.

The tiger’s vision was far superior to Yun-jo’s, meaning he had clearly spotted something alarming.

“Grrrr…!”

“What is it?”

Surprised by a growl far more menacing than the one directed at the carriage, Yun-jo turned his head to follow Beom-il’s line of sight and caught a glimpse of something deeply unusual.

In the distance, a thick cloud of dust surged into the sky.

From the foot of the mountain, it spread with frightening speed, and through the hazy trail, a large band of mounted riders was rapidly closing in on the carriage.

The exact same thing was happening on the opposite end of the path.

Yun-jo muttered under his breath.

“Oh, this is bad.”

Bukryeong and the other northern regions of Baekyang were separated from the realm by vast, impassable mountain ranges, making travel arduous; due to the vast distance from the imperial capital, the regional county towns had long been neglected by the central court.

Even the official taxes, meant to be collected annually, had recently been reduced to once every three or four years.

Furthermore, bands of mounted horse bandits roaming freely were a persistent plague.

Once targeted on the deserted roads spanning over a hundred li, travelers had virtually no way to escape.

Consequently, reports of the populace’s suffering and heavy casualties had been pouring into the local offices.

That rising dust cloud was not caused by a sudden gust of wind, but by the dreaded horse bandits of Bukryeong.

Realizing that their path was blocked from both front and rear, the carriage came to a jarring halt.

With a sharp whistle, the team of horses pulling the octagonal carriage halted in their tracks, and the heavy supply wagons behind them followed suit.

Not only did the servants driving the horses leap down, but sturdy guards clad in light leather armor also poured out from the wagons; several moved to protect the cargo and horses, while the remainder formed a tight defensive circle around the octagonal carriage.

The sliding window of the octagonal carriage burst open, and an elderly man thrust his head out, raising a panicked fuss.

“What is the meaning of this commotion! Stopping the carriage so abruptly will cause terrible discomfort to the young master!”

“It is a band of horse bandits, Senior Steward!”

At the servant’s panicked shout, the old man flinched, asking in disbelief, “Horse bandits? What nonsense are you speaking? Could you be mistaken?”

“It is certain! It appears they stalked us all the way from the foot of the mountain!”

“How many are there?”

“Well… it is difficult to tell through the dust, but they vastly outnumber us!”

One servant glanced back nervously, and the others nodded in fearful agreement.

“There are at least thirty of them!”

“Aye! To my eyes, it is easily over thirty—perhaps closer to forty!”

“Oh dear heavens, since when…”

The octagonal carriage clearly belonged to a high-ranking official, and the steeds pulling it were rare, exceptional thoroughbreds.

The three cargo wagons following behind were equally laden with precious goods.

With trade routes cutting through Bukryeong recently severed, the famished bandits would undoubtedly drool over such prime prey.

They must have spotted the wealthy procession somewhere along the lower trails and shadowed them until the optimal moment.

Yet something remained distinctly unnatural.

No matter how reckless or bold these horse bandits were, they never dared set foot on Yulsi Mountain.

Yulsi Mountain was the domain where the grand white tiger resided.

No traveler had ever heard of bandits operating on a mountain guarded by an apex predator.

Indeed, merchants and travelers crossing Bukryeong frequently took the rough path through Yulsi Mountain precisely to avoid bandit ambushes.

Though the terrain was treacherous, it was far safer as long as one knew the tracks.

Thus, the tiger and the mountain master were widely believed to be the divine guardians of Yulsi Mountain.

The party accompanying the octagonal carriage had reasoned the same way.

They had chosen the rugged, punishing mountain trail over the wider, easier roads running through the open plains specifically to avoid this exact catastrophe.

The bandits, now closing the gap, surged forward with bloodthirsty roars.

The elderly steward slammed the window shut and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Form a perimeter around the carriage! Let no one near! If we can hold out until nightfall, garrison troops from the regional office will arrive! Stand your ground until then!”

Every guard drew their steel and struck back.

A brutal, chaotic skirmish erupted.

Blinded by the prospect of acquiring priceless plunder after a long drought, the bandits showed no intention of retreating.

The guards defending the carriage were all well-trained martial artists, each individually superior to the lawless bandits, but they were hopelessly outnumbered.

With dozens pressing the attack simultaneously, the defensive line was bound to collapse before long.

Suddenly, a massive dark shadow blanketed the men struggling in the choking dust.

A majestic beast materialized upon the sunset-lit slope.

It was a giant white tiger, silhouetted against the crimson horizon as it cast an imposing shadow across the road.

Bathed in golden light, the white tiger looked down upon the mortals and unleashed a deafening, thunderous roar that shook the very roots of the mountains, making it feel as if the heavens themselves were collapsing.

Bandits and defenders alike trembled in utter terror, their vision turning dark from the sheer pressure.

In that exact breath, a figure dressed in pure white landed soundlessly in the very center of the fray.

When the stunned men regained their senses and looked closely, his attire proved remarkably simple.

He wore plain black shoes and a unadorned white robe, devoid of any hood or headpiece.

His dark hair was gathered neatly behind him.

There was no emblem indicating noble rank, and he seemed to hold no regard for formal court etiquette.

Yet the man did not appear lowly in the slightest.

Instead, he radiated an ethereal, unapproachable dignity.

Exuding a mystery that made him seem entirely detached from the mortal plane, the onlookers suddenly gasped as realization struck them like a physical blow.

“Manra…!”

“It’s Manra!”

The bandits stumbled backward in sheer horror.

Though none of them had ever laid eyes upon him, they had all heard the legendary rumors.

The legendary figure who commanded the wild white tiger—the undisputed king of the mountain.

He was the absolute ruler of Yulsi Mountain, Manra.

Yun-jo had been able to land gracefully upon the dusty path without stirring up a single grain of dirt due to his continuously upgraded physical attributes, which had long since transcended human limits.

Although his character creation had been wildly unbalanced, granting him godlike power, Yun-jo had not truly comprehended until this moment just how completely his physical capabilities surpassed those of ordinary mortals.

He quickly realized, however, that he had leaped down from an absurdly high ledge.

Standing on the dirt trail and gazing back upward, the rocky cliff face he had just jumped from was dizzyingly steep.

‘This is all Beom-il’s fault,’ Yun-jo grumbled inwardly, shifting the blame onto his innocent companion.

He had spent so much time moving alongside Beom-il that he had unconsciously adapted to match the wild beast’s incredible mobility.

When traveling with a monster, leaping down sheer cliffs or balancing effortlessly on jagged crags was second nature.

Since he always viewed this world as a dream, he assumed such feats were naturally possible and felt no need to exercise caution, resulting in him bounding across mountain peaks on a daily basis.

Thus, a moment ago, he had simply stepped off the cliff edge without giving it a second thought.

He had completely failed to consider how terrifyingly inhuman that display would appear to ordinary people.

The immediate result was precisely what unfolded.

“Manra…!”

“It’s Manra!”

The bandits gaped at Yun-jo with pale, blank expressions, as if staring at a divine entity descended from the heavens.

Without him lifting a single finger, the majority of the bandits stumbled backward in sheer terror before turning to flee for their lives as Beom-il let out another deafening roar.

Those who failed to run collapsed onto their backsides or dropped to their knees, trembling uncontrollably.

As the chaos swiftly subsided, the elderly steward stepped down from the octagonal carriage, approached with deep reverence, and bowed until his forehead nearly touched his hands.

“Thank you, divine master! How can we ever hope to repay such profound kindness…”

“Ah, no, please.”

Yun-jo felt intensely awkward receiving such overwhelming gratitude when he had barely done anything.

He turned toward the old man, intending to politely brush off the praise.

Just then, a stray arrow tore through the air from behind the steward with a sharp, lethal whistle.

Yun-jo dodged the projectile effortlessly with a fluid twist of his body, then bent down in a flash to swat the arrow out of its trajectory with a dry twig he snatched from the dirt.

His reaction speed was flawless and lightning-fast.

That in itself was fine, but the deflected arrow unluckily flew straight into the carriage’s side window.

The delicate wooden lattice shattered with a loud crash, falling to pieces.

The old steward and Yun-jo both turned pale simultaneously.

Yun-jo hurriedly looked toward the damage, while the old steward rushed frantically back to the door.

“Oh dear heavens! Young master!”

‘Young master?’

Hearing only the term ‘young master,’ Yun-jo could not immediately guess the person’s exact age, his brow furrowing slightly.

Was the honored guest merely a child?

Yun-jo pushed past the panicked steward and closed the distance to the carriage.

“Hey! Are you alright in there?”

“…”

No voice answered.

‘Is he actually hurt?’ Yun-jo began to worry.

If the passenger was not too young, an arrow that had already been deflected and lost its kinetic force should have been easy enough to dodge—but he could not take any chances.

In his sudden urgency, Yun-jo stepped onto the footboard and, without asking for permission, swept aside the thick hanging curtain.

The dark interior instantly lit up, flooded by the deep crimson glow of the setting sun.

Yun-jo’s eyes locked directly onto the figure sitting inside.

The person wore a deep black, wide-brimmed gauze hat—a fine Nahwarip.

Although their face was obscured beneath the shadow of the brim, their perfectly erect, regal posture was striking.

This was no child.

Perhaps a boy, yet far closer to a refined young man.

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