Dong Bong-su decided to start by learning the language of this place.
However, if he tried to become familiar with it only by thinking in his head and listening, it would take at least a year or more. That was enough time for him to die in his current weak state.
He could be beaten to death by Machil, die from bacterial infection, or die from completely unexpected variables—plenty of possibilities existed.
He had to acquire it much faster.
One month. Two or three months at the latest. Even if native-level proficiency was too much, he needed to reach a level where there were no problems listening, writing, and speaking. Only then could he dramatically increase his survival probability.
But how, without books or teachers?
Swish.
He maneuvered his somewhat recovered body and sat up.
Wasn't it simple?
If it didn't exist, he'd make it.
If there were no books, he'd write them, and if there were no teachers, he'd become his own teacher.
'First, I'll make a language manual.'
A manual was naturally a book. To make a book, he first needed paper.
There was no way something like paper existed in this stable.
He'd been looking around at various things and had found one suitable substitute. By finding it, he'd secured not only a paper substitute but also an ink substitute.
Squeak squeak.
The guys who disturbed his sleep every night.
Rats. They were what he'd been targeting since his body wasn't fully healed.
He immediately put it into action.
The rat bastards were quick even in this place.
However, the reflexes of the somewhat recovered Dong Bong-su were quicker. Above all, the tool of civilization called a rat trap, which he made using rotten wood, straw, stones, and such, was even sharper.
***
He caught rats for several days.
Dong Bong-su skinned the caught rats, removed the internal organs from the meat, dried it well in the sunlight, and ate it. He dried the hides even more thoroughly and used them like paper. He squeezed out every last drop of the rats' blood and stored it in a pouch made from rat hide in his Inventory.
During that time, he also made something resembling a brush from horse hair. It wasn't conducive to writing because it was stiff, but it was sufficient. For now, shouldn't he be grateful for even this much?
In all this process, he also discovered one new fact. He'd killed dozens of rats, but there was no change in the experience bar. Rats were animals with zero experience points. Even so, he didn't conclude that all animals would have no experience points. It might be because rats were too weak.
He postponed judgment on the 'animal zero experience' hypothesis for now.
Now paper, ink, and brush were all complete.
He carefully remembered Machil's grumbling and the conversations of people who came to the stable, and when they disappeared, he'd take out rat hide, horse hair brush, and rat blood, and transcribe the pronunciation he'd heard and the assumed meaning in Hangul.
After about another month passed, a Chinese archaic language manual filled with tiny writing on dozens of rat hides was completed. Perhaps if someone from modern times saw this book, they might have felt it was quite plausible. It was a book with such neat handwriting and well-organized arrangement.
Who said that handwriting is the window to the soul? This was clearly false. Look at Dong Bong-su's handwriting. Perfect.
His writing was more upright than anyone else's in the world. If you could judge a person by their handwriting, Dong Bong-su was a complete being. No, perhaps handwriting might indeed be a reflection of the soul. Because his mind would never waver at any time or place.
From when the manual was completed, Dong Bong-su started showing Machil signs that his body had fully recovered. It was because while making the manual, he could now understand most words.
But he still pretended to be mute. His pronunciation was still awkward, and his ability to combine words was markedly inferior compared to the locals. This act of his might continue even when he spoke perfectly. If that was more suitable for hiding his true nature, he should do so by all means.
"Ugh, this halfwit bastard. He's finally become a complete mute."
When Dong Bong-su still couldn't speak even though his body had fully recovered, Machil started calling him Mute Sam. Horse Dung Sam had been a derogatory term, but Mute Sam was an even worse one.
Mute Sam.
Dong Bong-su's new name given because he was mute.
He now had four names. Dong Bong-su, Sosam, Horse Dung Sam, Mute Sam. Excluding Dong Bong-su, the other three were Dong Bong-su's 'aliases' that everyone in the Danri Family called him as they wished.
No one knew he was Dong Bong-su. His real face and real name hidden behind the mask and aliases, and his perfect mute act—so far...
No one knew.
***
When the season changed and a slightly chilly wind began to blow.
Dong Bong-su was finally able to leave the stable and move around inside the Danri Family estate as he pleased. Of course, many restrictions still existed.
Family martial artists who picked fights at any time or place, and servants who looked down on him just because he was a groom even though they were fellow servants, and attendants. Even when he walked through Bongyang's city streets morning and evening to walk the horses, people wouldn't leave him alone.
[That halfwit bastard, now he can't even talk?]
[Then he's a shit mute? A shit-halfwit-mute.]
[We should call him Shit-Dumb-Mute now! Hahaha.]
He received all kinds of insults, but he didn't care. The more he did, the more he acted like an even bigger fool. When cursed at, hehe, when hit with stones, ow ow, when ignored, he bowed his head as if it were natural.
Shitty and mute, halfwit. The more nicknames like Shit-Dumb-Mute and Mute Sam were added, the more it paradoxically proved his acting was perfect. All this slander, verbal abuse, and violence would serve as a shield hiding his identity for a while.
And.
No one in this place, the Danri Family, and further in Bongyang, would know.
That all those things that had been shields for Dong Bong-su would transform into blades and return to them.
Dong Bong-su learned language through curses, grasped Bongyang's geography while being beaten, and learned the culture here while prostrating flat on the ground. Thus, he gradually blended naturally into the darkness.
He was a shadow. A long and large shadow, but so gloomy that no one recognized it. No one noticed his outstanding ordinariness.
The shadow was thus growing thicker in the shade without anyone knowing.
After a few more months of keeping his head down, he finally commenced his hunt one day.
***
Machil felt alive these days.
Should it be called a blessing in disguise?
He thought that the 'saying' the elderly often used might be meant for times like this.
When that Mute Sam bastard first got hurt, he was angry and dissatisfied. Who would feel good taking over someone else's work, especially the work of a human far inferior to himself?
But as they say, after hardship comes pleasure—he was now being rewarded for all the hardship he'd endured diligently cleaning up after Mute Sam.
Although he'd developed aphasia, the recovered Mute Sam followed his words very well. Even without being told, he took care of the weapon servant's work in advance. Perhaps because he'd become mute, the back-talk he used to give disappeared, and he worked very diligently. The resentful look in his eyes also vanished.
Looking at Mute Sam's eyes now, they were just transparent. So clear and transparent that sometimes he almost felt sorry for tormenting him.
Today too, Mute Sam woke up early in the morning and finished most of the work Machil had to do. Thanks to that, Machil could comfortably sleep a bit more in the back garden of the estate.
"Yaaawn—"
Having slept more soundly than usual, his whole body felt refreshed and strength packed into his lower body. Moreover, having gone back to sleep right after waking up in the morning, he hadn't properly done the daily routine of hand exercises.
Naturally, his thing was stiffly raising its head while wearing pants and glaring at him.
Saying cool me down quickly, put me to sleep soon, let me taste it fast.
Machil tapped his grotesquely bulging thing.
"This guy, catching the smell of money from somewhere. Alright, alright, just hold on a bit. I'll let you thoroughly taste some hole flavor right now."
He'd received his wages yesterday. Every time, he'd stuck all the wages he received into a courtesan's buttocks and chest. That was his only pleasure in life. In a life of being ignored, wasn't it only when embracing a woman and when tormenting Sosam, a human inferior to him, that he felt somewhat alive?
Because of that, he always counted down the days from the first of every month to when he'd receive his wages. Of course, the courtesan, who knew this and fed off Machil, would be the same.
"My pockets are full, so today should I taste Choseon's flesh instead of courtesan? Choseon's body has ripened quite deliciously."
Machil's grotesque thing's prey changed instantaneously.
"Right, how can a person live on rice alone every time? Sometimes you have to eat beef, eat fish, eat young chicken. Hehehehe."
Machil laughed lewdly and got up from his spot.
He immediately departed for Bongyang Inn. The reason he changed his prey was that today his pockets were plumper than usual wage days.
When Machil woke up in the morning and went to organize the weapons, Sosam had already finished the work, and on top of it was a leather pouch. Inside was money, and he could know without thinking who had left it.
"That bastard. He's finally learned how to get by in the world."
Just because you have no power, how could you properly live in the world by only bowing your head every day, kneeling, begging, and pleading? If you have no power, you have to know how to exercise flexibility like this.
Machil decided that from now on, he should torment Sosam a little, just a little less. Though if the tribute amount decreased, it might get worse instead.
A hum naturally flowed from Machil's mouth as he headed to Bongyang Inn.