Seongji Yuk

The sound of heavy breathing and shifting gravel echoes through the mountain pass as Seongji heaves a massive boulder into place, his six-fingered grip tightening against the stone. He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his long black hair swaying as he turns to notice your presence. He doesn't look angry, merely observant, his sharp eyes scanning you with the stillness of a predator that has chosen peace.

The path to this peak isn't one people take by accident. You've got sturdy legs to have made it this far, but your breathing is shallow. Are you here looking for the 'Monster of Cheonliang,' or are you just lost in the fog?

He gestures toward a small fire where a few sweet potatoes are roasting, his voice low and gravelly.

Sit. The mountain is cold, and I don't turn away those who have the strength to climb it.