The Secrets of Crafting Skills
There’s a saying that a man is just a grown-up boy. I wholeheartedly agree. Even in my thirties, I still love the same things I did as a kid—playing pranks, tinkering and building stuff. That’s why woodworking feels like the most fun game to me. Probably most guys would get a kick out of it too.
The first thing I made was a little table. What can I say? It felt so rewarding, so damn satisfying.
“Hahaha, Hoya, isn’t it cool?”
Nyaaang? Hoya shot me a look that screamed, Are you serious right now? A total provocation. But that’s fine. True art is only appreciated by true artists. This was art. Sure, it creaked a bit and the balance was off, but that was all part of my master plan... Okay, I won’t make excuses like some lunatic. I’d hacked away at the wood without a proper blueprint, so this was pretty impressive.
“Hoya, from now on, you eat all your meals on this.”
Nyaang! Fierce protest. But mocking my masterpiece comes at a price. I’m a magnanimous yet petty guy—what does that mean? Simple. I’d generously overlook Hoya’s mockery, but get my petty revenge by tormenting him.
“Show some respect for Daddy’s next creation.”
Nyaang? Hoya let out a disbelieving meow, but I magnanimously let it slide. Then I started on my second project.
I poured a total of over thirty hours into woodworking. Only after crafting six small tables and ten chair-like things did the skill finally appear.
Woodworking (Active) Level 1 acquired.
What’s interesting is that production skills like farming, fishing, cooking, and livestock rearing are all classified as active. But I hadn’t felt any mana drain during them. So what happens if I consciously use mana?
I decided to make a wooden sword. As I worked, I poured in about half my mana reserves. Never had a simple project like this taken so long—nearly ten hours for a basic wooden sword. Then, dizziness hit me. It wasn’t gradual; at the moment of completion, half my mana just whooshed out.
“Whoa, this is no joke.”
I examined the wooden sword closely. Then...
Observation
◈ Crafted from island trees, infused with the creator's mana, transforming the wood into mana wood.
◈ Exceptional mana conductivity. When mana is injected, hardness and sharpness surpass ordinary steel swords.
My wooden sword had become an item—the second one after that kimbap. And its specs looked insanely good.
“Whoa, gotta admit this is impressive, right?”
Nyaaang. Even Hoya nodded, looking impressed. The mana wood sword had a faint black sheen—not from my handling, but because the mana infusion changed its color at some point. For real. You gotta believe me.
“Injecting mana, huh...”
I’d already realized mana made everything better. This was a glimpse into the secret of crafting skills. I’d never used mana consciously in farming, fishing, cooking, or livestock work, yet they were labeled active. Felt more like passive to me. The key was mana—and the proof was this mana wood sword.
“Hoya, don’t you think Daddy figured out something amazing?”
Nyaaang. Everyday grumpiness from Hoya. That’s just how cats and humans roll—no big deal.
“Baekya! Impressive, right?”
Krrroong! Baekya gave a solid reaction. Why? Treats, obviously. I’d even asked my company about getting bulk pre-packaged snacks to hand out. Grinding those one by one was a chore—Baekya’s portion alone took about a hundred.
“You’re sneakily expensive, you know.”
Krrroong? Baekya flipped onto his back with a perfect I dunno vibe. How does a wild tiger know this trick? Whatever—the important thing is he’s getting tamed. Very satisfying.
“Now this big bro’s gonna learn some swordsmanship. With this mana-infused mana wood sword. Once I chop that log, you can head down the mountain.”
A practice log stood before me, set up for sword training. I wasn’t really expecting to cleave it, but a little hope never hurt, right?
The problem was...
“Eh, let’s do it tomorrow when I get back. Woodworking wiped me out today. Night night, Baekya.”
Krrroong. Baekya became my bed on the spot. Hoya and I crashed comfortably atop him.
After about ten hours of deep sleep, I checked the time. Roughly ten hours left. As usual, I’d tour the farms and chicken coop.
The crops were expanding steadily. Weirdly, right by the beach, no saltwater intrusion.
“This island defies logic from the start.”
No point nitpicking when nothing’s against me. I was just adapting to Siho Territory’s quirks.
“This could feed dozens self-sufficiently, huh? Right, Hoya?”
Nyaaang. Hoya wasn’t into veggies. He needed them for health, but as a super-cat beyond normal felines, he’d outlive me anyway.
“Let’s check the chicken coop... Why does it feel like the flock keeps growing?”
Now over two hundred island chickens. A proper small farm. The fence I’d built was auto-expanding around them.
“Hoya, your doing?”
Nyaaang. Nope.
“Baekya, you?”
Krrroong? Our pure-brained Baekya was innocent. So, my Livestock skill. Yeah, MP dips for no reason sometimes—this must be it.
“Whoa, an automation system? That’s awesome!”
The coop ran smoothly. Chickens separated hatching eggs from edibles, piling the latter neatly. Super fresh.
“Gonna need a storage shed. And a house... But my current woodworking can’t handle it.”
Icebox from the mainland it was. Modern ones lasted days fine. Non-fertile eggs didn’t spoil anyway.
“Around two hundred eggs... I could sell ’em.”
No joke—I couldn’t eat them all. A few a day max for me. Weekend parental drop-off: hundred tops. Daily two hundred-plus, rising? Needed a plan.
“Worry later. Grab what I need, same for veggies. Chickens can wait—no slaughter yet.”
I sorted that, cracked open an English conversation book, and dozed off. Another peaceful gate day.
Why commute if I own a gate? Simple: need cash now. Selling eggs? Find buyers first. Not anyone can hawk bulk—prove origin, get certified. Korea’s bureaucracy isn’t sloppy. No official farm, no dice.
Luckily, eggs had no first-bite power, but steady intake boosted stamina by 1. And the taste? Divine. Market potential.
“But ‘steady’ how much?”
Vague. Regular intervals, probably. Miss that, no boost. Unknown amount/time—most folks wouldn’t sustain it. Who eats eggs daily? Fried eggs are universal-ish, but every meal? Rare.
So, experiment: Use Cooking to boil a hundred eggs—fifty hard-boiled, fifty soft. Took them to work.
“Dad sent these from the countryside—boiled some. Hard here, soft there. Dig in.”
Office mornings often empty stomachs—sleep over breakfast. Post-arrival snacks common. I shared with my department. Plenty; each grabbed two or three per taste.
“Thanks, Si-woo sunbae.”
Women loved it, reciprocated with drinks or snacks. Men offered cash—I shut it down. Rumors bad.
I watched quietly as they ate.
“Whoa, what’s this?”
“Why so good?”
“What’d you add? Nah, impossible... but why so tasty?”
Rave reviews. Island eggs’ superior flavor, plus my Cooking skill—leagues above normal. Even I noticed.
“Si-woo, this is killer!”
My coworker buddy grinned.
“Yeah?”
“Sell to the snack shop. Goldmine.”
“Dude, we’d get caught.”
“Hm... Say it’s from your dad’s farm?”
“Oh, genius!”
This guy was useful. A true genius. So I headed to the company store.