This Living Hell (3)

Passing Dwarf had warned him to be exceptionally cautious when handing over the Mithricon Sword.

Under normal circumstances, Grylls had planned to part with it only after someone provided undeniable proof that they were standing right at the entrance to the Forest of the Four Seasons. Yet an older man had verified his identity through an utterly bizarre method—and to make matters more astonishing, he was famous enough that fellow users recognized him immediately. The former mentor to the Hero, currently branded a traitor and living on the run, had been dispatched with the investigation team. The mere revelation threw the entire Gallery into an uproar.

The Head Mod clearly knew him, too.

What caught Grylls's eye above all else was how genuinely shaken the Juddak had been. The administrator had been so flustered that the exclamation marks decorating the end of every single sentence had briefly vanished. Not only that, but the Head Mod had reached out privately with an earnest favor.

And so a trade of sorts was struck. For Grylls, forging another sword was just a matter of putting in some extra labor, so it was hardly a losing proposition. More than anything, the paramount objective was ensuring the expedition survived after stepping into the woods and made it to his doorstep.

One might wonder why he did not toss in an Elixir as well, but that was an entirely different matter. Starlight Princess had refined those Elixirs through grueling labor; even though he had acquired them through fair trade, they carried her genuine goodwill and concern. Giving away such a gift so casually to a third party risked offending her sensibilities. That was simply human nature.

Besides, since they're an official investigation team, they must have packed a decent medical kit.

Even if their supplies could not match an Elixir, they would have prepared high-grade remedies. Now, all that remained was the agonizing wait. Nobody could predict how long it would take. Spatial coordinates in this nightmare region shifted erratically, and the total landmass easily rivaled a modest kingdom; with poor luck, their paths might never cross.

They might just pick a cozy spot and settle down, exactly like I did.

If only they could log into the Gallery, triangulating their coordinates would be a trivial task. Yet common knowledge dictated that network access within the Forest of the Four Seasons was impossible. While El Dorado seemed confident that connectivity was feasible, there were no guarantees—Grylls might very well be a cosmic anomaly.

Shouldn't they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have entered by now?

Grylls pulled up the thread posted by the middle-aged man who had introduced himself as Ludwig. Ever since the sword had been delivered, not a single update had followed. It almost felt as if the guy had taken the loot and run. If he was entering the Forest of the Four Seasons, a quick verification post would have been reassuring, but the board remained dead silent. Perhaps he was simply an old-timer who grabbed his gear and marched straight in without bothering with online etiquette.

If the Gallery worked for him, he would've posted something... What a shame.

Not five minutes, but a full hour had slipped past, yet no new posts appeared. The Gallery regulars were just as curious about Ludwig's whereabouts, but they lacked any means of checking. There was only one indirect workaround: ask the Head Mod. The Juddak held the exclusive privilege and authority to inspect the real-time geographic locations of both fixed handles and anonymous users. With that administrative power, obtaining a rough idea was within reach.

I should ask.

The Juddak seemed to know the man, and it was vital information for Grylls as well. He fired off a direct message, silently praying the mod was still logged on.

Did trouble break out? The Juddak's update left an unsettling taste in Grylls's mouth. People across the Gallery had already whispered that calling this an 'investigation team' was nothing more than pretty packaging for an execution by exile. Sending someone into the Forest of the Four Seasons almost guaranteed a final status of 'Missing in Action.'

Or maybe the old man just doesn't know how to send direct messages?

It was not completely implausible, yet it remained pure conjecture. Until the expedition stepped across the threshold, formulating an actual rendezvous plan was impossible.

No, what plan am I even talking about?

In a surreal realm where space folded and stretched on whim, what was there to rely on other than raw luck? If fortune smiled, they might tumble into the woods near his cave; if misfortune struck, they could materialize on the exact opposite fringe of the biome. Furthermore, according to the Head Mod, Grylls's current shelter was situated dead in the center of the forest. The chances of an encounter were microscopic, but he had no choice except to hold out hope.

For now, let's make charcoal.

So long as they had not entered the perimeter, Grylls could do virtually nothing to influence their path. He had his own chores to attend to, and focusing on immediate survival duties was the sensible choice.

Let's see. A charcoal kiln...

The charcoal he had accumulated from standard campfires was pitifully scarce—hardly enough to fill a small tub. Yet every time he forged tools or weaponry, the process devoured vast quantities of fuel. He desperately needed a method to mass-produce it. Though he was an absolute amateur when it came to kilns, he knew someone who possessed expert knowledge.

The advisor was none other than the prodigy of alchemical science, Starlight Princess—the very same user who had previously taught him proper meat-smoking techniques. Someone might have suggested consulting Allfather instead, but their academic specializations seemed entirely distinct. As for Passing Dwarf, his expertise lay strictly in metallurgy and metalworking, so Grylls had not even considered him.

Oxygen deprivation, huh...

Starving the timber of air was necessary to achieve incomplete combustion and yield charcoal. Pondering her words, Grylls glanced toward his stone oven—specifically, the clay packed tight into the crevices between the rocks. By now, it had cured rock-hard, serving as an impermeable mortar.

That's it!

Inspiration struck. Without hesitation, he set about gathering timber. Along the wide path carved out when the Chief Gorilla had sent a shockwave punch tearing through the forest, fallen trunks lay in abundance, making lumber collection effortless.

I'll explore deeper along that road another time.

Hauling the logs back, he stood them upright in a conical tepee, much like building a massive campfire. He refrained from igniting it just yet; to cut off oxygen, he had to encase the timber in mud. Plastering mud directly against smooth tree trunks would result in a messy slide, failing to adhere.

I'll weave a lattice out of branches first.

He bundled leafy twigs and brush tightly around the wooden frame, creating a coarse wicker shell. Once the outer surface was covered, he slapped thick layers of wet mud over every inch until the structure resembled an earthen dome. He was far from finished. Since the timber needed to catch vigorously at first, he hollowed out small draft holes around the base and left an aperture at the crown where he could drop in kindling.

Whoosh!

Dropping flaming twigs into the top opening, he watched carefully to confirm the fire caught. The crown flared immediately, but the base was what truly mattered—which was precisely why he had gouged ventilation holes below. The moment he confirmed the inferno had descended and engulfed the bottom timber, he sealed every single vent with damp mud, snuffing out the draft entirely.

"Cough! Hack! Ugh, damn, my eyes! Did I really need to check that closely?!"

Having poked a tiny peephole to inspect the embers, he had received a face full of acrid white smoke for his curiosity. Still, satisfied that the smoldering process was well underway, he turned his attention to his next project.

How are things looking online right now?

Grylls opened the Gallery interface to check for fresh updates. There were still no posts from Ludwig. Instead, baseless rumors regarding the expedition flooded the feed: infighting had broken out among the paladins, the gift Grylls provided was so absurdly overpowered it had sparked political panic, and so forth. Reckless theories ran rampant, but their credibility hovered near zero.

Why would they start a brawl amongst themselves? As if survival rates in this death trap weren't low enough already.

Please don't slaughter each other. Just step through the barrier peacefully and find me. Then again, there was no ironclad guarantee they would ever make it across the perimeter. It was wiser to keep his expectations in check.

He scrolled through a few more threads before closing the window, finding nothing of real substance.

Wait a second. Even if they manage to step inside, how on earth are they supposed to find my shelter?

A thin plume of smoke occasionally drifted from his campfire into the sky, but that was woefully insufficient as a beacon. Compasses spun uselessly in this godforsaken woods, landmarks shifted without warning, and losing one's bearings was alarmingly easy. Grylls managed only because he had accumulated painful experience and strictly retraced proven trails, but newcomers possessed no such survival intuition.

I need to plant signposts.

Erecting signs pointing toward his shelter was the obvious answer. It might look a little absurd, but simplicity was often the most effective approach. He immediately readied his carpentry tools; the auction house lacked pre-fabricated signposts, leaving him no choice but to carve them by hand.

Scrape! Shave! Chisel!

Lumber was the one thing he possessed in limitless supply. Selecting well-seasoned, sturdy logs, he carved out clean arrow-shaped direction boards and mortised them securely onto stout stakes.

A coat of white paint will make them pop out against the dark foliage, right?

He splurged on pigments from the dimensional auction house—ridiculously overpriced, but necessary. Right in the middle of each wooden arrow, he painted the crude outline of a cozy home: a triangular roof resting over a square box, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠complete with a tiny window. A clear message shouting: Someone lives right this way!

The finished marker looked quite respectable. Standing roughly between chest and neck height, it would immediately arrest the attention of anyone wandering nearby.

Even the Head Mod was telling him to abandon his expectations, but Grylls refused to give up. Naturally, that did not mean he wanted anyone throwing their life away just to reach him; he was merely preparing for the inevitable moment when the expedition members became 'castaways.'

Are they still loitering outside the gate?

With that thought in mind, he set about chiseling even more directional markers. He planned to plant them along every intersection and trail he had walked so far.

I just want to have an actual conversation with another human being.

Two weeks of near-total isolation had passed, and the creeping chill of loneliness was beginning to settle deep in his bones.

Right as Grylls was thoughtfully crafting and planting his welcoming signposts...

BAM!

"GYAAAAAAAH!"

A fully armored holy knight went sailing straight through the shimmering spatial veil at the Entrance to the Forest of Four Seasons, flailing his arms in absolute terror as if desperate to claw his way back. The spectacle lasted only a fraction of a second. The instant his boots crossed the threshold, his body vanished without a trace, swallowed entirely by the distorted dimension.

"Phew..."

Ludwig, who had just kicked the screaming holy knight square in the spine, let out a slow, controlled exhale. Turning his frame around, his icy gaze settled upon the supervisory squad, whose faces were contorted in naked hostility.

Schwing—

Ludwig leveled the blade before him. Across the miraculous steel, a breathtaking green galaxy seemed to flow like liquid starlight. Luminous, razor-sharp Aura ignited across the edge, bathing the clearing in radiant green brilliance as he spoke.

Just as Grylls had hoped, Ludwig was generously 'procuring' survivors on his behalf.