The Golden Poison Frog (3)
My realization that even Allfather was far from normal lasted only a moment. Right now, the immediate crisis of my drinking water took priority.
I possessed zero poison resistance, and the toxin of that Golden Poison Frog was beyond vile. It was lethal enough to reduce living wood to bubbling sludge in seconds. Catching a single drop meant instant death. I had purchased an antidote just in case, but whether a generic remedy could counter such a catastrophic neurotoxin was anyone's guess.
That was why I decided to make a separate request of Allfather. Not for gold, but for something far more valuable.
A reply came the instant I opened the trade window. His tone was noticeably more dignified and polite than anyone else's on the forum. Between instantly identifying the Golden Poison Frog and the way he usually carried himself on the board, he seemed like an intellectual—perhaps a scholar or a professor.
And an absurdly wealthy one at that. He had thrown twenty thousand gold at a single amphibian without batting an eye, leaving me without the faintest clue what his actual profession might be. Not that I knew the true identity of anyone lurking on this dimensional forum anyway.
Because large-scale trades carried a high risk of illicit activity—such as laundering dirty money or purchasing wartime contraband in bulk—any exchange topping ten thousand gold pinged the main moderator with the users' locations. Although balance charged to the Gallery couldn't be cashed out back into the real world, the potential for systemic abuse remained high. Of course, being stranded in the mythical Forest of the Four Seasons made the rule largely moot for me. If anything, having my coordinates transmitted was a welcome bonus.
There might have been other rivers nearby, but that particular bank was the closest known water source. With that hideous amphibian hunkered down like a venomous toll collector, washing up was out of the question, let alone hauling fresh water. Setting off through uncharted woods in search of an alternate stream carried the terrifying risk of getting hopelessly lost.
Extinction? Well, I couldn't care less about their ecological conservation. No matter how precious a species it was, did it weigh more than my life? If an antidote neutralized the danger, fine; if not, I would hunt down every single yellow monstrosity until not one remained. Surviving out here had hammered home the vital necessity of a stable water supply. Going days without bathing left me feeling disgustingly grimy, and the itch was driving me insane.
With that, my deal with Allfather wrapped up. The moment the trade window closed, I checked my account balance. Even after the system deducted a small transaction fee, nearly fifteen thousand gold sat proudly in my funds. With this fortune, I could finally scour the auction house for essential survival gear. I already had a mental checklist ready.
Before shopping, though, I need to check in with the Juddak. Let's see if my location actually pinged.
Any trade over ten grand forwarded coordinates directly to the orange-tag manager. While intended to curb fraud and illicit transactions, the rule could just as easily be abused by whoever held the administrative seat. I didn't know the exact criteria for how moderators were appointed, but there had surely been predecessors before this current one. A fleeting curiosity about the Gallery's history crossed my mind, but I pushed it aside. That wasn't my concern right now.
I shouldn't have asked. A crushing wave of despair welled up in my chest, and I fought to swallow it down. Normal access to the Gallery network was supposed to be completely blocked inside the Forest of the Four Seasons, yet I had connected without issue. And now my exact coordinates had been officially verified.
Who on earth pulled strings to play such a twisted cosmic prank on me? It defied all rhyme or reason.
Cruel bastards, every last one of them. Did none of them even consider the possibility of me escaping? With the head moderator verifying the fact with solemn paladin sincerity, all I could let out was a heavy, bitter sigh. The final sliver of naive hope had officially evaporated.
Escaping was a nightmare anyway. Just stepping across that small stream warped the entire terrain instantly. My safe roaming radius was choked down to almost nothing.
Fine. I'll dig in and survive right here. But mark my words, I will escape eventually.
Even if it took years of clawing my way through this green hell, I was going to see human civilization again. Resolute, I immediately drafted a new forum thread. This wasn't to vent my misery, but to crowdsource practical advice on what supplies I needed to hoard next.
Rather than mocking me, the commenters were surprisingly generous, shelling out golden survival tips one after another. The charcoal trick especially was something I hadn't considered. As for snakes drawing near, specialized repellent would keep them at bay; that was precisely why I had paid good money for industrial-grade pest wards earlier.
At the end of the day, their advice covered standard woodland survival basics. I was the very first person in recorded history to attempt homesteading in the Forest of the Four Seasons. When a creature as innocuous as a frog grew to the size of a dog and sprayed flesh-melting acid, the reality was that nobody could predict what horror might crawl out next.
Still, I have to buy what I can.
Opening the auction interface, I purchased the recommended gear piece by piece. Establishing this cavern as a permanent fortress was the smartest path forward. Lastly, I bought a large roll of sturdy drafting parchment, a feather quill, and an inkpot. Since magnetic compasses spun aimlessly like broken toys here, I planned to map the terrain through raw dead reckoning and personal footwork.
I'll prioritize mapping out the borders where the biomes shift erratically.
There was a high probability that other boundaries functioned just like the stream. Knowing those perimeter lines was critical for expanding my range safely. I also needed to catalog the hunting grounds of apex predators—or more accurately, their territorial borders. The only reason beasts hadn't besieged my cave so far was likely because this area had belonged to the Mad Dog pack. But that safety net was temporary. Just recently, an adult Owlbear had happily chewed its way through a Mad Dog carcass nearby. There was zero guarantee that feathered grizzly wouldn't wander up to my doorstep next, making defensive preparations urgent.
"Hmm..."
Crossing my arms, I surveyed the scattered pile of newly arrived tools and supplies. Where should I even begin? When you're genuinely overwhelmed, the sheer volume of tasks paralyzes you. That was my exact state right now. Should I build a palisade to lock down perimeter security first, or explore the surrounding terrain a bit more? Fortification would devour enormous amounts of time, while wandering out blind risked walking straight into a predator's jaws.
I don't even know how long building a palisade takes.
When in doubt, consult the hivemind. I brought up the board and pecked out a quick query. If the time investment proved completely unreasonable, I would pivot to light scouting first.
Could it really take that long? Narrowing my eyes skeptically at the screen, I stepped outside. Action spoke louder than words. Raw lumber was the one resource overflowing in every direction, and I had already purchased a hefty felling axe from the market.
Man, this thing has some serious heft to it.
Even holding the haft with both hands, the weight dragged heavily against my wrists. I walked up to a straight, medium-thick trunk standing tall like a wooden pillar—ideal for cutting into sharp palisade stakes. A month or two sounded like blatant dwarven exaggeration. Bracing my legs, I swung the axe with full confidence.
THWACK!
The bite was satisfying. Brand-new steel bit deep into the bark with a resonant crunch. At this rate, dropping a trunk wouldn't take more than a few minutes. That Passing Dwarf had clearly underestimated me.
"*Haaah... haaah...*"
I take it back. He hadn't underestimated me; he had provided a ruthlessly objective assessment.
Panting raggedly, I leaned on the axe handle and glared at the trunk. Despite swinging like a madman until my shoulders burned, I hadn't even hacked halfway through. Breaching the outer bark had been manageable, but the deeper the blade bit toward the core, the denser and harder the wood became, rattling violently up into my elbows with every blow.
I have a whole new respect for fairy-tale woodcutters.
Those burly lumberjacks popping up in every folk story weren't ordinary peasants; they were superhuman machines. No wonder they all had half a dozen kids and carried whole logs on their backs. Wiping a river of greasy sweat from my forehead, I stared at the scarred, half-severed trunk.
If bringing down a single tree was this agonizing, what hope did I have of erecting a massive perimeter wall? When stripped of industrial machinery, an isolated human being was utterly pathetic. In the end, the palisade project had to be shelved. Just as Passing Dwarf had warned, digging pitfalls was the only realistic option.
I'm dying here holy shit
Thanks to the humbling reality check, my direction was set in stone. I would dig hidden pit traps right outside the cavern entrance—traps only I knew how to navigate. Building wooden ramparts would have to wait until after I trained in whatever internal cultivation art or mana circulation method they were arguing about. Doing heavy construction right now simply burned through too much stamina.
Though digging dirt isn't going to be a walk in the park either.
Having served my mandatory military service back on Earth, I knew intimately how soul-crushing entrenchment duty was. Even when three or four soldiers teamed up to dig out a single fighting position, it usually took an entire grueling day. Factoring in the titanic bulk of that Owlbear, any pit trap designed to hold it would need to be dug far deeper than my own height.
Bleak. Utterly bleak.
Not a single task out here came easy. Naked and alone in the wild, modern man was helpless. But did that mean I was going to throw my hands up and quit? Hell no. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; as long as I put in steady, relentless labor, it would bear fruit eventually.
Let's start by digging a deep pit right at the entrance. I'll expand the perimeter later. I can buy camouflage netting and canvas tarps from the auction house to mask the drop.
Visualizing the pit gave birth to another idea: beyond simple drop traps, why not trench out the ground around the cave entrance entirely? Like a medieval castle moat, as long as it halted a direct charge, it would buy me enough time. I could pile the excavated earth into an earthen berm for a temporary rampart, replacing it with treated lumber later down the line.
All right. Let's do this.
Blueprints without execution were worthless daydreams. I paced out the cave threshold, designing the layout on the fly: where the moat would run, where the dirt berm would rise, and the exact narrow pathway I would use to step inside. It was far from a masterpiece of military engineering, but it would guarantee my safety.
SHUCK!
Plunging the shovel into the earth, I began to heave dirt. Rain from dawn had softened the loam, offering some welcome relief. Compared to the concrete-hard grain of ancient trees, moving dirt was far more manageable, even if it took hours of repetitive toil.
Take it slow. One shovel at a time.
The fortress construction that had started with such spirited determination...
"Aaargh... my back... my bones..."
...ended the very next morning with every muscle in my body screaming in crippling agony.