Winter (2)

I've turned the thought over in my head more than once, and every time I arrive at the exact same conclusion: God must harbor a personal grudge against me.

Why else would a howling blizzard roll in the precise moment I set out to winterize my shelter?

Then again, didn't I hate Him first?

I had spent my entire life resenting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the heavens simply because I didn't want to despise my fellow man. Perhaps this was the karma that had snowballed right back into my face. Nursing these half-baked philosophical musings, I sat by the threshold and waited for the whiteout to subside.

Outside the cave, the world had descended into unmitigated catastrophe. A suffocating void of white stretched as far as the eye could see, every familiar contour of the landscape buried beneath relentless drifts. I had never experienced a blizzard of this scale back on Earth; living through one here was simply absurd.

Surviving a blizzard was agonizing enough, but yellow dust storms in spring? The mere thought made my head spin. Yet far from impossible, the odds of it happening were terrifyingly high. This cursed forest had a way of turning the impossible into reality—a veritable cradle of perverse miracles. When the river and the sea defied common sense at every turn, why should the weather be any different?

Wait, it stopped?

The blizzard that had threatened to sweep away all living things had vanished into thin air. In its wake, it left only mountains of white trash dumped from the heavens. At least I wasn't in the military anymore. Clearing this endless sky-garbage during winter duty had been a torment without end.

No telling when the next one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will hit.

I needed to hurry. Grabbing my pickaxe, I climbed up toward the section of the ceiling I had marked earlier. I didn't blast a massive hole right away—that would only multiply my workload and ruin my efficiency.

Clang! Clang! Crunch!

I chiseled away until there was just enough of an opening. Poking my head through the narrow puncture, I peered downward. Below, the Fast Tree Sloth stared right back up at me with its trademark vacant gaze.

With this aperture as my guide, I could slowly stack the bricks upward. But before that, I needed to boil water to mix into the mud mortar.

Ah. Right.

A realization struck me. I hurried over to the valve connecting the river hose and gave it a twist. Just as I feared, nothing came out. The river had frozen over. Even if the river hadn't entirely solidified, the stagnant water inside the narrow hose certainly had.

Guess I'll have to melt snow.

Fortunately, the fresh blizzard had delivered an endless supply. In the brief span of the storm, enough snow had accumulated to squeak cleanly underfoot. While the snow slowly melted over the flames, I set about laying the foundation for the fireplace. Though the basic architecture was straightforward, this was my first time assembling one; there was no reason not to be cautious.

Floor first, then the bricks.

I prepped the ground, carving out a lower recess so ash wouldn't spill into the living space and ensuring an airflow channel would draw in fresh air smoothly from outside. Because of the many practical details required to make it work, I found myself bustling back and forth between the cave's interior and exterior. But temperature was a matter of life and death. So long as it kept me from freezing, no amount of labor was wasted.

Those who live in temperate climes might never understand, but in most corners of the world, winter is merciless. You had to prepare against every fatal threat while the air was still mild. Slip up, and hypothermia or starvation would claim you before spring. In Korea, that preparation had always taken the form of kimjang season. There was an old saying born of that wisdom: every season exists merely as the foundation to endure winter.

As I braced against the cold, worries about sickness naturally followed. Colds, in particular.

Why don't humans have thick coats of fur? Because fur catches fire too easily?

Pondering why humans had evolved hairless and vulnerable to every chill, I resolved to consult Allfather about it when I had the chance. At any rate, the pit was dug; all that remained was stacking the bricks.

Planning to butter the seams with mud like mortar, I tended to the pot of hot water. I had set it to boil outside so the ambient heat would thaw the surrounding frozen dirt.

"Huh?"

"Kyuuung..."

A strange animal was huddled near the fire. At first glance, I thought it was a raccoon dog, but a closer look revealed otherwise. It was a proper raccoon—the kind people constantly mixed up with tanuki. The creature held both paws close to the flames, happily warming itself.

It hadn't breached the cave, merely lurking near the outdoor fire, so I didn't mind. If it lingered too long, I'd shoo it away.

Or Ppareumbo can teach it some manners.

Just as that thought crossed my mind and I reached for the pot of hot water, the raccoon glanced up at me. Then, without hesitation, it thrust its paws straight into the campfire. Literally plunged them into the burning embers.

My jaw dropped. That wasn't just risking a burn—its paws should have gone up in flames.

Yet this was the Forest of the Four Seasons, where the smallest critters packed the deadliest surprises.

Fwoosh!

The raccoon peered calmly at its blazing, flame-engulfed paws.

"Nom."

It shoved the fiery paws right into its mouth. It was literally eating the fire. Before I could recover enough to utter a single word, the raccoon turned on its heel and strutted into the woods with utmost dignity.

I couldn't make heads or tails of what I had just witnessed. Was that fire acting as some sort of internal heater for it?

Right. Trying to understand this place is just asking for a headache.

I had plenty of my own problems to worry about. Shaking off the surreal encounter, I resumed laying the bricks as planned. Lay down a course, slather on the mud. Lay down another course, slather on more mud. Remembering the warning to ensure every seam held firm, I inspected each layer with meticulous care.

Originally, I had intended to slap the mud on with bare hands, but the biting cold had forced me to open the auction house. A quick search had turned up a proper masonry trowel. Using it now, I honestly wondered how I could have managed without it.

Now for the hardest part... the chimney.

The chimney required the most delicate touch: a column tapering narrower as it climbed toward the stone ceiling. Mud alone couldn't maintain that slant without sliding apart, so I needed a different approach.

I need a skeleton.

Because I was working with mud rather than fast-setting cement, a rigid inner frame was paramount. After turning options over in my head, I bought a sturdy iron drum from the auction house, then stepped outside to hammer it out so the clatter wouldn't wake Wonmo.

Skrrrt! Skrrrt! Skrrrt!

Infusing my blade with aura, I sheared the drum into wide, flat planks. Next, I hollowed out the centers, leaving only rigid rims. The frame was complete: a broad, U-shaped iron armature, thick and unyielding.

The size should match up nicely.

So long as smoke escaped cleanly, minor imperfections didn't matter. If it collapsed down the road... well, I'd just have to rebuild it better next time. For now, this was my best effort.

Slowly and deliberately, I laid brick upon brick until the chimney met the ceiling opening. My work inside the cave was finished. Now I had to head outside to cap it off.

I hauled my supplies to the cave's upper ledge: a bucket of wet mud, bricks, a pickaxe, and a hammer. Thanks to the sub-space bag, I managed the entire load in a single trip.

Thud! Crack! Rattle!

With the pickaxe, I widened the puncture hole, then tapped away with the hammer to refine the edges. Working without precise instruments meant the opening ended up broader than the chimney's rim, but that was no issue. That was precisely why I had hauled up so much mud.

"Alright. Finished!"

With the upper chimney securely laid and sealed, the makeshift fireplace was complete. Seeing a chimney poking out of a natural cave roof looked decidedly odd, but aesthetics didn't matter. Performance was everything. I needed to test whether it actually drew smoke and retained heat.

"Phew."

The temperature had plummeted further while I worked; my breath plumed into thick white fog. Clearing out the stray rock fragments inside the hearth, I arranged dry firewood within.

Crackle! Snap! Crackle!

The logs caught, casting a warm, rustic glow across the stone cavern. The dancing flames brought an immediate surge of comfort, but my winter prep wasn't done yet. A sharp draft still snuck in through the open cave mouth. That draft had to be choked off.

The dwarf told me to seal it loosely with thick cloth or hides, right?

My single tiger pelt fell far short of covering the cavern mouth. For now, I layered several massive sheets of sturdy canvas across the opening. With the blizzard temporarily at bay, this was the perfect window. Tacking them firmly into the rock crevices with heavy iron nails dampened the wind considerably. When the blizzard whipped up again, I would weigh down the lower hems with heavy boulders.

With the entrance blocked, the heat's finally staying inside.

This had been the entire point of erecting a chimney. When burning an open campfire, the entrance had to remain open for ventilation, letting all the precious heat escape. A proper fireplace changed the equation entirely. Enclosed within the warming cavern, a wave of profound relief settled over me.

Before I knew it, the Fast Tree Sloth had drifted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over to the hearth, soaking in the radiating warmth.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"......"

The beast offered a slow, ponderous nod. A warm sense of pride bloomed in my chest. Moments like this demanded an update to the Gallery. Snapping a few quick photos of the new installation, I penned a post. Glancing at the timestamp, I realized the whole build had eaten up two full hours. Lost in the rhythm of construction, time had completely slipped away.

Grumbling under my breath, I trudged outside and confirmed that a steady plume of grey smoke was billowing skyward. The brief trek emphasized just how vast the temperature gulf between inside and outside had become. The fireplace was undeniably doing its job; the cave interior had grown genuinely cozy.

Time for a breather.

Pouring all my concentration into masonry had left my muscles languid and weary. But before resting, lunch came first. Naturally, the menu called for smoked provisions. Reheating them right over the hearth grate was delightfully effortless.

I'll feed the inner core to Ppareumbo, and Wonmo... should probably just sleep?

Whether he had truly entered hibernation or was simply indulging his gluttonous slumber, Wonmo remained fast asleep. Even amidst all my banging and chiseling, he had stayed curled into a tight, fuzzy ball, dead to the world. Seeing no need to disturb him, I left him be; he'd wake up on his own when hunger pinched.

After finishing my meal, I leaned back and scrolled through the Gallery to let my food settle.

Ah. There was a match today?

Sure enough, Princess Chaeng-gu had posted about the game. With my hectic survival schedule lately, I hadn't realized today was match day. Chaeng-gu would pout if I ignored it entirely. Better to drop a comment now. I tapped into the thread.

Every single time a match rolled around, Princess Chaeng-gu and King Leor tore into each other like clockwork. They say extremes meet; though they backed mortal rival clubs, their personalities were practically identical.

Whoooooosh!

A sudden gust rattled the canvas covering the cave mouth, billowing inward before snapping back taut. The razor-sharp wind wailed outside. With the weather swinging violently back and forth, stepping outside for the next few days seemed out of the question. Rain was miserable enough, but a blizzard was an outright catastrophe.

Might as well circulate my internal arts.

I dedicated an hour to the Mind Cultivation Method, guiding the qi through my meridians, followed by thirty minutes of sword katas. By the time I finished, the Chae-yu match was wrapping up. Wiping the light sheen of sweat from my brow, I pulled up the Gallery.

The matches had unfolded precisely as I had predicted. Inevitably, my original comments were being flooded by a torrential "pilgrimage" of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠awed forum users paying homage to the miraculous forecast. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the sudden prophet status, I shrugged it off as pure luck and closed the thread.

More importantly...

I shifted my gaze to the Fast Tree Sloth. It was still rooted to the exact same spot, staring vacantly into the dancing flames. It hadn't shown the slightest interest when we used an open campfire, so why was it so utterly mesmerized by the hearth?

"Hey. You're gonna ruin your eyesight. Back up."

"......"

"Hey, I said back up."

I suddenly understood exactly how my mother had felt every time she dragged me away from the computer monitor.