Mandrake (1)

More often than you would think, shoveling ruins a man’s body. Breaking raw ground demands a monstrous amount of pure, unadulterated labor.

Without knowing how to pace yourself, getting out of bed the following morning becomes a physical impossibility. Luckily, I was a South Korean man who had finished his mandatory military service.

Thanks to a handful of old army survival tricks, I could still walk, though without them I probably would have spent the entire day paralyzed on the dirt floor.

Man, do they have anything like pain relief patches around here?

Massaging my agonizingly knotted muscles, I logged into the Gallery to see if anyone sold medicated heat patches or salonpas.

Unfortunately, no such thing existed in the listings. A limitation of these backwards fantasy eras, apparently.

Instead, I wrote a quick post asking if anyone knew an effective remedy for severe muscle soreness.

I sighed deeply. I sure wish I had a body like that.

In the end, it seemed best to just tough it out. It wasn’t like I was completely crippled, so with a little grit, I could bear it.

Heavy manual labor for the day was completely out of the question, though. If I pushed myself any harder, my urine might literally turn the color of Coca-Cola from rhabdomyolysis tomorrow.

Sore muscles or not, I need to clean myself up first.

Going unwashed for three full days felt revolting. My face, in particular, was slick with an ungodly sheen of grime and grease.

Still, trekking down to the river just to bathe was out of the question. You don’t trade your life for a shower.

I was lucky this forest stayed cool with low humidity. If this had been a sweltering jungle, the discomfort would have driven me insane.

It hurts my wallet, but let’s just buy some water from the auction. I have no choice.

Maintaining basic hygiene was essential to ward off infections and illness. At the very least, I needed to wash my hands and face.

I purchased a bulk order of water from the Gallery Auction House. Watching my scarce funds tick down stung, but until I located another, safer water source, it was an unavoidable expense.

The water arrived alongside several wooden buckets, but before touching a single drop, I checked its quality.

You can never be too careful with stuff bought off an interdimensional board.

Fortunately, just as the user reviews stated, it was completely ordinary, fresh well water.

I splashed my face thoroughly, scrubbed my hands and feet, and meticulously cleaned the areas where sweat tended to accumulate. I used soap as well, opting for the unscented bar recommended by commenters the previous day.

Once I finished my makeshift sponge bath, I dried off cleanly with a towel bought from the auction.

It was nowhere near a proper hot shower, but even this little bit made me feel like a brand-new man.

Crunch. Crunch.

“Ugh... so bitter. Disgustingly bitter.”

Next came breakfast. Chewing down the wretchedly bitter Inedia Pill twisted my entire face into a grimace.

Still, these pills were downright miraculous. After swallowing just a couple of pellets, the empty gnawing in my stomach vanished completely.

Just as Heavenly Demon had claimed, it seemed they were made from supremely restorative medicinal herbs, completely shutting down my hunger cues.

Given the negligible volume of two little pills, I obviously couldn't expect the cozy satisfaction of a full belly. Even so, it was more than enough to keep going.

Right now, real meat is an impossible luxury.

I should count my lucky stars that no carnivore had smelled me and wandered into this cave yet.

After finishing breakfast, I peeked into the pouch containing the Inedia Pills. While plenty still remained, they wouldn't last forever.

I could always ask Heavenly Demon for more, but considering she mentioned crafting them from precious medicinal ingredients, begging repeatedly would be an imposition.

I can’t become dependent on the Gallery. I have to keep drilling that into my head.

By all rights, logging into the Gallery from inside the Forest of the Four Seasons was impossible. Yet, for reasons beyond my understanding, my connection worked.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Which meant that at any given second, without warning, the connection might cut off forever.

I had to build up my own capabilities to prepare for that inevitable day. It was a resolve I repeated to myself every single morning.

Today, instead of heading toward the river, let’s explore in the opposite direction.

Toward the dumping ground where I threw the Mad Dog carcass—the area where the Owlbear had emerged.

Because of that beast, I hadn’t dared set foot in that quadrant for days. But things were different now. To raise my chances of escaping this green hell by even 0.01%, I had to take calculated risks.

My goal was to use this cave as a foothold to establish a secure perimeter, not to live out the rest of my days as a feral hermit. Choosing to settle here permanently was the worst possible option. No matter how long it took, I had to keep the hope of escape alive.

All I’m bringing is the sword and shield.

I deliberately left the harpoon crossbow behind. It was far too bulky to carry through dense foliage, and in an emergency, it was much less versatile than a blade. Above all, cocking and reloading after a single shot took an eternity—a delay that could easily get me killed.

Besides, I needed to practice the fundamental swordsmanship manual Sword Master had shared. I had been reading through it whenever I had a spare moment.

When bracing against an impact, step forward with the left leg...

Before setting out on reconnaissance, I checked my basic stances. A sword-and-shield loadout offered incredible balance and versatility. The sheer solidity of a shield provided immense psychological reassurance, keeping panic from breaking your guard.

Shields were so broken, in fact, that ancient gladiators reportedly had them banned or restricted because they made fights drag on forever.

Time to move.

Carrying a slight edge of tension, I stepped out into the open. Right before the cave entrance sat the trench I had only half-finished the day before.

Once I returned from scouting, it was back to digging. The mere thought of it made me nauseous.

Still, no one was going to dig it for me. Being alone out here was truly pathetic.

Just as the comments said, having so many people paying attention to me felt warm. Was this why people got hooked on forum posting?

Unlike shameless attention-seekers, though, I was a man starving for basic human interaction. Without this Gallery, how could I have survived the crushing loneliness?

No, wait. Loneliness wouldn't have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠killed me. That Mad Dog would have.

With that grounding thought, I made my way toward the zone where the Owlbear had previously emerged.

Reaching the spot where I had dumped the Mad Dog carcass, I found it surprisingly picked clean. Aside from scattered splinters of bone, stray shreds of meat, and a crushed skull, the site looked far tidier than if it had been left to rot naturally. Had the Owlbear not devoured it, the area would have swarmed with maggots, sweltering in an unbearable stench.

Still, no reason to get too close.

Using the scattered bones as a landmark, I veered right into a thick stand of trees.

Wide-open clearings were treacherous; if an Owlbear spotted me in the open, escaping would be impossible. Granted, with a bulk the size of a two-story house, that monster could plow through trunks like toothpicks, but even a small obstacle would buy me a few precious seconds of survival.

The brush is getting pretty thick.

I carefully hacked my way through branches, leaving distinct notch marks on tree trunks with my sword. The moment the terrain showed any sign of spatial anomaly, I fully intended to turn on my heel and sprint back without a second thought.

Spatial boundaries twisted around here like my tangled life, so extra vigilance was non-negotiable.

“Hup... Huh?”

Pushing past a final curtain of dense evergreen branches, I stumbled into an expansive opening.

It was a massive clearing, completely carpeted in lush, wild foliage.

...Is this a boss room or something?

In every video game I'd ever played, spots like this were where boss monsters spawned. Spooked by the thought, I retreated a few steps back toward the tree line.

The biome could shift without warning, so caution was paramount.

After observing the surroundings carefully, I determined that a sudden environmental warp was unlikely. The clearing was unusually wide, but nothing about the transition seemed unnatural. The regular ring of tall pine and oak trees enclosing the perimeter suggested this was simply a strange, natural meadow.

Why is this spot so distinct, though?

The boundary felt unusually sharp. Keeping my guard up, I approached the low greenery covering the meadow floor to take a closer look.

On closer inspection, it wasn't weeds at all. It was a carpet of low-growing plants bearing clusters of fruit—bright, vivid crimson berries that looked remarkably like wild raspberries.

I had no intention of tasting them without knowing whether they were venomous. Instead, I snapped a clear photo and uploaded it to the Gallery.

Most users chimed in guessing it was some kind of wild radish. To be fair, the leafy tops did look an awful lot like root greens.

So radishes can grow berries like this? Maybe I should pull one up to check the root.

In any case, pulling the root wouldn't be fatal—just extremely loud. Still, blowing out my eardrums would cripple my survival chances, so adequate precautions were mandatory.

As debates raged in the comments, Allfather posted reference illustrations. I studied the images and compared them to the plant at my feet.

The leaf structure and general silhouette matched perfectly, but the berries differed. The illustration showed pale green berries, whereas the ones in front of me were an intense, glistening red.

Did these berries just ripen, maybe?

Just in case, I browsed the Auction House and purchased a pair of soundproof earplugs, designed similarly to modern military-grade ear protection on Earth. The description claimed they could muffle the blast of artillery fire. It was probably advertising hype, but the customer reviews were solid.

Since the root reportedly resembled a crude human figure, identifying it once uprooted wouldn't take long.

So, just grip the base and yank. Without wasting another second, I bent over the plant.

With high-grade earplugs sealing my ears, its shriek shouldn't faze me in the slightest. Letting out a slow, bracing breath, I planted my boots firmly on the dirt, took a firm two-handed grip at the plant's thick stalk, and heaved upward with everything I had.

“Hrrnngh... UP!”

Fwump!

There was a momentary jolt of resistance beneath the loam, but it tore free smoothly. I immediately raised the prize to examine the root.

The Gallery had explained that mandrakes possessed roots vaguely resembling a human figure. Not an actual person, but a grotesque, knotted root with limbs branching out like arms and legs.

“Huh?”

What I was holding was on an entirely different level. To put it bluntly, it looked like an actual, miniature person.

This wasn't a vague resemblance; its anatomical proportions were identical to a grown human's. Defined arms, distinct legs, clear joint creases, and an impeccably carved facial expression. On top of that, fine root tendrils grew along its chin like a dense, patriarchal beard. It didn't merely resemble a man—it looked as though a living grandfather had been cast in red clay.

What’s more, its arms were crossed over its chest in an absurdly dignified, majestic pose.

Why the hell is it so bright red? Is this a mandrake or a whole-ass red ginseng root?

It matched the rough concept of a mandrake, but the details were completely warped. I tapped the Gallery interface to ask what was going on.

Snap!

The moment the screen hovered in my vision, the closed eyelids of the root snapped wide open.

Because the entire root was vibrant crimson, I didn’t immediately notice its eyes unlidding. But then, right before my eyes, the root slowly uncrossed its thick, wooden arms.

“Uh?”

“Hhhhuuuu—!”

While I stood frozen in utter bewilderment, the root began to draw in a massive, swelling gasp of air. Pure, primal dread shot straight up my spine.

Panic took over. But before my fingers could release their grip, exactly what Allfather described erupted violently into reality.

[ROOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRRRR—!!]

It wasn't a scream—it was a thunderous, concussive roar that tore through the heavy earplugs like tissue paper. If I hadn’t been wearing protection, my eardrums wouldn't have just suffered damage; they would have exploded into bloody pulp.

Grimacing in sheer agony, I stumbled backward, my hands flying up to clamp over my ears and dropping the mandrake in the process.

Did it burrow back into the ground?!

Wincing against the residual ringing, I cautiously cracked one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eye open.

“...”

“...?”

The damn thing was just sitting there on the grass. After letting loose that single earth-shattering bellow, it had casually crossed its arms over its chest again, staring up at me with an impassive, stoic expression.

Because it possessed an impeccably human face, it felt unnervingly like an elder judging me with deep, silent disdain. Allfather had said it would shriek continuously until buried back in soil, so what was this?

Rumble! Rrrrrr—!

Before my bewildered brain could process the sight, the earth began to violently convulse. The ground rolled underfoot, nearly throwing me onto my back.

First an apocalyptic roar, now an earthquake. This was the furthest thing from a good omen.

I’m grabbing this one and getting the hell out of here!

Lunging forward, I snatched the crimson root off the ground, clamping my hands tightly over its mouth to choke off another roar. Its stalk was thick enough that covering it fully with one hand was difficult, but using both palms sealed its lips shut.

“Mmph! Mmmph! Mmph!”

It thrashed its wooden legs frantically, clearly taken aback that its mouth had been muzzled. Who told you to cross your arms looking smug, you weird turnip?

All I had to do was sprint back to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠safety of the cave. Digging my heels into the turf, I spun around to run—

Pop! Shhk! Pop-pop-pop!

“...What?”

My feet froze mid-stride.

From the churned loam across the vast meadow, dozens of crimson humanoid roots were bursting out of the ground on their own.

The entire clearing roiled as if an ancient mass grave was disgorging its corpses. Every single one that popped to the surface looked identical to the bellowing mandrake squirming in my grip.

Though their sizes and facial features varied like a cross-section of a human village—men, women, elderly, and young—every last one was dyed blood-red.

I am so dead.

This went beyond feeling nervous; it was an omen of utter catastrophe.

Clutching the muzzled root to my chest, I wheeled around. I had a very, very bad feeling I knew what an entire army of these things was preparing to do. Just yesterday, the Golden Poison Frog had unleashed an identical coordinated assault.

The difference was, a shield could block physical poison spit. A soundwave was an entirely different beast.

My only chance was to outrun the blast radius. Worse still, both of my hands were currently busy keeping this one root’s mouth shut.

“Hhhhuuuu—!”

“Ssssuuuuuck—!”

Just as my boots crashed into the perimeter of the dense trees—

[ROOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR—!!]

A wall of pure acoustic shock slammed directly into my back like a battering ram.

While the entire board erupted into chaotic debate over the crimson root, a new comment appeared.

Dorae-Father—no, Allfather—dropped into the thread with a reaction bordering on sheer, unbridled shock.