Neighbors (3)
Subcontracting the foraging to Father Raccoon significantly lightened my workload and saved an immense amount of time. In my current situation, time was more precious than gold—no, more precious than diamonds. To keep our arrangement running smoothly, I intended to manage our relationship with plenty of leeway so the raccoons would never feel exploited.
Come to think of it, how should I build their house?
Since we would be frequent neighbors, I considered putting together a small rest area in the yard. The dilemma was figuring out what kind of structure raccoons actually preferred. They had already built a clean, cozy den inside their hollow tree, so I had no intention of forcing them to relocate. What I had in mind was strictly a shelter—a comfortable spot where they could kick back by the campfire during the freezing winter. A proper house would be overdoing it; a sheltered nook designed to capture the fire's warmth would be more than enough.
Of course, I had my own hands full, so I couldn't build it right away. The blast furnace and the oven took top priority, not a winter gazebo for the raccoon family. They already had a solid home anyway, so I could tackle their rest area whenever I caught a breather. At the very least, I figured I could lay down a straw mat for them.
I checked the wind direction. Taking the cave entrance as the reference point, the draft blew steadily from behind. If nothing else, the winds here were predictable, making camp layout relatively simple.
More importantly, I need to make sure Wonmo doesn't view them as a snack.
Before slipping into hibernation, Wonmo had been delightfully plump, but his weight had plummeted in the blink of an eye. In less than ten days, he had balled up into a fat tub of lard and then withered right back down. In contrast, Ppareumbo seemed inherently immune to the cold; not a single hair on the giant sloth had changed.
Three whole weeks have passed since I arrived here.
Today marked day twenty-one—the end of week three. Another week would bring it to four weeks, a full month. At first, time had dragged with agonizing slowness, but lately, the days slipped by in a blur. Between winter's early sunsets and my self-imposed confinement to the camp, the hours seemed to vanish before I noticed.
Not that speed is necessarily a good thing.
Gaining survival experience was great, but I hadn't gathered a single shred of actionable intel regarding how to break out of this death world. Adapting and escaping were two completely different problems. Still, my time hadn't been entirely wasted. I had learned one invaluable lesson: never attempt an escape in midwinter. The moment an avalanche caught me, my life was forfeit.
Crackle, pop.
"Ki-ing."
"Kking."
While I was mapping out the camp's blueprint in my head, Mother Raccoon and Baby Raccoon wandered over to the campfire. Father Raccoon was out foraging, but what brought these two here?
Wait, what's skewered on that stick?
My gaze locked onto the small wooden skewer clutched tightly in the baby raccoon's paws. Something plump and roasted was impaled on the tip. As questions piled up in my mind, the pup held the skewer with both hands like a sacred offering, glanced up at me shyly, and took a few hesitant steps forward.
"Kki-ing."
The pup extended the stick toward me with utter earnestness. For a wild second, I wondered if this little creature could summon fire like his father, but that wasn't the point. Placed right in front of my nose was a fat, golden-brown roasted beetle grub.
Creatures native to the Forest of the Four Seasons ran absurdly large, even when young. Baby Raccoon alone was the size of a small terrier, and naturally, the grub skewered on his stick was monstrously thick.
"...Is this for me?" I asked, pointing at my chest.
"Kking!" the pup squeaked affirmatively.
Baffled by the surreal exchange, I glanced over at Mother Raccoon. She stood with her tiny front paws clasped tightly against her chest, gazing at me with an expression that practically pleaded, Please accept my baby's goodwill. Since when did wild raccoons have such expressive, human-like eyes?
Bugs really aren't my thing, but...
I couldn't just brush off a neighbor's heartfelt hospitality. Close my eyes, chew once, and swallow. How bad could it be?
"Thanks, buddy. I'll enjoy it."
"..."
The moment I voiced my thanks, the baby raccoon scampered away and ducked behind his mother. He was clearly bashful around strangers. Yet, seeing his round little head peeking out from behind her flank, his dark eyes brimming with anticipation, melted my resolve. I couldn't crush a child's pure-hearted expectation. This was a gift from a neighbor, after all.
Inspecting the evenly charred grub, I braced myself and popped the whole thing into my mouth. At the very least, it was roasted, so it ought to taste like crunchy protein—
SQUELCH!
"..."
A deeply cursed sound echoed from inside my skull. The moment my teeth broke the crisp outer skin, an explosion of lukewarm, viscous sludge flooded across my tongue and coated my palate. Had I made the mistake of applying human culinary standards to a wild beast, or was the kid simply too inexperienced to realize he had served it rare?
Fighting off a violent, gag-inducing wave of nausea rising from the pit of my stomach, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to chew.
...Right. In a survival crisis, you're supposed to eat them raw anyway.
Refusing to let the little pup down, I soldiered on. Gulping down that thick, lukewarm slurry was an existential crisis of its own. To describe the texture and flavor as the absolute worst in recorded history felt like an understatement.
"M-Mmm! Delicious!"
"Kki-ing! Kking!"
"Ki-ing."
When I flashed a broad smile and gave a firm thumbs-up, the baby raccoon bounced on his hind legs in sheer delight. Mother Raccoon gently patted her child's head, but she cast a nervous, apologetic sideways glance in my direction. Even she knew that grub had been undercooked.
[Photo of a puppy-sized baby raccoon holding out a roasted skewer with two paws]
[Photo of a gigantic, roasted beetle grub impaled on a sharpened stick]
The gifts from the neighbors didn't stop with the roots. The baby raccoon roasted this over the fire himself and handed it to me lol.
It was pretty undercooked on the inside, but I powered through and choked it down.
I had heard about that trait before: raccoons instinctively wash their food in water. I remembered watching a hilarious video back on Earth where a raccoon tried to wash a puff of cotton candy in water, only to stare in shattered despair when it instantly dissolved into nothing. Still, raccoons were intelligent creatures; after losing cotton candy two or three times, they stopped washing it. The raccoons of the Forest of the Four Seasons must have learned a similar lesson over generations: out here, water was infinitely deadlier than fire.
Is that why they developed fire manipulation in the first place?
Just like that commenter pointed out, the theory sounded strangely plausible. In a forest where river water harbored paralyzing toxins and apex predators, playing with fire was vastly safer than dipping paws into the stream.
To scour the lingering horror from my tongue, I grabbed a strip of smoked meat and tore into it. It was less of a meal and more of an emergency palate cleanser. Man, what I wouldn't give for a banana right now.
Thinking of snacks naturally brought back memories of the bananas given to me by the gorilla troop. They had chucked them at me like loose change in place of the Inedia Pills I traded them. It had been a thoroughly one-sided, shameless trade, but the bananas themselves had tasted heavenly. Unfortunately, those fruits were native specialties found only in the jungle zone. Venturing into gorilla territory sounded like a death wish, so no matter how much I craved fresh fruit, I had to suppress the urge.
Doesn't this forest have regular fruit trees?
There were mushrooms everywhere, but edible fruit was virtually nonexistent. The few berries I had spotted looked far too toxic to gamble on.
Shaking off the idle distraction, I closed my eyes and circulated my Mind Cultivation Method. The structural blueprints for the shelter were largely settled; all that remained was to wait for the change of seasons. Since there wasn't much else to do until the snow melted, training was the only productive use of my time.
The frost energy is condensing, little by little...
The process of isolating the frost qi from my internal mana was advancing smoothly. The first breakthrough was always the hardest; once momentum built, progress naturally accelerated. Of course, that didn't mean I neglected my sword katas. Balance was the bedrock of survival, and I knew better than anyone that slacking on the fundamentals was fatal.
"Whew."
By the time I brought the cultivation cycle to a close, midday had rolled around. Just as I contemplated whipping up something for lunch, a piercing sound shattered the quiet.
—KE-EEEEENG! KE-ENG!
A desperate shriek echoed from outside—less of a bark and more of a terrified scream. Judging by the pitch, it was Father Raccoon.
A spike of anxiety drove me out of the cave. The front yard was deserted, but the screaming echoed directly from the hollow tree where the raccoons nested. Strapping on my gear, I sprinted toward their den.
Ssssshhhk—
"KE-ENG! KKENG!"
Sure enough, my neighbors were in mortal danger. A massive serpent was winding its way up the trunk of their tree. Father Raccoon was perched at the entrance of the hollow, fiercely thrusting a flaming torch toward the serpent's snout to keep it at bay. Inside the hollow, Mother and Baby Raccoon were undoubtedly cowering in fear.
"Get away from them, you overgrown worm!"
I lunged straight for the serpent. Sensing my approach, the beast reacted with unnatural speed.
Thump!
The snake coiled its thick body and snapped backward like a compressed steel spring, launching itself onto an adjacent tree limb. The sheer elasticity and explosive mobility were typical of the lethal horrors lurking in this forest.
"SHAAAAAA!"
Perched on the nearby bough, the serpent coiled once more and sprang directly at my throat, its massive maw gaping wide to reveal curved fangs dripping with translucent venom.
Against such a strike, the old me might have panicked. But having weathered the nightmares of this wilderness, my body moved on pure instinct. I twisted lightly to the side, letting the venomous maw strike empty air, and brought my blade sweeping downward in a vicious arc.
SLASH!
Infused with sharp Aura, the Heavenly Demon's Sword sheared through the serpent's thick scales as effortlessly as warm butter, severing its torso clean in two. To make matters worse for the beast, bone-chilling frost qi erupted from the wound, creeping rapidly through its flesh.
Having tangled with the Steel-scale Snake before, I took no chances. I didn't hold back an ounce of power.
Thrash! Crack-crack-crackle!
The severed halves thrashed wildly against the frozen snow, but within seconds, crystalline frost locked the serpent solid. Stepping forward, I cleanly cleaved through its neck, decapitating the frozen head to ensure it was dead for good.
If snakes are already waking from their winter torpor...
That settled it. Winter was definitely drawing to its close.
I booted the frozen snake head into the snowdrift and turned around. Still clutching his torch with trembling paws, Father Raccoon slumped against the hollow rim, letting out an enormous sigh of relief.
"You alright?"
"Ke-eng."
Father Raccoon bowed his head low, expressing profound gratitude. From inside the tree hollow, Mother and Baby Raccoon poked their heads out, chittering soft thanks of their own.
If he didn't have that torch, they would have been swallowed whole. Thank goodness.
Most wild beasts feared open flame, and snakes were no exception. Besides, Father Raccoon possessed the uncanny ability to breathe fire; the serpent must have found him troublesome to swallow in a single gulp, resulting in a tense standoff at the threshold.
Just as I made a mental note to scatter snake-repellent powder around their tree trunk, the raccoon family scrambled down to the ground.
"Kkeng!"
Father Raccoon trotted over and tapped the frozen snake carcass with his claw. Was he asking if we should eat it?
"You want to eat this?"
"Ke-eng."
"Hmm..."
I looked down at the kill. It was massive—plenty of meat to share between us. I had never eaten snake before, but it would be a shame to waste fresh wild game. Even if we had leftovers, I had plenty of cold-storage space in the ice shed, so preservation wasn't an issue.
"Alright. Let's feast."
"Kkeng!"
At my nod, Father Raccoon gestured for me to wait and scampered back up to his nest. Moments later, he scurried back down, holding something carefully in his paws.
"Ke-eng!"
What he presented was a mushroom. To the naked eye, it looked like an ordinary brown cap. I generally avoided wild forest mushrooms whenever possible, but there had to be a reason he fetched it. Could it be that he understood its medicinal properties?
"What does this one do? I'm kind of hesitant when it comes to mushrooms..."
"Ke-eng."
Understanding my hesitation, Father Raccoon decided that actions spoke louder than words.
Whoosh— whoosh—
He planted his back paws firmly in the snow and began thrusting his pelvis violently back and forth. His arms pumped rhythmically in sync with his hips, driving the motion home with undeniable vigor.
The pantomime left absolutely zero room for misinterpretation.
It seemed that whether human or beast, males really were identical across the board.
...Wait a second. Even if I eat this stamina booster, where the hell am I supposed to use it?!
Was this furry bastard bragging because he had a mate and I didn't?