Countermeasures (1)

My bewilderment at the sight of a knight riding a giraffe didn't last long. The shifting terrain had already swallowed them whole, leaving me helpless to do anything about it for now, so I decided to focus on the tasks at hand.

First order of business: break the thick ice sealing the river and plunge my hand in to see if the Golden Poison Frog would stir. Ideally, the lethal amphibian would remain fast asleep in hibernation and never show its face at all—that way, I wouldn't lose precious daylight dealing with it.

Splash!

"Gaaah!"

A bizarre yelp tore from my throat the instant my skin breached the water. Cold didn't even begin to describe it. I had anticipated the chill from the water trickling through my hose line, but feeling it directly against bare flesh was another beast entirely. Still, solving my winter food shortage demanded a little suffering. Fortunately, the Golden Poison Frog seemed sound asleep, showing no signs of surfacing.

"Brrr-r-r... H-h-h..."

Knowing I was safe from poison didn't stop the biting agony. This was precisely why I desperately wanted a Cold Resistance skill. Shivering violently as the arctic chill gnawed at my legs, I worked as fast as my stiffening fingers allowed to anchor the fish traps. The various boots I had acquired through trades possessed decent waterproofing, but the river was simply too deep, forcing me to wade in wearing standard sneakers.

Just ten minutes. Ten minutes of torture, and it's done...!

Frostbite was an obvious risk, but I wasn't entirely defenseless. Even without an official Cold Resistance trait, the latent frosty qi nestled within my marrow provided a natural buffer. It would ward off permanent tissue damage; it just felt insanely, excruciatingly painful.

Once every trap was secured beneath the ice shelf, I bolted back to the warmth of my cave. The moment I crossed the threshold, I heated a pot of water and submerged my numbed feet. Even if the internal frost qi kept necrosis at bay, you could never be too careful.

Sitting quietly with my feet soaking in the soothing warmth, the surreal vision from earlier resurfaced in my mind.

Was that person across the river actually real?

Perched high on the back of a giraffe was strange enough, but the rider had brandished a blade with the unmistakable poise of a trained knight. Even the local apex predators circling the pair—a pride of massive plains lions—had hesitated to close the distance.

Wait a second. Didn't that sword glow?

The weapon clutched in the knight's grip had unquestionably radiated an ethereal green brilliance. Faint as the aura might have been, the emerald hue had been distinct. And the only metal capable of producing that cosmic, star-speckled green light was the Mythrecon I had forged myself.

Could it really be Ludwig?

Ludwig. The renowned holy knight famous across the continent for his unshakable integrity. The very same man who had posted those delightfully middle-aged, uncle-style musings on the Gallery. It was entirely possible that he was the warrior swinging a galaxy-tinted blade from the back of a runaway giraffe.

Of all the rotten timing...

I sighed, letting the steaming water thaw my aching toes. The timing couldn't have been worse. Why did the spatial boundary have to shift at that exact second? If I had been granted just one more minute—hell, even thirty seconds—I could have made certain.

My luck is truly garbage.

In all likelihood, the knight hadn't noticed me. Fighting for dear life against a pack of predatory lions left little leisure for scanning the far bank of a frozen river.

Come to think of it... didn't someone say giraffes don't exist in this world?

My memory was slightly fuzzy, but I seemed to recall a passing mention. Just to be sure, I opened the interface and typed "giraffe" into the Gallery search bar. Nothing came up. Plenty of posts contained the individual syllables, but not a single record referenced the long-necked savanna herbivore. Meanwhile, search results for unicorns and pegasi were everywhere, treated as everyday common knowledge.

Of course, there was always the chance people simply called it by a different name. To settle the matter once and for all, I pulled out a spare scrap of paper, sketched a quick portrait, and uploaded it.

Is he talking about a Brachiosaurus? Finding out dinosaurs once roamed this fantasy realm was surprising, but what baffled me even more was the fact that none of these people could wrap their heads around the existence of a simple giraffe.

Then what on earth was the giraffe I saw?

Had they fallen behind in the evolutionary food chain and gone extinct everywhere else? Perhaps only this absurdly lethal forest, where even pure herbivores grew terrifyingly powerful, had allowed them to survive. It sounded plausible enough. But if that wasn't the case...

Could it be... connected to Earth?

Just as I had been abruptly dumped into the Forest of the Four Seasons, perhaps terrestrial fauna had crossed over as well. I was a biological product of Earth after all; my very presence served as proof of concept. Yet knowing the result did nothing to illuminate the cause.

I have to investigate every nook and cranny.

The core takeaway was clear: I had to unravel the secrets of this forest. Landing here didn't feel like a total coincidence anymore. Daily survival was non-negotiable, but thorough exploration was just as crucial; gathering clues was my only ticket to expanding the odds of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠escape.

I've been keeping up with my journal entries, so time will furnish the answers.

Now that I understood seasons rotated on a strict weekly cycle, I intended to allocate more hours to active reconnaissance. My original strategy was hunkering down in the shelter until I grew strong enough, but dragging that out indefinitely carried its own dangers. Besides, winter would enforce an unavoidable house arrest anyway.

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

Having confirmed another survivor's presence, establishing immediate countermeasures took precedence.

I need to supply whatever aid I can to any fellow survivors.

Was Ludwig the sole interloper trapped in the Forest of the Four Seasons? Word on the forum suggested others had been forcibly banished here alongside him. With enough luck, some might still be drawing breath out there in the green expanse.

However, from my own grueling experience, enduring this wilderness without a fortified base was borderline impossible. Without proper tools and weaponry, survival odds plummeted straight to zero.

The Gallery gave me a lifeline; it's my turn to pass one along.

Barring some freak exception like me, anyone thrown into this forest lost access to the Gallery interface entirely. Tracking their coordinates was out of the question; badgering the Head Mod yielded nothing. The best I could manage was hurling survival supplies across the river gorge. Since their exact coordinates were a mystery, casting a wide net was my only viable play.

Food is the bedrock of survival, but...

Regrettably, rations were the one commodity I couldn't afford to spare. With an unpredictable winter looming, every scrap had to be hoarded in my larder. On the flip side, that meant I could provide virtually everything else.

Starting with weapons.

A good blade meant everything in the Forest of the Four Seasons. Had the Heavenly Demon's Sword not fallen into my hands early on, I would have perished a dozen times over. Even Ludwig seemed to be holding his ground largely thanks to the Mithricon blade I had sent through the portal.

I'll forge blades and launch them across the river. That should work.

It was the best scheme my brain could concoct. Yet a weapon alone wasn't enough. There was another method: the trail markers I had previously erected around the cavern.

I needed an enormous bulletin board—a sign massive enough to be read from across the chasm, functioning like the giant propaganda and defection signboards set up along military demilitarized zones.

I should have built this ages ago...

I had neglected to place signs along the riverbank, an oversight born of complacency. I had foolishly assumed Ludwig would be deposited on my side of the river. Never expecting him to appear across the water, I hadn't bothered. Had a towering sign stood by the bank, he might already be sitting by my hearth.

Regret was pointless. I would use this mistake to construct a massive directory translated into multiple languages, ensuring that no matter who washed ashore or where they hailed from, they could find refuge.

I can crowdsource the translations from the Gallery.

Languages varied wildly across species and sovereign borders, but the continental network connected them all. The prominent handles hailed from every corner of the world; all I had to do was ask.

It has to be gigantic.

Just like my old markers, the fundamental design was straightforward, but the sheer scale demanded serious manual labor. Tongue-and-groove jointing massive timber planks across towering support pillars was painstakingly slow work.

I slotted heavy wooden planks into a pair of sturdy trunk uprights, assembling an expansive wooden billboard. Carving lengthy multi-lingual manifestos directly into the rough grain would take forever, but I had a simpler workaround.

I'll paste giant sheets of treated paper onto it.

Paper made updating messages effortless, bypassing the need to chisel every letter into hardwood. Admiring the monumental frame that was easily legible from leagues away, I logged back into the Gallery interface, bought large parchment scrolls from the trade menu, and contacted the regulars.

First in hand was the graceful calligraphy of the Central Plains from the Cult Leader. Next up was the swordsman.

After dodging a prank from the eccentric Sword Master, I secured the official imperial script of the Messiah Empire. Then I hit up the dwarven artisan.

From the dwarf came runic dwarven script. Moving down the line, I pinged Princess Chaeng-gu, Allfather, Praise the Sun, Let's Grow Trees, and Suspiciously, gathering writing samples across distinct realms, clans, and species. Posting a public thread might have been faster, but the comment section would have devolved into chaotic banter and flame wars within seconds, making this private approach far more reliable.

Finally, I contacted the head moderator hailing from the holy theocracy of El Dorado.

With the Juddak's holy script secured, the linguistic compilation was complete. Taking up bold black ink to stand stark against the ivory paper, I meticulously copied every glyph, rune, and alphabet by hand.

Juggling this many languages is exhausting.

The sheer physical surface of the billboard was massive, and transcribing unfamiliar writing systems demanded razor-sharp focus. Spacing was crucial to ensure every language received equal billing without running off the edges.

By the time I inked the final stroke, the sun was dipping low. Sweating but satisfied, I stepped back to inspect the completed masterpiece.

Reading it over, the phrasing felt oddly familiar.

Why does this sound like a government border broadcast enticing defectors to cross over...?

Regardless, the directory was finished. All that remained was crafting emergency survival kits.

No time to waste. Move fast.

A towering billboard meant nothing if the people it targeted starved or bled out before reaching it. Raising my heavy iron pickaxe, I struck the glistening veins of Mithril buried deep within the cavern walls.

Please, I prayed silently with every rhythmic strike of the pick. Stay alive long enough to make it here.