Countermeasures (2)

The thread started with typical Gallery banter, but before long, legitimate concerns flooded the comments.

Assume for a moment that there really were survivors in the Forest of the Four Seasons. They might read the notice and cross the river. But what came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after? What if that survivor harbored malice and tried to harm me?

It's not entirely out of the question.

When stripped down to pure survival, every living creature became a competitor. Even one's own species was no exception. To make matters worse, I couldn't speak the local language of this world, which meant persuasion wouldn't come easy.

My best bet is to leverage the Gallery to the fullest.

In a place like this, even a beast as absurdly powerful as the giant sloth struggled to forage enough food. Without the Gallery, I would have starved to death long ago. In this godforsaken wilderness, mere access to the community was an insurmountable advantage. If I showed them the interface and used it as a translator, cooperation wouldn't be impossible.

Recruiting them has to be priority number one. In the end, manpower is everything.

There were tasks a human hand had to perform, and tasks only the Gallery could solve. Right on cue, a flurry of comments echoing my train of thought popped up below. A few stray curses were peppered in, but I paid them no mind.

First, let's go plant that sign.

Even though the wooden board was sizable, it posed no trouble at all. I had the sub-space backpack. Trudging down to the bank, I positioned it carefully so it would be plainly visible from across the river. I could easily keep tabs on it whenever I checked the fish traps.

Crossing the river is going to be another headache.

The width was daunting enough, but the current was treacherous. Swims across that torrent without a boat seemed near impossible. A high-ranking expert might be able to leap across in a single bound, but expecting a survivor to reach this point completely unharmed was naive optimism at best. The more survivors there were, the higher the chance that someone's legs were injured or crippled.

Hell, look at me. Without an Elixir, I'd have spent the rest of my life disabled.

I need to build a bridge.

One might scoff at the idea of building a bridge when the land across the water shifted in real time. Yet while the opposite shore constantly morphed, the river itself remained steady. That meant there was always a boundary of similar elevation and condition waiting on the other side.

Better measure the span first.

Reaching into my sub-space pack, I pulled out a coil of rope. I always carried basic tools on me. Tying a dagger to one end, I hurled it across the water—not into whatever biome lay beyond, but right up to the boundary edge.

Damn, it really is wide.

Marking the length on the rope, I reeled it back in. Just as I turned to head back to camp, I paused and gazed across the water.

The Forest of the Four Seasons harbored all manner of hostile environments. Right now, the opposite bank was swallowed whole by impenetrable fog. What lurked inside that mist? Could anyone even survive in a place like that?

No matter how I look at it, I've been absurdly lucky.

Setting the Gallery aside, the mere fact that my cave sat in an area where survival was feasible was a blessing. If I had awakened in that fog zone, a volcanic belt, a parched desert, or a frozen mountain peak... the mere thought sent chills down my spine.

Where was that guy earlier? Giraffes live in savannas, don't they?

And the pack of lions surrounding him pointed to a grassland as well. Then again, nothing here followed common sense. There was literally a kangaroo living not far from my cave. Just like humans, animals simply adapted to wherever they were thrown.

I'll take my time with the bridge. I should forge the sword first.

Even a temporary bridge would take considerable time to erect, but a sword was a different story. Besides, I needed to test Father Raccoon's fiery capabilities anyway. Of course, when it came to grinding and honing the blade, the dwarf was the true master, so I resolved to seek his help.

It was advice cut straight to the bone. At first, I blinked, wondering what had gotten into him. For a dwarf who usually traded jokes and laughed his ass off with me to speak so sternly meant one thing: I was acting recklessly. It was bitter medicine.

Ugh...

I closed my mouth shut and pondered what the dwarf was actually warning me about. My initial plan had been to chuck supplies—specifically weapons—across the river for the survivor. I had reasoned that a weapon was far more valuable than a handful of rations, especially since Mithril and Orichalcum were practically lying around my camp like gravel.

...Wait. What if something like one of those gorillas picked it up?

Save for their beastly appearance, those gorillas were essentially primitive hominids. A few of them already swung crude clubs and stones, and the Chief Gorilla could even manipulate mana. Imagine handing a Mythrecon sword to a monster like that. Survival wouldn't even be an option; the entire local ecosystem would collapse.

Come to think of it, didn't they mention monsters too?

Standard fantasy fare like goblins, orcs, gnolls, and ogres. Those creatures were far more lethal because they inherently knew how to wield tools. If even apes could channel mana in this forest, why couldn't monsters? If I wasn't careful, I could end up forging the instrument of my own demise.

Tsk...

A bitter taste lingered on my tongue. Just as the dwarf said, the high of spotting another human had made me reckless. In the end, tossing a sword across the river was firmly off the table. The risks far outweighed the benefits. I could still forge a spare blade for Ludwig, but it would stay by my side until we met face-to-face.

Let's sort out the bridge first.

I brought it up with the dwarf again, asking if there was a viable blueprint for a temporary structure. Since rising waters from rain had to be factored in, an arched design would be ideal. If even the dwarf didn't have a solution, I planned to lash together a makeshift walkway and reinforce it gradually.

Da Vinci? Could it really be that Da Vinci?

Hearing a name so deeply tied to my old world caught me completely off guard. Cement was one thing, but Da Vinci was a historic human figure. It gnawed at the back of my mind.

I would probably have to ask Allfather about the origin later. Right now, historical trivia didn't matter; execution did.

It wasn't as if the idea hadn't crossed my mind. But an Elixir couldn't be brewed simply because one possessed an Adult Mandrake Root. While Lady Starlight would certainly agree to brew them if I asked, shameless badgering had its limits. More critically, the wild mandrake population around my shelter was noticeably thinning out.

When I weigh every single factor... I'm walking on thin ice myself.

Thinking it over two or three times proved the dwarf entirely right. This was no time to relax. The sheer euphoria of seeing another living soul had knocked my IQ down a few pegs.

'Never make decisions when you're happy.' They weren't kidding.

It had only been twenty-two days. A mere three weeks, yet I was starving for human connection to the point of madness. In that vulnerable state, a glimpse of another person had temporarily short-circuited my brain.

I have to keep my feet firmly on the ground.

Shortly after, the dwarf shared the construction method for the Da Vinci Bridge in a post. The interlocking reciprocal structure was surprisingly elegant and simple. To make it even clearer, the dwarf uploaded a short video clip demonstrating the interlocking wooden slats with small sticks. Seeing it in action made the mechanics click instantly.

Understanding the concept was easy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough, but carving and lugging the actual timber alone made my back ache in advance.

Armed with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sturdy dwarven plane, I set to work on the bridge in earnest. The first step was logging—not for firewood, but for prime structural timber. I refrained from using internal energy or frost qi; one careless surge of freezing cold could fracture the wood and ruin the logs entirely.

Craaack!

A massive tree groaned and toppled to the forest floor. With measured cuts, I lopped off the crown and branches, saving the smaller boughs for firewood and charcoal, and squared off the thick trunk into uniform interlocking beams.

Man, doing this alone is brutal.

When would the opposite bank rotate back to the savanna? I hoped it would happen soon.

Still... a Da Vinci Bridge? Could it really be the Leonardo da Vinci I know?

Between cement and this bridge, the world felt strangely tangled with Earth's history. Was it a remnant of someone who arrived here before me, or merely an uncanny convergence of engineering? The mystery nagged at me, but I shook my head and shoved it aside.

Who gives a damn right now?

At the end of the day, survival was all that mattered.

While Grylls toiled away felling timber for the bridge, Ludwig—the holy knight riding atop the giraffe—found himself in dire straits.

Not that his mount had betrayed him. On the contrary, they had just emerged victorious from a brutal skirmish against the pride of monstrous lions. Thanks to the giraffe's towering height, the engagement had played out less like an open field brawl and more like a mounted siege.

The reach of his weapon had posed no issue either; the Mythrecon sword gifted by Grylls had performed spectacularly. It was a blade that sang in response to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faintest whisper of mana. Because the Forest of the Four Seasons possessed an overwhelming, suffocating density of ambient mana, drawing upon one's reserves was an agonizing chore. Yet agonizing did not mean impossible. With sheer concentration, a sliver could be forced through.

It was like forcing an elephant through the eye of a needle, restricting him to less than five percent of his peak output, but the Mythrecon blade was so peerless in craft that it bridged the gap and carried him through the fray.

"Khh..."

Even so, flesh and blood had their limits. Resting beneath the spreading canopy of a massive tree after the clash, Ludwig let out a ragged groan as he inspected his wounds.

His arms were thankfully intact, but his right foot had taken a savage bite from the alpha lion. A normal lion's jaw was already terrifying enough, but these predators were native to the Four Seasons Forest. The beast had crushed straight through his tempered steel sabaton as though it were brittle biscuit, mangling the flesh beneath.

This is grave. And there are no medicinal herbs in sight.

Before his departure, he had handed all his remaining healing draughts and potions to Rece. Aside from the miraculous Mythrecon sword, he had ventured into this death trap with virtually nothing to his name. At first, an improbable string of luck had carried him through, but fortune had finally run dry.

Given the risk of infection, amputation is the safest course, but...

Contemplating the grim worst-case scenario, Ludwig cast his gaze across the horizon. The savanna stretched endlessly under a harsh sky, devoid of any shelter where an invalid could safely recuperate. Caves? Every cavern he had scouted so far housed three-headed chimera lions or apex horrors of comparable ferocity.

Was that figure across the water merely a phantom?

Ludwig cast his mind back to that fleeting glimpse on the riverbank: a man who looked like an inhabitant of the distant Central Plains. Ludwig had been so utterly transfixed by the sight that he had let his guard down, suffering this crippling injury as a result. Had it not been for his loyal giraffe whisking him clear, that lapse in focus would have cost him his life.

If it wasn't an illusion...

He turned his gaze back toward the river, only to find the landscape utterly transformed. Where a verdant forest had flanked the opposite bank just hours ago, an endless expanse of scorching desert now shimmered under the heat haze. Just as he had rejoiced at discovering an accessible water source, the terrain had shifted completely.

If the necrosis takes root, I'll have to cut the foot off myself.

Until then, all he could do was watch the wound closely. Ludwig winced, tilting his head back against the rough bark. For now, this solitary giant tree would have to serve as his temporary redoubt. In his current state, wandering blindly was suicide.

I must hold out until the river reveals that forest once more.

Steeling his resolve, Ludwig turned his head to the side. At the base of the trunk, the giraffe lay curled tightly against the ground, resting its weary frame.

And I'm taking you with me.

With every passing hour, the stoic paladin found himself growing fonder of the gentle, enduring beast.