Slaves (1)

A bridge that would allow survivors to cross the river with ease.

To properly grasp its engineering and mechanics, I had first constructed a miniature scale model out of twigs. They say hearing something a hundred times isn't as good as seeing it once, and seeing something a hundred times isn't as good as doing it once yourself. Once I had a general feel for the design, I rolled up my sleeves to tackle the real thing.

"...Where do I even begin?"

And the very moment I started, I hit a dead end. Or rather, a suffocating sense of dread washed over me.

Understanding the theoretical framework through a tabletop miniature was all well and good. But the second actual labor began, endless complications cropped up. Building a bridge wasn't something you could solve just by casually running a hand plane over some timber. Slicing felled logs to uniform dimensions was hard enough on its own, but even planing the surface proved grueling since I had never done it before in my life.

The fact that I can't freely tap into my aura makes it even worse.

Because I still hadn't mastered controlling the frost qi, I made a point to avoid deploying aura unless absolutely necessary. As a result, I restricted my mana strictly to basic physical reinforcement, doing my best to shape the timber without relying on aura.

Skrrrt! Skrrrt! Skrrrt!

I sawed the felled trunk cleanly in two, then split each half lengthwise once again. Because the trunk was so immensely thick, sawing through it demanded an outrageous amount of physical labor. If I hadn't even possessed a handsaw, I would have thrown in the towel and walked away ages ago.

Seriously, every single time I do stuff like this, my respect for the ancients shoots through the roof.

If it were only the grueling labor of sawing, I could have gritted my teeth and powered through. What proved far more agonizing was the choking cloud of wood dust. The fine powder made drawing a breath an ordeal, forcing me to don the fabric face mask I had received back when preparing for the yellow dust storm.

Cutting a single massive log, squaring its length, and planing every rough surface down to an even, uniform finish...

"Ugh. How am I ever supposed to finish all this?"

I had barely finished shaping a single beam, and foul curses were already bubbling up my throat. The sawing drained my stamina, the dust choked my lungs, and the sheer mountain of timber left to process was staggering. I briefly toyed with the thought of asking the raccoon family for a hand, but quickly tossed the idea aside. At the end of the day, their physical strength was only that of raccoons—not to mention the sheer panic I'd feel if a rogue spark somehow set the entire lumber pile ablaze.

Isn't there someone around who can do some manual labor?

Tackling every single step alone was orders of magnitude harder than I had imagined. The fact that such desperate thoughts were already flooding my head right after starting spoke volumes.

I leaned my back against the stack of logs and took a long swig of water. Even though the spring air was still brisk, thick beads of sweat were dripping down my forehead.

Processing the wood is one thing, but can I even erect the bridge once it's done?

Anxieties began creeping up on me before the work was even halfway through. What if, after sweating blood to process all this timber, I hit an insurmountable structural snag and couldn't build the bridge at all? The sickening thought that everything I had done so far might turn out to be entirely pointless gnawed at my chest.

My half-hearted vent yielded nothing beyond everyone tossing in their two cents before moving on. Then again, I had only logged in for a brief breather while resting my back, so I didn't dwell on it.

It wasn't as if the thought of bartering Inedia Pills to hire the gorillas had never crossed my mind. But the gorilla troop was Ppareumbo's sworn mortal enemy. With nothing but pure animosity simmering between them, as if they would ever listen to a word I said.

Guess there's no way around doing it myself.

Grumbling under my breath, I returned to shaping the remaining timber. Sawing logs horizontally, splitting them vertically, and shaving the surfaces smooth with the hand plane. Just as many a little makes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a mickle, as time ticked away, the stack of finished lumber steadily grew.

Without seasoning, they'll probably gather mold down the road, but...

I could always pack the gaps with cement later, or replace them piece by piece with stone bridge piers as time allowed. For now, my sole focus had to be getting the bridge standing.

"Phew."

By the time hours had slipped by, a respectable pile of processed lumber had formed. Of course, it was still a far cry from what I needed to span the river. Still, bracing for potential rainfall, I hauled the finished timber into the safety of the cave. Watching the stack, the passing thought occurred to me that since I'd likely be using massive amounts of timber in the future, perhaps I should construct a dedicated wood-drying shed. Naturally, that ambitious plan was shot down in record time.

That would require even more cave excavation work.

Unless more survivors arrived to share the load, any further excavation was out of the question. Even if another human did find their way here, they might turn out to be completely useless when it came to manual production. Ludwig, for example, was a holy knight—in other words, a soldier. And soldiers were world-renowned for having zero productive skills in civilian craftsmanship.

At least the cave's interior is dry, which is a blessing.

With the evening chill settling in, the hearth was roaring, creating a hot, arid environment. Naturally, curing timber properly couldn't be accomplished in a day or two; according to the dwarf, proper seasoning was a meticulous process that spanned several months at minimum. It was easiest on my sanity to simply accept that these would serve as a temporary structural framework.

"Man. An entire day just vanished into thin air."

Letting out a breath that sounded somewhere between an awe-struck gasp and an exhausted groan, I checked the time. I had done nothing but work like a dog since lunch, and dusk was already bleeding into the sky. The sun hung low over the western horizon, as if urging me to drop my tools and wrap up for the night. Spending the day chained to manual labor had swallowed the daylight whole—and the task was nowhere near complete. I wondered when on earth I would ever finish, but steady, stubborn progress would eventually bring the finish line into view.

Before darkness blanketed the forest, I hiked up to the riverbank. It was time to retrieve my fish traps and scout the opposite shore while I was at it.

Mm. An even shittier biome than this one.

Unfolding across the opposite bank was an environment that looked even more wretched than the Fog Zone. It wasn't as if the land had soaked up lethal doses of radioactive fallout, yet the earth was uniformly stained a vivid, sickening green. To be clear, it wasn't grass—the barren soil itself was literally radiating a green phosphorescence.

Just what kind of catastrophe happened over there to leave it in that state?

I silently prayed that whatever radiant poison contaminated that wasteland wouldn't seep across the water to my side of the river. Pushing the thought aside, I carefully hauled up the fish caught in the wicker traps. Thanks to setting out two traps in advance, I managed to secure a bountiful catch of five sizable fish.

"Keng!"

Shortly after I returned to the cave, Father Raccoon came trotting over. Clutched securely in his paws was a wild root that bore a striking resemblance to wild ginseng. When I checked with the Heavenly Demon, she confirmed it was indeed wild ginseng richly saturated with internal energy. I resolved to save it as prime material for the next batch of Inedia Pills. On that note, she mentioned the current batch was nearly finished and would be ready to deliver by tomorrow morning. I was overjoyed, but Ppareumbo practically glowed with bliss; when it came to gourmet treats, that sloth was second to none.

He really has a terrifying knack for sniffing out wild ginseng.

Since he had delivered such stellar results, he deserved a fitting reward. I gutted and seasoned one of the fish, roasting it to savory perfection over the fire before offering it to the raccoon family. The raccoons clearly approved of the roasted fish, devouring every last scrap with gusto.

"Kee-ing."

"Kki-ing! Kking!"

Mother Raccoon was the first to gently nudge flaky morsels of fish into Baby Raccoon's eager mouth. Watching her prioritize her child's stomach before touching her own food was a touching reminder that family was family, regardless of species.

Can't lie, I'm a little jealous.

Just a few short years ago, my own family used to gather around a single dinner table like that. A bittersweet smile crept onto my lips. Though the memory still pinched my heart, I had finally reached a point where I could cherish it as a fond memory. Wallowing in grief would only make my own survival harder.

After finishing dinner alongside the raccoon family, I finally rested my weary bones within the warm cavern.

Shhhhhh—

I took care not to neglect the breathing art for controlling my frost qi. Though the duration was short, the consistent daily practice had smoothed out my control over the chill considerably. The sliver of frost qi that had been no larger than a grain of millet this morning had now swelled to the size of a ping-pong ball. As with all things, the initial breakthrough was always the steepest hurdle; once momentum took hold, the pace of growth climbed sharply.

Just condensing the frost isn't the finish line, though.

My ultimate goal was to summon and manipulate the frost qi at will, not merely isolate it away. Still, the progress itself was undeniably promising, so only time would tell. Drawing my cultivation session to a close, I logged onto the Gallery.

Same old, same old.

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

The message board was blazing hot with drama threads surrounding El Dorado. People were arguing that the kingdom was teetering on the precipice of full-blown civil war, but I paid it little mind. Unless Ludwig and I crossed paths and he dropped an earth-shattering revelation on the forum, the chaos would likely fizzle out right here.

There's no real core to rally around, either.

Most crucially, there was no figurehead to take up the mantle and spearhead a revolution. If the Hero were still present, the board might have had a different tune to sing, but... well, whatever. What did outer-realm politics have to do with me? I logged off the Gallery and prepared for bed. Wonmo was already splayed out, fast asleep, while Ppareumbo was zoning out, staring blankly into the dancing hearth flames as usual.

Thinking about picking up that saw again tomorrow already makes my head pound.

If only a magnificent laborer would fall straight out of the sky.

Chuckling at my own absurd wishful thinking, I slowly shut my eyes.

Hours drifted by until the world stood poised on the threshold of dawn.

Far off in the distance, the sharp crows of giant roosters shattered the silence, stirring the majority of the forest's beasts into wakefulness. Yet given the current season, the sun had not yet crested the horizon, leaving the creatures to shuffle through their early morning routines in the dim predawn mist.

"..."

Yet, as the ancient adage went, it was the early bird that caught the worm. While everyone else was merely stirring, someone was already out and moving through the gloom.

Just like the towering figure currently staring intently at the wooden signboard erected along the riverbank.

"Grrr."

Out of the myriad tongues carved into the surface of the notice board, the one language the beast remained laser-focused upon was none other than the script of the Central Plains. The creature's crimson, blood-soaked irises silently devoured the etched characters.

A moment later, it turned its massive head, casting its gaze toward the slender trail of smoke wafting into the twilight sky. It was the white plume rising from the cave's chimney—smoke born from the firewood Ppareumbo had steadily fed into the hearth throughout the long, chilly night.

"..."

The red-eyed beast ambled deliberately toward the source of the smoke.

Judging by its hulking silhouette and the immense, corded forearms driving into the dirt with every forward stride, it was unmistakably a gorilla. Yet unlike ordinary gorillas, its thick fur was stark, snowy white, and its fierce eyes burned a deep, haunting crimson.

Moreover, its eyes were not the only feature steeped in red.

"Ooh-woo...!"

The broad palms of the gorilla's hands, too, were dyed the vivid, terrifying shade of freshly spilled blood.