The Arena, Part V

The moment I realized this wasn’t merely ‘reminiscent of an arena’ but an actual, bona fide colosseum, gathering intelligence became my top priority. Why had those kangaroos fought earlier? How had all these different beasts learned about this place to begin with? I had a mountain of questions, but an unexpected hitch halted my investigation before it even started.

Operating hours. The instant the tournament concluded, the kangaroos began packing up and scattering. The sun was dipping below the canopy, signaling the arena’s closing time, which meant I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to squeeze out every drop of information before everyone vanished.

“Hey, Ggobongi. Think you can translate for me?”

“Reward.”

“How about I reward you with an electric shock?”

“Bad bastard.”

Though he grumbled under his breath, Ggobongi diligently carried out my request. He intercepted a passing kangaroo and relayed every single question I had. Sizing us up and realizing we were complete novices, the marsupial surprisingly proved quite accommodating.

“Phoo-ooh. Phoo.”

“Oo-ooh?”

“Phoo-ee.”

Accommodating to Ggobongi, that is. To my ears, it just sounded like bizarre animal snorts and grunts. It was genuinely fascinating—beasts of different species clearly possessed their own unique vocalizations, yet somehow, they communicated with each other seamlessly without missing a beat.

Well, no point pondering the linguistic mysteries of nature right now. Intel came first.

After a lengthy back-and-forth exchange, Ggobongi turned back to me. His grasp of human speech remained choppy and fragmented, but the details he pieced together were more than informative enough.

“So… the fight between the kangaroos was a coming-of-age ritual and a declaration of independence? A public declaration that they have the strength to defend their own household?”

“Correct.”

“And the main event is the brawl between the wild beasts. The rulers and apex predators of each forest district bring food to put up as stakes?”

“Correct.”

“And whoever wins the tournament, like that stag just now, gets to gorge themselves on all the spoils?”

“You. Smart. Indeed.”

Receiving praise from a gorilla didn’t do an ounce of good for my ego. In any case, the pieces fell into place: the kangaroo bout had merely been an opening coming-of-age spectacle, while the real show was the clash among the other beasts. But what proved even more absurd was the origin of the arena itself.

“…Wait, what? It’s been running like this since ancient times?”

“Correct.”

“It’s not like it’s some sacred tribal tradition or something…”

“Right.”

A tradition. Who would have guessed wild animals had cultural traditions? Granted, one could technically classify hardwired biological habits as traditions, but this defied basic common sense entirely. Then again, this was the Forest of the Four Seasons—a realm where common sense had long since been murdered and buried—so I decided to just accept it.

“What about the gorillas, then? Aren't there troops living around here?”

“Oo-oo-oo. Oo-oo.”

“Pffft-hahaha.”

The kangaroo actually snickered at my question. Was there some kind of scandalous backstory?

“Wi Heuk troop. Entry forbidden.”

“Why?”

“Bananas. Brought them. Participated.”

“……”

“Win back and repay. Failed. Dragged away.”

“What kind of degenerate gambling addict nonsense…”

I was utterly speechless. Hearing a wild beast utter the concept of 'doubling down to recoup losses' broke my brain. Reconstructing the story, it seemed that Wi Heuk’s troop—meaning Chief Gorilla himself—had originally permitted entry to the arena. However, one of the gorillas had secretly brought a stash of tribal bananas to bet, only to suffer a crushing defeat in the tournament. Panicking at the impending fallout, the idiot tried to win back his losses by stealing even more bananas to gamble with. In the end, Chief Gorilla caught him red-handed and slapped a total, troop-wide ban on setting foot near the arena.

How is that any different from a degenerate ruining his entire family over casino debts? It occupied some bizarre, twilight twilight zone between civilization and primal savagery. I honestly had no idea what to make of it.

“Opens daily. Winter excluded. Bare-handed. Clubs forbidden.”

With that, I had the operating hours and rules down. The arena ran daily from high noon until sunset, shutting down completely during the winter. Weapons were strictly prohibited; every contender had to settle things with their bare bodies alone.

Hearing those rules instantly cemented my resolve.

Yeah, I’m sticking strictly to spectating.

I wasn’t suicidal enough to step into that pit. Throwing my life away for nothing was the last thing on my agenda. Setting the stag aside, that tournament featured literal giant bears capable of tearing me limb from limb in a heartbeat. A casual swat that felt like a playful jab to them would shatter every bone in my chest.

Besides, I didn’t know the first thing about unarmed hand-to-hand brawling. I could at least mimic rudimentary sword forms thanks to Sword Master’s posts, but martial arts and grappling were entirely out of my wheelhouse.

Ggobongi would be the most suitable candidate, but…

Sending him in felt like the optimal choice on paper, yet it remained an awkward gamble. No matter how powerful Ggobongi was, could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he really triumph against mutated apex predators without mana? I certainly couldn't remove his shock collar yet; our mutual trust wasn't anywhere near that level. Still, entering him at least once down the line might not be the worst idea, provided I dangled some delicious food as a reward.

“Hey, Bbarmbo.”

“……”

“Any interest in jumping into the ring?”

At my question, the giant sloth slowly, emphatically shook his head from side to side. It was an expected response, though a slightly disappointing one. If Bbarmbo entered, he could effortlessly slaughter not just the bears, but even that monstrous stag without breaking a sweat. But then again, the fellow was perfectly content as long as he had his steady supply of Inedia Pills.

I’ll come back tomorrow.

Rather than entering, I planned to treat future visits purely as scouting missions. Or perhaps I’d enter Ggobongi later. I could take my time deciding. More than anything, the arena functioned like a recognized neutral sanctuary: no matter the species, beasts were strictly forbidden from killing one another inside. The moment any animal broke that rule, every creature patronizing the arena would turn hostile against the offender.

After wrapping up the brief forum update, I made my way back to camp. With summer winding down, preparing for the harsh winter took precedence, meaning the shelter needed structural reinforcement and general maintenance.

“Huh?”

“……”

The moment we stepped foot into the clearing, someone was already waiting. It wasn’t a gorilla, nor a bear, nor a human. It was a lone deer. Between the magnificent spread of its antlers and that aloof, cynical scowl etched across its snout, there was no mistaking its identity: it was the very same champion stag that had battered the competition and gorged on the winner's prize.

Before I could even voice my bewilderment at why it had tracked me down to my campsite, the creature moved.

“Snort.”

The stag tilted its head to the side, gesturing toward the ground with an impatient flick of its snout. Following its gaze, my eyes landed on a massive object: a thick, heavy honeycomb dripping with nectar. Both the comb and the viscous liquid oozing from its hexagonal cells shone with the radiant, pristine luster of molten gold.

“…Is that for me?”

“……”

Smoothly ignoring my question, the stag turned on its hooves and strode away. Judging by the direction toward the riverbank, it was heading back to its own territory. Shaking off my stunned stupor, I hurriedly inspected the offering.

Remarkably, the comb was almost entirely intact—it seemed the stag hadn’t touched a single bite of the honey when devouring the tournament spoils earlier.

Only one of the corners has been snapped off. That must be where the honey’s leaking from.

The entire honeycomb was massive, practically the size of my upper torso. How on earth had the beast carried something this heavy without crushing it? Brushing the thought aside, I knew I had to process it immediately before pests caught the scent. Stowing it in the Subspace Backpack was out of the question since Ambergris was already sealed inside, so extracting the honey directly was the only sensible choice.

Now, how do I actually extract wild honey?

Receiving the honeycomb was a windfall, but processing raw wild honey was a mystery to me. I figured consulting the Gallery was my best bet; occasionally, users sold honey on the dimensional auction house. The running joke, however, was that nearly every seller posted with a comically swollen face from bee stings.

Should I take a taste first?

Curiosity winning out, I dipped a clean fingertip into the thick syrup dripping from the broken edge. Store-bought honey back home typically boasted a deep amber or amber-yellow hue, but this liquid glowed like pure, liquid gold. Wondering what it tasted like, I brought my finger to my lips.

“…Whoa?! Whoaaaa?!”

My eyes snapped wide as a shockwave of sweetness bloomed across my palate. Even my tongue—thoroughly conditioned by Earth’s artificial, intensely stimulating junk food—was left completely awestruck. Excessively sweet foods usually left a harsh, scratchy burn in the back of the throat, but this honey possessed none of that acrid edge. It was sweetness in its most immaculate, unadulterated form, completely free of impurities.

In simple terms, it was an emotional experience. It was truly a divine delicacy born of the mythical Four Seasons Forest.

That deer gave me something truly incredible!

I had no idea why it had gifted me such a treasure, but I silently sent the beast my heartfelt gratitude. After licking my fingers a few more times, I immediately opened the interface to draft a post, both to share the news and to seek advice on proper extraction.

Amid the ferocious barrage of memes and football fan banter, genuine survivalist advice surfaced from the experienced users. Even a few prominent regulars chimed in with practical tips. Thanks to their step-by-step guidance, the extraction process promised to be surprisingly straightforward.

Slice it clean and level first… and they said the wax comb is edible too, right?

Glancing back and forth between the interface screen and the golden slab before me, I carefully set to work harvesting the nectar.

While Grylls was fully engrossed in harvesting the precious honey, Wonmo lay flat on his stomach nearby, lethargic and utterly despondent despite the intoxicating sweetness wafting through the air. The exhibition match in the arena earlier that day had inflicted a severe blow to his pride. Had it been a brawl between full-grown beasts, it might have been easier to stomach—but he had lost to a fellow youngster.

Having always bullied his way to victory through sheer weight class and brute force, suffering a one-sided defeat at the hands of a baby kangaroo had completely shattered his worldview.

“Kyuu……”

Sulking in the dirt, Wonmo eventually rolled his head to the side. In the distance, his eyes caught sight of Ggobongi undergoing his private training regimen. Whenever the ape found a spare moment, he diligently refined his martial forms. Wonmo watched the fluid movements with wide, unblinking eyes, then slowly scrambled to his paws.

Rustle.

“Hm?”

Ggobongi paused mid-strike, an expression of mild confusion settling over his rugged features. Wonmo, the baby owlbear who served as the group’s official mascot and healing presence, had waddled right up to him. While the cub frequently clung to Grylls, this was the very first time he had approached Ggobongi entirely on his own initiative.

“Kyuu……”

Drooping with uncharacteristic timidity, Wonmo gazed up at the ape before slowly pushing himself onto his hind legs. Owlbear or not, a bear was still a bear; standing upright on two legs was second nature to his anatomy.

Whoosh— Whoosh—

Wonmo thrust his stubby little forelimbs forward in what vaguely resembled straight punches. From the looks of it, he was doing his absolute best to imitate the martial arts forms Ggobongi had been practicing. Though the cub could not speak, Ggobongi instantly decoded his intent.

“Oo-woo-oh?”

You wish to grow strong? That was the unspoken question behind Ggobongi’s low grunt. Wonmo nodded frantically in response. His round face still wore a lingering look of defeat, but his eyes were filled with desperate, earnest resolve.

Ggobongi fell into contemplative silence, glancing briefly over his shoulder. At the far side of the clearing, Grylls was diligently bottling honey into earthen jars. While their master was undeniably versatile and possessed countless bizarre skills, he knew nothing of martial arts. Furthermore, Grylls was a frail human. Beasts required the methods of beasts.

“Hm.”

Ggobongi looked down at the tiny creature and made up his mind. Someday, this cub would inevitably outgrow their shelter's protection and have to face the unforgiving wilderness on his own. More importantly, the little fellow was deeply pampered and cherished by the real big boss—Bbarmbo. If one calculated the true underlying pecking order of the shelter, Wonmo easily held rank zero.

“Understood. Learn.”

“Kyuu……!”

The instant Ggobongi granted his consent, Wonmo’s sullen expression vanished into radiant joy. The cub hopped excitedly in place, then threw his fluffy torso forward, affectionately rubbing his snout against the ape’s hairy chest.

“……”

Ggobongi’s brow softened, his jaw slightly dropping in fluster. Hardened as he was by a lifetime of brutal, dog-eat-dog survival, even he was entirely defenseless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠against the sheer, heart-melting innocence of a beast cub.

“Hey, Wonmo! Want a taste of this honey?”

“Kyuuuuuuu!!!”

“……”

Of course, the loftiest martial aspirations were utterly meaningless the second food was on the table. Wonmo instantly abandoned his training stance and bolted toward Grylls like an arrow from a bow.