Winter Has Come (2)

The stag that brought the Golden Apple was treated not as family, but as a guest.

After all, the only thing the beast sought was the warmth of a fire.

So I let it stay in the brick house. Ggobongi was on edge at first, his hackles raised, but he soon lowered his guard. Unable to use mana, Ggobongi was weak by any standard, and the stag seemed to recognize this. Whether out of sheer aloofness or its naturally placid demeanor, the beast paid him little mind.

The morning after accepting the stag as a lodger, reality greeted me at the door.

"Hah."

A heavy sigh slipped from my lips as I stared at the mouth of the cave, sealed tight with a wall of white.

"What was bound to come has finally arrived."

The bitter season—winter had truly begun.

It hadn't rained yesterday, but given how sharply the temperature had plummeted, I had seen this coming. That was why I had kept the fireplace roaring through the night to ensure the flue wouldn't freeze over. With Bbarmbo steadily feeding logs into the hearth, there had been no real danger.

Even so, I couldn't simply leave the cave entrance blocked by a drift of packed snow. More urgently, I needed to check on the annex—the brick shelter where the animals slept.

"Hey, mister. Are you cold—"

"Krrrhhh..."

Perhaps it was the thermal suit we had acquired from the dwarves, or maybe just the snug heat radiating from the stone fireplace. Ludwig, normally an early riser by virtue of his military discipline, was still snoring away like a saw cutting wood. Well, considering it was only six in the morning, I couldn't really blame him.

Wonmo has curled up into a fat ball of fur for his hibernation, but what about Tyrano?

Wonmo was sound asleep, having packed on an impressive layer of blubber before the frost hit. Tyrano was another matter. He certainly looked like a reptile, but since he was technically a dragon, I wondered if he even needed to hibernate at all.

Regardless, shoveling was the immediate priority. I made my way toward the emergency hatch I had built precisely for an occasion like this. Much like a chimney, it was a vertical shaft punched through the ceiling, designed as an elongated escape duct in the event that snow drifted abnormally high. The exterior had been sloped to shed weight, though fashioning a weatherproof trapdoor had proven tricky, leaving me to layer heavy treated canvas over the hatch instead.

"Hup."

I climbed the rungs of the ladder fixed inside the shaft and popped through the top.

The moment I breached the surface, a biting, bone-chilling cold slapped my face. Beyond lay a forest transformed—an endless expanse buried under a pristine blanket of blinding white. Just like last time, the arrival of winter had dumped an absurd volume of snow across the woods.

Thank goodness the brick house didn't cave in.

Snow had gathered on the roof, but the structure remained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠perfectly intact. A thin ribbon of pale smoke curled up from its chimney, which meant Ggobongi was already stoking the hearth. With the situation assessed, the only thing left was manual labor.

"Wake up, mister. Time to move."

"Mmph..."

Ludwig dragged himself awake, blinking groggily as he hauled his frame out behind me. When he poked his head out of the hatch and beheld the sheer mountain of white smothering the earth, his jaw dropped. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated a blizzard dumping this much snow in the span of a single night.

Be that as it may, work was work. I thrust a shovel into his hands.

"Let's clear it."

"...$%%$#."

If I had to guess, he had just muttered the universal military proverb: Trash falling from the sky.

I couldn't agree more. Why on earth did the heavens insist on dropping such useless garbage? Shoveling was miserable enough on its own, but if this stuff melted slightly and froze into an ice sheet, real hell would begin.

Crackle! Snap!

As we dug our way through the drifts, I scattered small bonfires along the perimeter to keep our paths clear. Finally, it was time to inspect the interior of the brick house. With the door buried and no external windows to speak of, there was no telling how things were inside until I opened it up.

When I finally cleared the threshold and stepped in, a familiar sound greeted me.

"Sniiirk..."

"..."

Every single one of them was dead to the world. Even the stag, our new freeloader, was sprawled out without a care. The fireplace had done its job admirably, filling the snug masonry chamber with dry, soothing heat.

"Hey. Up and at 'em. Breakfast time."

"Kwoong?"

At the mention of food, the creatures finally stirred, blinking with ruffled coats. The stag cracked an eyelid at my voice, but promptly let ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its head flop back down. It seemed to assume that, being a mere guest, it wouldn't be served any rations.

"Hey, long-neck."

"Kku-eong?"

"Not you."

I had forgotten there was an actual long-necked beast in the room. Passing over Largo, I looked directly at the deer. The beast knitted its brow, fixing me with a look that plainly asked what on earth I wanted from it.

"Want some food too? You're staying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the winter anyway."

"...Moo-eong."

The stag gave a dismissive snort and lowered its chin back to the floor. Then, curling up into an obscenely comfortable posture, it went right back to sleep. Normally, herbivores like deer slept tightly bundled, poised to bolt at the first sign of danger. Not this one. It lay strewn across the floorboards as if resting in its own private bedchamber.

Well, if it insists on feeding itself, fine by me...

That saved me the trouble of foraging extra fodder. Besides, this stag was no native of our immediate territory. It had likely migrated toward my shelter solely in search of a warm place to ride out the bitter months. The fact that it had casually traded a mythical Golden Apple—something I had never seen in my life—was proof enough of its intentions.

"Master. What food?" Ggobongi grunted.

"Wild boar and sweet potatoes."

With Wonmo dormant for the winter, our food reserves were more than sufficient. After enjoying a hearty, steaming breakfast, I returned to the cave.

During the dead of winter, there wasn't much a person could do. At most, my routine consisted of physical training or harvesting Ice Snow Flowers. While I dearly wanted to consume the blossoms to build up frost resistance...

I'm terrified I'll end up unlocking another bizarre trait.

It would be wiser to consult the Starlight Princess before doing anything reckless. For now, there was something else that commanded my attention.

Gleam! Sparkle!

Resting on the wooden table was the Golden Apple the deer had delivered late last night. It radiated a pristine luster, looking as though it had been delicately dipped in pure, molten gold. A staple of ancient myths, yet perfectly ordinary in size.

Where in the world did that deer manage to find this?

First it had brought a honeycomb overflowing with extraordinary nectar, and now this. Every time that creature wandered into my shelter, it brought along something utterly absurd. Did it possess some sort of supernatural tracking ability, or was its natural habitat just a treasure trove?

Let's ask the gallery what this thing actually does.

I brought up the interface and navigated straight to the forum.

So golden apples were part of this world's legends as well. How fascinating.

In any case, there was no harm in eating it. Though I would have loved to parcel it out to the regular handles, a single apple was nowhere near enough to go around. Unlike the Golden Mushroom, which carried a coin-flip risk of fatal organ dissolution, this fruit seemed to offer nothing but pure, unadulterated benefits.

They always say an apple in the morning is like gold, don't they?

Drawing my dagger, I carefully peeled the skin away, preserving the ribbons to send to Allfather. Beneath the glittering skin, the pale flesh shone with an even purer, more ethereal luster. My mouth began to water uncontrollably. Whatever the mystical properties were, I simply wanted to taste it.

"Here, mister. Have a slice."

"Thank you."

"Bbarmbo, you take one too. Tyrano, here."

"Ppiiik!"

I divided the fruit into eight neat wedges and distributed them around the room. I even went so far as to shake Wonmo awake from his hibernation slumber just long enough to shove a piece into his snout.

Crunch. Crisp.

"Oh..."

"$%."

"Ppii!"

Sweet. The absolute instant my teeth broke the skin, that single word flooded my senses. Not a drop of honey had touched it, yet a rich, intoxicating nectar burst forth, coating my tongue and perfuming the entire cavern. Where in the world had that stag found something so divine? The mystery only deepened.

As for the magical effects... I'm not really feeling much.

Despite the heavenly light it emitted, my mana pool didn't expand by any perceptible margin. Of course, that might just be because my reservoir was already monstrously bloated to begin with. Rather than judging by my own body, checking Ludwig's reaction would be far more informative.

"Mister, how do—"

The words caught in my throat the moment I laid eyes on his face.

Ludwig possessed a formidable degree of power, and his mana affinity was exceptionally high. Under normal circumstances, high-ranking practitioners aged far more slowly than common folk. But Ludwig was a soldier through and through—a veteran who had weathered decades of relentless, grueling warfare. Having never undergone a complete Physical Rebirth, he bore the full, unvarnished toll of time: deep crow's feet, weathered skin, and the battered fatigue of an aging crusader.

"...Who are you?"

The man standing before me was unrecognizable. The haggard, grizzled veteran of five minutes ago had vanished. A few faint lines remained, but he looked easily ten to fifteen years younger. The man himself seemed blissfully unaware, casually chewing his slice of apple with a thoughtful expression.

Surely he had to feel the difference in his own body, didn't he?

"Mister. Look in the mirror."

"?"

I handed him a polished hand mirror. Ludwig took it with mild curiosity, but the moment his gaze met his own reflection, his eyes widened into dinner plates. He reached up, fingers trembling as he traced his cheekbones, patted his jawline, and smoothed his forehead. He checked again and again, utterly flabbergasted.

"...Oh?"

A single, dumbfounded gasp was all he managed. He had clearly never dreamed such a miracle was possible.

Scrambling to his feet, Ludwig began rotating his shoulders, twisting his torso, and rolling his neck to test his physical condition. Just as his face had regained its youth, his body seemed to have shed years of accumulated strain; his joints moved with effortless fluidity, far suppler than before.

Though his leg is still the same.

Rejuvenation was one thing, but it couldn't magically regenerate a limb. His prosthetic mithril foot remained firmly in place.

If Ludwig had experienced such a dramatic change, what about the beasts? I turned my attention to Bbarmbo first.

"..."

From the outside, I couldn't spot a single difference. The same held true for Tyrano and Wonmo. Evidently, creatures that were still in their growth phase, or those whose physical age was already at its prime, saw no outward alteration.

Or maybe it extends the duration of their physical peak?

A sudden realization dawned on me.

Wait... has that stag been grazing on these golden apples on a regular basis?

Its pristine, youthful coat, its absurdly laid-back arrogance, its terrifying hidden combat prowess—everything suddenly made sense. That beast was probably centuries older than it looked.

Shaking off the speculation, I glanced back down at the cutting board. Even after feeding everyone in the shelter—aside from the stag, who had declined, and the raccoon family, who had politely refused—there was still one slice remaining.

The deer said it didn't need it, and the raccoons passed...

Who should I give this last wedge to?

Right as I pondered the question, a particular user's reaction flashed through my mind. The fixed-handle commenter who was peculiarly, defensively sensitive about youth and age: Sword Master.

She would probably jump for joy if I gave it to her. It seemed like a fitting gesture.

First, let's send the peel over to Allfather.

After packaging the golden shavings and transferring them through the trade system, I opened a private channel to Sword Master.

Her fingers must have slipped in her haste, producing an instant typo. I chuckled under my breath.

By now, I could volley such banter back with ease.

Upon receiving the transfer of the golden wedge, Sword Master fired off an avalanche of thank-you messages.

I should ask the deer where it gathered these once winter clears up.

Perhaps it was the numbing stillness of the cold outside, but the rest of the day drifted by in peaceful, uneventful comfort.

Meanwhile, across the dimensional divide, Ash Menethil—the user known as Sword Master—stared down at the empty parcel in her quarters.

"...Ah. Dammit all."

A foul curse spilled from her lips at the terrifying potency of the Golden Apple. Why would anyone swear when a miracle cure worked so brilliantly? One glance at her bed explained everything.

In truth, Ash already possessed the appearance of a woman in her mid-twenties, rendering a rejuvenating fruit largely redundant. Having recently consumed the King Bee honey sent by Grylls, her complexion had already been cleansed of every imperfection, leaving her skin radiant. She had merely eaten the golden slice as a sweet, harmless treat.

Click.

The bedroom door swung open.

"Dear, what are you doing in—huh?"

The problem lay in Ash's monstrous, heaven-defying talent. Calling her gifted was an understatement; the heavens had poured an unnatural blessing into her vessel. While her swordsmanship was peerless, her physical constitution was even more absurd, drinking in natural energies and assimilating them with terrifying efficiency.

"...Ash?"

"...Yes, Mother. It's me."

"Did you... get younger?" Ash's mother asked, her voice cracking in utter bewilderment.

Small wonder she reacted that way. Just as a bud was most dazzling at the very moment it blossomed into full flower, there was a specific prime when a woman's youthful beauty shone brightest. In Ash's case, that pinnacle had occurred precisely at the age of eighteen—the very year a torrent of marriage proposals had flooded their estate. Having lived through that chaotic season, her mother remembered that face better than anyone. Standing tall for a woman, her renewed youth lent her an even more breathtaking, commanding elegance.

"Yeah, well..."

Ash, hailed as the undisputed strongest swordsman on the continent, sighed deeply.

"Things turned out like this."

She had just undergone an involuntary Return to Youth.

Wait... isn't this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠actually pretty great?

Contrary to her initial cursing, a slow swell of immense satisfaction welled up within her. This wasn't merely cosmetic beautification; her biological age had literally rolled back.

At this rate, does age even mean anything anymore?

A blissful, daydreaming smile crept across Ash's lips.

While an unintended biological reversion was unfolding in one corner of the continent, two figures crested a hill miles away.

"We're finally here."

"So... we are."

The Chosen Hero, Asella, had arrived at the gates of the capital.