The Blue Tag (3)

The news that the Heavenly Demon had been appointed as a deputy moderator spread across the Gallery like wildfire. Given that she was already one of the most prominent fixed-nicks on the entire board, such an uproar was only natural. While a blue tag was technically subordinate to the orange-tagged head moderator, a manager was still a manager. Anyone who violated community guidelines or got on her bad side now ran a very real risk of catching a ban.

Not that she’d actually do that, I thought. The Heavenly Demon was the quintessential lone wolf, marching steadily down her own path regardless of what anyone else said. Her mental fortitude was practically forged of steel—or perhaps it was simply the broad-minded benevolence that came with old age. For someone to genuinely offend her, they would have to unleash the kind of foul, unforgivable insults that no decent person would ever utter. If anyone crossed that line, they deserved whatever ban came their way.

Either way, from my perspective, the whole thing was little more than a mild sideshow. Even with her donning the blue tag, my daily life was unlikely to change. It simply meant the forum had gained one more janitor. At best, our friendly acquaintance might grant me a sliver of added convenience.

Still, I shouldn't rely on her too much. Leaning heavily on the Heavenly Demon would only make me lazy, and she had already helped me far more than enough. Rather than clinging to her coattails, I needed to stand on my own two feet. Besides, now that she’s strapped with moderator duties, she’s going to be busy.

A deputy mod was practically an unpaid volunteer—a digital slave working for free. Neglecting those duties not only risked losing the tag, but could even earn a retaliatory ban. That held especially true under our head administrator, Don't Abandon the Hero, whose rigid, rule-bound nature left little room for slackers.

Time to focus on my own chores. Running from the Muscle Mushroom and watching the Heavenly Demon rise to power were behind me; my shelter still needed work. Passing Dwarf had promised to deliver the palisade fortifications around midday, so the trade notification should be arriving any minute now.

Just as I was pondering what to tackle after fortifying the perimeter, a prompt chimed in my interface.

Speak of the devil. Chuckling at his impeccable timing, I tapped accept.

At his question, I glanced around. Because the area originally belonged to a pack of Mad Dogs, the grounds outside the cavern were surprisingly spacious. The cave interior was no different, having easily sheltered three towering beasts. If space ran tight, I could temporarily pile them inside while staking a few into the ground ahead of time.

"Oh?"

I let out a soft murmur of admiration as I inspected the two blueprints he uploaded. The first was a conventional wooden palisade—sturdy timber logs sharpened at the top and bound together in a continuous, upright wall. The second was closer to an anti-cavalry barricade. While both served defensive purposes, their structures differed fundamentally. If the palisade stood at a rigid ninety-degree angle, the barricade featured heavy sharpened stakes angled outward and laced together with interlocking braces.

As the transaction finalized, the items materialized before me. I had assumed the barriers wouldn't be overly tall, but I had miscalculated. Even with the timber pitched at an angle, the tips cleared my head with ease. Assembling something like this must have taken a tremendous amount of elbow grease.

Damn, these are way bigger than I expected.

There was no time to gawk. Another barricade would manifest shortly. Fortunately, a slight delay between shipments gave me enough time to haul and position each piece without being buried under a mountain of lumber. Perhaps due to their immense mass, the dimensional transfer took extra time—or maybe the system was throttling the feed to keep from crushing the landing zone.

"Whew."

By the time I finished setting up every single section and adjusting the lines, my brow was dripping with sweat. Not knowing the precise orientation or coordinates where trade items would drop had caused a few awkward scrambles, but I managed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to avoid any catastrophic mishaps.

Is there really no inventory function? Every time large items arrived like this, it was bound to turn into a logistical nightmare. A temporary holding space for incoming trade goods would have made life a thousand times easier.

Giving it positive consideration, huh? Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope after all. Even a five-minute holding window would make an enormous difference. The barricades were arrayed outside, but the surrounding clearing was still cluttered and disorganized.

No. Stop getting greedy. What am I even thinking?

I shook my head vigorously. This wouldn't do. Not even an hour after resolving to wean myself off the Gallery, I was already throwing a tantrum over a petty inconvenience. Its convenience truly was addictive as a narcotic. No wonder people got hooked on forum life and couldn't quit.

To grow, I had to overcome hardship through my own sweat. I cemented that resolve once more.

First, let's examine these barricades thoroughly.

The day might come when I had to craft defenses with my own two hands—if something happened to Passing Dwarf, or if the Gallery suddenly vanished. To prepare for the worst, I needed to understand the mechanics of how they were built.

He notched the crossbeams and drove the stakes in deep. Then he lashed them tight with thick hemp rope for insurance.

When time permitted, practicing on smaller prototypes would be wise. Timber was plentiful around the forest, so materials would never run dry. The only bottleneck was my own clumsy hands. Whatever I cobbled together would inevitably look amateurish compared to dwarven craftsmanship.

Wait... aren't dwarves short? He built all of these by himself?

The physical proportions of a dwarf drifted across my mind. The tips of the angled barricades rose slightly above my head. For a dwarf to fashion fortifications of this scale entirely on his own was nothing short of miraculous. Beneath his incessant, drunken whining, Passing Dwarf might actually be an artisan of immense standing.

"Kyuuu."

"Hungry?"

Wonmo waddled over, gazing up at me with sparkling, round eyes. Setting up the barricades had consumed the entire morning, and the sun was now perched directly overhead. With no fresh fish on hand, an Inedia Pill would have to suffice for lunch. Reaching into my satchel, I handed Wonmo a massive slab of meat I had purchased from the Gallery trade board. His eyes flared with delight, and within seconds, he was scarfing down the feast with reckless abandon.

I need to figure out how to set traps, too.

The problem was whether any ordinary trap could catch anything out here. The only small critters I had encountered so far were squirrels and hares—and even they were monstrously overgrown. A hare in this forest was the size of a medium hunting hound, and they possessed blinding speed, darting into the undergrowth the instant my presence registered.

Then I'll just have to build traps meant for wild boars.

Simple, yet effective. If I treated everyday game as heavyweight beasts, the snares might actually hold.

As I chewed on the bitter Inedia Pill, a gentle rustling sounded behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Ppareumbo inching his way up my back.

"You want one too?"

"......"

With his characteristic, agonizingly glacial tempo, the Fast Tree Sloth gave a slight nod. I slipped an Inedia Pill into his claws, swallowed my own portion, and idly browsed the forum interface. A brief rest before circulating my internal energy sounded ideal.

"Huh?"

A message caught my eye as I scrolled. It wasn't a trade request, but an invitation for a private direct message. As far as I knew, private messaging was disabled across the board, unavailable even to prominent fixed-nicks. Rumor had it that the function was locked to prevent factional clique-building and toxic backroom plotting. So why was the Heavenly Demon able to send one?

What gives? Is it a perk reserved for blue tags?

Baffled as I was, turning down the supreme leader of the Demonic Cult was hardly an option. I pressed accept. A interface window reminiscent of the trade console slid open before me.

I had a pretty good idea of what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she meant. The last time I had blindly clicked on a flagged thread, my retinas had nearly burned from the cursed imagery. But to a hardened degenerate who spent her entire existence lurking the forums, such horrors were mere child's play.

In a sense, she possessed the ideal temperament for an assistant manager. Endless free time, total immunity to psychological trauma, and a mental fortitude of solid granite. It made sense why Don't Abandon the Hero had looked upon her appointment so favorably.

Though steeped in classical martial jargon, her analogy resonated with surprising clarity. The mention of shoddy construction struck an especially raw chord. So this is what they call ancient wisdom, I thought. A master instructor truly was something else.

Following her command, I crossed my legs into the meditative posture. Perhaps because my body had grown accustomed to it, there was no stiffness or pain—only a clean, refreshing coolness circulating beneath my skin. I made a mental note to practice other stretches later; superior flexibility never hurt anyone.

I couldn't make heads or tails of the anatomical terms, but the awe dripping from her text was unmistakable.

It grates on her ear... She clearly took immense pride in the heritage of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠internal cultivation. Given her status as a legendary elder who had seen the rise and fall of realms, such pride was understandable. It was something I ought to respect. I'd have to watch my tongue moving forward.

The Heavenly Demon launched into a lecture that went on, and on, and on. My jaw slackened, and my mind drifted into a vacant stare.

I didn't understand a single syllable.

It was as if I had just learned basic arithmetic, only for someone to drop multi-variable calculus right on top of my head.

I could see it clearly enough. The sketch depicted the profile of a human silhouette, overlaid with intricate channels and glowing directional lines traced through the interior.

What script is this even written in?

The problem was the writing: every single annotation looked like ancient calligraphy, completely unreadable to me. Thankfully, the glowing lines and arrows provided enough visual context that I could piece together the flow through sheer intuition.

Can I really pull this off?

It was hopelessly complicated.

Right around the time the Heavenly Demon was conducting her intensive crash course...

Behind closed doors, Sword Master was quietly making his approach toward the gallery's supreme authority.