The Scammer (2)

It was enough to make a ghost wail in disbelief. I stared down into the utterly vacant wooden crate, dumbfounded.

No matter how many times I combed through the straw and felt along the bottom boards, the golden mushroom was simply gone. It wasn't as if Wonmo had snuck in and wolfed it down behind my back, either.

Whether it had sprouted hands and feet or dissolved into thin air, the thing had somehow vanished on its own. It defied all mortal comprehension.

Did a thief like Bbarmbo slip in and pinch it?

I shifted my gaze and stared intently at the Fast Tree Sloth.

Bbarmbo was perched lazily in the corner, an Inedia Pill impaled upon one long sickle-claw, nibbling on it with agonizing slowness. One microscopic bite every few seconds.

Not that I suspected him of eating the mushroom. Even if something had devoured it, it had to have been another creature entirely.

Bbarmbo had once tried to snatch away one of my fish, after all, though the attempt had come to nothing. Given that incident, it was only natural that other forest beasts might covet nutrient-rich flora and fauna.

Even so, going after that golden mushroom carries way too much risk, doesn't it?

Wild animals rarely touch mushrooms unless driven by utter starvation. And the appearance of that golden mushroom practically screamed I am lethal poison! Take one bite and you die! in neon letters. In nature, brilliant coloration was an unmistakable hallmark of deadly toxins, a rule even the dimmest beast instinctively understood.

Even if an animal had somehow eaten it, there should have been crumbs, trampled earth, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or some lingering trace left behind. Yet not a speck remained. The mystery deepened.

Strange. Truly strange.

Still, maybe it was for the best. I had been fretting over how to dispose of the hazardous thing anyway. But since there were forum users who had expressed an interest in studying it, I pulled up the interface and made a post on the Wild Gallery.

The venerable scholar's words hit me like a splash of cold water. Right. It actually could have possessed legs.

This world was high fantasy. And the Forest of the Four Seasons was a mythical death trap where even the natives' common sense dissolved into absurdity. And here I was, struggling tooth and nail just to survive in it. Putting it into words only made me feel a little pathetic.

Regardless of what happened, judging my surroundings by conventional logic was strictly forbidden. I didn't even have to look far for proof—right beside me sat a tree sloth capable of snatching flying arrows out of the air.

Regrettable though it was, there was nothing to be done. It had happened due to my own careless negligence, or rather, my sheer ignorance of the local wildlife. I could only take comfort in the fact that whatever took it hadn't ambushed me in my sleep.

Closing the interface, I walked over to the water hose to wash my face.

Trickle, trickle.

The stream exiting the nozzle was suspiciously weak. The moment I saw that feeble dribble, realization struck—another fish had plugged the intake.

It seemed a fish got snagged in the line at least once a day without fail. A truly fantastic turn of events.

Once I receive that fish trap from the dwarf, I won't have to worry about meals at all.

Food security was well within reach for the foreseeable future. With the land traps I planned to set up soon, our provisions would only grow more abundant. If I could master basic hunting techniques, starving to death wouldn't even be on the table.

Of course, I was far more likely to die from lethal toxins, catching a bizarre fever, getting shredded by predators, or stumbling into some cursed subterranean sinkhole. The forest offered countless ways to perish.

...Well, still better than starving to death.

Shaking off the momentary gloom, I focused on the task at hand. The fish was what mattered. After making sure Wonmo was fed, I gathered my gear and set off toward the riverbank.

Splash! Flop!

When I arrived at the water's edge, my hunch proved spot-on. A thrashing mass was wedged tightly in the narrow river intake, its massive bulk plugging the hose completely.

Up until now, all the catches had been crimson fish. But the creature struggling before me was a brilliant, radiant gold.

...Is this one poisonous too?

The only venomous fish that came to mind from Earth was the blowfish, and those were saltwater dwellers as far as I knew. What's more, this fish had no spines whatsoever—just a slick, smooth, golden-scaled flank that glimmered under the sunlight without any garish, mottled patterns.

After a moment's hesitation, I decided to haul it back. Lingering on the open riverbank risked running into that lethal Golden Poison Frog again, which would be disastrous.

"Hup!"

I wrapped both arms around the creature. It was gargantuan, requiring my full wingspan just to hold. Were all the fish residing in the Forest of the Four Seasons absolute leviathans? From my perspective, however, it simply meant a feast of epic proportions.

I ought to bring a massive tub or bucket with me from now on.

Grappling with the flopping golden beast, I mapped out future logistical improvements. A sturdy netting harness or container was a necessity. It wasn't that I lacked the strength to lift it, but wrestling a slippery monster fish with bare hands was wildly inefficient.

Or I could just drag Bbarmbo along as a pack mule next time.

The sloth had proven remarkably capable, making him an ideal bodyguard for excursions. Returning to the safety of the cavern camp, I set about prepping the catch. Butchering had become second nature by now, and the fish was prepped in minutes.

Wait, again?

On a hunch, I carefully sliced through the entrails. Sure enough, an inner core rolled out. This time, instead of the previous crimson hue, it was a warm, lustrous gold.

Did every single fish in this primordial river harbor an inner core? Finding one was fortunate, but hitting the jackpot three times in a row seemed downright suspicious.

If you can cultivate power simply by eating river fish, why is the survival rate in this forest considered practically zero?

While the thick steaks sizzled golden-brown on the hot stone slab, I turned the golden sphere over in my palm. The Heavenly Demon had described it as a diluted spiritual medicine, but an inner core was still an inner core. Ingesting it guaranteed a rapid surge in personal strength.

Maybe surviving isn't the problem... maybe escaping is just impossible?

That seemed exceedingly likely. What good was acquiring supernatural strength if you remained permanently entombed within an infinite, impassable wilderness?

Plus, I'm an extreme outlier.

I possessed an anomaly that no one else had—unfettered access to the interdimensional Gallery from deep within the forest. Unlike ordinary castaways who had to bash their heads against the dark unknown, I could crowdsource advice, trade for modern tools, and consult transcendent masters. Without the forum, I would have been ripped to shreds by that initial pack of Mad Dogs on day one.

Time to flip the fish before it chars.

I nudged the thick fillets on the flat stone, letting the aromatic fat sizzle against the rock. There was no rush to decide what to do with the golden inner core. If push came to shove, I could always list it on the auction house. The Heavenly Demon had expressly advised me not to consume any more cores until I solidified my foundation and reached the Peak Realm.

Not that I have any clue what the Peak Realm actually feels like.

My foundational cultivation was brittle at best. Nurturing deep, stable roots took priority over hasty shortcuts. Swallowing another spirit core might give me raw energy, but it risked triggering another violent fever that could leave me bedridden for days. In a hostile death trap where survival hung by a thread, being incapacitated by illness was an invitation to an early grave.

Speaking of which, the auction for the red core should be wrapping up soon.

Tearing off a succulent piece of cooked fish, I recalled the listing. I had posted it yesterday around midday, meaning the timer was down to its final hours.

A staggering sum. Given how drastically the bid intervals had slowed, the price had likely peaked.

Reputation really is everything.

The auction house operated on a user review system. While it lacked a direct numerical star rating, prospective buyers could gauge a seller's credibility by reading past feedback. Without that accountability, the market would have devolved into a wretched den of cutthroats and fraudsters. Even the exorbitant transaction fees served as a harsh deterrent against bad actors.

And for someone like me, credibility is my sole lifeline.

Once broken, trust was nearly impossible to rebuild. For someone whose survival hinged almost entirely on the goodwill and resources of the Gallery, a tarnished name was a death sentence. Furthermore, 750 silver wasn't pocket change—it was a small fortune, far too substantial to brush off as a petty dispute.

The core I gifted to the Heavenly Demon was genuine, but what if the one on the auction block is somehow different...?

The probability favored it being the real deal, but the possibility of an error couldn't be ruled out. Some might call me overly paranoid, but I had learned the hard way never to trust anonymous internet users. When I first tumbled into this forsaken forest, there were plenty of trolls who laughed and told me to hurry up and die so I could become monster fertilizer. Human malice always festered most vilely behind a veil of anonymity.

Let's see who wins the bid first.

Right now, savoring a hot meal took precedence. I tossed a few savory flakes of fish to Wonmo, who chirped happily, and tore into the rest. The flavor blew the crimson fish completely out of the water—succulent, dense, and rich, remarkably reminiscent of premium pork belly.

"That hit the spot."

With my stomach full, I retreated deeper into the cavern to circulate my internal arts. I guided my breath according to the foundation laid out by the Heavenly Demon, incorporating the mechanical nuances Sword Master had shared. Perhaps because I had just consumed the golden fish, a torrential surge of raw energy swelled through my meridians like a raging tide.

No, not a tide... more like a tempest?

The art gifted by the Heavenly Demon was the Heavenly Demon Divine Art. It was only fitting that its energy manifested not as calm water, but as a sweeping hurricane. After methodically harnessing and settling the tempest into my lower dantian, I raised my right hand.

Faint, shimmering wisps of azure vapor danced off my fingertips like a mirage.

Every time I look at this, it still feels surreal.

Back on Earth, I was merely an ordinary guy without a single extraordinary talent to my name. Yet here I was, dropped into a bizarre mythic wilderness, casually commanding supernatural mana. Though I reminded myself of this reality daily, doubts occasionally crept in—wondering if this was all some vivid, feverish dream. The ethereal blue haze swirling over my knuckles was pure, unadulterated fantasy made manifest.

Though the memory of being torn open by those Mad Dogs is a pretty stark reminder that it's all too real.

Dispersing the azure haze, I stepped out into the daylight. The morning was slated for trap crafting and reconnaissance. I planned to scout the cave where I had incinerated the Muscle Mushroom yesterday using physical fire magic—a crude Molotov cocktail. If the golden mushroom truly had legs and ran away, that dark cavern was the most logical sanctuary it would seek.

As expected of the Gallery, genuine practical knowledge flowed freely from experienced users.

And, naturally, the resident lunatics were out in full force as well.

Filtering out the nonsense, I synthesized the best suggestions into a viable plan. A pitfall trap was the most practical choice: excavate a deep hole and cover it with a counterbalanced trapdoor. When an animal's weight surpassed a set threshold, the platform would pivot, dumping the prey into the dark before snapping back into position.

Considering how ridiculously hard those rabbits kick, a shallow trench won't hold them.

The depth was crucial, but the pivoting mechanism mattered even more. It couldn't be a fragile board that shattered on the first drop; it had to reset automatically via counterweight.

Step on it, the hatch swings down, the beast plummets, and the counterweight pulls the door shut again.

That was the winning design. Deciding on the concept was one thing, but assembling the mechanism required careful ingenuity.

The hatch has to swing freely according to the rabbit's weight.

I purchased several heavy iron spikes from the auction house to serve as anchor pins, fixing one axis of the wooden platform securely in place.

Now for the reset mechanism.

I erected two sturdy vertical posts, boring a hole through the center to mount a crossbeam—much like the rotating spit over a barbecue fire pit. Instead of a roast, I mounted an iron cylinder through the center, tying a dense stone counterweight to the far end with strong cord.

Click! Clack!

Pressing down on the edge of the board with my thumb, the hatch tilted smoothly downward. The instant I released my pressure, the counterweight swung down, snapping the platform flush with the frame.

The prototype was flawless. All that remained was constructing a full-scale version on-site.

It needs to be considerably wider, though.

Hauling the lumber, spikes, and tools would take a few trips. Instructing Bbarmbo to watch over the cave shelter, I gathered my kit: the Heavenly Demon's Sword at my hip, an entrenching shovel, and an Elixir tucked securely in my vest for emergencies. Fully geared, I marched toward the rabbit warren.

First, let's check the mushroom cave.

Disappointingly, there was no sign of the golden mushroom inside. The charred corpse of the Muscle Mushroom remained right where I had left it, thoroughly carbonized. Despite the fragrant, roasted scent wafting off the remains, no beast had dared to touch it, clearly finding the creature unpalatable.

With the search yielding nothing, I shifted focus to setting the trap. Digging out the earth was surprisingly easy given my enhanced physical strength, and within an hour, the pit was hollowed out, lined, and fitted with the pivoting trapdoor.

Looking down at the finished contraption, an overwhelming sense of artisanal pride welled up in my chest. Soon enough, I'd be dining on fresh meat instead of river fish.

Butchering them will be a pain, but... I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

To mask the artificial structure, I scattered loose dirt, fallen leaves, and fresh grass across the trapdoor until it blended seamlessly into the forest floor. The rest was a test of patience. Packing my tools, I headed back to camp.

It's already eleven in the morning.

Time flew when occupied with manual labor. Wondering how the auction was progressing, I patted my pockets and pulled out the golden inner core I had harvested earlier. Part of me contemplated putting it up for bid as well.

Let's see how the first core sells before listing this one. But first...

Gurgle—!

A sudden, violent cramp gripped my stomach. Every time I digested one of these spiritual fish, my gut revolted as the pure qi purged internal impurities. Last time, the reaction had been almost instantaneous, but today's batch took ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a couple of hours to ferment. Digging a fresh latrine hole every single day was getting exhausting; building a permanent outhouse was rapidly climbing my priority list.

After thoroughly relieving myself, I opened the Gallery interface to check the closing bid.

The price hadn't budged an inch, sitting frozen for six straight hours. It looked like 750 silver was the definitive ceiling. Seeing no reason to drag it out, I accessed the auction management tab.

Without hesitation, I tapped confirm. Thirty minutes was plenty of time for any last-second snipers. During that half-hour lull, I resolved to resume internal cultivation. Mindlessly cycling qi wasn't the goal; I focused on methodically reinforcing my foundational roots exactly as the Heavenly Demon had instructed. Patching the porous gaps in my energy channels was the only way I'd ever hope to manifest an Aura Blade or wield pure sword force down the line.

Tough. Insanely tough.

Cultivation wasn't about rote memorization—it demanded profound conceptual understanding. For someone born on modern Earth without the slightest inkling of Eastern metaphysics, it was an uphill battle. Despite relying on miraculous shortcuts to jump-start my strength, the lack of fundamental basics was a glaring bottleneck.

Just thirty minutes of focused breathing.

Before I knew it, well over an hour had slipped by. When deep in the trance of circulating qi, hours melted away like seconds. Without an external clock or the Gallery interface, tracking time was nearly impossible. Shaking off the meditation trance, I logged back into the forum to see the final sale confirmation.

The main feed, however, was in utter pandemonium.

"What the hell is this?"

What catastrophic event could have possibly turned the entire board into a toxic cesspool within an hour? Every single post was gunning for my neck. Stunned, I navigated straight to the Hall of Fame to check the trending posts. If a wildfire of this scale had ignited, the source had to be sitting at the very top of the upvoted list.

My worst fears had materialized in the most chaotic manner possible. I had trusted people too readily. Yet, grimly enough, this was an outcome I had half-anticipated. As my fingers hovered over the keyboard to draft a response, a private notification flashed across my screen.

A direct message from the sovereign of the Demonic Cult herself. What in the world was she planning to do?

Is she going to use her sub-mod privileges to ban him?

Mano, the supreme strategist and brilliant mind of the Demonic Cult, found his current reality thoroughly unhinged.

An urgent summons from the Heavenly Demon, Yu Sowol, was not inherently alarming. When the Heavens called, a humble servant had no choice but to bow and answer. But the decree handed down directly from the jade throne left even the unflappable strategist profoundly rattled.

"S-Sovereign of the Heavens... May this humble servant dare... to request that you repeat your command?"

"For you to question This Lady's words twice is an exceedingly rare spectacle. Out of the boundless depths of my benevolence, I shall instruct you once more."

Perched atop the obsidian throne, Yu Sowol's voice was laced with simmering fury, cold enough to freeze marrow.

"Log into the Gallery."

"......"

"You consumed the inner core This Lady bestowed upon you and subsequently broke through your cultivation bottlenecks, did you not? You shall write a post on the board to prove it. A 'verification post,' as they call it."

She was commanding him to log into the interdimensional community forum and author a public authentication thread.

On the surface, it sounded like a trivial, child's errand. But who was Mano?

Under the cover of digital anonymity, he was a hardcore forum degenerate—a registered user known as SmartFiend, whose favorite daily pastime was relentlessly mocking and venting about his despotic superior, the Heavenly Demon!

...I'm f**ked.

Mano—the strategist, the cunning statesman Wi Seolak, and the unhinged forum regular SmartFiend—stared into the abyss.

I am so utterly, completely f**ked.

He was standing on the precipice of absolute, unmitigated doom.