The Swindler (Part 5)

"What a pathetic piece of trash."

The Neidan scam incident had flared up like spilled gasoline and died down just as quickly. With the intervention of the Heavenly Demon and Sword Master, followed by the Juddak landing the decisive final blow, the whole mess had wrapped up cleanly. Without their help, things might have spiraled into an exhausting headache, but thankfully, most of the forum's established gonics had taken my side.

Even in another dimension, internet forums are all the exact same.

For the record, uploading that fiery clarification post had been entirely my own decision. Rather than offering a meek, polite explanation, I had opted for a full-blown declaration of war laced with unfiltered profanity. Clarify all you want—the trolls who want to tear you apart are going to bite regardless. You might as well bare your fangs first. In the end, it earned me goodwill from the average gallery users and won the public relations war, so it wasn't a bad outcome at all. Frankly, the drama had burned out so fast that calling it a PR war felt like an overstatement. It was just another typical Tuesday on an anonymous message board.

The Heavenly Demon seemed a little taken aback by my rant, but hey, all's well that ends well.

Browsing the latest posts, half the board was in an uproar over hunting down the scammer. Now that the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Juddak had publicly doxed his coordinates, that con artist's real-life existence was about to become very miserable. Whatever else I had expected, I never imagined the head moderator would leak a user's address. If I had to guess, the Heavenly Demon had probably leaned on the Juddak to make it happen. To her eyes, my literal life was on the line while that punk was playing games behind a screen—a blatant injustice she couldn't tolerate.

I should send my thanks first.

Whatever the circumstances, proper manners were non-negotiable. I opened a private direct message.

I didn't doubt her for a second. Sarcasm aside, I genuinely believed her. From what I'd gathered, her martial prowess was on par with Sword Master, if not even higher.

After exchanging a few more polite pleasantries, I brought up a question that had been lingering in my mind.

Phrasing it as "yearning" made it sound like I had some desperate longing for her, but I didn't let it bother me. That was just how she talked.

As I had reminded myself countless times, over-dependence was fatal in a place like this. Leaning on the Heavenly Demon was strictly an insurance policy for authenticating rare, high-stakes items. For general flora and fauna, Allfather usually answered whenever I made a post anyway.

Was it just my imagination, or was there a distinct blend of fondness and mild disappointment lingering in her texts? Given how isolated and solitary she seemed, chatting with her often probably wouldn't hurt.

Before that, though, I needed to deal with lunch. On the off chance something had gotten caught, I went over and turned the river intake valve.

Unfortunately, the stream gushed out clear and unimpeded. The hose wasn't clogged at all, which meant no free fish today.

Guess I'm stuck chewing on an Inedia Pill.

A bitter pill to swallow, both literally and figuratively. But without risking an encounter with the lethal Golden Poison Frogs that infested the riverbanks, casting a line for conventional fishing was out of the question.

Chewing on the dry, astringent pellet, I turned over my post-lunch agenda.

The pit trap... let's check it tomorrow. It's too early right now.

It was never wise to get one's hopes up over traps set just a few hours prior. That left one obvious task: making a public post on the Gallery. After everything that had unfolded today, laying out my future transaction ground rules felt necessary.

Just as expected, Sword Master had completely panicked. I couldn't comprehend why someone would turn down an opportunity to improve their health. Starlight Princess was desperately clawing for any chance to cure her constitution, yet here was this guy turning away legendary elixirs. The world really wasn't fair.

Wait, did he say "pawning off chores"? Isn't that military slang? Is he an active-duty soldier?

If he had a military background, that would explain his vast repertoire of sword fighting techniques. It made sense.

Speaking of swordsmanship, I figured this was a prime opportunity to thoroughly digest his beginner guide. Opening up the document Sword Master had pinned earlier, I threw myself into physical practice.

I need to commit fully to the sword-and-board warrior build.

Facing both the Owlbear and the Muscle Mushroom had driven the point home: carrying a shield offered incomparably higher stability than relying solely on a blade. The Gallery trolls liked to mock shields, joking that an apex predator's blow would one-shot you anyway, but that very shield was often the difference between life and death. The prominent fist-shaped dent hammered into the face of my golden buckler stood as proof. Had I absorbed that shockwave directly with my flesh, my internal organs would have burst on impact.

There's bound to be a ceiling on weapon mastery, though.

Using a one-handed weapon alongside a shield meant my swordsmanship would eventually plateau. The sheer mechanical leverage of wielding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a blade with two hands versus one was as vast as the gap between heaven and earth. For someone in my position, however, discarding fancy offensive techniques in favor of sheer survivability wasn't a compromise—it was an absolute necessity.

Is there anyone on the forum who actually specializes in shield arts?

Sword Master's guide was overwhelmingly skewed toward offensive blade work, containing next to nothing regarding proper shield theory. It boiled down to roughly: Block when hit, then strike. Simple, but lacking depth.

Still, considering I was a complete novice among novices, there was no need to rush.

Let's see here... Find the exact timing of the block, then immediately transition into a clean slash?

Right up until dusk, I poured myself into practicing the movements laid out in the guide. I wasn't naive enough to believe a few hours of solo practice would yield dramatic leaps in combat prowess. Having held a sword and shield for only a handful of days, my immediate priority was getting accustomed to their weight and balance.

"Whew."

Exhaling slowly, I steadied my ragged breathing. Beads of sweat stung my eyes and rolled down my chin.

Practicing off a text guide felt hollow. I wasn't doubting Sword Master's credibility—her posts were widely credited with raising the average martial standards of an entire continent. I just had no way of knowing whether my posture was correct. Without an experienced instructor observing my form, an uneasy doubt gnawed at me.

They say mastering martial arts without a master is nearly impossible.

Martial arts were, at their core, systematic killing techniques refined over generations. They were sciences dedicated to dismantling an opponent with maximum efficiency. The punch thrown by an ordinary civilian versus one delivered by a trained professional fighter carried fundamentally different kinetic weight. The trope of a scrappy brawler beating a seasoned martial artist on raw instinct was pure fiction. The gulf was staggering, and climbing that wall without guidance was practically a fool's errand.

Which meant every clumsy swing I made might just be reinforcing terrible habits.

For now, the only option is to grind through Sword Master's drills until I hit the benchmarks.

Her guide didn't just list theoretical stances; it provided clear milestones. Fulfill a specific trial, and you could consider yourself ready for the next tier.

Cleaving along a perfectly straight line; delivering a set number of consecutive slashes without drawing breath; thrusting clean through the center of a hollow cylinder without scraping the edges... Some exercises seemed genuinely profound, while others bordered on bizarre.

I just have to hit those marks. Twice, three times, until my muscles remember.

Without a master, raw repetition was my only substitute. I swung, blocked, and adjusted my footing continuously until the sky turned bruised and purple, visualizing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enemy strikes crashing against my guard.

"Haaaah!"

By the time I finally lowered my arms, my tunic was drenched in sweat. That felt like enough for one day. Setting the sword and shield down near the cave entrance, I stepped inside to cool off and catch my breath before dinner.

Come to think of it, what happened to that swindler? Didn't someone say they lived in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠adjacent territory?

Curiosity won out, and I immediately pulled up the Gallery interface. Nothing beat forum browsing when unwinding after hard labor. True to form, the main board was still a carnival of degenerates. Swiping over to the Popular Posts tab, one particular thread with an absurdly high upvote count caught my eye.

My handle was right there in the title. Naturally, I tapped on it.

Somehow or another, the situation had resolved itself. I wouldn't have to worry about being branded a fraudulent seller ever again.

Even so, I had no intention of throwing items onto the open Auction House right away. As stated, verified forum veterans would get first dibs.

Having cooled down while scrolling through the threads, I rose to my feet. The sun was dipping below the canopy, casting long, amber shadows through the trees. It was time to inspect the pit trap.

It'd be amazing if something actually fell in.

Less than a day had passed since I dug it out. Expecting a catch this early was pure greed. But in a survival scenario, a little greed was what kept your stomach full.

After strapping on my light gear, I made sure to remind Ppareumbo to watch the cave while I was gone. The giant sloth responded with an agonizingly slow blink of affirmation.

"Oh?"

The moment I neared the trap site, a distinct change stopped me in my tracks. The camouflaging foliage that had blanketed the wooden lid was completely gone. More importantly, beneath the plank, a faint rustling fluttered against my senses.

It caught something!

The prospect of fresh, savory meat after days of dry rations made my mouth water. Gripping the edge of the wooden cover, I slowly raised it, humming a jaunty tune under my breath.

"Ta-ra-ra~ ta-ra-ran~ kung-jjak-jjak~ kung-jjak..."

Clack—

"Kung-jjak..."

There was no rabbit inside the pit.

Instead, something else entirely filled the cavity.

A monstrous, bloated creature—large enough to occupy nearly the entire bottom of the pit—sat hunched beneath the wooden cover, bristling with dense, pitch-black hair. It wasn't an ordinary beast. Extending from its bulbous thorax were eight long, jointed, barbed legs.

To make matters worse, swarming across its bristling carapace were dozens of miniature replicas, writhing over one another in a frantic, skittering carpet of arachnid offspring.

"......"

Thud.

I gently placed the board back down.

Apparently, instead of digging a pit trap, I had managed to excavate an active spider nest.

...Should I try roasting that?

One bite from those fangs would probably liquefy my organs. I abandoned the thought instantly.