Shoes (1)

In the wake of the commotion caused by the leech, I hurriedly made a post on the Gallery, asking what one was supposed to do after getting bitten and accidentally ripping the parasite straight off the nape of one's neck.

Fortunately, the seasoned adventurers of the forum were kind enough to offer their guidance.

Only after receiving their affectionate—if slightly abrasive—counsel was I able to treat the wound properly. Under normal circumstances, one would need antiparasitic pills as well, but an elixir of supreme grade was more than enough to cleanse any lingering threat. Still, next time I ventured out, I made a mental note to wrap something thick around my neck.

What a mess this whole expedition turned into, I grumbled internally, releasing a weary sigh. Yet the weight on my back reminded me that it hadn't been in vain. Once I returned to the cave, there would be plenty to keep me occupied: drying out my soaked clothes and shoes, cooking a meal, and setting up camp. I had originally hoped to set fish traps downriver, but with my footwear utterly drenched, pushing any further was out of the question.

I have to get proper footwear, no matter what.

The shoes I wore now were ordinary sneakers—the very pair I had on when I fell into this wretched place. Some might question why I had sneakers on indoors before I was transported here, but truth be told, my memory ended somewhere around the bottom of several bottles of liquor. Whether having them on was a stroke of fortune or merely an odd coincidence, I couldn't say, but having even sneakers beat wandering barefoot through this primeval wilderness.

Enduring the squelching discomfort with every step, I trudged onward. The farther upriver I climbed, the narrower the riverbed became and the fiercer the currents surged. It was only when I reached the section where my makeshift water hose was anchored that relief finally washed over me.

I really did trek pretty far out this time.

Bringing up the Gallery interface, I checked the time. It was 12:20 PM; the trip hadn't taken nearly as long as anticipated, mostly because walking along the riverbank consumed far more time than actually exploring the lakeshore. A sudden thought struck me.

Wonmo is probably whining for food by now.

Or worse, the little guy might have panicked when he woke up to find me gone. Urgency quickening my stride, I hurried toward the familiar opening of the cavern. But the scene greeting me inside instantly dismantled every shred of my worry.

"Kuuu..."

"..."

Wonmo was sprawled flat on his back, his plump belly exposed to the ceiling, snoring away in deep slumber while lazily scratching his stomach with a curved claw. Whether his caretaker vanished off the face of the earth or not, the baby beast was entirely dedicated to his afternoon nap.

"..."

I shifted my gaze toward Fast Tree Sloth, who merely stared back at me with a vacant, dopey expression.

"...What are you looking at, punk?"

Not a single creature had missed me. A deflated sigh slipped past my lips, but work took precedence over bruised pride. Slipping the heavy pack from my shoulders, I checked inside. The flash-frozen river crabs were barely twitching, sluggishly stirring in the chilly air.

First things first: build a fire.

Chres were piling up. Stripping off my clammy garments, I tossed them aside; washing clothes could wait until after I scrubbed the mud from my own skin. I took extra care inspecting every inch of my body, ensuring no other leeches had hitched a ride.

Thank goodness it was only the one on my neck.

The speed at which that bloodsucker had attached itself during that split-second slip into the muck was downright terrifying. Turning the valve on the hose, I rinsed down under the cool stream. A generous lather of soap was non-negotiable. Following the guidance of the forum's seasoned adventurers, I made sure to use completely unscented soap so as not to broadcast my scent to the forest's predators.

"Whew."

After a thorough rinse, I rubbed down with a dry towel and stepped toward the hearth fire I had rekindled, basking in the dry heat until my skin was warm. My soaked sneakers would take hours to dry, which meant I needed an immediate replacement.

Let's buy some cheap footwear off the Auction House just to lounge around camp.

Navigating through the marketplace listings, I picked up a pair of nondescript leather slip-ons. I didn't even bother checking the exact size; they were only meant to serve as glorified house slippers, so anything loosely fitting would suffice.

I'll leave the laundry pile here for now. Now that I'm dry, time for fresh clothes.

The athletic jerseys Princess Chaeng-gu had sent were plentiful, though the bottoms were shorts. Since long pants were mandatory for any kind of serious bushwhacking, laundering and drying my original pair was today's priority. I had plenty of charcoal saved up for the wash, another trick the veteran adventurers had hammered into my head.

Now then, the main event...

Roasting the crabs. Transferring the massive crustaceans from my pack into a deep iron tub, I filled it with cold river water to keep them as fresh as possible. This sturdy metal bucket had proven its worth ten times over, whether for hauling water or keeping fresh catch alive.

The only issue remaining was how to butcher them. I remembered hearing vague mentions of snapping back their mouthparts, but the exact mechanics eluded me. Turning once more to my ultimate survival toolkit, I opened the Gallery.

So you twist the mouth first. Nodding in understanding, I drew my hunting dagger. Reaching into the tub, I hauled out one of the hulking river crabs and examined its armored visage. Just as described, a distinct cleft sat between its dual mouthparts.

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Jam the dagger in here and wrench sideways...

Crack!

With a satisfying crunch of chitin, the maw was pried forcefully apart. I immediately flipped the beast upside down over the ground. A stream of clear hemolymph and trapped river water trickled steadily from the opening, splashing against the dirt.

"Kyuu?"

"Oh, you're awake?"

Drawn by the sound of cracking shell, Wonmo had rolled onto his paws, blinking sleep from his large eyes. Fast Tree Sloth was also creeping over at a languid crawl, radiating the unmistakable aura of an expectant diner.

"Hold your horses. I'm about to whip up something incredible."

"Kyuuu!"

"..."

At the mention of something delicious, Wonmo's eyes practically sparkled. Fast Tree Sloth offered no grand reaction, but the faint twitch of his whiskers betrayed his inner anticipation.

With the fluids drained...

Time to launch it into the pit! The crab was so colossal that setting it atop the campfire smothered nearly the entire bed of coals. I arranged dry kindling around the edges to ensure the thick legs roasted evenly alongside the main body, taking care to keep the flames close enough to sear without incinerating the shell to ash.

Twenty to thirty minutes, was it?

While the feast sizzled away, I returned to the Auction House to solve my footwear dilemma. The criteria I had in mind were far from simple. For extensive treks across unknown terrain, proper ventilation and ergonomic comfort were vital, as was reliable waterproofing. But above all, durability reigned supreme; in a hostile wilderness, a foot injury was practically a death sentence.

Much like I had explained to Passing Dwarf earlier, what I needed was essentially a top-grade pair of modern combat boots engineered for punishment.

Thinking of combat boots brings back military memories.

Back during recruit training on Earth, that very first long-distance march had felt like torture. Yet what followed was far more dramatic than the march itself. While my fellow recruits groaned over gruesome blisters, torn skin, and peeled flesh, my feet had emerged virtually unscathed. To me, standard-issue combat boots were simply heavy, never truly uncomfortable.

Still nothing. No matter how deep I search, there's nothing suitable.

Even when sorting by exorbitant price tags, none of the listings met my operational requirements. To make matters worse, the overwhelming majority of high-end footwear on the market catered strictly to professional sports—specialized soccer cleats, high-top basketball shoes, and the like.

Posting an open commission on the forum seemed like the only viable path forward. Before drafting the post, I purchased a standard measuring tape from the Auction House. Since dimensional measurement systems were notoriously inconsistent, photographing my foot directly against the tape was the smartest course of action.

What a peculiar way of speaking, I reflected, noting the rigid, aristocratic cadence in GonnaBeADuke's text. The handle reeked of unbridled ambition. Though framed as an open competition, in reality it was a straightforward business transaction: high-grade survival gear in exchange for an alchemical treasure.

Lacking proper boots didn't mean I was entirely grounded—there was plenty of shelter maintenance to keep me occupied. But long expeditions were firmly off the table for now. Yesterday's brush with death in the bogs was a sharp reminder of how quickly nature could claim an unprepared wanderer.

Snap! Sizzle!

"Is it finally do—YEOWCH!"

The instant my index finger brushed against the carapace to gauge its doneness, a searing burst of heat jolted straight up my arm. Had my reflexes been a fraction slower, I would have walked away with second-degree burns. Cursing under my breath, I pulled on heavy reinforced gloves before lifting the gloriously roasted beast from the glowing embers. Though ostensibly a freshwater crab, its sheer mass easily rivaled that of a king crab, promising an obscene amount of meat hidden beneath its shell.

Legs first.

Selecting one of the thickest limbs, I sheared through the joint with my hunting knife. A sharp, crisp crack heralded the clean severance. Slipping the blade along the side of the shell, I gently pried it apart. A fragrant plume of steam billowed into the cavern air.

"Whoa..."

Beneath the scarlet shell lay gleaming, succulent white flesh, plump and bursting with moisture. Saliva flooded my mouth at the mere sight of it. I had seasoned it with nothing more than coarse salt, curious to see how the natural flavors held up. Blowing softly on the piping-hot morsel, I took a hearty bite.

"Mmph... chew, chew... haaah."

It was utterly divine. The natural sweetness of the meat mingled seamlessly with the touch of salt, yielding an exquisite umami richness. Not a trace of muddy river stench clung to it; the flavor was clean, oceanic, and endlessly satisfying. Visions of the countless crabs resting undisturbed at the bottom of the frozen lake danced vividly across my mind.

Crack!

"Oh, man!"

The true soul of any roasted crab lay in the carapace. Peeling off the broad dorsal shell, I let out a low whistle of pure admiration. A rich, golden-green pool of crab tomalley bubbled inside. Any lingering regret over not steaming it dissolved in an instant. Tilting the shell, I savored a mouthful of the creamy innards.

I expected the tomalley to be bitter, but this is incredible.

It was velvety, decadent, and flawlessly savory without a single off-note. Once I thoroughly cleaned out the shell, I cleaved off another meaty leg and turned toward my little companion.

"Here you go, Wonmo. Chew on this while I get the rest ready."

"Kyuuu!"

"You want one too, Ppareumbo?"

"..."

Fast Tree Sloth extended a deliberate claw in an unmistakable gesture of demand. Grinning, I sliced off another leg and passed it over. Trusting and unsuspecting, the sloth clamped down on the steaming shell with his bare hand—only to violently flail his arm in frantic panic!

His eternally droopy, drowsy eyes went wide as saucers, utterly blindsided by the blistering heat.

Yeah, that's blazing hot, isn't it?

I had been wearing heat-resistant gloves; he had grabbed it with bare flesh. After all the grief and petty annoyances this lazy giant had put me through over the weeks, witnessing his frantic shock was pure poetic justice. I couldn't help but chuckle smugly.

Smack!

The next instant, the bastard hurled the scorching-hot crab leg straight at my face.

The monstrous throwing strength of a giant sloth met the thermal agony of fresh-roasted shell. A direct hit. First came the blunt thud of impact, followed instantly by blinding, searing pain across my cheek.

"AUUUUGHHH!"

Just you wait, you furry menace!

Meanwhile, as Grylls waged culinary war inside his remote cave...

In a grand hall far across the dimensional expanse, a stern voice broke the stillness.

"I trust you have seen the latest notice posted to the Gallery."

"Sire, does that mean..."

"Summon the master craftsman at once. Do not waste a single heartbeat."

"Understood, Your Grace!"

Beneath the surface of the realms, a subtle undercurrent began to stir.