A Bizarre Adventure (3)

Thwack! Thump! Smack!

"Kweeeek! Kwee-eeek! Keck!"

Harvesting an Adult Mandrake Root was something I had done so often by now that it went beyond familiar—I had elevated it to an art form. You yanked it out of the soil, beat it senseless, and immediately stuffed its howling mouth full of dirt. That was it. It sounded surprisingly simple... because it actually was. A good, thorough beatdown was all it took. Leaving them here would be an absolute waste anyway; it was far better for them to serve as exceptional nourishment for someone else.

I should probably start eating one myself sooner or later.

Chewing on a raw, screaming mandrake was sheer lunacy, so I intended to process or cook it first. Allfather had mentioned that simply boiling one in water would suffice, meaning I had plenty of options. The best route, however, would be entrusting it to Starlight Princess, given her profound mastery of alchemy.

Though I suppose this patch will run dry eventually.

I surveyed the mandrake colony. The clearing was still packed with them. Measuring roughly the size of a basketball court, the expansive ground was densely carpeted with mature roots. Even with such a massive quantity, harvesting them at this pace would inevitably dwindle their numbers over time. I needed to milk this resource for everything it was worth while it lasted. Only then would my chances of survival climb.

I wonder what kind of shield he's going to give me this time.

Holding the subdued Adult Mandrake Root in one hand, I headed back toward the cave. Nothing noteworthy threatened me along the way. Upon returning, I immediately checked on the meat. The smoking rack was doing its job, wrapping the strips in fragrant, savory haze. Even if it turned out somewhat salty, salting significantly extended preservation, so there was no room for complaints. I could easily stomach it.

First, let's set up the trade with Praise the Sun.

I stoked the campfire, adjusting the flames to an even burn, and opened the Gallery to draft a post asking him to initiate the exchange whenever he saw it.

The trade pop-up arrived in less than a minute. My timing must have been lucky, or perhaps he had prepared the shield beforehand after anticipating my post. I accepted at once.

Every time I spoke with him, Praise the Sun gave off the unmistakable aura of an absurdly loaded oil tycoon. The sheer nonchalance born of limitless wealth was more imposing than any display of brute force. In more ways than one, he was an enviable man.

Hearing him talk about extreme durability immediately brought back memories of the standard-issue shower slippers from my army days. Praised by conscripts as the military's final scrap of conscience and forged from pure Vibranium, those slippers were a mandatory keepsake you smuggled home upon discharge. The other essential was the razor handle and its replacement cartridges.

Come to think of it, I haven't given a single thought to shaving lately.

I rubbed my chin, feeling the scratchy, unkempt stubble. Under normal circumstances, I shaved every two or three days, but given my current survival situation, personal grooming had been pushed to the bottom of the priority list. Then again, I doubted modern safety razors existed in this world, unless I wanted to try my hand with an old-fashioned barber's straight razor.

Unfortunately, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kind of razor I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had in mind didn't exist here. Attempting to use a straight razor on myself sounded like an accident waiting to happen.

Lathering up would be a nightmare on its own.

Where would I get shaving cream or proper soap, and what would I do if I sliced my own neck open out here? Constantly stressing over that sounded exhausting; it was infinitely easier to just embrace the scruff and live like a wild man. With that realization, I cleanly abandoned any notion of shaving. Once the beard grew too long, I would just hack it down with scissors or a knife. Bit by bit, I was evolving into a genuine creature of the wilderness.

Once the trade concluded, I inspected the newly acquired piece. The shield was circular, roughly identical in diameter to my previous Golden Shield.

Not a single decorative engraving on it.

Instead of ostentatious gold, it possessed a plain, purely functional aesthetic. Plain was an understatement; it looked as though someone had simply sheared a thick circle out of a solid block of metal and ground the edges smooth. Yet the dull, silvery gleam felt far more reliable than flashiness ever could.

The weight feels about the same.

Because it didn't disrupt my handling balance, I liked it even more. With superior defensive capabilities compared to the Golden Shield, it was an upgrade in every metric that mattered.

Now I'm invincible.

The Heavenly Demon's Sword in one hand, an adamantium shield in the other—what could possibly terrify me now?

...Naturally, that was utter nonsense. Apex predators like that sabertooth tiger still scared the living daylights out of me. Invincible, my ass. Without Fast Tree Sloth around, I would have died several times over by now.

Now that the shield is secured, it's about time to hunt some river crabs.

Before heading out, I decided to check on Wonmo and Ppareumbo. Normally, Wonmo would be snoozing peacefully around this hour, while Ppareumbo kept lazy vigil by his side...

"...?"

...Except they weren't there. I blinked, scanning the dimly lit cavern.

Having once housed an entire pack of Mad Dogs, the interior was reasonably spacious. It wasn't cavernous enough to get lost in, merely comfortable and cozy.

"Wonmo? If you're hiding, speak up. Ppareumbo, answer me if you're in here."

I checked behind every crate and boulder, calling their names repeatedly, but found nothing. My heart skipped a beat at the thought that some predator might have snatched them while I stepped out, but that didn't add up. Had a beast attacked, there would have been claw marks, overturned items, or blood from a struggle. The camp remained completely undisturbed.

I had no idea what had prompted it, but one reality was undeniably clear: Wonmo and Fast Tree Sloth had wandered outside the cave.

The realization that both of them—not just one, but both—were roaming out in the wild sent a sudden wave of dizziness crashing over ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

Why on earth... Wait, when did they even leave?

It was a completely unforeseen crisis. My thoughts ground to a dead halt. Wonmo was still an infant who knew nothing beyond eating, sleeping, and pooping. He was at the age where he required round-the-clock supervision. I never would have imagined him wandering off into the dangerous woods. What could have possessed him to step foot outside?

Rushing out blindly will only waste time. I need to track their trail first.

Before leaving, I posted an urgent notice on the Gallery. The trade with Passing Dwarf would have to wait.

I didn't linger to read any replies; finding the runaway duo took absolute precedence. I strapped on the Heavenly Demon's Sword, secured the adamantium shield to my arm, and pocketed an Elixir along with several Inedia Pills for emergencies.

Move fast. They couldn't have gotten far.

Anxiety gnawed at my gut over the thought of either of them coming to harm. Fortunately, clear tracks remained pressed into the damp earth near the cave mouth. Following these prints was my only viable lead.

"Wonmo!"

Tracking the prints, I shouted his name at the top of my lungs. It ran the risk of drawing unwanted attention from predatory beasts, but I had no choice. More importantly, Wonmo understood his own name. Hearing me call might make him pause in his tracks.

"Wonmo! No! Stop right there!"

Someone on the internet once shared a tip for finding missing pets: even if you couldn't see where they were hiding, you should firmly yell "No!" Animals were naturally prone to mischief, so shouting prohibitions was the fastest way to get their attention and make them turn back.

"Wait, this is..."

Along the trail, I spotted distinct markings carved into the trunk of a massive oak. Three deep gouges: Fast Tree Sloth's claw marks. Having seen those claws daily, there was no mistaking them. Since the marks were scored rhythmically every dozen paces, Ppareumbo had clearly etched them intentionally, anticipating that their ground tracks might get washed away or lost. Keeping a return path in mind, I carved corresponding notches into the bark with my blade as well.

As long as they haven't stumbled into some hazardous territory, everything will be fine.

The worst-case scenario was crossing the river into that cracked wasteland where space continually distorted. If they crossed into that chaotic zone, retrieving them would be a nightmare. Praying with all my might that they hadn't headed in that direction, I pushed deeper along the trail.

They didn't push through dense thickets.

Wonmo was already deceptively heavy and wide, so he naturally avoided overgrown brush. That made following them surprisingly manageable, but Ppareumbo's claw marks were doing most of the heavy lifting. The sloth had remarkable wits, etching blatant, unmistakable signs right at eye level. Once I brought them back, I'd reward Ppareumbo with a feast of Inedia Pills and give Wonmo a proper scolding.

From now on, I have to keep Wonmo glued to my side whenever I leave.

When he was asleep, I could leave him, but if he was awake, he was coming with me. Building a proper fortification across the cave entrance had officially become a priority as well.

The trick is how to bar an entrance that wide... but I can worry about construction later.

First, the troublemakers had to return safely. I spent the next twenty minutes shouting Wonmo's name, sweeping my gaze across the forest floor. Contrary to my hope that they wouldn't have made it far, there was still no sign of them even after following the marks for a considerable distance.

Rustle—

A sudden disturbance in the foliage made me freeze in place. Bushes didn't rattle on their own.

Was this good news or bad?

Maintaining a guarded stance with shield raised, I stared intently at the shaking undergrowth.

"Wonmo...?"

I whispered cautiously, but no familiar whimper came in response. The likelihood of whatever lurked in that bush being Wonmo plummeted. I locked my eyes onto the trembling leaves, refusing to blink.

Rustle— rustle—

The rustling intensified. Every muscle in my body coiled tight. This was an unfamiliar sector of the forest; anything could burst out. Even the rabbits in this cursed woodland hit like freight trains, so lowering my guard meant instant death.

Just as the thrashing foliage parted completely, the creature emerged.

"Cheep?"

Fluffy black down, a miniature yellow beak, and a high-pitched, adorable chirp. By all appearances, a baby chick had popped out of the greenery.

The tension abruptly evaporated from my shoulders, only to be replaced by profound bewilderment.

Hold on. Why is that thing so gigantic?

A normal chick fits comfortably in the palm of your hand. Even after evolving—no, maturing—into a full-grown chicken, its head would barely brush a person's kneecap. But the "chick" standing before me surpassed my knees, rose past my chest, and stared straight into my eyes at head height.

If the baby is this huge, then what the hell does the mother look like...?

A cold chill shot straight down my spine.

Swoosh—

A sudden shadow engulfed me from above. It wasn't a passing cloud blotting out the sun; darkness fell exclusively over the patch of ground where I stood. Filled with dread, I turned my neck around inch by excruciating inch.

Chickens were fiercely protective creatures that never strayed far from their brood. They rarely left their nests—save for one specific exception: when a wandering chick slipped away and needed to be retrieved.

"..."

"..."

I tilted my head back to meet the gaze of the majestic, towering fowl looming behind me. Draped in pitch-black feathers that contrasted starkly with a blood-red comb, the monstrous bird stood proudly. What on earth was wrong with this forest that even poultry reached such preposterous proportions? Standing tall, its height easily rivaled that of the sabertooth tiger.

"Cheep."

The chick chirped plaintively, trotting toward its mother. I glanced at the oversized chick, then carefully took several silent steps backward to yield the path. The chick waddled happily up to the hen, which thoroughly inspected her offspring before turning its beady eyes back onto me. The posture radiated lethal intent, ready to unleash hell the instant I displayed hostility.

Since when does a chicken glare like an assassin...?

This went far beyond a rooster bred for cockfights; its stare was purely predatory. Cruel scars crisscrossed its body, bald patches devoid of feathers testifying to countless life-or-death battles.

"...Bawk."

"Cheep. Pip."

Evidently satisfied that I posed no immediate threat, the monstrous bird turned its massive bulk around. The giant chick toddled faithfully at its mother's heels, and both creatures vanished into the dense undergrowth.

"Phew..."

I exhaled a ragged breath, the cold sweat on my back cooling rapidly. That had nearly turned catastrophic. It seemed that along with its colossal size, the chicken possessed enough intelligence to avoid needless violence, especially with its vulnerable offspring nearby.

...Is Wonmo really going to be all right out here?

My concern for the little cub surged to an all-time high.

Around that same time, elsewhere in the forest...

"..."

Wonmo stood with round eyes locked forward. The usual innocent, doe-eyed cuteness was nowhere to be found; his gaze burned with intense, unwavering focus.

"Hiss. Hiss."

The reason was simple: a massive viper coiled before him, tongue flicking menacingly. The snake's girth was formidable, and every time its jaws parted, gleaming fangs dripped with lethal venom. A single puncture would spell mortal danger for a cub Wonmo's size.

"..."

Observing the confrontation in silence was another animal entirely. Fast Tree Sloth was perched comfortably on Wonmo's back, claws cocked and primed to strike at a moment's notice. The second that venomous snake lunged for Wonmo, Ppareumbo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fully intended to shred it into ribbons.

Shift—

Wonmo's forepaw lifted marginally. In response, the viper coiled tighter, rearing its head higher. The outcome hinged entirely on who struck first; reaction speed meant the difference between life and death. For Ppareumbo, it was fascinating entertainment, though he remained prepared to intervene should real danger arise.

Amidst the suffocating standoff, the viper blinked first.

"Haaash!"

Flashing its needle-sharp fangs, the viper launched forward like an arrow. It was a blistering strike—one that Grylls himself would have struggled to evade.

Just as Ppareumbo began to sweep his claw forward, Wonmo moved.

SMACK!

Wonmo's thick, stubby paw slammed down like a sledgehammer atop the serpent's skull. It mirrored the casual swat of a house cat batting at a toy, yet the kinetic force behind it was devastating. With a single downward strike, the viper's head was pulped completely into the dirt.

The headless length of scales writhed in horrific, involuntary spasms, but it was already over.

Stomp!

Wonmo planted both front paws onto the thrashing coils, clambering triumphantly onto his kill. The snake's body coiled violently under the sudden crushing weight, but a dead reptile had no counterplay. Pushing his chest out proudly, Wonmo threw his head back toward the sky.

"Kyuuuuuuu!"

It was the proud, resounding roar of a victorious apex predator—though to any outside observer, it sounded overwhelmingly adorable.

Now, only one task remained.

"Munch, crunch, nom, nom."

Partaking in the spoils of victory.

Regardless of whether the severed coils still twitched, Wonmo tore into the serpent, chewing, tearing, and savoring every fresh bite. Perhaps feeling guilty about indulging all by himself, the cub suddenly paused mid-chew and craned his neck to look up at Ppareumbo.

"Kyu?"

Want a bite? the cub's innocent eyes seemed to ask.

Fast Tree Sloth looked down at Wonmo, then shifted his gaze toward the mangled, half-eaten snake, before offering an answer.

Slow shake—

With his characteristic, agonizingly sluggish cadence, the sloth gently shook his head from side to side.

Their bizarre, little adventure was far from over.

"Wonmo! Where are you?! Answer me if you can hear me!"

And somewhere through the trees, a certain survivor's maddening, nerve-wracking ordeal showed no signs of ending either.