Core (2)

Browsing the Gallery never failed to turn up something entertaining. The threads ranged from utterly pointless shitposts to surprisingly profound treatises, which meant two things: you could stumble across the exact information you needed in seconds, or you could stumble into something utterly unhinged. To make matters worse, the forum wasn't partitioned into neat sub-boards—it was just one massive, chaotic feed, and the sheer volume of posts was staggering.

Homonyms everywhere, too. What a headache.

I combed through the archives looking for anything on cores. Out of caution, I typed "Guardian Core" into the search bar, but nothing directly useful came up. The few scraps of viable intel I gleaned boiled down to the fact that cores were exceptionally rare crafting materials prized for their magical value. In essence, they were colossal batteries of solid mana, offering a wide variety of high-end applications.

Do I just hand this off to Allfather or Lady Starlight?

No matter how I looked at it, the thing was an enormous white elephant. Literally enormous. Most guardian cores were supposedly about the size of a fist, but the one I’d pried loose was nearly the size of a basketball. Forum lore held that a guardian's strength scaled directly with the size of its core, which meant I had gotten absurdly lucky.

If that construct had been made of anything other than orichalcum, I'd probably be dead right now.

The Orichalcum Guardian's fatal flaw had been its hyper-sensitivity to mana. That double-edged sword had given me just enough of an opening to scrape together a win. I scratched the back of my neck, staring blankly at the dull, deactivated sphere resting on the dirt.

Well, might as well ask.

One thing was certain: I had zero practical use for it. I couldn't absorb it like an elixir, nor could I casually carry around a crystalline boulder like some fortune-teller's orb. I couldn't even kick it around for fun—it was so dense and rock-hard that trying to boot it would shatter every bone in my foot. Its rounded shape meant Wonmo might enjoy rolling it across the grass, but if I wanted a toy for the cub, I’d be far better off just buying an actual soccer ball.

The general verdict was clear: an excellent piece of hardware, but plagued by extremely niche ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠utility. Most people agreed that buying one just to run domestic appliances was like buying an industrial turbine to charge a phone—a total waste of coin. It was the quintessential chicken rib: too valuable to throw away, yet completely useless to keep. My disposal problem was getting worse by the minute.

Is putting it up on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠auction house my only real option...?

Right as I was pondering that, a fresh comment chimed in.

Let's Grow Trees had swooped in with an enthusiastic yet remarkably polite proposal. But why her, of all people?

To be completely honest, her interest took me completely by surprise. She occasionally left comments on various threads, but she was widely infamous across ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the forum—and not for anything good. Going strictly by the prevailing gossip on the Gallery, she was an elf steeped in imperialist zealotry who justified annexing foreign territories under the guise of tree-planting, whether as a bizarre running joke or in deadly earnest.

She feels like the polar opposite of our Main Mod, doesn't she?

Both of them were hyperactive and cheerful, but their public approval ratings and worldviews sat at opposing ends of the universe. Even so, I fought back the urge to brush her off with prejudice. Whatever her reputation, she was a verified regular offering to take an otherwise useless paperweight off my hands.

I prayed she wasn't being serious. The Gallery was overflowing with roleplayers committed to absurd gags, and I desperately hoped this was just another bit. If she genuinely believed that was a fair offer, her detachment from reality was alarming.

I stared at the screen, utterly flabbergasted by the audacity of offering smokes for a massive guardian core. I wasn't worried about the smell attracting predators—given the amount of smoking and charring I did for meat preservation, a bit of tobacco smoke wouldn't make a dent. But the sheer shamelessness of the pitch circled past irritation straight into pure curiosity.

I couldn't bring myself to believe it. This world lagged far behind Earth in technological advancement. Certain magical fields matched or exceeded modern science, sure, but the broad baseline was primitive. Back on Earth, it had taken centuries of medical research just to formally prove tobacco's carcinogenicity. World Tree leaves or not, the claim smelled fishy.

Sounds like it's just treated as some artisanal status symbol.

A quick search on the Gallery confirmed as much. Most users treated it like an ultra-luxury cigar. Occasional claims popped up claiming it aided mana circulation or internal cultivation, or that it could double as high-grade meditation incense, but the posts lacked any clinical credibility. I dismissed them out of hand. For a survivor focused strictly on staying alive, luxury tobacco was just another useless novelty. Besides, if I were an active smoker, I would have just bought a pack off the auction house days ago.

Apparently, they weren't just good—they were exceptionally rare masterworks. The commenters showered the thread with descriptions of their properties: lighter than any fabric on earth, so seamless you could barely tell you were wearing them, tear-resistant, and extraordinarily durable. Most impressively, they possessed a self-repair function; as long as the wearer infused a trickle of mana, the silk would mend physical damage on its own.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

For someone who relied on their hands for everything, they sounded like a godsend. I hadn't dwelled on it, but my hands were currently in rough shape. Chopping timber, stoking bonfires, gutting fish, handling coarse charcoal, practicing sword drills... Day in and day out, my skin was constantly taking a beating. Passing Dwarf had tossed in a pair of reinforced gloves earlier, but those were mass-produced workwear meant for brute labor like quarrying or heavy combat. Trying to do intricate, delicate work while wearing them was an exercise in frustration.

In survival, your hands are even more vital than your feet.

Sold. I agreed to Let's Grow Trees's offer. The core was taking up space anyway, and getting rid of it immediately while securing a top-tier pair of gloves felt like a massive win.

An imperialist mindset crossed with radical eco-warrior activism. It was a bizarre, jarring mix—like deep-fried dog meat candy. Still, she’d just done me a huge favor, so I decided to play along courteously.

Saying that only makes me worry more. Seriously, what is wrong with the elves in this world?

In standard fantasy tropes, elves were paragons of grace and dignity, but this one was an absolute menace to public order. Then again, everything I knew came second-hand from an unmoderated dimensional message board, so I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Still, meeting an elf this unhinged on my very first interaction didn't inspire confidence.

She seemed well-meaning enough at heart, so I let it slide. I finalized the trade window and checked the delivery tray.

"Wait, what?"

There was way more in the package than we’d agreed on. Not just one or two extra items, either. The exquisitely crafted longbow I could overlook. The pack of luxury World Tree cigars I could shrug off. But the potted sapling sitting right in the center, its vibrant green leaves shimmering with mana, was impossible to ignore.

You've got to be kidding me.

Did she seriously send this expecting me to plant it? The woman's obsession with reforestation was downright terrifying. The bow and cigars had clearly been bribes to sweeten the deal. Still, she’d delivered the gloves as promised, so I had no grounds to complain.

Whatever. I'll just shove it in the dirt and let nature take care of the rest.

I inspected the gloves first. Pulling them out of the parcel, I took a closer look at their design.

...Aren't these just cotton work gloves?

They looked identical to standard white construction gloves, minus the red rubberized grips on the palms. The only visible difference was that the fabric was blindingly white and felt silky smooth to the touch. With a faint sense of familiarity, I slipped them onto my hands.

Not bad at all.

The fit was sublime. The material breathed so well that I could feel the faintest draft against my skin, meaning my palms would never get clammy again. I wanted to test their defensive and regenerative limits immediately, but that could wait. Looking inside the package, I noticed two more pairs neatly folded underneath.

Three pairs total?

For an item everyone called priceless, she was remarkably generous. Next was the tobacco. Rather than standard cigarettes, they resembled thick, handcrafted cigars. Five of them were housed in a polished wooden humidor that opened smoothly on brass hinges, complete with a dedicated compartment that looked suspiciously like a built-in ashtray.

Finally, I picked up the bow. It practically radiated high-tier craftsmanship, its limbs carved with elegant curvature and fine silver filigree. Intrigued, I pinched the string to test the draw weight.

Creak!

"Huh?"

It didn't budge. The limb tension was absurdly stiff. The memory of trying to crank Passing Dwarf’s heavy crossbow for the first time flashed through my mind.

"Hnnngh... HAAAAAH!"

I had to channel every ounce of strength in my back and shoulders, yelling out loud just to wrench the string back to full draw. My physical stats had dramatically increased since I first arrived here, yet drawing this single bow took everything I had. What kind of monster was Let's Grow Trees to fire this thing casually?

Aren't archers supposed to be agility builds?

Or was she just a freak of nature masquerading as an archer? The sheer cognitive dissonance made my head spin. Mastering this weapon was going to take months, if not years. I found myself hoping that day would never come, because reaching the point where I could wield this effortlessly meant I would have spent a terrifyingly long time marooned in this forest.

I shook my head and glanced down at the potted sapling resting by my feet.

"......"

Whatever. It wouldn't kill me to plant it. A quick verification post was easy enough.

"Hehe. Excellent."

Cascades of lustrous golden hair spilled over her shoulders like spun silk. Her features possessed the transcendent beauty emblematic of the elven nobility, complemented by delicate pointed ears and vivid emerald eyes that reflected the verdant canopy of ancient woodlands. Even the graceful folds of her royal gown could not conceal the voluptuous, breathtaking contours of her figure.

"With this, the trees of Alvenheim have taken root even within the Forest of the Four Seasons."

The sovereign of Alvenheim beamed with unvarnished satisfaction. The contrast between her mature, regal elegance and her girlish, excitable demeanor created an intoxicating allure.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Your Majesty, I have answered your summons."

Hearing the voice from the corridor, the Elf Queen swiped her hand to dismiss the Gallery interface and spoke in a clear, melodic tone.

"Enter."

Her voice was gentle and pristine. As the heavy wooden doors swung inward, an elven attendant stepped into the solar, bowing deeply.

"You have arrived."

"Yes, Your Majesty. What orders do you have for me...?"

"Shall we say... the hour has come to lay the cornerstone for our grand cause?"

"Pardon?"

The attendant blinked, wide-eyed at the enigmatic declaration. The Queen cast her gaze down toward the sphere resting in her lap. It was the massive core she had just acquired from Grylls, its surface scarred by a distinct puncture through the center. A deep, radiant smile touched her lips.

"Make immediate preparations for the trial run. We have finally secured our power source."

"B-But the Elders... they explicitly forbade—"

"......"

"N-No, forgive me! It shall be done at once!"

Cutting her objections short under the Queen's wordless gaze, the attendant turned on her heel and scrambled out of the chamber, nearly tripping in her haste to flee. The Elf Queen watched her go with an amused, triumphant smirk. Then, lifting her chin toward the sunlit canopy of the capital, she whispered her holy creed.

"Make Alvenheim Great Again!"