A Chronicler of the Wild
A tiger leaves behind its hide when it dies, and a man leaves behind his name.
It was an ancient proverb capturing a defining truth of humanity: one ought to achieve great deeds in life so that an illustrious name endures for generations to come. Though humans possessed the highest intellect among all living creatures, their primal biological instinct remained entirely unchanged—the desperate, unrelenting urge to leave something behind. Whether children, a renowned name, or monumental achievements, it mattered little. Men did not stake their lives on honor for nothing; the weight of one's honor dictated just how grand a legacy would echo down the ages.
Keeping a diary answered that very same instinct. Childish though it might appear on the surface, journaling was a profound pursuit. People put pen to paper for countless reasons, but in the end, it was an act of leaving a record behind. The journals left by great historical figures held staggering academic value and frequently rewrote the annals of history. Even the diary of an ordinary person could hardly be dismissed as worthless. However humble and unpolished it appeared, it preserved the raw essence of a human life, offering subsequent generations wisdom to inherit or cautionary lessons to heed.
Did I… speak out of turn?
With hair and skin as pristine as fresh snow, Selena possessed breathtaking beauty matched only by her icy, aloof demeanor. Having suffered under an incurable, fatal affliction before regaining her vitality through Grylls's aid, she now found herself gripped by unease. Her expression remained as frigid as ever, but the slight tremor in her pale eyes betrayed the turmoil churning inside her.
What if I hurt Grylls-ssi's feelings?
Selena understood his plight all too well. A guaranteed, approaching death and a sudden, unpredictable demise—though a subtle distinction existed between the two, both stood intimately close to the grave. While Grylls's miraculous medicine had liberated her from the immediate terror of death, the memory of that horror had far from faded. If anything, she understood the dread of mortality better than anyone alive. She remembered with visceral clarity the madness that had threatened to tear her mind apart at any moment. Though the terror had gradually receded once she crossed the threshold into quiet resignation, the imprint of that despair remained etched into her soul.
When someone in Grylls-ssi's situation starts keeping a diary, it usually means they've reached the stage of resignation…
Keeping a diary was commendable. Preserving a record was inherently meaningful. Yet when those brushing against the veil of death took up the pen, it was almost always a symptom of having surrendered to fate—either waiting silently for the end or grimly preparing for a doom that could strike at any hour. It was a tragically common ritual, one that often amounted to nothing more than a dying gasp.
Did he truly come from another world?
The real issue lay with Grylls himself. Selena studied the photograph he had sent her. It depicted a notebook filled with baffling, unidentifiable script. Even with her mastery of numerous foreign tongues, the characters were completely alien to her. No matter how remote an outlying kingdom might be, languages generally shared recognizable roots; at most, they diverged into regional dialects. But the symbols in Grylls's photograph were no dialect—they belonged to an entirely new system of writing.
If he truly crossed over from another world… then even if Grylls-ssi leaves a diary behind, not a single person will ever be able to read it.
A diary was inherently intimate, something one felt embarrassed to show to others. Yet ironically, the act of writing stemmed from a quiet desire for someone, somewhere, to understand. If one truly wished to bury a secret forever, they would keep it locked within their heart rather than committing it to paper. Selena had kept a journal with that exact yearning, and even after her recovery, she still revisited its pages from time to time.
How sorrowful and wretched that must feel.
A legacy that no one would acknowledge—or rather, a legacy that no one could comprehend. His only surviving footprint would be the posts scattered across the Gallery. Had his notes been written in a language of this continent, she might have offered to receive and preserve his writings herself. But because he hailed from an alien world, receiving the diary would be meaningless; she could not decipher a single word.
The ideal solution would be for Grylls-ssi to teach me his script, but…
Could a man locked in a desperate, minute-by-minute battle for survival afford such a leisurely pastime? Not in the slightest. Death stalked his heels with every passing hour. Only today, he had posted on the forum mentioning that he had narrowly escaped another fatal crisis.
Grylls-ssi saved me out of pure goodwill. I must repay him in kind.
Selena deliberated. How could she safeguard his legacy without burdening him? Regardless of inspirational maxims urging one to never lose hope, wisdom dictated preparing for every contingency. She had occasionally sent him elixirs and gourmet snacks, but that fell far short of adequate recompense.
…Right. Let us do this.
After a measured silence, Selena arrived at her decision.
I will transcribe Grylls-ssi's entire posting history from the Gallery. I will document every step of his journey.
The archives of the Gallery were not eternal. Just as the dead held no voice in the mortal realm, the Gallery unceremoniously purged the records of the deceased. If every post by a registered user vanished overnight, it served as an undeniable epitaph—proof that the user had perished. If Grylls's threads ever disappeared, it would mean he was gone.
If I cannot reach out and aid him with my own hands, I can at least ensure his demise is not swallowed by silence.
This was the least she could do. Selena quietly reproached her own limitations. She had desperately attempted to analyze the Forest of the Four Seasons through mathematical and arcane modeling, only to arrive at a solitary conclusion: impossible. That grim reality had crystallized the moment she watched his video recording of seawater violently surging backward into an inland river.
I must record it so that those who become stranded in the Forest of the Four Seasons will not die in vain.
Grylls's survival log would serve as an invaluable compass for any future castaways unfortunate enough to wander into that mythological hell. With that purpose in mind, Selena began tracing his path from the very beginning. She navigated to his inaugural post—the panicked, disoriented words of a man unexpectedly cast into the Four Seasons Forest.
He has suffered immensely from the very start.
Immediately after offering assistance to Heavenly Demon, he had been relentlessly pursued by a pack of Mad Dogs, followed shortly by the terrifying emergence of an Earth Guardian. He had nearly lost his life when a Mad Dog sank its fangs into his arm, only narrowly surviving thanks to the technical advice provided by Sword Master. Then came his discovery of an Adult Mandrake Root, which ultimately led to her own miraculous recovery.
A mere ten days had elapsed, yet an overwhelming cascade of crises had transpired. Summarizing his journey alone would demand hours of meticulous labor.
I must record details regarding the fixed nicks as well…
Given the nature of the Gallery, the forum teemed with eccentric personalities. Scum, fools, lunatics—she systematically filtered out the unhinged anonymous fluid nicks. Aside from the rare occasions when one provided genuinely critical advice, such as instructing Grylls on how to properly fillet a fish, the vast majority contributed nothing but bizarre drivel.
A desperate battle against a saber-toothed tiger, and the harvesting of a core structurally identical to a Dragon Heart…
The deeper she examined his footsteps, the more a single bewildered question surfaced in her mind: just how had Grylls managed to endure that living nightmare of a forest? Even with the forum's assistance, the Four Seasons Forest was a domain that crushed seasoned masters. One look at his posts revealed an endless succession of apex predators and anomalous monstrosities.
His foundational combat instincts must be extraordinary.
It was no coincidence that figures of supreme martial standing like Heavenly Demon and Sword Master had taken a keen interest in him. His latent talent was undeniably exceptional. Even more astonishing was the intellectual duality he exhibited on the forum. When interacting with Passing Dwarf or crude fluid nicks, he wielded an abrasive, unrefined vernacular; yet when addressing polite fixed nicks, he conducted himself with impeccable courtesy. Even beneath the veil of complete internet anonymity, his underlying decency and respect shone through unvarnished. That contrast had long caught Selena's attention.
Just what kind of life did Grylls-ssi lead before arriving here?
His adaptability bordered on supernatural. He had already carved out an fortified encampment in the wild. Even more intriguing was his overt resentment toward divine providence. Given his brutal circumstances, cursing the gods was only natural. Yet his complaints carried a chilling, deliberate gravity that bordered on sheer blasphemy.
And yet, he fights tirelessly to live.
The more she scrutinized him, the more enigmatic he became. His recorded deeds were an endless tapestry of bizarre contradictions. Dipping her quill into ink, Selena transcribed his actions into a leather-bound tome, contemplating his nature piece by piece.
From what has been revealed thus far…
Benevolence that repaid kindness with kindness.
Ruthlessness that instantly severed ties the moment trust was broken.
A courteous foundation, tempered by a sharp-tongued camaraderie reserved for close companions.
An enduring respect for order even in the bleakest circumstances, coupled with the sharp wit to subtly reshape that order when justified.
Such was the character of the man named Grylls, distilled purely from his conduct across the Gallery.
He mentioned being an orphan… What could he have possibly endured to forge a temperament like this?
By nature, an orphan invariably suffered from emotional deprivation. That was not prejudice; it was simply reality. Stripped of the fundamental nurturing typically provided by parents, orphans were shaped far more intensely by the harshness of their surroundings. Consequently, they tended to develop rigid self-defense mechanisms and prickly, guarded personalities. Yet Grylls, despite his constant petty squabbling with Passing Dwarf, possessed none of that defensive bitterness. In many respects, he seemed remarkably normal.
It could be a persona tailored for the forum, but…
It was theoretically possible that every move he made was cold calculation. However, that likelihood was exceedingly slim; if it were a facade, the cracks would have shown long ago.
A calculating man would never have reached out to aid Heavenly Demon in the first place.
Page by page, Selena steadily compiled the chronicle of Grylls's survival. She could not predict what fate held for these pages, but their impact would surely be profound. Above all else, they would serve as an unprecedented breakthrough in understanding the enigma of the Four Seasons Forest.
Knock, knock, knock.
"My Lady. It's Mary. May I come in?"
Just as Selena was sifting through the latest forum threads, a soft knock sounded from the hallway. Selena closed the leather journal. For now, she had no intention of revealing this project to anyone.
"Enter."
Creak—
Upon receiving permission, the heavy oak door swung open, revealing the doe-eyed maid who had remained steadfastly at Selena's side throughout her darkest hours. Mary bowed deferentially from the threshold.
"What is it?" Selena asked, her tone flat.
"It's just that… the Duchess has requested—"
"Must you speak so formally of the woman you will soon call Mother?"
"Pardon? Y-yes?"
Mary gasped, jolting upright from her bow in flustered shock. Selena's expression remained completely motionless, radiating a cool, detached composure.
"You will soon be officially adopted as her daughter. You should begin practicing."
"H-how could someone like me possibly…!"
"You must."
"Y-yes, My Lady!"
Unlike her gentle, polite persona on the Gallery, the living, breathing Selena maintained an aloof and reserved manner. It was an inevitable byproduct of her past; years of enduring an agonizing, terminal affliction had gradually eroded her emotional expressiveness. Even so, her condition had improved substantially in recent days. Rising from her desk, Selena smoothed her skirts. Since the Duchess—her mother—had summoned her, she needed to make an appearance. Once confined to a wheelchair, she now strode forward proudly upon her own two feet.
"Mary."
"Yes?"
"Take my hand. Let us walk together."
"B-but that's…!"
"It is a request from your older sister."
"Y-yes!"
Closing the distance between them would take time, but the first steps had already been taken. Selena gently clasped Mary's trembling hand as they stepped into the corridor. In the past, human touch had felt searingly hot against her frigid, failing meridians. Now, it imparted only a tender, comforting warmth.
May Grylls-ssi never lose hope.
Selena whispered the silent prayer into the quiet recesses of her heart.
Around that very same hour, Grylls had finally resolved to begin keeping a diary.
"Well, damn."
He let out a low whistle of sheer disbelief as he stared at the test entry he had just scribbled down. His expression was a portrait of pure, unadulterated awe at his own handiwork. Even if no other soul in the universe ever laid eyes on it, that hardly mattered; it would serve its purpose well enough as personal big data and a survival encyclopedia. However, an unexpected obstacle had presented itself.
"My writing skills really did peak in the third grade, didn't they?"
To call his prose terrible was an insult to terrible prose. It transcended poor writing and ventured into the realm of an artistic disaster. It was so remarkably abysmal that even he, the author, could only stare at it in stunned marvel.
I tried to steal turtle eggs and ran into the mother turtle. The mother turtle turned into a land tortoise and shot lasers at me. I was scared.
That was the exact caliber of his documentation. In a sense, one could certainly call it an overwhelmingly 'objective' record.
Grylls scrutinized the lines one last time before casually shrugging his shoulders.
Whatever. It's not like anyone else is ever gonna read it.
Completely oblivious to the solemn, tragic narrative Selena was weaving on his behalf, his spirits remained delightfully untroubled.