Eel (1)

After a brief moment of self-reflection—acknowledging that my writing ability had effectively peaked in elementary school—I browsed through the Gallery.

My goal was to look up everything I had posted so far, having realized that the board had practically served as my personal diary. Even so, forum archives fell well short of being a proper reference guide or compendium.

Writing down everything that's already happened is unrealistic, so I'll just jot down brief descriptions for Wonmo and Fast Tree Sloth.

My prose might have been atrocious, but everyone has a knack for something. In my case, it was drawing. My sketches were decent enough that anyone glancing at them could instantly tell it was Wonmo. Being round and fluffy, he looked deceptively simple to sketch, but capturing that distinct charm was tricky, so I made sure to emphasize his key traits. As for Fast Tree Sloth, since he was basically a sloth, I doodled him rather casually, though I made sure to capture his unique quirks as well.

Fast Tree Sloth shared all the hallmarks of a regular sloth: disproportionately long arms compared to his stubby legs, a subtly hunched posture, and an expression that struck a fine balance between serenely unbothered and utterly vacant. Yet his claws were downright menacing—looking all the more lethal thanks to the careful filing and oiling I gave them.

Now for a brief description underneath.

For Wonmo, I penned him down as a cub I ended up living with after subduing an Owlbear. Fast Tree Sloth, on the other hand, was documented as an extortionist delinquent that routinely mugged me for food. If Bbarmbo ever found out, he would probably smack me across the head, but that was impossible. On this entire world, I was the only soul who could read Hangul.

Not like I have any reason to learn another world's script, either.

Going out of my way to master a foreign language just to leave behind a record felt like entirely too much trouble. It was enough for someone to simply know that a guy like me had existed. After all, the value of the dead lies in the memories kept by the living. That alone gave it worth.

At least, that's how I see it.

Even after my parents passed away, my memories of them remained vivid. I missed them dearly, which was why I held an ancestral memorial rite on the anniversary of their deaths every year. Even when money was tight, I strained my memory to recall the dishes they loved and scraped together a table for them, no matter how modest. It was the only way I could keep going. I had intended to carry on those rites until the day my own time came.

Do I still need to hold memorial rites out here, though?

Once raw survival supplanted financial struggles, doubt crept in. Forget remembering my parents—at this rate, I was liable to join them in the afterlife first. Granted, their memorial was still a long way off, but out here, tomorrow was never promised.

Come to think of it, how do people count days in this place?

Different worlds likely had different calendars. For my diary, simply marking the elapsed days was plenty, but curiosity lingered all the same.

Ah, whatever. Forget it. I'll just stick to the standard one-year cycle I know.

My parents' memorial had been exactly one week before I tumbled into the Forest of the Four Seasons. During that intervening week, I had grabbed drinks with a friend and caught up with acquaintances. I remembered feeling more exhausted than usual back then. Meeting up with friends hadn't been easy either, what with everyone buried under the stress of job hunting.

Wonder how they're doing.

They were probably having a rough time in their own way, though my situation was an entirely different brand of insane.

With a wry chuckle, I began sketching out the day's events: the octopus tentacle that had burst from the sand, followed by the transforming turtle. I had run into plenty of bizarre creatures today, earning every bit of my exhaustion.

Still, I got paid for my trouble.

Having harvested a turtle egg the size of an ostrich egg, I had more than earned my daily keep. I quietly shut the illustrated diary and stepped out of the cave. Evening was creeping in, which meant it was time to prep dinner.

Before that, I should check what got caught in the fish trap.

Just then, Wonmo woke up from his nap, so we headed down together.

Splash! Flap!

"Kkyuu! Kkyuu!"

"You like that? Puts me in a good mood too."

The trap held three whole fish. Accompanied by Wonmo, who was practically hopping around in delight, I made my way back to camp. Having an abundance of food did wonders for the spirit—a fair reward for today's toil, it seemed.

Now then, how on earth do I clean this guy?

I looked past the bucket with the ordinary fish toward a separate container. Resting inside was an eel as thick and long as a python.

I was finally getting the hang of gutting regular fish, but an eel was a different beast altogether. With its completely foreign anatomy, I had no clue where to even make the first cut.

Do I knock it out like a regular fish?

More likely, one whip of its tail would knock me cold. While its overall mass was modest, its sheer length demanded respect. Folding my arms, I studied the eel for a good long while before pulling up the Gallery. When in doubt, asking the hive mind was the smart play.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Sure, as a guy, I got it. But come on, people—this was my dinner.

I didn't mind sharing once I'd had my fill, but the begging train clearly needed to be derailed.

Fortunately, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Heavenly Demon swiftly brought down the hammer. Still, for those who had asked politely, I planned to share what I could. Given the eel's colossal size, finishing it alone was out of the question anyway.

Time to prep.

Given the beast's length, I bought an extra-long cutting board from the system shop. Along the edge, exactly as the forum had instructed, I hammered in a nail to anchor the beast—driving it from the underside so the sharp tip jutted upward.

Nails are surprisingly pricey.

All that remained was wrestling the monster out. Donning the World Tree Gloves, I hauled the eel from the iron barrel. Perhaps thanks to some anti-slip enchantment on the gloves, the creature's slick coating didn't compromise my grip in the slightest.

SMACK!

"Urgh!"

It whipped me with its tail instead. Possessing far more muscle than an ordinary fish, just pinning it to the board took real effort. But before a blade, all aquatic life is just sashimi in waiting. I drove my dagger into the spinal cord just behind its skull.

With a body as thick as my forearm, even sawing through took effort.

Twitch! Flail!

Once its head was nearly half-severed, the violent thrashing subsided considerably. Wasting no time, I slammed its skull down onto the upright nail, impaling it firmly in place.

Now it had nowhere to run. Whew, what an exhausting chore.

I wonder if this guy has an inner core too.

Given its size, the odds were good—every spirit fish I'd eaten so far had one. With the eel mostly immobilized, I set to work dressing it: slicing the body cleanly down the middle, butterfly-style, and carving away the spine. Even with a razor-sharp dagger, I ended up channeling Aura to make clean, efficient cuts.

Done. Now to rinse it off and portion it out.

Once butchered, I gave the meat a thorough wash under fresh water.

Twitch!

"Gah!"

It still convulsed occasionally as if it were alive, which gave me a fright, but only every now and then. Finally, I drizzled a splash of vegetable oil over a massive skillet and laid down the neatly sliced fillets.

Ah, by the way—no inner core. Apparently, not every single aquatic creature in this forest nurtured one.

Sssssssssizzle!

The eel crisped into a luscious golden brown, and my mouth watered. This was a delicacy I'd never even tasted back on Earth. Even the friend who had once treated me to expensive beef had balked at the price tag of fresh eel.

They say this stuff works wonders for a man's stamina, right?

Not that I had anywhere to expend it. A sudden wave of melancholy washed over me.

The Gallery was a place where people vented all sorts of worldly desires, so risqué photos popped up fairly often. Whenever someone posted exotic beauties like elves or demonkin, my hand would hit the save button on pure instinct. Granted, whenever a post crossed the line into outright obscenity, Asella deleted it without mercy. Even so, those fleeting glances were like rain during a drought to a guy stranded in the wild.

Though occasionally, you'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get hit by a flash grenade.

The memory still haunted me—clicking on a thread the moment I opened the app, only to be ambushed by something eye-searingly vile. The main and deputy mods actually had to look at that filth with their own eyes to issue bans.

No wonder the Heavenly Demon claimed she was at risk of developing inner demons.

While my mind wandered, the eel finished cooking. It glistened with such rich, rendered fat that drizzling oil into the pan had been entirely redundant.

Must be loaded with calories.

Judging by how much grease it sweated, there was no doubt about it. Out of all the cuts, I picked up the tail first. Word was the tail packed the most punch. Time to find out.

"Down the hatch."

Crunch—crack—

Crispy on the outside, succulent and meltingly tender on the inside. It was cooked to absolute perfection. The natural oils pouring from the meat were savory to the point of tasting almost sweet. The aroma was just as phenomenal; seasoned with nothing more than a pinch of salt, there wasn't a trace of fishiness to be found.

And the bones are ridiculously soft.

I had always heard that tiny pin bones were a nuisance when eating eel, but these offered zero resistance. Wearing a blissed-out grin, I devoured piece after piece.

Because the yield was so massive, I tossed several chunks over to Wonmo and Fast Tree Sloth. With so much savory fat, both of them wolfed it down eagerly—Wonmo in particular practically had stars in his eyes.

Thanks to the sheer volume of meat, I managed to share portions with the others as well. Given how greasy eel was, gorging on it would only cause an upset stomach anyway.

With my feast of an eel banquet concluded, I immediately transitioned into cultivating my Internal Cultivation Art.

Is it just because it's an eel, or do I actually feel a stronger surge of energy coursing through me?

It could have been a placebo effect, but the sensation felt remarkably genuine. When people said food was good for stamina, they ultimately meant it bolstered fundamental vital energy. It could only be a boon; there was no downside.

I wonder where an eel like that even came from?

Wrapping up my meditation, I began tidying the campsite. By the time everything was cleaned and put away, pitch-black night had settled over the wilderness. I logged the day's final entry into my journal, then opened the Gallery to make a post.

A flood of replies poured in—familiar fixed handles chiming in alongside anonymous users cracking random jokes. Seeing the board as lively as ever brought a faint smirk to my lips.

No need to rush.

Starting today, I had resolved to play the long game. It was time to heed the old adage: the more you rush, the more detours you must take. Granted, it was the Forest of the Four Seasons that had forced those detours upon me, but it made no difference. So long as there was a sliver of hope and possibility, nothing was truly insurmountable.

Slowly mapping out my plans for tomorrow, I gently closed my eyes.

I'm going to survive. All the way to the end.

To the very end.

Time slipped by, and the next morning arrived.

"Ah, seriously? Are you kidding me?"

The moment my eyes fluttered open, an involuntary groan escaped my lips.

Greeted by my gaze was a tent—pitched so proud and towering that it seemed utterly fearless of the heavens themselves. While undeniable proof of robust male vitality, the problem was that it showed no signs of coming down.

There really is no moderation in this damn forest.

Without a shadow of a doubt, yesterday's eel was the culprit.