Firewood (1)
There is a word in internet slang: bait. In ordinary parlance, it refers to the chum tossed into the water to lure fish. But because of that very nature of drawing creatures in, the word has long taken on a second life online.
The Gallery was no different. Toss a juicy piece of drama into the waters, and the users came swarming in droves. The larger the bait, the bigger the feeding frenzy—and occasionally, an absolute leviathan got hooked in the process.
When is this ever going to cool down?
As the hours passed and dinner approached, I sat watching the Gallery burn red-hot with the Undying King controversy, scratching my head in bewilderment. Perhaps it was because the historical wounds were still relatively fresh, or perhaps people were simply revolted by the sheer depth of the Holy Kingdom's depravity. Whatever the reason, the conflagration showed no sign of dying down anytime soon.
I was finally beginning to understand the sheer magnitude of what I had unleashed.
Well, as long as they issue a sensible statement tomorrow, things should settle.
I closed out of the Gallery interface. It was time to head up to the river. The outside world could deal with its own messes; my job was to stay alive in mine. Irresponsible pleasure, they called it? Even if I wanted to take responsibility, how could I? Besides, calling it "pleasure" was absurd—I had shared the discovery solely to increase my own chances of survival. How could I have known that the Undying King or the festering sins of the continent were buried beneath that soil?
Even if I had known, I probably still would have posted it.
What did I know about this world, anyway? Before I could learn a damn thing, I had opened my eyes in the brutal expanse of the Forest of the Four Seasons. Sure, I had access to the Gallery, but no sane man learns about the world from an anonymous internet board.
Could there be repercussions if I ever make it out into civilization?
Even that had a prerequisite: the Juddak would have to dox my real-time coordinates. Barring that impossible scenario, tracking me down was an exercise in futility.
Sigh. Forget it. No point agonizing over things I can't control.
For now, I would just sit back and see what excuses the Holy Kingdom concocted tomorrow.
Letting out a soft sigh, I arrived at the riverbank. Trapped inside the submerged wicker basket were two plump fish.
Another feast tonight. Pleased, I hauled the fish trap from the water.
Squirm— wriggle—
"Huh?"
Fish weren't the only catch inside. An octopus had found its way into the trap and was writhing in the netting. Its skin wasn't glowing blue, so it didn't seem venomous; to all appearances, it looked like an ordinary cephalopod. Nor did it possess the terrifying, monstrous bulk of the leviathan I had crossed paths with on the sandbank before.
Did seawater push up the river after the storm?
Ever since that torrential downpour, the trap had been yielding all manner of strange aquatic life. From my perspective, more food was always welcome. Besides, I had never tasted octopus in this forest, so having it for dinner sounded like a pleasant change of pace.
Wait... were octopus legs always this slender? Maybe it's a long-arm octopus.
Either way, I hauled the whole basket back. Given its modest size, I resolved to cook it immediately. A quick boil in water or a stir-fry would do the trick. Whether it was an octopus or a webfoot variant, it was dinner all the same. That much was absolute.
Returning to the cave camp, I tipped the basket to dump the catch into a water trough when—
Swish!
"What the—?"
The slippery creature shot out, its tentacles whipping around my forearm. The strike was blindingly fast, and before my startled brain could process the movement, its remaining arms lashed toward a different target entirely.
Squeeze!
"Ghk! Cough!"
Directly around my throat. My windpipe was severed from the air in an instant.
I clawed desperately at my neck, straining with all my strength to rip the rubbery tentacles away. But the creature's grip was shockingly ferocious, refusing to yield an inch. Worse still, a nauseating suction sealed against my skin—its suckers were locking onto my throat with vacuum force.
"Khhhk...! Guh...!"
At this rate, I was going to suffocate. As dark spots danced across my blurred vision, my hands blindly swept across the wooden counter.
My fingers found cold steel—the butchering dagger I had laid out moments earlier.
Slash— rip— squelch!
Sawing through the tough flesh in sheer panic, my throat finally found room to drag in a ragged gasp. Yet the creature refused to give up, cinching its remaining limbs even tighter. My vision began turning yellow at the edges. Forcing internal mana to circulate through my meridians, I drove the blade with desperate force.
Snap! Tear!
Every tentacle throttling my airway was sheared off. Grabbing its bulbous mantle with my bare hand, I peeled the creature from my flesh by brute force.
Even now, the severed beast thrashed with murderous intent, but its limbs were already gone.
"*Cough! Hack!* Huff... *groan*."
Coughing hoarsely, I glared down at the squirming mass pinned in my grasp. It had a single, pitiful tentacle left. Watching it struggle to strangle me with that solitary stub was almost comical.
Thud!
I have no mercy for wild animals that try to murder me. Execution was carried out immediately. I slammed the creature down onto the cutting board and plunged the dagger straight through its mantle. Striking true at its vital core, the mantle rapidly bleached bone-white before slumping entirely limp.
"Ugh. Seriously..."
Pop! Plop!
I peeled the severed tentacle segments from my neck one by one. The suckers had adhered so tightly that ripping them off felt like peeling industrial duct tape from raw skin.
"Phew..."
Tossing the limbs onto the board, I watched them continue to writhe with residual nerve spasms. The sight was repulsive; I wanted it out of sight as quickly as possible.
What kind of damn octopus tries to choke a grown man to death?
Seeing that it hadn't discharged any ink, perhaps it truly was a long-arm octopus. Either way, that had been a razor-thin escape. Size truly meant nothing out here—complacency was fatal.
I'm going to chew you into paste for that.
Tentacles that had wrapped around my throat or not, minor sanitary qualms were irrelevant in the wilderness. Besides, I could document the encounter in my survival journal. Today had provided a wealth of data.
Sizzle— hiss—
Eating it raw felt uncomfortably risky, so I threw it into the skillet. A spicy stir-fry would have been ideal, but without seasoning or red pepper paste, searing it alongside the fish fillets was good enough.
Chew, munch—
"Mm. Delicious."
While there was a faint oceanic brine, the rich, savory char of the skillet masked it completely. Paired with the delicate, flaky fish, the savory harmony of flavors made for a genuinely satisfying meal.
"Wonmo. Here, you take the head."
"Kyuu!"
I offered the cooked head to Wonmo, having sliced it into bite-sized morsels so he wouldn't choke. The Fast Tree Sloth, on the other hand, flatly turned his nose away in disdain. Natural enough; the beast was an herbivore.
Another dinner conquered. Despite the brush with asphyxiation, I had navigated it smoothly.
In this forest, the smaller they are, the nastier they get.
Up until now, I had always feared colossal beasts. But in retrospect, immense physical mass seemed almost like a disadvantage in this ecosystem. Take Ppareumbo—smaller than me, yet possessing absurd, terrifying strength. The Saber-toothed Tiger that harbored the Dragon Heart had boasted astonishing regeneration, yet its hulking frame left gaping blind spots everywhere. The Orichalcum Guardian had been the same. The smaller creatures were far more lethal.
...Except for giant crabs and lobsters, of course.
Those armored monstrosities earned their titles as beasts of ruin, so they remained the exception.
Having cleaned up the cooking gear, I retreated into the cave to write in my journal.
Scratch, scrawl—
The underground corpse was important, but the octopus took precedence. I meticulously recorded its ambush behavior and the gripping power of its suckers. Having survived the ambush once, the odds of falling for it again were slim, but keeping meticulous records was non-negotiable. One could always suffer a blow to the head and lose their memories.
Journal is done. Time to circulate the cultivation art.
I had grown accustomed to the internal cultivation method. Closing my eyes and focusing for mere seconds allowed me to feel the mana coursing through my vessels with vivid clarity. In a day or two, I would begin ingesting the inner cores. Starting with just one pill.
Finishing my evening training, I accessed the Gallery interface to check if the Undying King drama was still raging.
Still burning.
Nothing had changed. The forum remained completely engulfed in flames. It was remarkable how long it could burn without anyone feeding fresh firewood to the coals. Even the Juddak hadn't stepped in to suppress it, despite the platform rules strictly forbidding posts that incited international strife.
Is it because it's not technically an active conflict between living nations?
The countries being discussed were the Holy Kingdom of El Dorado and the Balkan Kingdom. The Balkan Kingdom had ceased to exist three decades ago; there was no one left to feud with. And while Mephisto, the realm of the Demon race, was mentioned occasionally, it was negligible. The overwhelming majority of the vitriol was aimed straight at El Dorado's throat.
Maybe I should check in with the Juddak and the Heavenly Demon just to be safe.
I wasn't worried about El Dorado. I felt completely indifferent toward them. Just how filthy was their reputation that the entire continent jumped at the chance to tear them apart? But if the forum kept flooding like this, the moderators would run themselves ragged. It wasn't the theocracy I cared about; it was the people who had to clean up the mess.
The first person I reached out to was the Heavenly Demon. The Juddak frequently vanished on knightly duties, so I intended to consult her afterward.
In the end, we wouldn't know the outcome until tomorrow.
Having already anticipated as much, I didn't let it weigh on my mind.
The post refresh rate was terrifying. Refresh the feed, and one or two entire pages vanished into the archive instantly. For someone like me who depended on the Gallery for survival supplies and trades, this was a disaster. Thankfully, direct person-to-person trading was still functional; otherwise, I would have been in deep trouble.
Having received the Heavenly Demon's reassurance, I reached out to the Juddak, Don't Abandon the Hero. The person nursing the fiercest migraine on the entire forum was undeniably the head mod. Given that she had personally granted me posting privileges, I felt doubly apologetic.
Fortunately, she was online.
Pondering how to phrase it, I brought up the current crisis.
Knowing that I was the one who created that chore made my conscience prickle with guilt.
She had a point. I recalled the concept from back on Earth: the Streisand effect, where clumsy attempts at censorship only focused ten times more public scrutiny on the truth.
Ultimately, whether this tempest died down or erupted into catastrophe hinged on tomorrow's events.
Fierce patriotism radiated from every character. If the atrocities were proven true, wouldn't she be devastated?
That was the only way my survival logs wouldn't be drowned out.
Wrapping up the chat with the Juddak, I scrolled through the main board. With nearly every single post centered around the Undying King, there was nothing interesting to read. A few users tried slipping in off-topic posts, but they were buried or purged within moments.
I might as well practice controlling my Aura until I sleep.
Bored of the stagnant forum, I focused on Aura control. As time went on, the volume of Aura within me kept swelling, making it increasingly stubborn to govern, but disciplined training was indispensable. Channelling mana into the Heavenly Demon's Sword, I coaxed the energy out. A shimmering, heat-haze radiance rippled across the length of the blade. Forging that fluctuating haze into a razor-sharp, cohesive edge was my first hurdle.
...
Predictably, it wasn't easy. Talent seemed to be a strict prerequisite here.
Extinguishing the Aura, I wiped down and maintained my equipment.
Without the Gallery, there really isn't much to do.
The quiet hours before sleep were particularly barren. Pushing oneself through physical training was fine, but excess always turned into poison.
Cigarettes are a luxury reserved for exhausting moments. Better stick to the internal cultivation art.
Until I found a suitable hobby, meditating with the breathing art would have to fill the idle hours.
And so, an eventful day came to an end, giving way to the morning light.
Now that dawn had broken, the Gallery's drama should have cooled off to some degree. Barring someone tossing fresh firewood onto the coals, the fire ought to have subsided at least a little.
"?"
I'm already getting a very bad feeling about this.