Firewood (1)
There's a word called "bait." It usually refers to lures used to attract fish. Thanks to that trait of drawing in fish, the term gets used in other contexts quite often. The Gallery's no different. Toss out a big piece of bait, and the fish swarm in droves. The bigger the bait, the more fish you hook—and sometimes, you even land a trophy.
"Saint Country's done for, upvote lol. Poor Immortal King. Turns out the real Demon King was in El Dorado lol. Demon Kings aren't born—they're made. When's Saint Country gonna respond? 'When's this gonna die down?'"
As dinnertime rolled around, I stared at the Gallery still blazing with Immortal King bait and wondered. Maybe because it was such a recent event, or maybe due to Saint Country's ugliness—who knows. One thing was clear: it showed no signs of evolving anytime soon.
I had a pretty good idea what I'd done.
'Just make a statement tomorrow, and it'll be fine.'
I closed the Gallery. Time to check the river. The outside world could handle its own mess; I'd just focus on surviving. Irresponsible pleasure? Even if I wanted to take responsibility, I couldn't. Hell, it wasn't even pleasure—I'd posted it to boost my own survival odds a bit. No way I could've known it hid stuff like the Immortal King or the world's rot.
'I would've posted it anyway if I'd known.'
What did I even know about this world? I woke up in the Four Seasons Forest before I could learn a damn thing. Sure, the Gallery was there, but a community wasn't for learning about the world.
'If I ever get out, it'll cause problems, huh?'
There were conditions for that. Like the head mod doxxing my location in real-time. Without that, no one could find me.
'Sigh. Whatever. Overthinking it won't change shit.'
Just watch what Saint Country says tomorrow. I sighed inwardly and reached the river. Exactly two fish in the traps today. Apex predator as usual. I happily hauled them up.
Squirm— squirm—
"Huh?"
The traps didn't just have fish. Some mystery octopus—or squid?—was wriggling inside, no clue where it came from. No poison glow, no blue tint. Just a plain old one. Not monstrous like that sandbar beast from before.
'River backflow from the sea after the downpour?'
Every kind of freak was showing up since the rain. Fine by me—more food. First octopus in this forest, too. Worth a try.
'But were octopus legs always this skinny? Could be short-arm squid.'
Grab the whole trap and go. Small enough to eat now. Boil or stir-fry, probably. Octopus or squid, it'd be dinner either way. No changing that.
Back at the cave, as I went to dump the haul into the container—
Slither!
"Whoa?"
The thing—octopus or squid—wrapped around my arm. Blinding speed; I froze for a split second, and its leg snagged elsewhere.
Squeeze!
"Gah! Ack!"
Right on my throat. Air cut off. I clawed desperately at the choking tentacle. Insanely strong—wouldn't budge. Felt like it was suctioning on. Suckers latched to my neck.
"Urk...! Gack...!"
This'd be suffocation for sure. Vision blurring, I groped around. The dagger I'd set out for prep. My hand closed on it.
Slice— slice— slice—
Splatter!
Hacked the tentacle in a frenzy; my throat loosened quick. But it wasn't done—remaining arms squeezed harder. Sky starting to spin. I circulated mana through my body and kept cutting.
Snap! Rip!
Severed the throat-grippers. Yanked the head off by force last.
It fought to kill me to the end, but legs were gone.
"Cough! Cough! Huff. Ngh."
Coughing, I glared at the squid in my hand. One leg left, flailing to slice my neck. Pathetic and funny.
Squelch!
No mercy for beasts trying to kill me. Smashed it on the cutting board, stabbed the head with the dagger. Hit a vital spot—it blanched white fast, then went limp.
"Ugh. For real."
Pluck! Pluck!
Peeled the neck-stuck legs. Suckers gripped like duct tape.
"Phew..."
Legs on the board still twitched. Creepy as hell—wanted it gone.
'What squid chokes like that?'
No ink spray, so maybe short-arm. Dangerous close call anyway. Size doesn't mean safe.
'I'll chew yours extra fine.'
Arm-wrapped or not, hygiene like that was no issue. Log it in the journal for short-arm squid records. Productive day.
Sizzle sizzle sizzle—
Raw was iffy, so pan-fried. No sauce for stir-fry anyway. Fish together would do.
Chew— chew—
"Mm. Tasty."
Some fishy sea smell, but nutty flavor overpowered it. Paired with fish, umami bliss.
"Wonmo. Head's yours."
"Kyuu!"
Head to Wonmo, cut and cooked to avoid choking. Ppareumbo flat-out refused. Makes sense—herbivore.
Solid dinner, crisis aside. Handled it.
'Here, the small ones are deadlier.'
Big monsters threatened me before. But big = disadvantages now. Even Ppareumbo, smaller than me, was ridiculously strong. Especially that saber-tooth with the dragon heart—regen strong, but size meant openings. Oriharukon guardians same.
Small ones deadlier.
'...Crabs and crayfish excepted.'
Those fit "monster" perfectly—exceptions.
Cleanup done, into the cave for journaling.
Scribble scribble— scribble—
Corpse aside, key was the squid. Detailed entry. After today's ass-kicking, low repeat risk. Still, records essential. Could lose memory from head trauma.
'Journal done. Time for cultivation.'
Cultivation getting routine. Eyes closed, focus—body's mana alive.
Inner cores tomorrow or next. One first.
Training wrapped, logged into Gallery. Check if Immortal King fire still raged.
'Same old.'
No big changes. Still burning strong—no extra logs, yet endless fuel. Weird. Head mod not stopping it either, despite no inter-nation conflict posts rule.
'Because it's nations?'
Saint Country, El Dorado, Vulcan Kingdom. Vulcan long gone—no conflict. Mephisto mentions rare, minor. Most posts El Dorado hate.
'Better ask head mod and Cheonma, just in case.'
Not worried about El Dorado—neutral. Their image was trash already; everyone piling on now. But spam would tire the mods. Worried for them, not El Dorado.
Cheonma-nim. You there?
Cheonma: This lady always awaits discourse with you, sir.
Cheonma first, as usual. Head mod flaky, so later.
Gallery's blowing up because of me. You busy...?
Cheonma: I grasp your meaning. No need for worry.
It was always like this.
Always?
Cheonma: Aye. World events ignite it thus. Rare spills to reality—most fizzle naturally.
Just wait it out, then.
Cheonma: So long as Saint Country adds no fuel.
Tomorrow it'd show. Expected that—no sweat.
What if their statement's weird?
Cheonma: Burns hotter. Then we busy ourselves.
Hope not.
Cheonma: Worried?
Of course. My posts could get buried.
Cheonma: Hm. Grave indeed.
Regen rate insane—refresh, 1-2 pages gone. Gallery-dependent me? Crisis. Good personal trades exist, or it'd hurt.
Cheonma: I'll seek your posts. Fear not—this lady supports eternally.
Thanks.
Cheonma comfort next: head mod, Don'tAbandonHero.
Probably Gallery's biggest headache. Felt bad—she gave me privileges.
Head mod-nim. There?
Don'tAbandonHero: Yep!! Here! What's up!!
Online, good. Hesitated, then asked about situation.
You've seen this a lot, right head mod-nim?
Don'tAbandonHero: Happens often! Super annoying too!!
Guilt stabbed—my fault.
Didn't expect this. Sorry.
Don'tAbandonHero: No apologies!! Don't think you posted with bad intent, Grills-nim!!
Thanks. What happens after bait dies?
Don'tAbandonHero: No malice? No issue for you!!
Phew.
Don'tAbandonHero: Deleting now might fan flames more!!
True. Streisand effect, heard of it. Tomorrow decides.
Sorry for the hassle.
Don'tAbandonHero: Nope!! Saint Country wrong if wrong, not if not!!
Are you from Saint Country, head mod-nim?
Don'tAbandonHero: Yes!! Blessed by gods, especially Goddess-nim!!
Patriotism dripping. If atrocities true, love'd sour.
Don'tAbandonHero: Again, no need to apologize!! Must be misunderstanding!! Right?!
Yeah? Hope they explain well.
Or my posts bury.
Chat done, browsed Gallery. All Immortal King—nothing fun. Gap exploiters deleted quick.
'Aura practice before bed.'
Boring Gallery, so aura control. More time, wilder aura—harder control, but must.
Infused Cheonma's sword with mana—aura shimmered like heat haze. First task: sharpen to form.
'...'
Tough. Talent territory.
Extinguished aura, tuned gear.
'No Gallery, nothing to do.'
Especially pre-bed. Training excess poisons.
'Cigs for hard times. Internal power method it is.'
Fill time with cultivation till hobby found.
Eventful day passed; dawn broke.
Bait should've cooled sans fuel. Somewhat.
El Dorado Holy Kingdom: The truth is like this.
"?"
Already bad vibes.