The Boar, the Golden Vines, and a Jar Full of Smoke

I stopped a good distance away from the field and scouted the intruder.

It was too dark to make anything out.

A moment later, the moon slipped out from behind the clouds and the surroundings brightened.

Something dark and hulking lay sprawled atop the Blessed Farmland.

That's a wild boar!

A huge boar was lying belly-down on the field, resting comfortably. It must have wandered past, grown curious about the tent, and wandered inside the Blessed Farmland — then, sensing the warmth, decided to settle in for the night.

Thanks to the beast, my tent had been trampled into a sorry wreck.

Still, it wasn't exactly a shocking sight. In mountain villages, boars came down from the hills every winter to barge into warm plastic greenhouses and people's homes.

I would have loved a hunting rifle, but all I had was a bow and a knife.

A pistol was the worst possible choice against a boar — inadequate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠effective range, penetration, and accuracy across the board.

My seventy-pound compound bow with heavy arrows could kill one outright with a hit to the skull or the heart.

But the angle was terrible. The brute's rear end was pointed squarely at me, and in the dark, aiming for a vital spot was no easy feat. If I loosed an arrow and failed to drop it in one shot, the boar's countercharge would come instantly.

What about ditching the bow for the knife? If I could just get close enough, the kukri would shear through its neck vertebrae — but the odds of being detected before I got there were ninety-nine percent. A boar's sense of smell wasn't quite a dog's, but compared to a human's it was overwhelmingly sharp.

Taking on a wild boar alone, without a rapid-fire firearm, was far more dangerous than facing zombies.

What do I do?

Should I just creep away backward and head home? Hand my warm field over to the pig and spend another night shivering in the cold? Anger flared hot in my chest.

Should I drive the SUV over and ram the thing?

Just then, a new message appeared before my eyes.

Oh! Another new ability.

I had no idea how the binding would actually work, but I already trusted Casar Aurelion one hundred percent.

I started moving toward the boar. Since Binding was limited to a single minute, I planned to close the distance as much as possible before activating it.

When I'd come fairly close, the boar sensed me and heaved itself upright. Then it rotated its body to face me, lowering into a charging stance.

The moment it bolted out of the Blessed Farmland, binding it would be impossible. I had to use the ability now.

Yes!

Then something astonishing happened.

Something rose up out of the soil and wrapped itself around the boar's legs and torso. It looked like tree vines, except they were golden and translucent. The golden tendrils coiled tight around the beast's entire body.

The boar strained and thrashed, but the vines only cinched down harder, locking it in place.

It was one marvel after another — but there was no time to stand there gaping. I had one minute to finish the thing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off.

The fastest way to kill a boar was shearing its neck with the kukri. With ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the animal frozen in place, it wouldn't even be difficult.

But I didn't do it.

If I kill a boar with the same knife I use on zombies, that's just unsanitary.

Obviously, I intended to eat this thing. I couldn't very well handle "ingredients" with a blade fouled by zombie blood.

I'll take it down with the bow.

I ran forward and stopped right in front of the boar's snout.

Skreeeee—

It glared at me and bellowed.

Let's end this in one shot.

I aimed at the space between its eyes, drew the string back with all my strength, and released.

Thwip—

The arrow punched through its skull and buried itself deep. With a dry rustle, the golden vines dissolved away, and the dead boar crumpled to the ground.

Gotta move fast!

Celebrating could wait. To get proper meat, I needed to drain the blood quickly.

I sprinted home at full speed and returned with a clean knife, then set about cutting the boar's carotid artery. The fat around its neck was so thick I couldn't sever it in one clean pass like a professional, but I found the vessel eventually and opened it. Warm blood came streaming out. I made incisions at the ankles as well to drain it thoroughly.

I'd wanted a water deer so badly — and now I'd caught a boar far bigger than one.

And this probably won't be a one-time thing.

Boars weren't the only creatures drawn to warmth. Water deer and rabbits could just as easily wander into the Blessed Farmland and decide to stay a while — and the larger the field grew, the more likely that would become.

So now I could harvest not just crops, but meat as well.

Time to butcher it.

I examined my flattened tent. It had only been crushed, not torn, so it was still usable. First, though, I needed plenty of open space to work on the boar, so I shoved the tent far out toward the edge of the Blessed Farmland.

Butchering a boar that size made two pyeong of land feel awfully cramped.

One coin was earmarked for tomorrow's soil fertility experiment, and one was my emergency reserve. So I wouldn't be expanding the field just yet. Besides, outside the Blessed Farmland was only cold, not sealed off — not much of a problem.

How much time had passed? At last, the butchering was done.

I'd only ever watched the village men take apart a boar over their shoulders, a few times — this was my first attempt. Completely breaking down a heavy boar single-handedly was the kind of job even professionals waved off. But determined that the animal's death not be for nothing, I gritted my teeth, gave it everything I had, and came away with results I could be genuinely satisfied with.

I sorted the lean meat from the organs and bones and set everything outside the Blessed Farmland. Sub-zero air out there made a natural refrigerator.

Huh?

The blood-soaked ground and the slaughter refuse had vanished without a trace. The Blessed Farmland had absorbed it all, clean as a sponge. There wasn't even a smell of blood. Well — at this point, that hardly counted as miraculous anymore.

Maybe I'll grill some of this meat.

All this while, I hadn't dared light a fire for fear of drawing zombies. But inside the Blessed Farmland, there was no need for such worries at all. If anything, zombies lured in by the glow would be a bonus — I could shoot them safely from inside the field and farm the coins they dropped, then use those coins to keep expanding.

The only real concern was the village residents catching on to the Blessed Farmland. If anyone saw the firelight and came trudging over, explaining myself would be awkward. I had zero intention of telling anyone about the field. Keeping it secret for as long as humanly possible was the smart play.

Because once people learned of this miraculous land, the rumor would spread — and eventually, somewhere in the government, it would reach the wrong ears.

And not a single good thing would come of it.

This land was legally mine, but the law was always something the powerful could rewrite to suit themselves at a moment's notice. Everyone knows that when oil gushes up on privately owned land, the government takes it all. They wouldn't stop at seizing my field, either — they might lock me up and turn me into a research subject.

Surely it wouldn't go that far? — the kind of thing people said right up until it actually happened to them, day after day, in the world outside.

So the best course was simple: guard the secret of the Blessed Farmland and quietly sip the honey all by myself.

So how do I grill meat while keeping the light down to a minimum?

Boiling the boar in water over a burner would produce the least light — but I had no spices to cut the gaminess. Boiling boar in plain water was as good as throwing the meat away; unless you had an iron stomach, the musky odor would make it inedible. In my current situation, there was only one way to tame that smell: open-flame grilling.

The searing heat burned off the foul compounds clinging to the fat layer, and the smoky char buried the boar's characteristic musk entirely. Personally, I'd always loved boar grilled straight over the coals with nothing but salt.

Should I try jar-roasting?

I'd seen it in a video online. You light a wood fire inside a large clay jar, hang the meat within, close the lid, and wait. No light or smoke leaks out, the meat cooks through like an oven roast, and it comes out perfumed with smoke.

Let's do it right now!

I ran home and picked out a suitable jar. Since Grandmother had passed, the jars had gone unused, and every one of them stood empty. There was one with a cracked bottom — useless for fermenting paste, but with that draft hole in it, kindling would burn beautifully.

I loaded the jar onto my A-frame carrier, stuffed kindling inside it, and hurried back to the Blessed Farmland with the load on my back. The thought of delicious flame-grilled meat kept a grin plastered across my face.

I set the jar down inside the field and pulled all the firewood back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of it. Then I added dry leaves and bark, struck a flame, and fed in small sticks one by one until a proper base fire caught. Only then did I add the bigger logs and close the jar's lid so no light escaped — leaving it just barely cracked, since sealing it completely would starve the fire of air.

After a while, the smoke began to thin. The fire had caught properly.

There we go!

I threaded the cuts of meat onto wire — I had mountains of it in the shed, left over from all the odd jobs around the old fields. I salted the meat, hung it inside the jar at a careful distance from the flames, shut the lid, and waited a good long while.

Is it ready yet?

I lifted the lid to check. Oh! Better than I'd hoped. From the smoky fragrance to the deep Maillard browning, it was nearly perfect. A truly mouthwatering roast.

I pulled the meat out, laid it on a cutting board I'd prepared beforehand, sliced off the charred, crisped outer layer, and put it in my mouth.

Delicious!

Then, out of nowhere, I thought of Jin-beom. If I grilled him some of this boar, he'd eat himself into a frenzy.

Dawn broke, and a new day arrived. Watching the sunrise from inside the Blessed Farmland was genuinely beautiful — almost mystical. The whole world washed over in pastel tones. As the sun climbed higher, the sky's pale tint deepened back into vivid blue.

I pulled on my winter gear, strapped on my bow and knife, and stepped out of the Blessed Farmland.

Whoooooosh—

A vicious blizzard came howling in.

The wind's no joke today.

I headed to the house and stepped into the shed, then carried out Grandmother's entire seed-storage box and loaded it onto my A-frame carrier. No fussing over planting seasons — I'd sow every variety of seed I had into the Blessed Farmland, then try raising the soil's fertility.

Among the seeds were watermelon, oriental melon, and tomato. What if boosting the field's fertility let me harvest them in a single day?

Buoyed by the thought, I returned to the Blessed Farmland. Just as I was about to sow the seeds —

Huh?

Down toward the stream, a lone figure came shuffling along, step by dragging step.

A zombie!

I broke into a smile.

The zombies had begun turning into coins.