Spine-Chilling Remedies of Another World (3)

This other world was gripped by all kinds of bizarre folk medicine superstitions. Eradicating such nonsensical beliefs, however, turned out to be surprisingly straightforward.

Both Knight Lloyd and Evelin had made full recoveries in record time. Thanks to those living testimonies, the forum users no longer doubted my instructions with ridiculous hearsay. Taking advantage of the momentum, I wrote a follow-up guide detailing preventative measures to stop infections before they could even take root.

When logical explanation fails to penetrate stubborn minds, you simply provide a consequence so dreadful that obedience becomes the only option. That supreme consequence was Albothyl. Still, fear alone could not convince every skeptic in the community.

No matter where you go on the internet, there are always users looking for a philosophical debate.

By improvising arbitrary fantasy lore tailored to their cognitive level, even the most stubborn holdouts were quickly persuaded. With basic hygiene measures established and Albothyl serving as an absolute deterrent, all that remained was to stock the supplies.

The campaign succeeded in raising general awareness across the user base. Barbaric practices like splitting open someone's cranium or hacking off their limb over a minor scrape vanished entirely. With the crisis averted, I was finally able to return to full-time lurking, clicking through the recommended posts at a leisurely pace.

"I guess since the gallery has grown this massive, I don't even have to worry about the feed slowing down."

In my past life, I had squandered endless hours stationed across numerous online communities. Even with the largest forums, cycling through just one or two was never enough to kill all my free time. Here, though, new threads surged onto the board relentlessly. There was never a dull moment.

"Honestly, spending the rest of my life shut inside this bunker might not be a bad deal at all."

I had plenty of food, and zero risk of a sudden, violent death. I didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have to stress about job hunting, earning a livelihood, or maintaining my physical health. Despite the bizarre reality of my transmigration, this tiny bunker had become my entire paradise. Before I knew it, I had rolled around in bed for nearly ten uninterrupted hours of gallery browsing.

Just as I stretched my limbs and looked around the warehouse to enjoy a brief breather—

Crack. Skrrrrtch.

"Wait, what on earth is that?"

A bizarre fissure had cracked open in the far corner of the warehouse.

To briefly outline the bunker's layout, it went something like this: Storage 1, Storage 2, and Storage 3 lined one side, facing the bed, the marketplace inventory shelves, and the main door on the other. Right in the corner of this otherwise flawless haven, just past Storage 1, a fissure had split through the masonry.

"Whoa... it looks just like a miniature black hole."

Jagged cracks tore through the brickwork, an ominous violet glow flickering between the seams. Wait a second. Wasn't this prime material for a top-tier forum post?

Naturally, none of the replies offered anything helpful. It seemed nobody had a clue what the rift actually was. As I waited a little longer, however, several users chimed in reporting similar phenomena in their own locales.

Still, nobody possessed any concrete information. Even so, there was no reason to fret incessantly. In fact, the rift proved surprisingly functional. As an experiment, I peeled a tangerine and tossed the leftover peel straight into the breach. The peel vanished into thin air without a trace.

Wuuung.

"Oh?"

Intrigued, I gathered some leftover packaging and miscellaneous scraps that had been cluttering up the bunker and tossed them in as well.

Wuuuuung.

"Whoa, hold on. Isn't this incredible?"

Wasn't this effectively an infinite, zero-cost trash disposal chute? A literal pet lava. What was more, its gentle violet radiance functioned decently as a mood light while I fell asleep. It wasn't bad at all.

"Well, if it ever turns dangerous..."

I had plenty of contingency plans ready to purchase. To be fair, a very faint prickle of irritation brushed against the back of my mind whenever I looked at it, but I dismissed it as negligible.

"Doesn't feel like anything worth sweating over."

It helped stave off the loneliness, if nothing else. Treating it like an exotic pet lava actually left me in a strangely pleasant, refreshed mood. Right around then, a post by the dwarf Thaldru surged onto the recommended list.

"Hmm. Is it really that big of a deal?"

Even a novice like me with zero knowledge of metallurgy could tell. Laughable naming sense aside, this weapon was a peerless masterpiece that outclassed anything the other forum members owned. But did I really have any use for it?

"I already have my personal defense weapon, don't I?"

As far as security went, a 12-gauge shotgun was more than enough of a masterpiece for me. Taking delivery of a blade I'd never swing just to keep it mounted on a wall felt pointless. Besides, I already had a sword in the bunker.

Wuuuung.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm always grateful for your service."

As if responding to my gaze, the Old Holy Sword rattled gently against its stand. It already pulled round-the-clock duty as my bunker's desk lamp. Why would I need another?

"Well, since he's insisting, I might as well accept it."

WUUUUUNG!

The Old Holy Sword began thrumming noisily, but I couldn't very well decline the gift. Just as I moved to open the trade window, an unsettling detail in the photos caught my attention. In the background of the shots, numerous dwarven miners could be seen clutching their heads in distress.

Several other commenters pointed out the anomaly as well. Thaldru seemed genuinely wronged. In truth, it turned out Thaldru had an additional favor to ask beyond delivering the sword.

"Hmm."

A sudden realization dawned on me.

"Could this be because of the rifts?"

The pet lava—or rather, the dimensional fissure—that had opened in the corner of my warehouse. Ever since it appeared, I had noticed a subtle irritation nagging at my temples. Seeing the dwarves display the exact same symptoms made it almost certain that the fissures were responsible.

"Then why am I completely fine?"

Perhaps spending twenty-four hours a day browsing message boards in my previous life had built an unshakeable immunity to headaches and digital motion sickness. Regardless, I quickly prepared an immediate remedy for Thaldru.

Thaldru completed the trade with palpable joy, as if he had known all along that I would produce an answer to their plight.

THUD!

Simultaneously, the Kilgroth Dwarves' Passionate Something-or-Other Masterpiece Blade materialized, clattering heavily onto the warehouse floor.

Wuuuung.

The Old Holy Sword hummed with an unmistakably sour vibration. It was an inanimate object devoid of sentience, yet was it merely my imagination that it looked profoundly offended?

"Well, by now, their headaches should be settling down."

While medication couldn't solve the underlying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dimensional anomaly, modern pain relievers were virtually guaranteed to alleviate acute symptoms once swallowed. Roughly an hour passed. Assuming the issue had been resolved, I pulled up the forum again—only to find a fresh update waiting.

They were refusing treatment purely out of dwarven pride? Thaldru's comments reeked of exasperation. I had seen patients refuse medicine out of suspicion, but refusing it because taking a pill made them look weak was a whole new level of idiocy. Fortunately, I possessed the perfect countermeasure for this exact brand of stubbornness.

If their fragile egos were the problem, all we had to do was rebrand the narrative.