Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: First Hunt
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I examined the hunting bow I'd bought secondhand.
The seller, an old man, had told me he'd bought it for hunting purposes, but it was too hard to draw the string with his strength.
—With your build, you should have no problem using it. Just a heads-up, though—if you dry-fire it without an arrow, it could get damaged. It's best to unstring it when you're not using it.
—Got it, got it.
The old man handed over the aluminum and carbon arrows at a bargain price, though he seemed a bit reluctant.
I nocked an arrow and drew the string.
Pretty hefty.
"60 pounds... that's about the draw weight."
I'd handled plenty of bow items in Survival Life.
As long as your stats met the requirements, the VR gear made drawing and aiming a breeze.
But doing it for real? There were a ton of things to watch out for.
Aiming was tricky enough, and as I held the draw, my muscles started trembling.
Skinny female characters pulling bows in games? Total bullshit.
I set the bow down and searched Mityube first.
Analyzing problems before tackling them was a habit I'd picked up in Survival Life.
"You can learn all sorts of stuff on Mityube these days."
If you knew even a bit of English, you could pick up some seriously advanced skills.
I wasn't the studious type.
But with subtitles on and piecing together words, I could get the gist.
"Hmm. So you hold the stance like this, huh."
I mimicked the posture from the video, where a Western guy was barking orders.
Feet shoulder-width apart, arms hanging naturally, then slowly raising the bow.
The guy yelled something at the screen.
Judging by "once more," he wanted me to try again.
"This is... surprisingly tough."
The old man shouted that nocking an arrow was premature—do at least a thousand dry draws first.
He said it'd save me in a pinch, so I had no choice but to follow along diligently.
But damn, this was no joke.
The bow that had felt light started growing heavier.
Just raising it from a standing position had sweat beading on my forehead.
"Hoo..."
Time for a break.
The white guy in the video, lifting and lowering nonstop, was downright respectable.
Potbellied as he was, he must've done a lot of hunting.
Me? Total noob, nying-nying.
So I whipped myself into shape, doing exactly as instructed.
I was a veteran who'd mastered every weapon in Survival Life, but not in reality.
By the thousandth raise, my body was drenched in sweat like I'd taken a bath in it.
Replay the video, and now he was telling me to pivot with my legs while raising the bow.
Supposedly helps with quick aiming.
"Damn it."
Do as he says.
One of my few virtues: once I set my mind to something, I see it through.
Of course, excluding low-odds stuff like getting rich or top universities.
Stubbornly copying the moves brought on muscle spasms.
Glanced at the clock—three hours gone.
Good enough for now.
It's not just today.
A month and a day left, so give it my all.
"Urgh... ow, I'm dying."
I collapsed onto the bed with a wail-like groan.
Almost drifted off, but snapped awake on reflex.
Sleep now, and soreness would wreck me tomorrow.
No desire to head into the woods like that.
If I'm doing it, now while the muscles are still loose.
I slung on my backpack, strapped the machete to my side.
Grabbed the bow and checked the mirror—memories of playing Survival Life came flooding back.
"If I can deal with the goblins somehow, I could stockpile supplies..."
No clue how many there were, so first things first: scout that out.
I opened the dimension gate and stepped into the forest.
A cold wind hit my cooled body.
"Whoa, chilly."
Let's see... range at 15 meters.
Goblin paralyzing darts have a range under 10 meters.
Bow's effective range is longer, but I'm a beginner, so set a safe minimum.
I marked a target on a tree trunk with marker, stepped back 15 meters, nocked an arrow.
Drew and raised in one motion.
Kreeeak—
A few hours of training, but it was working.
Nocking, drawing, aiming flowed smoothly.
Seemed minor, but in a pinch, that 0.1 second mattered.
I aimed carefully at the target and released.
A soft whoosh, and the arrow sprouted from the trunk.
Up close: the arrowhead buried deep in the wood.
"Not bad."
Didn't hit the bullseye, but first try.
Though the string snapped my fingers on release—hurt like hell.
No wonder they use finger tabs.
Come to think of it, Survival Life had tab items too.
Handy for faster reloads.
"Little more practice."
I slipped on gloves and fired a few more.
Accuracy didn't skyrocket, but trajectory stabilized.
Inside 15 meters, shouldn't miss a goblin.
Where it hits? No guarantees.
"Where's the shit..."
I dredged up memories, hunting for goblin droppings.
Hated getting close, but needed intel.
Found what looked like one goblin's pile...
"No others nearby?"
Goblins live in groups, so one shitting usually means a chain reaction.
Their droppings are usually plentiful.
Swallowing nausea, I poked it with a stick.
"What, did it eat a ton of fruit?"
Lots of seeds—might've lost the energy to hunt animals.
Color pitch black; didn't look healthy.
...Kicked out of the group maybe?
No guarantee this forest's goblins match Survival Life's, but traces were similar.
My gut said this one was exiled.
If my Perception stat was high, footprints would've jumped out.
Basically a normie, so scanned around.
Found 'em.
Footprints trailed deep into the dark woods.
"Trap maybe?"
Goblins are crafty; they dig traps.
Leave bait tracks, lure you in, then surround and dart.
Of course, they're dumb, often miscalculate and get wiped.
Like, most times.
But I'm alone here.
Had to tread carefully.
"Gotta kill it for sure."
I slapped my cheek with a gloved hand, then followed the trail.
Couldn't relax till this goblin was dead.
If I ran into other monsters or predators? Bolt fast.
I'm bottom of the food chain here.
.
.
.
Cautiously trekking, day turned to dusk.
Ears wide open, eyes scanning nonstop.
Goblins' green skin makes 'em hell to spot in forests.
Short, hunched over—even harder.
Veterans clocked 'em instantly.
Arrow to the knee, charge in, soccer kick for fun.
Curl up the torso, and it's ball-shaped perfection.
My body now? I'd trip trying.
Walking the woods, animal cries echoed here and there.
This forest teemed with life.
If I could claim it, no starving.
"Valley nearby?"
Water rush growing louder.
Zombie apocalypse makes clean water tough; good sign.
No thirst worries at least.
Zombie intel later—focus on goblin tracks.
Marking trees with white marker, pushed on till near the valley.
Whoosh—
Water roared downstream.
"Huff, huff."
Hid behind a rock.
Stamina trash; nearly puking lungs.
Wandering woods like this should build Endurance... aka Health stat.
Spotting it while scanning.
"Thirsty, huh..."
A small goblin drank, back to me.
Green skin, coarse-haired head grotesque.
Scrawny limbs, leather rag around loins.
No dart tube, just a tattered pouch on its belt.
Up close: graying hair.
Deep wrinkles everywhere.
"Really got booted."
Definite.
Aged out of the group.
Shaky rise; hollow eyes, weak body.
Wouldn't last alone anyway.
"Sorry, but I need you for points."
Need the shop open before zombies hit.
Target: Ebony Wood Club.
No fancy options, but insanely tough—swing wild.
I nocked, drew, raised as practiced.
Aim: old goblin's torso.
Head normally, but this weakened one? Torso fine.
Unconsciously, an arrow jutted from the green monster's torso.
Reflex release.
It leaped, then flopped.
"One more."
Careful aim, second shot.
It twitched, went limp.
Early zombies give 1 point, goblins 2.
Can't buy shit yet, but every bit counts.
Stowed the bow, approached the corpse...
Goblin body...
In Survival Life, piles of dozens were daily.
Crushed by other monsters, or vet wipeouts from boredom.
I ignored goblin corpses too.
Seeing one real? Weird feeling.
"First time killing an animal this size."
Apocalypse comes, worse awaits.
...Maybe humans too.
Goblin blood spread in the stream.
Light glare hid it, but big shadow flickered.
Red trout?
Grab some next time.
Flipped the body with my foot.
"Got anything good hoarded?"
Goblins collect shiny junk.
Mostly trash.
Occasional golden goblin with jackpots, pleasing guys like me.
Machete sliced the strap; shook out the pouch.
"Hm?"
Something odd.
Crude knife? Nah.
Normal knives aren't hammered flat?
This blunt mess? Like clumped metal scraps.
"Carrying useless crap."
To a goblin, maybe a weapon.
Metal stabs hurt.
Else: oily fruit, leaf pouch of white powder.
"Guaca powder."
Mix with plant oil, solidify into salve.
Great effect: stops bleeding, heals fast.
Not game potion level, obviously.
No such OP stuff in Survival Life.
"Guaca fruits and plant oil nearby."
Valuable intel.
Retrieved arrow, dug with shovel.
Can't let the group find this corpse.
They're persistent; sniff out my trail for sure.
Other reasons too.
"Hoo... really tough."
Digging a goblin grave ain't easy.
Bow practice and forest hike exhausted me more.
Health stat tanking live.
Mental fine, physical critical.
Pulled a Sun Apple, crunched.
💪 Stamina:Recovering
Health stat visibly rebounding.
Now I can breathe.
Deepened the hole, about to shove in the corpse.
Hoo-oo-ook—
Owl-like cry from afar.
"..."
I froze tense.
Too guttural for a bird.
One meaning: Owl Bear.
Shoved goblin into pit, bolted without looking back.
"Screw this!"
Groooar—
Upstream valley echoed Owl Bear roar.
"Huff! Huff! Huff!"
Followed markers back to start point.
Leaned on tree, collapsed; ragged breaths exploded.
"Hah! Damn... of all things, Owl Bear..."
One tier below Ogre.
Face it now? Dead in 3 seconds.
Finally nabbed a goblin, now a real monster.
Ditch this forest?
"...No way."
More dangerous than thought, but can't quit.
Outside's worse hell.
Can't fight Owl Bear yet—flee far.
Home first, rest...
Opened gate, back home.
Tons left to do, but body ached like beaten; didn't care.
"Urgh."
Face-planted bed, groan escaped.
Hours in woods did this?
What to do with this pathetic body.
Price of tteokbokki shop feasts.
Buried my face, eyes closed.
Suit guys come? Whatever.
Sleep poured like rain.