Tutorial (6)–preparing...

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  Sunlight pierced through the dense canopy, scattering golden rays across the forest floor.

  Shadows danced between the thick trunks of colossal trees, painting a picture of both beauty and danger.

  This forest was notorious—a place where wild and powerful monsters roamed freely.

  But even within such peril, weaker creatures had carved out their space.

  Like the one hopping cautiously between the roots.

  A Fang Rabbit, its white fur glinting softly in the sunlight, moved with sharp awareness.

  Though not strong, its speed made it a survivor.

  Quick. Alert. Always hungry.

  It sniffed the air and twitched its ears.

  There—beneath a nearby tree lay a fallen fruit. Sweet, likely fresh.

  "Squee!!"

  It gave a satisfied squeal and darted over, scanning its surroundings with cautious eyes.

  Sensing no danger, it snatched the fruit and took a bite.

  For a moment, it looked harmless.

  Even a little cute.

  But then its mouth opened wider.

  Crunch!

  Rows of jagged, metal-like fangs tore through the fruit with a crunch.

  The sight was unsettling—a beast hidden behind innocent eyes.

  Still hungry, it scanned again.

  Another fruit sat just a few meters away.

  But before it could move, a scent drifted toward it—faint, metallic... familiar.

  Meat.

  Its head snapped around.

  There, half-hidden in the brush, was a chunk of red meat.

  A rare treat in these parts.

  Abandoning the second fruit, the rabbit bolted toward the meat.

  It didn’t hesitate for a second.

  It began feasting, eyes gleaming with primal satisfaction.

  Too satisfied.

  Too distracted.

  'Foolish rabbit,' I thought, my presence cloaked by silence.

  I crept forward, a dagger gripped in my left hand.

  My steps were deliberate, each one calculated not to snap a twig.

  But then—

  Crunch.

  The faintest shift of dirt.

  The rabbit froze.

  Its ears perked up.

  It raised its head, eyes darting.

  And then—it sensed me.

  Its body tensed, ready to bolt—

  But before it could—

  "Not so fast!"

  I dashed forward, grabbing its ears and lifting it off the ground.

  "Squee! Squee!"

  It thrashed violently, trying to escape my grasp.

  But my grip held firm.

  Then, baring its sharp fangs, it tried to bite me.

  "Stay still!"

  Twack!

  I struck the top of its head with the flat of my dagger.

  "Squee...!"

  It whimpered, stunned.

  Its wide eyes stared at the dagger, trembling.

  Sensing real danger, it stopped struggling and instead made a pitiful expression—like it was pleading for its life.

  I stared at it for a moment.

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  Then—

  Thwack!

  "Don’t make such a stupid face again," I muttered.

  "Squee!" it squealed in pain, rubbing its head against my hand.

  I ignored its whimpering.

  ‘Inventory.’

  The blue screen popped up.

  I sheathed my dagger and took out some rope.

  With practiced ease, I began tying up the rabbit—starting from its scruff, then its legs, and finally wrapping a smaller piece of rope around its mouth.

  Once secured, I carried it over to a nearby tree.

  A rope was already tied to the trunk, where five other creatures were bound—One horned mole, two Fang Rabbits and two Scatterfur.

  I'd captured them earlier using the same strategy.

  Simple and efficient.

  I added the new rabbit to the group, fastening him tightly to the rope.

  "Squeee!!"

  "Krrr!!"

  "Chiii!!"

  They all began thrashing again, panicked.

  I picked up a fallen branch and swung it down—

  Twack! Twack!

  "Stay still!"

  After a few hits, they quieted down, only soft huffs and whines escaping them.

  ‘Seriously, these foolish animals…’

  I shook my head with a sigh.

  For now, I’d successfully captured all of them.

  Killing them would be a waste—they didn’t yield many Tower Points or much experience.

  But as bait?

  Perfect.

  Of course, I had a few other plans for them too.

  ‘Well then… shall we begin?’

  I paused briefly, then set the plan into motion.

  ‘Inventory.’

  From the glowing blue screen, I pulled out the tools and weapons: an axe, a pickaxe, a few daggers, and a hoe.

  The tools clattered as they landed on the ground beside me.

  Before closing the inventory, I shrugged off my black coat and stored it away.

  Then, unfastening the wrist buttons of my white shirt, I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

  Time to get to work.

  I gripped the pickaxe tightly with both hands.

  Then, with full force—

  Thud!

  I slammed it into the ground, tearing up the soil.

  Again and again.

  Thud! Thud!

  Thud! Thud!

  Clumps of earth scattered with each strike.

  Thanks to the points I'd allocated to Strength, Dexterity, and Agility, the task was smoother than expected.

  Thud! Thud!

  But I wasn’t working alone.

  "Krr! Krr!"

  A One-Horned Mole wriggled out of the rope I’d tied to it.

  Still bound, it tried to charge at me in defiance.

  Twack!

  I smacked it with the back of the pickaxe.

  "Krrr!!" it squealed, then began digging beside me, reluctantly helping with its long claws.

  It didn’t even take half an hour before the pit was done—7 feet deep and 5 feet wide.

  I attached a rope to the side, enough to climb in and out, and then leveled the soil at the bottom using the hoe.

  Once that was done, I tied the mole back to the tree like a naughty child.

  My shirt was covered with dirt.

  'It's okay!'

  Then, picking up the axe, I moved toward the smaller, weaker trees nearby.

  Gripping tightly, I swung.

  Thud! Thud!

  Each hit shook the trunks, leaving sharp dents and leaking sap.

  I didn’t stop.

  Thud! Thud!

  Soon, the trees began falling, one after another.

  I chopped them into smaller pieces, piling the wood up.

  Next step—sharpening.

  With my daggers, I began carving the ends of the logs into spikes.

  But once again—I wasn’t alone.

  The rabbits and Scatterfur had their jobs too: chewing out the pulp from the wood.

  The Fang Rabbits did their part diligently.

  But the Scatterfur?

  "Chiii!!"

  They occasionally spat the pulp right at me like brats.

  Of course, I blocked it with my axe.

  Twack! Twack!

  And then flick their heads in return.

  ‘These stupid creatures… should I just kill them?’

  I considered it.

  But as a merciful soul, I let them live.

  A true saint.

  Eventually, the spikes were ready.

  I lined the pit with them, driving them deep into the ground.

  Then, I covered the trap with leaves and grass, disguising it perfectly.

  With a few more pits set up in the area, it was time for the final phase.

  Bait the prey.

  ---

  The Forest Boar—its brown hide was thick and coarse, layered with scars from past fights.

  Its body was bulky, heavy with muscle and fat, and on its face, two long, curved tusks jutted outward like vicious scythes.

  These were dangerous creatures—territorial, short-tempered, and always hungry.

  Especially for Fang Rabbit meat.

  But more than anything, they were incredibly stupid.

  One such boar was wandering the forest now, its snout low to the ground, grunting and sniffing as it searched for prey.

  “Oink…”

  It suddenly stopped, nose twitching.

  It had picked up a scent—meat, fresh and bloody.

  It moved with more purpose, trampling through the underbrush until it spotted it: a rabbit tied up, completely bound in ropes, struggling but helpless.

  Beside it lay a piece of raw meat, just lying on the ground like a feast.

  Around the scene, scattered leaves were oddly placed—unnatural.

  But the boar wasn’t clever enough to question it.

  “Oink!!”

  It drooled, thick saliva running from its mouth as it charged ahead, its heavy hooves shaking the ground beneath.

  Then—snap!

  The moment its weight pressed down on the patch of leaves, the fake surface gave way.

  The thin branches hidden underneath broke instantly.

  The ground disappeared beneath the beast.

  “OOINK…!!”

  The pit welcomed it with open jaws.

  Wooden spikes greeted its fall.

  I stepped out from behind a tree, the rustle of leaves under my boots soft compared to the thud that had echoed moments earlier.

  I approached the edge of the pit and looked down.

  The boar lay there, impaled by the wooden stakes I’d prepared.

  Its body trembled, blood dripping freely, one of the spikes jutting through its gut.

  It was still alive—but barely.

  "Oinnk..!"

  I lowered myself down using the rope I’d tied in advance, boots touching down softly on the dirt floor.

  My grip tightened around the dagger.

  No hesitation—I buried it into the boar’s throat, ending it.

  [You’ve slain a Forest Boar!]

  [You’ve gained some TP!]

  [You’ve gained some EXP!]

  I stared at the message for a moment.

  Then smirked.

  ‘This is just the beginning.’

  The spikes were deeply embedded in the boar’s body.

  I took my time pulling them out, careful not to damage the meat too much.

  Lifting the body up took effort—my arms strained, but I’d carried heavier things before.

  Compared to the worth of this corpse, the weight was nothing.

  I dragged it back to the clearing.

  Blood left a trail behind me, seeping into the forest floor.

  My past lives had made me familiar with these kinds of tasks.

  I’d lived as a hunter in dense mountain ranges, survived weeks alone in jungles, and in this life, I’d become a top-tier chef.

  That combination was worth its weight in gold.

  "Squee!! Squee!!"

  I tied the struggling rabbit back to the tree—its pitiful squeals were ignored—and then set to work on the boar.

  I knelt beside the body and drew the dagger once more.

  The first cut was at the throat.

  Blood flowed out freely, soaking into the soil.

  Then I made long, precise incisions down the belly, peeling back the skin inch by inch.

  The smell was strong—raw meat, sweat, and blood.

  I didn’t get bothered by it.

  The hide was thick, but I made sure to keep it intact, slowly working the blade beneath and lifting the skin off in one piece.

  I set it aside on a clean patch of grass.

  It would dry later, and I could craft pouches with it—useful for storing meat and especially boar oil, once I processed the fat properly.

  The flesh underneath was warm and soft, layers of red meat and fat visible beneath the exposed ribs.

  I cut deep, separating parts into chunks.

  The hind legs first, then the shoulder meat.

  The organs—useless for now—were left untouched.

  I packed several meat chunks into my Inventory, the glowing blue screen appearing each time I placed one in.

  I took some cuts and places them as baits in front of other pits.

  Now, it was time to create the pouches.

  The boar hide lay before me, still slightly damp with blood and smeared with bits of flesh and fat.

  I squatted beside it, pulled out one of the sharpened bone spikes I’d set aside earlier, and began scraping.

  The sound was raw—flesh against hide, the gritty pull of sinew tearing away from skin.

  I worked methodically, scraping off every bit of fat, muscle, and stray hair.

  The inner layer of the hide started to smooth out, pale and fibrous.

  I didn’t need it to be perfect.

  I wasn’t making fine leather.

  I just needed it to hold.

  Once the surface was clear, I pulled out a small handful of dried herbs I’d foraged earlier—tough stalks with a pungent, bitter smell.

  I knew from past lives these helped slowed decay and kept the meat fresh.

  I crushed them with a rock, releasing their oils and mixed them with a pinch of ash.

  Using my flint and some dried bark, I sparked a small fire.

  Smoke curled up lazily into the forest canopy as I fed in more twigs and leaves.

  Once it crackled properly, I let it burn until I had a decent pile of hot, white ash.

  I took a flat stick and stirred the mixture—herb bits and ash—until it was a soft, grey-green paste.

  Then I rubbed it generously into the inside of the hide, massaging it deep into the grain with both hands.

  My fingers turned dark with soot and sap.

  The smell stung my nose, but it was worth it.

  This wasn’t proper tanning—but it would do.

  After that, I found a sunny patch, laid the hide flat over a spread of grass, and weighed down the edges with stones.

  The heat of the sun would dry it slowly—leaving it firm, but still pliable.

  I gave it time.

  When the texture was just right—not brittle, but no longer sticky—I brought it back and laid it across a large flat stone.

  With my dagger, I began cutting.

  There was no elegance.

  Just practical patches.

  Squared, roughly even.

  Some smaller, some large enough to hold a couple chunks of meat.

  Next came the thread.

  I’d pulled sinew from the boar’s muscles earlier—especially from the thighs and back.

  Tough, stringy fibers.

  I cleaned them, twisted them into cords, then dried them briefly by the fire to make them easier to handle.

  I poked holes into the hide edges using a sharpened bone needle I’d carved earlier that day.

  Then, I began sewing.

  The sinew thread pulled tight with each pass, holding the leather in shape.

  No fancy loops, no symmetry—just enough to hold without spilling.

  I reinforced the corners, made sure nothing was too loose.

  A basic satchel. A meat pouch. And two smaller ones.

  For the meat pouches, I left the top open—meant to be tied shut with rope or vines whenever needed.

  Just enough to store bait or small rations.

  But for oil… I took more care.

  I melted tree sap over the fire until it was thick and bubbling.

  Then mixed it with shredded resin scraped from the bark of nearby trees.

  When it cooled just a bit—still sticky—I poured a layer into the inside of one pouch, swirling it until it coated the inner lining.

  Once it hardened, it created a semi-waterproof layer—not perfect, but enough for short-term use.

  Better than letting the oil leak into my inventory or over my clothes.

  With the pouches done, I opened my inventory and laid out the meat chunks I’d stored earlier.

  First, I separated the edible meat from the fat.

  The edible cuts—tender strips from the thighs, shoulders, and ribs—went into the meat pouches.

  I’d either roast them later or use them to lure in more prey.

  The fat was thick and heavy.

  I cut it into pieces, placed them over heated rocks to render the oil, and collected the slow-dripping liquid in the resin-lined pouches.

  That animal oil would be incredibly useful.

  Firestarter, lubricant for tools, or just fuel in case I needed warmth at night.

  The remaining solid chunks of fat went into another pouch.

  By the time I finished, my hands were sticky with blood, resin, and sweat.

  My white shirt was completely drenched in blood.

  It had patches of red, brown, blood and dirt.

  It smelled of smoke and boar.

  But in front of me—four crude pouches, full and ready.

  Not perfect.

  Not pretty.

  But it was necessary.