Hwado Island had virtually no reliable sources of protein, so he took it upon himself to catch fish and supply the essential nutrient—protein—for his own diet.
These days, unless Mr. Jang occasionally visited, he usually fished alone. When he was young, the whole family would go down to the shore to fish together, but not everyone enjoyed it. In fact, most of them disliked it. But there had been one person on the island who loved fishing as much as Soochan did.
That person was the late old man Park from the neighboring house.
Though he was well over seventy, whenever old man Park went fishing with Soochan, he brimmed with vitality.
Having lost his own children early and with no grandchildren, he had lived alone and quietly cherished Soochan like his own grandson. Whenever Soochan went fishing, the old man would lend him his high-quality fishing rod. Sometimes they even went out to sea together, catching fish and building fond memories.
Though they weren’t related by blood, the old man had treated Soochan—who shared the same hobby—like his own blood grandson. Perhaps because of that bond, during his teenage years, Soochan learned far more from old man Park than from his ailing father.
He learned how to read nautical charts and maps, and how to navigate. He was taught the best fishing spots for expensive fish like red grouper, and which baits different species preferred.
He even learned how to operate Park’s fishing boat, how to maintain the engine and generator, and how to safely manage the island. But among all the skills Soochan learned from old man Park, the most important one was something else entirely.
It was the craft of making whatever object he needed with his own hands.
Soochan gathered the broken iron railings from the long-destroyed pier, discarded tires, a shovel, a pickaxe, and oil drums, then headed to old man Park’s workshop.
The workshop of the island’s officially recognized technician was packed with every kind of machine and part needed for boat maintenance: grinders, welders, polishers, and more.
Today, Soochan planned to reprocess those parts into weapons.
“Fighting with just a shovel and pickaxe is possible, but it’s inefficient. First, I need to make something that can actually threaten the monsters. A weapon that suits me—like a harpoon.”
After filling the jerry can with oil for the generator, Soochan spread paper on the shelf, picked up a pencil and ruler.
He was going to draw blueprints for the weapons.
Originally he had planned to clear the dungeon with just a harpoon and shovel, but after practicing swings with them, he realized they weren’t enough—so he decided to craft something new himself.
“Old man Park always said that if you draw the blueprint properly, you’ve already made half of it.”
Thinking of the old man after a long time, Soochan glanced at the shelf next to the workshop.
On the rough wooden shelf that Park had carved himself were several photos pinned with thumbtacks—of the two of them.
Pictures of catching red groupers together, riding the boat, holding the wheel. There was even one where the old man—despite his bad back—gave Soochan a piggyback ride and ended up straining his waist, and the opposite: a slightly older Soochan carrying the old man on his back while both grinned widely.
“I miss him.”
Looking at the photos made Soochan miss old man Park deeply.
For someone who hadn’t properly attended school, the old man had been no less than a life teacher.
His nose stung as he thought of him.
“Focus.”
Forcing himself to concentrate, Soochan picked up the pencil again. Recalling every lesson the old man had taught him, he began drawing the blueprints.
“What I need is a weapon. Something I can swing to subdue enemies. I’m not some combat master. I don’t have amazing martial arts skills. So the design has to be simple—something an ordinary person can use easily. Not too heavy, not too light. And since I’ll be swinging it in tight spaces, it can’t be too long either. Just the right length.”
Thinking carefully, Soochan drew one blueprint after another.
In the end, he completed four designs:
- A pickaxe similar to an ice-climbing piolet
- A hand axe customized to fit his grip
- An 80 cm spear for dealing with threatening enemies
- Wrist and ankle guards tailored to the length of his arms and legs
“Wood breaks too easily. It has to be made of metal. Wrap the handles in rubber and secure them tightly with screws so they don’t come loose. Sharpen the blades with the grinder. And I need to finish before more monsters show up.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Muttering to himself about how to cut and connect each part, Soochan immediately began production.
He cut the necessary parts with the grinder, checked lengths, assembled them into weapons, secured everything firmly with screws and bolts, then welded them for good measure.
After welding, he polished the blades with the grinder and wrapped the handles with rubber padding.
Including the time spent cleaning up corpses, it took him four full days of hard work to complete all the equipment from the blueprints.
“I wanted to make spares, but there aren’t enough railings left to use as spear shafts.”
Finished with the crafting, Soochan felt proud yet a little regretful.
There simply weren’t enough materials to make backup gear.
For now, he had to be satisfied with this.
“No choice. I’ll have to challenge it with what I’ve got.”
Soochan put on the protective gear he had made himself.
He wore sturdy hiking boots, thick cold-weather pants for the lower body, and a relatively comfortable jacket for the upper body.
On his back he carried a pack with three days’ worth of food and water, a flashlight, lighter, and first-aid kit. Around his waist, secured in handmade leather sheaths, hung the hand axe and pickaxe. Finally, in both hands he held short but sharp and sturdy homemade spears.
“Preparation complete.”
“Kyau.”
Fully armed, Soochan took a deep breath and descended into the basement with Turf.
The black portal had grown so large it now covered an entire wall of the basement.
Even Soochan felt fear looking at the dark, sinister black gateway.
He had no idea how many monsters were waiting inside. But he didn’t waver in his resolve.
‘I protect my home. I have to protect it.’
Recalling all the memories built in this house, Soochan steeled himself.
The hand gripping the spear grew even firmer.
“Let’s go, Turf!”
“Kyau!”
Together, Soochan and Turf stepped into the dungeon.
With one large step forward, the background shifted from the basement to the dungeon interior.
White square brick walls stretched into an endlessly long, narrow corridor, lit by blue light pouring down from the ceiling.
“Ugh!”
Blinded by the sudden brightness, Soochan squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his stance, warily scanning the surroundings.
The light wasn’t as intense as midday on the island, but coming straight from a dark basement into sudden brightness still dazzled his eyes.
“No goblins…?”
The bright corridor contained only Soochan and Turf.
“I was worried about an ambush, but… lucky us.”
Once his vision adjusted, Soochan relaxed slightly and examined the corridor.
“The width is narrow. If I keep proper spacing, there’s little risk of being surrounded.”
The corridor was about 3 meters wide, built of white brick, and stretched on endlessly.
With such a narrow passage, the chance of being encircled by goblins was low.
“Footprints… Both the goblins and Turf came from that far end to here.”
Soochan checked the footprints on the floor.
Large and small prints stood out vividly on the white brick—like ink stamps—red blood contrasting sharply against the white.
“Kyauuu.”
“Hm? You prefer wider spaces, Turf?”
“Kyao.”
“Yeah, that makes sense for you.”
Soochan nodded at Turf’s response.
Though they couldn’t speak the same language, he roughly understood what Turf meant.
One of the effects of the taming skill that bound their souls.
“Kyao! Kyau!”
“Alright. You take the lead, Turf.”
Turf moved forward; Soochan followed behind.
They advanced along the corridor, following the increasingly numerous bloodstains.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—after walking for thirty minutes, they still hadn’t encountered any goblins.
Instead, they found traces of a fierce battle.
“Looks like a big fight happened here.”
Soochan spoke while looking at the corpses on the floor.
The scene reeked of blood. Over old bloodstains lay torn chunks of hide, rotting flesh, roughly severed body parts, and scattered bone fragments.
“There aren’t just foxes like Turf here.”
While examining the traces, Soochan discovered remains that appeared to belong to ordinary animals—aside from Sylvester fox corpses.
The damage was severe, making it hard to identify the original forms, but they definitely weren’t foxes.
Clearly, other lifeforms besides fox-like creatures had existed here.
“Must have been one hell of a fight.”
Soochan inspected the scene as if he were a coroner.
Among the claw marks, bite marks, and weapon scratches, he noticed wooden carvings.
Thick wooden statues about goblin-sized lay broken.
They were made of branches, stems, leaves, and moss—depicting various forms: horned rabbits, long-legged turtles, armadillo-like dogs, caterpillar heads with stag beetle antlers, and more.
Though each figure was different, they all shared one common trait:
The broken wooden statues were covered in thick white sap-like liquid.
It almost looked as if a mad artist had smashed them and splattered white paint to represent blood.
“Turf, what the hell are these mismatched wooden chunks?”
Soochan picked up one broken fragment and asked.
The presence of these carvings felt completely out of place amid the fierce battlefield. He tried to figure out what they were.
“Kyau…”
“Hm? What?”
“Kyau. Kyauuu!”
When Soochan reached to touch the white liquid on the fragment, Turf cried out as if scolding him.
Hearing the warning tone, Soochan quickly set the piece back down.
It felt like Turf was saying Don’t touch it carelessly.
“Why? Is it poisonous or something?”
“Kyao.”
Turf shook his head.
“No?”
“Kyauuu.”
“Then why?”
“Kyao! Kyao!”
“…I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”
“Kyao! Kyao! Kyaooou!”
“…I still don’t get it, but basically—don’t touch it, right?”
“Kyau!”
“Got it. Let’s keep moving.”
At Turf’s insistent cries, Soochan tore his eyes away from the carvings and stood up.
As soon as he did, Turf took the lead again, weaving through the corpses and continuing down the corridor.
A few minutes later—
Soochan and Turf discovered another portal at the end of the passage.
“Another corridor… So the goblins are coming from over there.”
At the far end stood another black portal, identical in color to the one in the basement but slightly smaller.
“Feels like if we go through there, we’ll find goblins.”
“Kyao.”
Turf nodded in agreement with Soochan’s words.
He was saying Soochan was right.
“Then we need to prepare for battle.”
Soochan took off his backpack and tightened his grip on the spear.
Turf also stretched his neck and raised his fur. Just as the two finished readying themselves and were watching the portal warily—
The previously still portal rippled like water, and something popped out from inside.
“It’s coming! Be careful!”
Soochan raised his spear and braced for whatever emerged.
But only for a moment.
“Huh? What is that… a squirrel?”
He aimed the spear but spoke with a bewildered expression.
What had come out of the portal was a squirrel.
But it wasn’t a real squirrel.
“What the…? It’s… wood? A moving wooden thing?”
It had the shape of a squirrel, but it clearly wasn’t alive in the normal sense.
It was a wooden carving squirrel made of tree bark, stems, moss, and small shelf fungi.
A living, moving spirit.
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