The Timber Conflict

Serana wiped the sweat from her forehead as she stood outside Uncle Bai's cooking station, inhaling the intoxicating scent of sizzling meat and rich spices. The makeshift kitchen, a crude yet well-kept stall near the center of camp, was the heart of the settlement—part war tent, part command post, part sanctuary. The smoke from grilled meat mixed with the damp earth and sawdust of an unfinished town, where lumber, stone, and metal were slowly being shaped into buildings.

The town was still in its infancy. Its skeletal structures stood like unfinished ruins, a testament to the slow but determined efforts of its people. Walls remained incomplete, and the western sector of the settlement was little more than a chaotic mess of debris, half-cleared trees, and hastily constructed pathways. It needed order, and Serana intended to provide it.

But she needed resources first.

And for that, she needed Uncle Bai's approval.

Uncle Bai stood behind a counter, effortlessly slicing vegetables with the same precision he once used to cut down enemies in war. His hands moved with the fluidity of muscle memory, dicing onions and peppers with such speed that the knife was a blur.

Serana watched him carefully. Most in the camp saw Uncle Bai as just the cook, a cranky old man who rarely spoke unless he had something sharp to say. But she knew better. He wasn't just the camp's chef—he was its silent protector, a war veteran feared across battlefields. When he wasn't cooking, he was fighting. And when he wasn't fighting, he was resting—brief, necessary moments of sleep before he was back at it again.

Few people realized that in this strange world, he was the third true power after Shaoran and Jerry. Unlike them, he didn't bother showing himself to most players.

Serana cleared her throat, knowing full well that she was interrupting his sacred cooking time. "Uncle Bai, I need permission to set up a guild shop in camp."

The older man didn't stop chopping. The rhythmic sound of his knife against the wooden board was the only response for a long moment.

"As long as you can cut enough wood in the west side of the camp, you can do whatever you want," he finally said, his voice rough as gravel, carrying the weight of countless battles.

Serana frowned. "Cut enough wood? How much are we talking?"

Uncle Bai finally looked up, fixing his one good eye on her. "Enough to build a real shop. Not some flimsy stall. That means clearing a whole section of the forest." He pointed his knife at her, the tip gleaming. "If you can't do that, you don't deserve to set up anything here."

Serana swallowed, then nodded.

The western forest was dense, an impenetrable wall of thick, towering trees that seemed almost alive. The trees in Solva weren't like those in the real world. They pulsed. Their bark had a slow, rhythmic vibration, like breathing organisms. Cutting them wouldn't be as simple as swinging an axe.

She needed manpower, equipment, and a plan.

The Job Center was packed with players. Some loitered around, scanning the mission boards for easy coin, while others gathered in small groups, discussing plans for their next ventures. The room smelled of damp leather, sweat, and the faint scent of ink from freshly posted job listings.

The Job Center had become something like an adventurer's guild. Daily postings included hunting missions, escort requests, delivery tasks, and other odd jobs. A few veteran players had taken to posting their own listings, offering coin to others for gathering supplies or acting as temporary bodyguards.

But Serana needed workers fast.

Climbing onto a nearby crate, she raised her voice. "I'm hiring woodcutters! Real money for real work!"

The murmuring crowd stilled.

Real money? That wasn't something beta testers heard every day.

Most jobs here paid in the in-game currency, but Serana had come prepared. She had already converted her personal savings into Solva's digital economy. She would pay them with hard currency—not just silver in-game, but cash they could withdraw when they logged out.

A group of players immediately turned their attention to her. Some looked skeptical. Others intrigued.

"How much are we talking?" a bearded man in tattered armor asked.

Serana smirked. "A hundred SSC per log. More if you work fast."

A murmur spread through the room. That was double what normal gathering jobs paid if they really convert there silvers to ssc.

She continued, "I need strong arms and steady hands. We're cutting down a section of the western forest. You'll be given saws, axes, and explosives."

"Explosives?" someone repeated.

Serana nodded. "Saw bombs. They attach to trees and send out a burst of spinning saw blades. The trees in Solva aren't normal. They won't fall easily."

More murmuring. Some players exchanged glances, considering the offer.

A hand shot up. A tall, muscular woman stepped forward. "I'll take the job."

One by one, others joined. Warriors looking for side money. Veterans who preferred labor over fighting. Even some , eager for their first real paycheck.

By the time she was done, she had assembled a team of twenty workers.

With her entire personal savings sunk into renting saw bombs and paying for extra hands, there was no turning back.

The western section of the camp had yet to be fully explored. It was a jungle, thick with trees so closely packed that even stepping between them was a challenge. The bark of each tree pulsed slightly, like something breathing in slow, measured intervals.

Serana watched as the workers set up their saw bombs. Each device was a metal sphere about the size of a fist, with retractable saw blades folded inside. They were designed to stick to the base of a tree, then explode outward, sending whirling saws into the trunk at high speeds.

The first bomb was set. A worker pressed the activation rune, then stepped back.

Three seconds later, the device whirred to life.

A loud crack echoed through the forest as spinning blades shot out, carving deep into the tree's flesh. The bark screeched—actually screeched—as if the tree itself was alive and screaming in protest.

Then, with a final groan, the tree began to fall.

A deafening crash followed as the massive trunk slammed into the earth, sending dirt and leaves flying.

One down.

thousand more to go.

Serana nodded in satisfaction. If they could keep this pace up, they'd clear enough land by this week.

But then—

A gunshot rang through the air.

Serana's head snapped up. That wasn't part of the plan.

From the treetops, figures emerged. Shadows moving between the branches.

Then, a voice called out. "Sorry, but this forest belongs to us now."

Serana's eyes narrowed. Terry.

The Martian beta tester stood on a thick tree limb, his rifle resting against his shoulder. He wasn't alone. He had brought others—fellow Martians, men he had paid to join him.

A group of armed players emerged from the underbrush, their weapons drawn.

An ambush.

Serana's grip tightened around the hilt of her blade.

"You think you can just claim land?" Terry smirked. "We'll be taking those saw bombs."

Serana exhaled, shifting into a battle stance.

"You want them?" she said. "Come and take them."

The tension snapped.

The battle began.