Intermission (6)

Day 1 of Being Stranded.

When the leaves above me shook off the collected raindrops, the water droplets fell with a splat onto the shoulders of the human standing under the tree.

About an hour ago, I defined our situation as stranded. It wasn't particularly surprising.

If there are two things I've gained from living in this world of extremes, they are the lacerations on my forearm and a quick adaptability to unbelievable situations. It seems I use the latter quite often.

First question: Is it the right choice to go back to Rilke, where the monsters are swarming? We are surrounded by mountains in every direction. We had fled in such a frenzy that it was hard to even estimate our location. Under different circumstances, Leonardo might have been able to track our way back, but as luck would have it, the rain had washed away all traces of wheel tracks or footprints, leaving nothing behind.

Second question: Are Baron Roald and his knights okay? It seemed there was no way to cross the water and get back to Rilke without getting swept away by the current. With the strong flow, the rather sturdy-looking castle walls, and the debris from landslides surrounding them, at least they would be able to prepare for an assault within the fortress.

The conclusion was that instead of immediately looking for a way back, it was more important to take care of ourselves first. Now the sun was almost set, and it was getting dark. The three of us put our heads together.

"The tarp tore, and the wagon got soaked. If we sleep there, our backs will be drenched."

It wasn't just the wagon that got soaked from the rain; we needed to warm ourselves and dry our clothes. We needed to find a place to make a fire and spend the night.

"Let's look for a cave. If it's a place used by monsters for hibernation, it will be permeated with their scent, and wild animals won't easily approach."

Leonardo said this and soon left, returning quickly. The cave he found was hidden by soft vines and moss, making it indistinguishable from the hillside. There was enough space to push the wagon inside and for the three of us to sit comfortably. I gently petted the two donkeys that had been through a lot with us. They sniffed the vines hanging like curtains in front of the cave, licked the water droplets with their tongues, and nibbled on the grass covering the ground.

"It looks like it was used by a monster during molting season."

Leonardo showed us a large, white shed skin he had picked up from inside the cave. It was so huge it seemed like a giant serpent had shed it.

Then he thrust his greatsword into the ground. Suddenly, his sword became a shovel, digging up soil. It was quite the heroic weapon, but its treatment was rather…

Leonardo silently filled the shed skin with dirt and stones, making a long bag that he placed at the entrance to form a makeshift dam. The cave became somewhat cozy.

"With this, we should be able to manage even if it rains heavily overnight."

Then he started looking for dry leaves and branches, saying he would use the hole made from digging out the soil as a fire pit. Finding dry branches in the rain wasn't easy, but the small and nimble Vittorio managed to collect leaves that had stayed dry under a rock. Leonardo snapped an old dry tree with both hands, hollowed out its dry core, and piled it into the pit. Then, he struck flint against his sword, easily igniting the fire. He moved with the efficiency of a survival expert.

'Am I the only one slacking off?'

In the civilized city, I had some kind of role, but ever since being thrown into the wild, I felt like a useless burden, just lazing around. Am I going to end up with a reduced role in the scenario at this rate?

My anxiety spiked, so while Leonardo and Vittorio set up a drying rack for our clothes by the campfire, I decided to check our supplies in the wagon. One sack of potatoes, a jar of candy that somehow remained unbroken, oil that we thought was kerosene but turned out to be cooking oil, a cooking pan borrowed from the kitchen duty knight, a bag of salt, one corpse, and two thick blankets.

This was troublesome. Among our group, we had one person with an energy consumption efficiency rated as "very poor" who needed at least nine servings a day. Looking at Leonardo, I thought anxiously.

'How am I going to feed that?'

As I approached Leonardo, who had started hanging wet clothes on the makeshift drying rack by the campfire, he said,

"Wearing wet clothes for too long isn't good. You should take yours off and dry them too."

"Uh, right."

His hand hovered near my cloak, seeking permission, and as our eyes met, he began to untie the knot. The heavy, water-soaked fabric slid off my shoulders, making me feel significantly lighter. Leonardo wrung out the cloak with his powerful arm muscles, and the fabric, now wrinkled and shrunken as if it had lost its soul along with the rainwater, was hung on the drying rack.

"Your shirt."

My shirt was already clinging uncomfortably to my body. Considering that my wounds had already been discovered, it didn't seem to matter much anymore. As I lifted my shirt, which clung wetly to my skin, the cold air touched my bare flesh, sending a shiver down my spine. I could clearly feel the sensation of water droplets sliding down my back from my hair. Leonardo's gaze followed the upward motion of my shirt, settling on the wound on my right arm once the shirt was fully removed.

"This…"

Leonardo reached out, gently touching the area around the wound.

"It's not healing well."

My rain-chilled skin absorbed the warmth of his touch like a hot coal. It was no wonder it wasn't healing—constantly soaked and often wrung out to keep my mind sharp, the wound had little chance to mend. Besides, it wasn't a wound that would heal in a day or two. Vittorio, who hadn't noticed the wound before, approached with a start, his long lashes fluttering like a canopy.

"What happened to that wound…?"

"Um, it's proof of my past efforts?"

The unspoken truths sank within me, and I dismissed the clearly significant scar with a light-hearted attitude. What was I thinking when I got these wounds? How many times did I reset in the underground labyrinth of Sinistra before I could lift the dagger without hesitation and cut my flesh?

I came to this world and gained wounds and adaptability. And I think I lost some things, though I try not to name them. Naming them would mean acknowledging what I lost.

"Alright then."

Clapping my hands to get their attention, I smiled. Even in a stranded situation, humans have tasks to do.

"Let's start with dinner."

The rain continued to fall, giving me an idea. I washed a flat stone thoroughly to use as a cutting board and sat with Vittorio to peel the potatoes. Once peeled, Leonardo took over, cutting the potatoes into halves and then finely dicing them.

Using a grater would be convenient, but we didn't have such tools now. Instead, we had Leonardo, who could almost pulverize the potatoes with his sheer strength, leaving them nearly unrecognizable. The finely chopped potatoes were wrapped in a thin cloth and squeezed thoroughly. Much like filtering curdled soy milk through a cloth to make tofu, milky water flowed out. We didn't discard this starchy water but set it aside in a bowl to let the starch settle.

Vittorio watched in fascination as the cloudy water gradually separated into a layer of thick white starch and clear liquid. Once separated, we poured off the clear liquid, leaving just the starch to mix back into the potato mixture. A sprinkle of salt and a good mix, and the dough was ready. Simple and convenient, just the way I liked it.

Vittorio whispered, "It's just like bread dough."

As the pan heated over the campfire, the oil began to sizzle, popping into tiny droplets. Leonardo took the pan from my hands, concerned that the splattering oil might burn me, though he himself was bare-chested.

I scooped an appropriate amount of the potato mixture, dropped it onto the pan, and pressed it flat with a spatula. The sizzle of the potatoes frying in the oil filled the air with a mouth-watering aroma. As the starch absorbed the oil, the potatoes turned slightly translucent, becoming chewy on the inside while the outside turned golden and crispy.

A light scrape of the spatula over the surface produced a satisfying sound, like a well-cooked pie crust. With that, a simple potato pancake was done. Though it might have been easier to cook a mountain of them and eat, we decided to savour them freshly cooked, one at a time. We placed the first pancake on a plate and gathered around to eat.

The pancake was crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside, the starch-laden potato flesh soaking up the oil perfectly. With just potatoes and salt, the flavour was simple but balanced between the mild potato and the slight saltiness. Though soy sauce might have been a good dip, the amount of salt used was just right, making additional seasoning unnecessary.

"What is this dish?" Vittorio asked.

"It's called a potato pancake," I replied. "Simple but tasty."

'Ah, potato pancake or gamjajeon.'

Vittorio's face lit up, enjoying the simple, savoury taste. Leonardo, having silently devoured his portion, walked over to the pan to cook another one. As I joined him to assist, I told Vittorio to keep eating, and he, standing on tiptoes, periodically fed us as we cooked. The sound of the oil sizzling in the pan harmonized perfectly with the steady rain outside the cave, creating a comforting duet. If only we had some makgeolli to go with this!

While soy sauce wasn't necessary, I couldn't help but feel the lack of traditional rice wine keenly. The meal was satisfying. However, there was still the matter of concern.

"We're stranded, and Baron Roald is isolated in Rilke. Considering the people trapped inside, we need to seek help first. The immediate plan that comes to mind is finding a nearby village to request support for Rilke."

Given the scale of the disaster, it might be necessary to go to El Dante, where the Count resides, and explain the situation. Leonardo added his thoughts after listening to mine.

"There's one odd thing—those monsters. Not only were they a type I've never seen before, but even considering they might be more aggressive due to the rainy season, their ferocity was unusual."

Indeed, that attack was far from ordinary.

"Considering the pile of carcasses downstream, it's certainly not a typical event. If such a horde is lurking near villages where people live, we'll need the Count's forces."

"Then let's start searching for a village tomorrow. But first, we need to get out of this forest."

Besides this, there's the matter of the monster horde threatening both the people of this world and the protagonist. Could this be another sabotage attempt by Sub-writer 1?

If that's the case, then both it and the monsters are pawns of Sub-writer 1. Given that there could be more characters brainwashed by his submission abilities…

This power balance might be completely ruined.