Chapter 7 – Improvising in the Middle of Forest
Chapter 7
Improvising in the Middle of Forest
Date: Unknown ( Seventh day of Journey)
Morning light shone into the cave.
Hyoren woke from his soldier's sleep. Eyes opening to the familiar grey stone above him. He sat up slowly. His body ached from sleeping on the hard ground. But that was normal now.
He looked at the wall beside his makeshift bed. At the leather he had made yesterday. The marks carved with charcoal. He counted them. Then added another mark.
Seven marks now. Seven days stranded in this forest.
"Last night nightmare."
He shook his head. Trying to dispel the lingering images.
"It's thanks to my carelessness it can actually happen."
He looked at the cave entrance. The morning light filtering through. The waterfall roaring in the distance.
"But it actually fueled me more. So I can survive this harsh world. And seek answers why and how I actually got thrown here."
The nightmare and panic attack from earlier had been shelved. Pushed to the back of his mind. Buried under anger. Buried under the need to survive.
"Seventh day."
He stretched. Joints popping. His spine cracked. His shoulders loosened.
"My routine continues."
He looked around the cave. The fire pit. The drying pelts. The shelves of smoked meat. Fruits. Mushrooms. Everything in its place.
"I haven't acclimated to this forest yet. It's still unknown to me. Rather than venturing into more dangerous places, I'm secure here."
He walked to the map he'd drawn on leather the night before. The charcoal lines were rough—but they showed what mattered. His cave. The river. The territories he'd explored.
"I should start exploring. Fill this map in."
He strapped his skinning knife to his belt. A small pouch went over his shoulder. Stuffed with strips of smoked meat and a few melopples for energy.
He paused at the cave entrance. Surveying the forest below. The trees stretched endlessly in every direction. Green. Dense. Unforgiving.
"Which direction now..."
He considered his options. The river led somewhere. The mountains in the distance beckoned.
"Okay. South. Towards those towering mountains."
He descended the staircase and began walking.
The massive ironwood trees rose around him. Their trunks thick. Their canopy blocking most of the sky. Hyoren stopped beside the nearest tree. He drew his knife and carved a deep arrow into the bark. Pointing back toward his cave.
"Keep carving the trees like how Dad taught me. My breadcrumbs trail. Arrows pointing to my cave."
He stepped back. Examining the mark. The gash in the bark was deep. Visible. Easy to follow.
"Before this, I only explored the perimeter—using the waterfall sound as a marker. But if I want to go farther, these marks are necessary."
He continued south. Carving arrows as he went.
The terrain changed gradually. The ground grew damp under his boots. The sound of rushing water faded to a gentle murmur. The river slowing. Spreading.
He reached the mushroom fields.
"Okay..."
He crouched among the damp logs. The smell of earth and decay filled his nostrils.
"Time to harvest more brown caps."
He scanned the fungi carefully. Checking each one. Turning them over in his hands.
"Only the fully brown caps. Definitely not grey caps. I don't want to experience that nightmare again."
The memory of the hallucinations flickered through his mind. The fever dream. The visions of Earth. The terror of losing himself in a world that wasn't real.
He moved from log to log. Plucking the brown caps. Leaving the others untouched. After a few minutes, his pouch had a decent supply.
"That should be enough."
He stood and continued south. Marking trees as he walked.
He tried to stick to his plan. To simply explore and map the terrain in his head.
As he walked, a rustle in the bushes.
He turned. Spear ready.
A horned rabbit burst from the undergrowth. Red eyes gleaming. Teeth bared. He killed it with a single thrust. The spear punched through its neck before it could react.
Another rustle. Another rabbit. Another kill.
He yanked his spear free from the second carcass. Blood dripped from the tip.
"These rabbits truly are everywhere. I know they're a good source of food and essence, but this amount..."
He looked at the two bodies. Then at the dense undergrowth around him.
"I'm going to leave most of them for the slimes. My pantry is already full."
By the time he'd killed his third rabbit, the dual suns hung at their zenith. The golden light felt prickly on his skin. Sweat dripped down his back. His tunic clung to his body.
"The suns are high."
He squinted at the sky. Gold and silver. Both burning bright.
"I'll walk a bit more, then head back. South seems like a bust so far."
He pushed on. The air grew cooler as the elevation rose. The trees thinned. More light filtered through the canopy. The roar of water returned—but different now. Not the crash of a waterfall. But the gentler rush of a spring.
***
He climbed a ridge and stopped.
"Whoa."
Below him, the forest opened up. A wide lake stretched across a clearing, its surface sparkling in the sunlight. Faint blue light glowed from within the water, pulsing gently. He could feel the energy in the air—a tingling against his skin.
Magic. Strong around the lake.
But something else caught his attention.
He crouched behind a bush, watching.
"Wait. Those small trees..."
He narrowed his eyes.
"They're... monsters?"
The trees stood about a meter tall. Their leaves were scarce but wide, and large purple flowers crowned their tops. The flowers glowed, pulsing rhythmically, releasing clouds of pollen into the air.
"I don't know if that pollen is dangerous."
He held his breath.
"But I don't want to risk it. This will end my exploration toward the south."
He watched, trying to decide if he should turn back.
A horned rabbit wandered into the clearing near the lake. It sniffed the ground, oblivious.
The wind shifted. A cloud of pollen drifted toward the rabbit.
The creature's legs wobbled. Its head drooped. Within seconds, it collapsed, eyes rolling back in drugged sleep.
"What in the world..."
Before he could finish the thought, three shapes appeared.
Insects. Massive—half a meter long. They looked like dragonflies, but wrong. Transparent wings beat the air. Their bodies had a metallic sheen, sleek and sharp like oversized needles. Their claws gleamed in the suns light.
They descended on the sleeping rabbit. Two grabbed it by the legs. The third hovered nearby, watching.
Together, they lifted the rabbit and carried it toward one of the purple flowers.
The flower's center split open, revealing a gaping maw lined with thin tendrils. The insects fed the rabbit inside.
The rabbit woke. Its legs kicked. Its body thrashed. But the tendrils wrapped tight, pulling it deeper. The maw closed. The thrashing stopped.
The three insects settled on the flower's petals, drinking nectar from glands along its surface.
"No."
Hyoren's voice finally come out.
"No, no, no…"
He backed away slowly, staying low. When he was far enough from the clearing, he turned and ran.
He scrambled down the ridge, feet sliding on loose rock. He didn't stop until the lake was far behind him, until the magical energy had faded from the air.
He found a dead log and sat heavily, breathing hard.
"Those flowers..." he wiped sweat from his forehead.
"They release sleeping pollen. Or hallucinogenic. Similar to the grey cap mushroom. And they have a symbiosis with those metallic insects. I should avoid them if I encounter either."
He thought for a moment.
"They probably only grow near bodies of water with high magic energy. I haven't seen them anywhere else..."
His breathing slowly evened out. His heartbeat returned to normal.
He stood and looked back the way he'd come. The carved arrows on the ironwood trees waited for him, pointing toward home.
"Time to go back."
He began the walk to his cave, following his trail.
***
The cave welcomed him with familiar scenery. He create new fire in its entrance. He settled onto his rug of stacked pelts and unrolled the leather map.
"I'll map this forest quadrant by quadrant."
He traced his finger across the rough hide.
"Sooner or later, I'll have the area around the cave fully charted. And when I find a landmark—or when I've prepared enough—I'll embark on a journey to reach civilization."
He picked up his charcoal and studied the map.
"Okay. My direction today was here."
He drew a line extending south from his cave.
"I walked for about five hours south. Found a clearing with flowers and insects near a magical lake."
He drew the lake first—a rough oval shape at the edge of his map. Then he added small marks around it to represent the strange trees with their purple flowers. Beside them, he sketched crude insect shapes.
"The insects were half a meter long. Metallic bodies. Needle-like…" he murmured to himself as he drew.
"The flowers release sleeping pollen. Symbiotic relationship."
He labeled the area with careful strokes: DANGER - POLLEN - INSECTS.
Then he added the spring—the source of the river that flowed past his cave.
"So the river starts there." He traced the line he'd drawn earlier, connecting the lake to the winding path of the waterway.
He sat back, examining his work.
The map was crude. Charcoal on leather could only show so much. But it was a start.
"That's all for today."
He set the charcoal aside.
The leather hide lay spread before him, covered in rough lines and symbols. His cave marked with an X in the center. The river snaking north. The mushroom fields to the south. The horned rabbit territories to the east and north. The fruit trees and berry bushes to the west.
And now, the dangerous clearing at the southern edge. Blank spaces still dominated the map. Areas he hadn't explored. Mysteries waiting to be uncovered. He looked at those blank spaces, feeling the pull of curiosity beneath his exhaustion.
East. West. North. He would explore them all.
"Tomorrow… a new direction."
Hyoren lay back on his pelts, staring at the stone ceiling. His body ached from the day's trek. His mind still reeled from what he'd witnessed at the lake. Before he let soldier’s sleep taken him down.
***
Hyoren woke to the familiar grey light of dawn. He lay still for a moment, listening. The waterfall roared outside. No rattling from his alarm. No sounds of intruders. Just the quiet of another day.
He sat up on his stacked rugs and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He add another marks on the leather on the wall beside him. Now showed eight marks now.
"Another day. My routine continues, " he stretched, joints popping.
He rose and moved to the stone shelves where he kept his supplies. The smoked meat hung in strips from wooden hooks he'd carved. He counted them, running his fingers along the dried flesh.
"My stock of smoked meat is still plenty. I should only bring one or two carcasses for fresh meat each day."
He turned to the smaller storage area.
"Mushrooms and fruits still plenty too."
Enough food. That was good. One less thing to worry about. He moved on to his gear. The obsidian skinning knife sat in its place. He picked it up, testing the edge against his thumb.
"My skinning knife. Good. Still sharp."
He set it down and reached for his spear.
The moment his fingers closed around the shaft, he felt it. Something wrong. He examined it closely
"My spear… Bad condition."
The flint spearhead was still attached, the resin from creeping vines holding it firmly in place. But the stone itself had cracked. Fissures ran along the edges, and chips were missing from the blade. After multiple encounters with rabbits, vines, squirrels, and that red pike, the flint had worn down. He ran his thumb along the cracks.
"It'll shatter next time I try to use it. Maybe even on the first thrust."
He looked at the wooden shaft. Still solid. Still straight. He could reuse it. But the spearhead...
"Should I make another stone spearhead?"
He turned the damaged flint over in his hands. He'd only used it for a few days, and it was already like this. Good for a starter weapon, but he needed something better. Something that could last. Something that could pierce deeper.
His eyes wandered across the cave, searching for an answer. They landed on the pile of horns. Horned rabbit horns. Stacked in a corner, thirty centimeters of curved horn. He picked one up, turning it in his hands.
"This horn… Sharp. Quite strong. And almost as hard as iron."
He tested the point against his palm. It pricked his skin without much pressure. Sharp. Durable.
But the shape. He frowned, turning the horn over.
"It curves upward. I can't use this as a spearhead as is."
The curve was wrong. A spear needed a straight point, something that would drive cleanly into flesh. This horn would glance off bone, deflect at awkward angles.
He sat back on his heels, staring at the pile of curved horns. What could he do with them?
The memory came surfaced. His father's gruff voice, its rough, but now, it come with warmth.
"Son, I already taught you everything you need to survive. From now on, you'll be on your own. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Use your base knowledge! Survive!"
A camping trip. His father standing over him, young Hyoren frustrated with a broken tool, not knowing how to fix it. The lesson had stuck.
Hyoren closed his eyes.
"Right, Dad. It's thanks to you I can survive this long. I used to hate your lectures. All those hours in the woods, learning to skin animals, build fires, creating primitive tools… But now those lectures are what keep me alive."
He opened his eyes and looked at the horn again.
"I know I need to adapt. There's a limit to Earth survival knowledge in this world that screams fantasy. But the principles still apply. Use what you have. Make it work."
He stood, the horn still in his hand, and looked around the cave. Then he face the image of his father.
"Thanks, Dad."
He bowed his head slightly. The image faded as his father nodded for the last time. The cave wall returned. But the lesson remained.
***
Hyoren turned the horn over in his hands, studying it from every angle. He sat cross-legged on the cave floor, the horn resting in his lap.
"Okay… What to do with this thing."
He ran his fingers along the surface. The texture was smooth but dense. He pressed his thumbnail against it—barely left a mark. He tapped it against the stone floor. A solid, almost metallic sound.
"The material isn't bone. It's like... keratin. Hard as iron—magically enhanced, probably—but from the touch and the way it cuts, definitely keratin. Like normal animal horns. Hair. Nails."
He set the horn down and stared at it, thinking.
"I need to reshape it. Make it straighter. But how do you work with keratin?"
He closed his eyes, searching his memory. A university classroom. A professor droning at the front of the hall while students scribbled notes. Biology. Medical school. The structure of proteins. He then opened his eyes.
"Keratin will soften if heated. But too much heat and it cracks. Burns.I need to experiment. Find the right temperature."
He stood and walked to the fire pit.
He held the horn directly over the flames. The heat reach the surface, and within seconds, a crack formed along the curve. Then another. The horn split in his hands. He tossed the ruined piece aside.
"As expected. Can't just roast it."
Second experiment. He moved the horn further from the flames, letting the smoke curl around it instead. Lower heat. Gentler.
The horn emerged blackened with soot. He wiped it clean and tested the flexibility—still rigid. The heat hadn't been enough to do anything. He rubbed his face, his voice increased few octave, agitated.
"I've wasted a few hours on this. What should I do next? How do I reach the right temperature?"
He took a deep breath. In. Out.
“Patience. Don’t be discouraged from few fails. Remember failure is part of experiment.”
He then look at his nail. Nail is also keratin, and it become soft when he took a hot bath—his nails became soft. Pliable
“Boiling it… lets try that.”
He left the cave and made his way to the riverbed. He searched. After a few minutes, he found what he needed—a bowl-like depression in a large stone.
He carried it back to the cave.
The next step was a makeshift stove. He gathered flat rocks and built a small enclosure near the fire pit, leaving an opening for the flame. He filled the stone bowl with water and set it on the rocks, then fed the fire until the water began to bubble.
Steam rose. The water boiled. He dropped a horn into the bubbling water.
Time passed. He wasn't sure how long—maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty. He watched the horn, waiting for some sign of change. He grabbed two branches and used them like tongs to lift the horn from the water. He tested the surface with his finger. The horn had softened. He could press into it if he press with enough force.
"Yes! It's soft enough."
But the next problem presented itself immediately.
"How do I reshape it?"
He tried pulling it straight with rope. He tied one end to the curved tip and the other to a heavy rock, applying gradual pressure.
Not enough force. The horn barely budged.
He tried hammering it with a stone, tapping gently against the curve. The horn snapped. He then tossed the broken pieces aside
"Damn it… This is hard. What am I missing?"
He sat back, staring at the remaining horns in his pile. The curve pointed upward. He needed to apply enough force to straighten it without breaking it.
"Controlled pressure… Not pulling. Not hammering. Pressing. Even, steady pressure."
He scrambled down to the riverbed again. The cold water splashed against his boots as he searched the shoreline. Two flat stones. That's what he needed. He found them eventually—one broad and flat, the other smaller but equally smooth. He carried both back to the cave.
His fifth horn went into the boiling water. He waited. Watched.
When the horn was soft enough, he lifted it out with his branch tongs and placed it between the two flat stones. The curved horn pressed against the bottom stone. He set the top stone over it.
Then, carefully, he applied pressure.
"Slowly..."
He pressed down with his palms, feeling the horn compress between the stones.
"Steady..."
The curve began to shift. But the horn was cooling. He could feel it stiffening under his hands. He dropped it back into the boiling water. Waited. Lifted it out. Pressed again.
Repeat.
Each cycle, he adjusted the angle slightly. Pressing from one side, then another. Slowly, gradually, the curve began to straighten. After the fifth cycle, he lifted the horn and he held it up to the firelight.
"This is it. Not fully straight. But good enough for a spearhead."
Thirty centimeters of processed horn. The tip remained sharp—sharper than before and the tip form the shape of needle. The base also had developed a natural edge where he'd pressed it flat.
He tested the point against his palm. It pricked his skin with barely any pressure. He knocked it against the stone floor. A solid sound. No cracks.
"It's even stronger after multiple heating."
He flexed the horn slightly, watching it bend and return to shape.
"And it's not brittle. It can maintain its shape even if it bends a little."
He grabbed his spear shaft—the same wooden pole he'd been using. He remove the old and brittle flint tip.
He fitted the horn into the notch at the shaft's tip. It sat snugly, the curve of the horn following the line of the wood.
He wrapped creeping vine rope around the joint, pulling it tight. Then he coated the binding with resin from the seed he'd harvested, sealing everything in place. He then held the finished weapon up to the firelight.
"Horned-Rabbit Spear."
He tested the weight, feeling the balance shift in his hands.
"The balance is good. Weight distribution is better than the flint tip."
He gave it an experimental thrust.
"This is... perfect."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He'd done it. Not just surviving. Not just scraping by with primitive tools.
He'd created something new. A fantasy weapon, forged from this world's materials, using knowledge from his old world. He was no longer just surviving. He was thriving.