Chapter 2: The Descent
[Wood: 10, Fiber: 18, Stone: 5]
He smiled faintly, then double-checked the requirements for each tool.
[Wooden Axe]: {Stone: 3, Wood: 4}
[Stone Pickaxe]: {Stone: 5, Wood: 4}
He had enough resources to craft one of the two, but wasn't entirely sure which he needed more. Still, guided by instinct and experience, he decided.
"I'll go with the axe."
He tapped on the axe icon, and suddenly a sharp noise rang out—only he could hear it.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
It was like the sound of hammer striking iron.
King's face lit up with joy as he chuckled to himself.
"This really is Ark… this really is Ark." Then, more excitedly, he added, "And now… let's see if it's in my inventory."
Just as he expected, the axe had been forged and neatly placed inside his personal storage. He pressed its image lightly and—
Whoosh!
The axe materialized in his right hand.
He gripped it with both hands, turning it over inch by inch, inspecting every detail. Bringing it closer to his face, he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent clinging to its ancient wood.
Shhhh—Hooooh… what a rich aroma.
Glancing at his inventory again, he saw the reduction in his resources clearly:
[Wood: 6, Fiber: 18, Stone: 2]
"Alright, enough fooling around. Time to get serious."
He clenched the axe in his right hand and turned toward the steep slope ahead.
The cliffside stretched downward, dizzying in its sheer height. Anyone standing at the top would feel their heart pounding at the sight of the drop.
King hesitated at first, but gathered his courage. He knew staying up here meant certain death sooner or later. Going down was his only chance at survival.
His trial began.
The first thing he did was drive the axe blade into the hardened soil, using it as an anchor. Slowly, he moved one foot downward. Each time, he pressed carefully to test the ground's firmness—if it shifted, if gravel slipped away, he immediately pulled back.
The slope was brutally steep. Tiny rocks tumbled loose with each movement, rattling into the abyss below. Sometimes he had to cling to exposed roots or the branches of shrubs clinging stubbornly to the edge, just to keep his balance.
His breaths grew heavy, sweat dripping from his forehead—not only from the effort, but from the constant awareness that one mistake could end it all. Yet the deeper he went, the stronger his determination became. Staying above meant slow death. Going down meant hope.
He moved in short, deliberate steps, leaning his body toward the rock wall for security. Every few meters, he paused to catch his breath and estimate how far remained.
Each step was an equation of life or death.
Halfway down, a sudden slip of gravel beneath his boot jolted him. His foot skidded, dragging him downward—but his reflexes kicked in. He slammed the axe deeper into the soil, grabbed a rocky ledge with his other hand, and steadied himself with difficulty.
His pulse slowed only slightly once the danger passed. Relief was brief—the earth beneath him remained treacherous. Catching hold of a small tree trunk jutting outward, he tested its strength. Carefully, he lowered himself onto a thick branch, like stepping onto a rung of a broken ladder.
Every movement brought him closer to the bottom. His footing grew tighter, but so too did his confidence.
Then, a slick branch betrayed him. It bent sharply under his weight and he dropped to his knees, soil crumbling around him. It was more humiliating than painful—a reminder not to rely on luck alone.
This time, he clutched the axe firmly in both hands. Instead of inching along, he chose to descend through a narrow crack in the rock, using the axe as both anchor and lever, dragging himself downward in controlled slides.
After what felt like an eternity, the slope finally began to level. He heard the faint trickle of water somewhere below—the rustle of leaves, maybe even a stream. The last stretch was easier; the ground firmer beneath his feet. With two strong steps, he landed solidly at the base.
At last, King had reached the bottom.
Exhaustion and triumph mingled across his face. He carefully laid the axe beside him, as though afraid the victory might vanish if he loosened his grip too soon. He inhaled deeply; the air smelled of damp earth, wet leaves, and broken soil. He knelt for a moment, gathering his strength.
When he lifted his eyes, he found himself on a small plateau encircled by scattered trees and flat rocks—a makeshift shelter. In the distance, a narrow path wound into a darker forest, where faint birdsong drifted from within. The whisper of wind carried strange, hushed tones—maybe nothing more than rustling leaves, or perhaps distant creatures stirring.
King smiled softly, calmer now. The descent was done, but the journey was far from over. He collected his belongings, then turned his gaze to the axe with quiet reverence.
"Time to get to work."
His sharp eyes focused on a particular spot: the plump, waddling form of a dodo.
But the bird was no longer there. Of course—it had moved long before. No prey would simply wait to be caught.
King advanced toward its last known location, scanning the ground like a hunter. There—they were. Small, rounded prints pressed into the soil, heavier and slower than a chicken's tracks.
He smirked faintly and followed the trail, his mind consumed by one thought alone: meat.
Moments later, a new sound reached his ears—a gentle murmur threading through the trees. Not the roar of the ocean, but the softer hum of a river carving its way through the forest.
His heart leapt between fear and joy. Joy, because water meant life. Fear, because rivers often meant predators. Crocodiles lurking… or worse—if fate were especially cruel, the spinosaurus itself. That would be the end.
Lowering his body, he crept through tall grass, slipping behind trees with practiced caution. Each step was deliberate. Every rustle, every shimmer of leaf or breath of damp air was another piece of information in the hunt.
Then the river revealed itself.
A stream of crystalline blue, glimmering like the sky on a summer noon. The water ran so clear it seemed to melt the very earth beneath, exposing the secrets it carried.
And King's eyes, sharp with hunger and survival, gleamed with new resolve.