The river's song grew louder with every silent step. Haoboi broke from the trees at a full run, chest heaving, sweat and forest dirt caked on his skin. The water was wide, clear, and fast-moving—sparkling under the afternoon sun like a ribbon of silver cutting through the green hell. No monsters in sight. His Stealth Specialist kept the forest's eyes blind to him.
He did not hesitate. "Need clean," he muttered, already pulling off his mud-stained shirt and lungi. Naked as the day he was born, he jumped straight into the shallows. The cold shock hit him like a monsoon rain, washing away the blood, sweat, and death that still clung to him. He scrubbed his body with handfuls of sand from the riverbed, letting the current carry the grime downstream. For the first time since the bull's horn, he felt truly alive—skin tingling, muscles loose, the simple joy of water on flesh.
No one around. No shame. Just a farmer doing what farmers do.
He waded back to the bank, wrung out his clothes with strong hands, and spread them flat on a warm, flat stone to dry in the sun. Then he reached into the Storage Bag and pulled out the two cleaned rabbit carcasses. With the sharp obsidian shard he washed them thoroughly in the river, cutting the meat into even strips the way his wife once taught him for festival days back in Churachandpur.
Next, fire.
He picked up two fist-sized chunks of the pure Mithril and Adamantite ore he had mined earlier. "Let us see if rich metal can do poor man's work." He clashed them together hard—once, twice. Bright white sparks flew like tiny stars. On the third strike a spark landed on dry leaves and moss he had piled. The tinder caught. Flames rose quick and steady. He fed the fire with fallen branches until a proper bonfire crackled beside the river.
The meat went onto sticks sharpened with the same stone. He roasted every piece slowly, turning them until the outside browned and the fat sizzled. The smell of real food filled the air—rich, savory, nothing like the strange mushrooms. When it was done he ate his fill right there by the fire, chewing with quiet satisfaction, the warmth spreading through his belly. The rest of the roasted rabbit went back into the Storage Bag, perfectly preserved and still hot.
He dressed again in his now-dry clothes, simple and clean. The sun was lowering, painting the river gold.
"Village," he said to the water. "Or any person. I follow you now."
He began walking along the riverbank, keeping the flow on his left. The forest still loomed, but the water's edge felt safer, like a road made by nature itself. His Appraisal skill flickered now and then—showing him fish in the shallows, edible reeds, even a few more rare herbs growing in the mud—but he did not stop. He had food. He had metal worth kingdoms. He had two quiet skills that kept death at arm's length. All he needed was people.
Night came soft and sudden, the way it does in deep forests. Stars appeared overhead where the canopy thinned. The river glowed faintly with reflected moonlight. Haoboi found a wide, flat rock jutting over the water like a natural ledge—high enough to stay dry, low enough to hear the current. He climbed up, back against a smooth boulder, legs stretched out.
From the Storage Bag he took one last piece of roasted rabbit and a handful of Nightbloom Mushrooms for supper. He ate slowly, listening to the river's endless talk.
"I was dead once," he whispered again, the same words he had spoken on the tree branch. "This river will take me somewhere. Tomorrow, maybe I meet someone who does not throw me away like the goddess did."
He closed his eyes. Stealth Specialist wrapped around him like an extra blanket, making even his breathing fade into the night sounds. No monster would find him here. Sleep came deep and dreamless, the kind only a man who has already faced death can claim.
Far downstream, beyond the next bend of the river, faint lights flickered between the trees—lanterns of a small border village that had no idea a sixth, unblessed soul was drifting toward them on the current of fate.