I poked my head out of the cave, making sure nothing was around waiting to pounce on me. Not seeing anything but the forest stretched out in front of me, I left the cave and traced my steps back to the stream I pulled myself from yesterday.

The air was heavy with humidity and every breath I took felt like I was drawing it through a thick, damp cloth. The forest was eerily silent; the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. It was still early in the morning, meaning the dual moons of the planet were still out, shining their light through the trees, casting an odd glow on the forest floor. All of it combined to freak me out a little as I walked through the forest towards the river.

I couldn’t help but jump at every sound in the distance. Whenever something rustled in the underbrush, I leapt, expecting to see the Dreadboar barreling down at me. Each snap of a branch set my nerves on edge and my heart pounding in my chest. But the need for food and water drove me forward, and thankfully nothing attacked me before I got down to the river.

I carefully set aside the small pieces of plasteel I’d scavenged. They gleamed dully in the moon light. I didn’t have a way to carry them, having not found a bag or anything else in the sprawling cave complex. Instead, I simply held them in my hands as I walked through the forest and then piled them together neatly on the river bank.

They were the only objects I’d scavenged during my several hours long journey through the cave complex. I highly doubted they’d be useful to me when the Dreadboar came along and finished what he had started the day before. I also had to worry about that unknown creature out in the forest that had stalked me to the cave. How was I going to protect myself with small pieces of metal and no clothing?

I dunked myself in the stream, washing away the sweat and grime that had accumulated on me over the course of the day. The cool water felt simultaneously refreshing and stinging on my wounds. The Redveil Herbs had done their job in clotting my wounds and speeding up the scabbing process, but all my cuts were still raw and painful.

I carefully peeled away the dirty, bloodstained strips of cloth that had once been my cotton shorts, grimacing as the cool air hit the exposed flesh of my wounds. The water felt icy against my skin as I washed away the remnants of the Redveil Herbs. I dunked my head under the water several times, scrubbing at my hair until I felt somewhat clean again. I had no soap, so there was only so much I could do.

As I cleaned myself, I couldn’t help but frown at the state of my clothing – or rather, the lack thereof. The thin strips I’d torn from my cotton shorts were filthy and, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t salvage them. I had nothing else to wear, and the thought of traveling through miles of forest with nothing covering my dangly bits was unsettling, to say the least.

A sudden flash of information tore into my brain from the codex. It was starting to become a familiar feeling to me: a burst of blinding pain followed by an influx of knowledge. After the pain subsided and I as able to steady myself, my thoughts turned to the new information and I realized that I knew, kind of, how to create the most basic of clothing from all the materials around me.

The codex had given me a bunch of survival information yesterday – how to find clean water, how to bandage myself, which berries were safe to eat or not – but it didn’t seem to do much else. Sure, it gave me some outdated information about the Akatoshi people who had lived in the abandoned underground cave complex, but when I faced off against the Dreadboar, the codex had gone unnaturally quiet.

It seemed to have a vested interest in my survival. Up to a point.

It wasn’t going to hold my hand or anything, just supply information that I could find in a book or encyclopedia. So, what did that mean? The information didn’t automatically translate into skills that could save my life. Sure, I knew how to create clothes using vines and branches and leaves and other things. But that didn’t mean I actually could do the work. The codex didn’t give me any muscle memory. It didn’t give me experience in creating a wardrobe using only leaves and vines.

Whatever. I didn’t know what to make of the codex and it seemed pointless to try and figure it all out while I was standing naked, wounded, and lost in the middle of a strange forest.

Instead, I picked a few more Redveil Herbs and mashed them into a paste to cover my wounds. I decided to forego wrapping up my scraps and cuts in the strips of cloth from my shorts as they were now no better than disease carriers. No matter how much I tried washing them in the river, they were coated with blood. With my skin once more taking on a mottled appearance, I went off in search of some more edible berries. After gorging on a few pieces of fruit that the codex assured me were safe, I was finally ready to get to work.

I found a rock from the riverbed and tested its edge, making sure it was sharp enough to cut through the thick vines that hung from the trees in the forest. Using the rock, I hacked away at the vines, cutting long strips of them and piling them all together. I also broke off a few thin green branches from the trees around the riverbank and put them in my growing pile of vines. With everything bundled together in a big ball – including all my precious plasteel – I made my way back to the crevice and the cave, hoping it’d remain a safe spot for me to work in.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

Once back in the cave I set the pieces of plasteel aside, making sure they were kept safe while I worked. I grabbed my rock and started smashing the thin green tree branches until they were broken – fibrous and pliable. They went from thin branches to a thick, almost rope-like creation. The whole process was tedious and time-consuming, but the information given by the codex was clear and I worked with a focus born out of necessity. As I worked, the sun climbed higher in the sky and the forest grew warmer and more oppressive.

Eventually, I made enough of the fibrous material from the smashed tree branches. I took it down to the river and soaked it, washing off some of the dirt I had collected in the cave. After another quick meal of scavenged berries and some water, I went back to the cave and started putting the finishing touches on my single piece of “clothing.”

I wrapped a vine around my waist, measuring the length, and cut it so it’d fit snugly. Then I draped the fibrous branches onto my new vine belt and let them sit until it looked like I was wearing a weird tree skirt. I used smaller strips of vine to weave the fibrous branches onto the vine belt. It was a crude garment, but it provided a bit of coverage and protection against the elements.

All told, the makeshift loincloth took me an entire day to complete, most of it spent at the mouth of the cave. The crevice had provided a safe haven; a place where I could work without fear of being ambushed by any of the dangers hidden in the forest. I only ventured out to gather a few more vines, harvest some berry bushes, and clean myself and my wounds in the river. The rest of the time, I kept my head down and focused on my task.

The end result was a strange, monstrous hybrid of a loincloth and a skirt that was neither comfortable nor stylish. In fact, it was downright ugly and pitiable. It hung awkwardly from my waist and barely covered my upper legs. But it did the job of covering my nakedness and providing some protection from the dangers of the forest. That was really all that mattered. So, with my clothing issues somewhat resolved, I turned my attention to another pressing need: weaponry.

I knew solely relying on my bare hands wasn’t going to be enough to survive this strange world. I’d already come across beetles that wanted to devour my bones, and a Dreadboar that I had barely escaped from. Who knew what other vicious creatures lurked in the shadows, stalking me and waiting for me to let my guard down. The dangers of this world were easy to see in the collection of scraps and bruises and wounds that dotted my body. I needed something more than just my plasteel scraps to defend myself.

Those small pieces of plasteel I scavenged from the cave complex were certainly durable enough to cut and chop through most obstacles in the forest, but they weren’t a complete weapon. I needed something I could use to protect myself, something that might give me an edge if I found myself in another life-or-death situation. I studied each piece of plasteel closely, going over them one by one. Each was sturdy and lightweight – perfect for any weapon or tool I wanted to craft – but most were too small to be useful and none were attached to anything I could swing around.

There were a few smaller shards of plasteel that I figured would make good spearheads. A spear would let me attack with reach and leverage and would allow me to keep any potential threat at a distance.

I started my work by using the river stone that had served as my makeshift blade for cutting vines. It was rough and worn from use, and instead of smashing and chopping vines, I used it to grind and shape the most promising pieces of plasteel. It was slow, painstaking work as the plasteel’s toughness made it difficult to mold but its durability promised a long-lasting edge once it was sharpened.

As I worked, my muscles grew tired and tight from the repetitive motions. Taking breaks to stretch and explore the small strip of forest just outside the cave helped me loosen up. During my brief walks, I kept an eye out for any branches that might serve as the shaft for a spear. I found a few pieces of wood, tossing aside the branches that were too brittle or weak. The memory of how the Dreadboar had smashed and broken the last branch I attacked it with still ran through my mind.

With a few branches in hand, I used the river stone to carve a groove at the end of each shaft. The plasteel spearheads needed to fit snugly, so I carefully adjusted everything until the heads slotted in. I secured the heads onto the branches with the remaining vine fibers left over from when I created my ugly loincloth, wrapping the fibers tightly to ensure the spearheads wouldn’t come loose. The whole tedious process took hours, but by the end, I held three crude, but function spears in my hands.

I turned my attention to the largest, flattest piece of plasteel I scavenged from the cave complex. Unlike the smaller ones I used for the spearheads, I figured that this piece – about the length of my forearm – would make a decent knife.

I spent a while grinding and sharpening one edge of the plasteel fragment on the river stone. The material was incredibly tough, but with enough effort I managed to sharpen one side of it. For the handle, I grabbed a small, sturdy piece of wood and wrapped it with vine fibers to create a grip. The result was a broad-bladed knife that looked…well, it looked like shit.

In fact, all my weapons looked horrible. While the codex might have given me information on how to create the spears and the knife, it definitely didn’t help beyond that. My three spears and knife looked shoddy and as if they’d been fashioned by a 12-year-old. In fact, a 12-year-old who lived their entire life in this forest would have done a much better job.

I grabbed my weapons and headed down to the riverbank, both to wash myself and to get some practice in with them. As I started thrusting and swinging the spears, I noticed my movements were awkward and janky. The spears felt weird in my hands, and I doubted I was much more dangerous with them than just throwing a rock at whatever was attacking me.

While the codex had provided a bit of information about spear fighting, it definitely didn’t give me any kind of muscle memory to help me out. I constantly tried adjusting my stance and grip on one of the spears, trying to adapt its weight and balance. Finally, I sighed and put it down. The spears were serviceable. That was the best that could be said about them. It just wasn’t comfortable swinging them around.

The knife, though, felt a bit more natural. I could slash, stab, and cut with it. At the same time, it was far from perfect. The wooden handle didn’t sit comfortably in my hand, and the blade, while sharp, felt way too heavy compared to the shoddy handle. My movements were also stilted and awkward with the knife, but much less than with the spears.

I looked over my weapons once more and just had to sigh. They were the best I could make and were better than nothing. If I truly wanted to face the Dreadboar or defend against the creature that had been stalking me, my three spears and knife might do the job.

I washed myself in the river, harvested a few more berry bushes, and went back to my cave. It was going to be my last night in the cave as I decided that I’d set off in search of the Dreadboar tomorrow.