Jack and Horace were back at the lake shore. Jack’s tent was up, and a fire surrounded by stones shone brightly, keeping wildlife at bay. A pack of ornithopods passed by but steered clear of the bright beacon. Bellies full and safe within the camp, Jack set to work crafting [Clay Smoke Bombs]. He’d lucked out with some sugar from the second camp he’d visited and now focused on the recipe before him.
Clay Smoke Bomb
Ingredients: 2x [Clay], 1x [Sugar], 1x [Bat Poop].
Recipe: Mold two small bowls of clay and set some clay aside. Fill one bowl with sugar and the other with bat droppings. Then, create a thin sheet of clay and bring the two bowls together. Let it dry, but don’t fire it.
Requirements:
Clay Molding, Lvl. 3
Forage, Lvl. 1
Handyman, Lvl. 10
Jack squished the extra water out of the clay, his hands moving automatically as he prepared it for molding. Horace sat nearby, legs stretched out, watching him with mild amusement.
"It's funny to see you work," Horace said, smirking.
Jack glanced up. "Why's that?"
"I don't know. It’s like you turn into a different person when you’re crafting."
“A different person?”
“Yeah… I don’t know. You look older.”
Older? Jack thought, frowning as he continued kneading the clay. Does crafting make me look tired or something? He raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.
Horace chuckled, shaking his head. "Truth be told when I first met you, I thought you were kind of a stuck-up jerk. Not that you aren’t sometimes," he added with a teasing grin, “but your good qualities sort of balance out the rest."
Jack bit back a retort. He resisted the sudden urge to send a swarm of bees Horace’s way, instead focusing on shaping the clay into two smooth half-spheres. "So," he said, changing the subject, "how long have you known Amari?"
"Since high school," Horace said casually. "We’ve been friends for ages. Later on, he went full pro with gaming, and I joined him—though I’m more into auctioning items than streaming."
The topic had come up naturally, and Jack realized this was his chance. His pulse quickened slightly. On one hand, he didn’t want to mess up the friendship. On the other, time was running out, and he needed to make more money from the game. He cleared his throat. "Here’s the thing. I’m trying to make a living off this game, too."
"Oh? How’s that working out for you?" Horace asked, leaning back on his hands, genuinely curious.
"I’ve listed a couple of pieces from the [Junior Bugkeeper Set] on an auction site," Jack replied, setting one of the clay bowls aside to dry before starting on the next.
“Which site?”
“New World Market.”
Horace nodded, impressed. “Good choice. I use that one, too.”
Jack couldn't help but smile a little. “Just made my first sale. The bugkeeper gloves sold for 165 credits.”
“Nice! That’s excellent value,” Horace said, clearly impressed. “Well done.”
Jack shrugged, glancing at the green pot where his bees buzzed lazily. “I thought my [Pot Hive] would sell better, though. But beekeepers don’t seem that interested.”
“No one’s buying them?” Horace asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well… I haven’t exactly listed them yet. But I did get one sale—a beekeeper streamer placed an order with me.”
Horace laughed. “So why not list it?”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit foolish. “I asked her if there was a market for the hives, and she said most beekeepers wouldn’t be interested.”
Horace stared at him, then burst out laughing. “And you just took her word for it?”
Jack flushed. “Yeah... shouldn’t I have?”
Horace shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “Come on, Jack. You’re the only player who can make those pot hives. Do you know how many players are in New Earth? Millions! That’s like a whole country’s worth of buyers and sellers. You’ve got an edge. If one person was interested, others definitely will be.”
Jack pondered that as he put on his gloves, moving to place the bowls in the fire. “Maybe I should list it anyway, then. Just to see.”
Horace slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. “Now you’re talking!”
Jack chuckled but then hesitated. “How much do you make per month auctioning items?”
Horace paused, his smile fading slightly. “Enough to get by.”
Jack sensed his reluctance and quickly changed the subject. “I’m aiming for 700 credits this month. That’ll cover my rent and helmet rental.”
“That’s doable,” Horace said, regaining his casual tone. “Especially with your unique class.”
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Jack blushed. “Next month, though… I’ll need more. I’m hoping to eventually earn enough to get my own place. Maybe start a family, even.”
Horace nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible. Between selling items I craft and find, I do alright even on bad months.”
Jack perked up at that. “You craft too?”
“Yeah, I’m a carpenter. I make shields.”
“Shields?” Jack blinked in surprise. He hadn’t imagined Horace as the crafting type.
“A good shield’s usually a warrior’s priciest gear,” Horace said. “They sell for a lot, especially at higher levels.”
Jack noted the brief flicker of regret in Horace’s expression. Resetting his account must’ve hit him hard, he thought. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy.
“Is this all you do for a living?” Jack asked, as he debated glazing the bombs. They’re supposed to be fragile, right? he thought. Would glazing them make them too sturdy? Deciding against it, he began filling one of the bowls with sugar and the other with guano.
Horace stretched, shaking off the moment of melancholy. “For now, yeah. But I used to work at a nursing home.”
Jack blinked, taken aback. “A nursing home?”
“Yep,” Horace said, his voice softer now. “Used to keep the old folks company. Not the most glamorous job, but I enjoyed it.”
Jack studied him for a moment, surprised by this new side of Horace. The more they talked, the more layers Jack saw. It made him wonder—was this what Horace had meant earlier? Did people see something different in him when he crafted?
Maybe they saw things even he wasn’t aware of.
After gluing the two spheres using the thin clay sheet as a wall to avoid mixing the guano and sugar together, Jack received a notification.
You’ve crafted [Clay Smoke Bomb].
+400 pottery XP
+400 bushcrafting XP
Crafting grade: D
Effects: Creates a smokescreen that will hide your presence and confuse your enemies.
Grade debuff: Radius slightly reduced.
Durability: 1
The anticipation buzzed between them. Jack felt a surge of pride for having pulled it off on his first try. "Alright, time to see what this baby can do. Here goes nothing."
Horace was already on his feet, eyes gleaming with excitement. Jack wound up and threw the bomb, but with his pitiful strength, it barely sailed more than three meters away. The bomb hit the ground with a dull thud, the fragile ceramic shell shattering on impact.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, smoke began to waft from the broken pieces. It wasn’t the dramatic explosion Jack had envisioned—no blinding flash, no burst of instant smoke like something out of a ninja film. Instead, it was a slow burn, more like a flare intended to signal a plane for landing.
The smoke thickened gradually, swirling until a dense cloud enveloped them both. Jack coughed, his eyes stinging slightly as he waved his hand through the haze. "Is this... good?"
"Oh yeah!" Horace grinned, taking in a deep breath. "You smell that? This stuff will mask our scent, too. Perfect for sneaking."
The smoke screen lingered for about two minutes before it started to dissipate, leaving a faint trace of charred sweetness in the air.
"Not bad," Jack remarked, mentally noting the duration. "Two minutes, give or take."
Horace gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Make as many as you can! We’ll need them."
Jack smiled and reached for more clay, rolling it between his hands. "Alright, while I work... got any auctioning tips you wanna share?"
*
After a crash course in auctioning, a round of clay bomb crafting, and an hour of practicing new ocarina songs, Jack felt ready to face whatever dinosaur crossed their path. Horace was practically drooling as he looked over at the pile of clay spheres on a neat pile.
“Here you go,” Jack said as he transferred one stack of clay bombs over to Horace.
“Thanks. I think that with this, we’re finally ready.”
“What's our next move?” Since seeing Horace fighting all those bats heroically, Jack doesn't question his decisions anymore. He had grown to respect his leadership.
“We ask around for recent sightings of allosauruses. Anything older than two hours is going to be useless. You go that way, and I go that way. First to find out something contacts the other. Deal?”
Jack stretched his hand out. “Deal.”
Horace and Jack went their separate ways. Jack marched with his [Pot Hive] on his back. The bees kept steadily working and would probably break through to the next level soon. Jack's only company now was the buzzing of his bees.
From experience, Jack knew that the best way to gather intel was to linger near a campfire while people ate. Conversations flowed more freely with full bellies and warm flames. He headed to the first bushcrafting camp he spotted, noting that while there wasn’t a line, most of the seats around the fire were taken.
The bushcrafter running this camp wasn’t familiar. She was a short woman with bangs, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Something in the practiced efficiency with which she served food and how she tuned out the surrounding chatter made Jack think she was a mom. She seemed the type who played New Earth as an escape. Maybe, while her kids slept, she could indulge in this virtual world, cooking not out of necessity but for the pure enjoyment of it.
He took in the details of her camp. Two tents, side by side, were pitched in a clearing, their fabric resembling the tanned hide of the local ornithopods. Stones circled the bonfire, a sign she’d leveled her [Kindle] skill to at least rank two. Besides the usual cooking pot, she had skewers, and over the fire, frogs roasted to a golden crisp, their fat sizzling as it dripped onto the flames, releasing a mouth-watering aroma.
“Hello, sir. Welcome to my humble campsite,” the woman greeted, her voice warm but no-nonsense. “Are you here for a meal?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, please.”
“The usual fee.”
Jack handed over five silver coins and sat by the fire. As she prepared his meal, Jack watched her closely. She worked with practiced ease, tossing in a root and an herb he recognized from his own recipes. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she grabbed one of the skewered frogs and added it to the pot as the third ingredient.
Jack’s eyes widened. She’s combining skills, he realized.
A grin tugged at his lips. The leveled-up version of [Survival Cooking] opened a whole new world of possibilities, but finding the recipes himself wasn’t easy. After two hours of experimentation, he had only picked up about five recipes. How hadn’t he thought of spying on the competition? He mumbled the recipe to himself to note down later.
Still, he doubted he could replicate this particular stew. He didn’t have the [Trapper] profession, so hunting and dealing damage were out of the question for him. How was he going to kill frogs to put them on the skewers? What a shame. His only hope was that his bees would offer a workaround to the limitations of his handyman class.
As Jack ate, enjoying the rich flavor of roasted frog, he tuned into the nearby conversation.
“I think we’re messing up the timing on the skills,” one of the hunting party leaders was saying. “Jameson, you’ve got to work on those dispersal grenades. Your timing is throwing off the whole group—it’s affecting both us and the dinos. You need to find a balance between the area-of-effect damage and the buffs.”
“Sorry, I’m still getting the hang of it,” Jameson replied sheepishly.
Jack wasn’t interested in their technical discussion, so he decided to cut to the chase.
“Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen any allosaurus around today?”
The group exchanged glances, their captain chuckling. “Brother, I don’t think you’ll be hunting one of those solo.”
A few curious looks landed on the pot hive strapped to Jack’s back. The bees stayed calm, uninterested in the players. Jack’s theory was that the hive felt calmer with the hive pressed against his back, where his scent was strongest, and his [Friendly Scent] skill had maximum efficiency. He made a mental note to experiment with that later.
“Seen any allosaurus in the last couple of hours?” Jack asked again.
“Nothing on these parts,” the captain said.
“Thanks anyway,” Jack replied.
Jack finished his stew, enjoying the satisfying crunch of roasted frog meat. He stood and dusted off his hands. Visiting competitors’ campsites had turned out to be more fun than he’d expected. He packed up and set off toward the next one, eager for more insights.