This was the fourth campsite Jack had visited, and it left the others in the dust. It was surrounded by a palisade of sharpened stakes jutting outward and a wide, carefully dug moat. The camp looked more like a fortress than a typical bushcrafting campsite.

For a moment, Jack wondered if he had stumbled into an NPC structure, but as he stepped through the gate, he confirmed it was indeed a player-built bushcrafter’s camp.

Inside the palisade, the setup was even more impressive. It was wide and luxurious, like something that belonged in a sultan’s court, with a high ceiling that opened at the top to vent the smoke from the pits of fire burning at each corner.

Each fire pit supported its elaborate setup—iron cauldrons bubbling with fragrant stews, skewers sizzling with choice meats, and smoking racks lined with expertly prepared cuts of exotic creatures. The smell alone was intoxicating. There were racks of tools that were no less impressive: polished iron tongs, expertly crafted knives, and several pots and pans.

The camp bustled with activity, not just from players but also from a gibbon. The monkey, about waist-high, moved gracefully between the stations, handling tasks with surprising agility. With long, nimble fingers, it tended to the fires, using small bellows to stoke the flames, throwing more ingredients into the cauldrons, or pouring meals for the guests. Jack blinked, amazed at how effortlessly the creature assisted. Was the gibbon the bushcrafter in charge of the camp?

The primate, dressed in a tiny leather apron, moved to a large pot, carefully stirring its contents. It then picked up a stack of neatly folded herbs and brought them to a nearby shelf, its movements precise and practiced. Jack couldn’t help but stare. He’d never seen an animal working like this. If it was the bushcrafter running this camp, that was weirdly cool. However, if it was just helping the bushcrafter, he desperately wanted one for himself.

It wasn’t just the gibbon that stood out in the tent. Other than the usual hunting parties Jack had grown accustomed to seeing around Red Lake, some customers were high-end clientele. A group of players in gleaming, ornamented plate armor sat around their own fire, their weapons casually propped against the logs. Jack’s eyes widened in awe. They had to be level 30 or even 40.

He felt small, insignificant. This bushcrafter was leagues beyond him. Everything here was on another level—the camp, the equipment, the clientele, and even the help.

“Hello, traveler. Can I help you?”

Jack’s gaze landed on the woman who had sneaked up on him, the master of the camp, and his surprise only grew. He knew this person! It was the same woman with braided hair who had once helped him by giving him fat for torches. But now, seeing her in her camp, it was clear that she wasn’t just another bushcrafter—she was leagues beyond his level, perhaps even beyond Erwind himself.

She glanced at him expectantly with professional courtesy, not recognizing him, as if she had helped so many players that individual faces blurred together.

“Five silvers for a regular meal,” she said, her voice calm and practiced. “For fifty silvers, I can prepare a meal that grants a buff suited to your needs. If you’re looking to repair your equipment or restock consumables for your next adventure, we can handle that, too. Two gold for the full package. Which will it be?”

Jack blinked. Two gold? That was a fortune—he’d have to serve fifty meals just to make that kind of money.

"W-what consumables do you have?" he stammered.

Without a word, she led him to a neatly arranged shelf lined with containers. Inside were carefully labeled jars and bottles filled with items Jack had only seen in Erwind’s XP store: repellents, potent medicines, stealth boosters, and even specialized bombs like dung grenades and flash charges.

“Oh my goodness! You know so many recipes!” he let out.

"Oh, are you a bushcrafter too?" she asked. "Wait a moment, aren’t you the lad I gave some fat to?"

"Yeah, thanks for that again," Jack said.

"No worries. That bald kid is a bully. He hangs around the lake, and I’ve had more than a few unpleasant encounters with him. He’s good at what he does, but he lets it go to his head."

Jack considered everything the lady had done for him and decided it was time to repay her kindness. He hesitated for a second before grabbing a pot filled with honey and handing it to her. It felt pitifully little, but after seeing all that she could do, it was all he had to offer. He felt a strange mix of pride and embarrassment as he held it out.

"For me? Why?" she asked, her smile widening as she accepted the honey.

"Well, I didn’t get to give you anything when you shared the fat with me. Honey is really good when you’re camping—it never spoils, so if you’re ever short on ingredients, it really helps. Also," Jack admitted, "it’s a nice ingredient for cooking."

The lady smiled warmly. "You’re one of the good ones. That’s why I enjoy helping people, you know. I find that when you help someone, it always comes back around."

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Jack looked away. "Yeah, that really hasn’t been my experience in life."

The lady nodded. "Well, why don’t I prove you wrong? Tell me a little about how your bushcrafting is going."

"Have you been a bushcrafter for long?" Jack asked.

"Yes, since the game came out."

"Really? And how have you stuck with it for so long?" Jack asked, trying to wrap his head around it.

"Well... I’ve been an office worker all my life. Whenever I had a holiday, I’d go into the mountains to trek or hike. When I found out I could do that while I slept, I decided I’d stick with it."

“But doesn’t it get old after a while?” Jack asked.

“Bushcrafting has something special about it," she said, her gaze distant for a moment. "Even though we’re not as strong as cooks, with enough knowledge, we can rival them in some aspects. The same goes for carpenters, trappers, and other professions. You just have to stick with it. There’s still much I don’t know, but I believe that if I persist in this minor, I’ll unlock something special. Let me warn you, though. More advanced upgrades are going to be quite costly."

"Tell me about it," Jack complained. "I just purchased stick-smithing level one, and now I’m saving up to make it to level two. Same with cooking—I just bought survival cooking level two, but I’m curious to see what happens at level three."

"Oh, so you’re at that stage. Very exciting! I guess you’ve started to try out new recipes?" she teased.

"Yeah, actually, yes."

"Which ones have you got?" she asked.

Jack hesitated. Should he tell her his secrets? After spying on three other camps, his recipe count had climbed from seven to nine. Yet, judging by her impressive campsite, she likely knew all of them already. Jack swallowed, nerves bubbling in his chest as he took a deep breath and sent her his notes. What if she laughed at them? What if they were too simple? But once it was done, all he could do was wait, heart pounding in his throat.

The moment he did, he felt his cheeks flush. Maybe he had been too impulsive—it felt wrong to share something like this for free.

"Oh, you weren’t lying about honey being a versatile ingredient, eh? It works just as well as maple syrup," she remarked.

"Maple syrup?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, one of the ingredients you’ll be able to harvest in time. Okay, let me see... how many of these did I know? One, two, three, four—all the ones with honey. So I guess it’s my turn to pay you back," she said, smiling. "Here, boy, I have five new recipes that people usually like. You can start your own menu next time you set up camp."

She shared the recipes, and Jack stared wide-eyed. "Really? You’re just giving these to me?"

"Yeah, why not? I have hundreds of them. Just help yourself."

"But why?" Jack asked, still processing the generosity.

"To prove to you that being generous is worth it. Consider it a gift."

Jack looked over at the fire where several parties were gathered, eating. It felt like he was in a fancy Michelin-star restaurant. It didn’t feel right to ask the patrons if they had seen allosauruses—not this time. "Listen, have you seen any allosauruses in the last couple of hours?"

"No, not on this side," she replied.

"Well, anyway, thank you. By the way, I’m Jack. What can I call you?"

"Ariadne," she said, smiling. "Tell you what, Jack, whenever you find a new recipe, why don’t you send it my way? If it’s one I don’t know, I’ll be glad to make a trade with you."

Jack smiled. "Cool, thanks."

"And if you need help choosing upgrades, let me know."

Jack walked away from the campsite, feeling lighter, but a twinge of uncertainty lingered. Ariadne’s words stuck with him. He was so captivated by their conversation that he didn’t even check the new recipes.

"Jacky, I think I’ve got something." Horace's message snapped him out of his thoughts.

Jack glanced down at the message and paused for a second before responding. "Where are you?" he inquired, trying to shake the nagging feelings in the back of his mind. A moment later, he received a set of coordinates.

Horace had apparently lucked out and found information about allosauruses. Jack wondered how he’d done it—had he used the same strategy as him, asking questions at different campsites? Or had he simply sighted an allosaurus himself by chance?

As Jack marked the location on his map and set off, his thoughts drifted back to his earlier conversation with Ariadne. The way she spoke about bushcrafting—it was like the profession wasn’t just something she did, but something she was. It reminded him of Felix, who spent hours perfecting pottery, pouring himself into every detail. Maybe these two players had been drawn to these professions because they fit, the craft mirroring the craftsman.

He wondered whether that was true for him and his class. His handyman class took him in many different directions at once. There was pottery, bushcrafting, beekeeping, and music, all pulling at him from various directions. Jack was thankful for it. He could alternate between his different professions, keeping himself busy and engaged.

He had always had trouble sticking to one thing and often gave up quickly after trying something for a while. He’d dropped college and all the jobs he found since then. The only things he’d ever devoted himself to were his relationship with Lydia and his music—and both had crashed and burned spectacularly.

Yet, there was something about the way Ariadne and Felix devoted themselves to one thing that gnawed at him. Was there a kind of fulfillment in sticking to a single path, something he was missing? The thought made him uneasy. In his experience, everything ended the same way—why bother trying?

He’d always believed that those at the top clawed their way there, trampling others in the process. But Ariadne and Felix... they shared their skills freely. Jack had seen generosity as a weakness, but maybe he was the one who’d misunderstood. Could sharing actually be a form of strength, even if it didn’t offer immediate rewards?

He mentally replayed his time in the game. How much of his progress had been due to his own efforts? And how much had come from the help of people like Ariadne, Felix, Amari, Horace, and Marie? Maybe there was more to this idea of sticking with something—or someone—than he’d thought. Maybe generosity was the path to success.

The weight of those thoughts hit him harder than expected. Could he ever become like Ariadne or Felix? Was that why Horace had joked that he didn’t seem like a jerk when he was crafting?

Jack mused over the thoughts and soon made it to the coordinates. He spotted Horace’s massive figure waving from the top of a rock where a few fishermen sat, casually chatting and casting lines into the lake. Of course… Horace had probably struck up a conversation and picked their brains without a second thought. That was Horace’s way—bold and direct. Jack admired it, even if he’d never admit it out loud. He approached, eager to hear what Horace had discovered.