Chapter 33

Chop…

Chop…

I swing the axe, felling another tree.

This once grueling task of logging has become almost second nature now. It’s proof that my body has grown stronger.

Beads of sweat form on my forehead.

With heightened senses, I catch them before they roll down my cheek, wiping them away with a quick hand.

The sunlight burns hot today.

The warmth signaling the end of spring is slowly turning into summer’s heat. Summer is coming.

Flower pollen dances wildly in the air, and I keep swinging the axe without pause. The only thing acknowledging my relentless effort is the pile of wooden planks scattered noisily across the forest floor.

When my breath grows short, I take a brief rest. A few deep breaths, and I’m ready to work again.

There was a time when I envied the superhuman stamina of video game protagonists. Now, here I am, practically one of them.

I glance at my bag, counting the wood I’ve collected so far. 1,100 pieces. That’s the sum of what I’ve gathered intermittently over time plus what I’ve worked hard for today.

But it’s not enough.

I still need 1,900 more. In total, I require 3,500 trees.

And this isn’t even the end. Musk melons—my reliable source of gold and cherished trading partner—need me to restore the greenhouse if I want to keep cultivating them year-round. Spring crops can only be grown during their season; come summer, there’ll be no more melons unless I rely on stored harvests, which won’t last forever.

To maintain steady trade relations, I must ensure a continuous supply of melons. For that, I need an environment where crops can always be harvested: the greenhouse. It allows farming regardless of seasons.

While it doesn’t feel urgent right now, restoring the greenhouse is inevitable. But it will cost me—a whopping 5,000 trees. Who knows how massive the structure must be to consume so much lumber? Still, if it’s necessary, all I can do is raise my axe and chop down another tree.

“Hmm…”

I slump onto the makeshift chair Anne gifted me, gazing beyond the endless horizon of the forest. How many logs would I have if I cut down every single tree here? One swing… one tree… one axe. With a heavy sigh, I look between them all.

Mining yields some side income, but logging feels like planting seeds—tedious work with little immediate reward aside from leveling up. Seeds promise future gold, while logging provides wood.

Thus, both are equally dull tasks.

Is there a magic spell that could automate tree-cutting? As I muse about it, I return to work. All I need is consistent effort and perseverance.

The rhythmic sound of chopping fills the quiet woods. My body syncs with the steady rhythm of the axe striking wood as I immerse myself in the task. Despite the growing fatigue, I push through, thanks to better equipment and a healthier physique making the job manageable.

The sun sets, cooling the heated earth. The sky darkens, losing its vibrant blue hue. Only the twinkling stars and the golden moon remain, silently watching my labor.

“Whoa, I thought someone was tearing this forest apart.”

A figure emerges from the shadows just as I’m taking a short break on my chair.

“It’s you?”

“Hey… hi.”

“Hi! Working late again?”

It’s Anne, bounding toward me with her radiant golden hair fluttering in the dark. Her steps seem unusually fast.

“I need quite a lot of wood.”

“That reminds me of when we first met.”

Without hesitation, she plops down beside me, drenched in sweat. She leans close enough that our cheeks almost touch as she looks up at me.

“Yeah, back then you were lying unconscious. I thought you’d die the moment you moved in.”

“It was tough.”

“Now?”

“Tough, but not deadly.”

“Thanks to me, right?”

“Huh?”

Anne grins mischievously. Half-hidden by the darkness yet illuminated by moonlight, her face casts faint shadows.

“Well…?”

Her finger gently touches my lips.

“You should say it clearly: ‘Thanks to you.’ Don’t dodge the question.”

Despite myself, I chuckle softly. Her eyes widen at the unexpected sound.

“Alright, it is thanks to you.”

“Hee, see? Isn’t that easy?”

“Don’t get too clingy. I smell terrible because of all this sweat.”

In response, she moves even closer. What used to feel like a respectful distance is now intimate enough for our breaths to mingle. Though our faces aren’t aligned, our shoulders brush against each other easily.

“We’ve shared a bed before, haven’t we? This proximity shouldn’t bother either of us, right?”

Her playful expression reveals her intentions. The curve of her eyes and the teasing smirk on her lips hint at mischief. Even her casual tone feels loaded with ulterior motives.

“That’s true, but…”

“Heehee.”

“If you don’t mind, neither do I.”

“Right? I don’t care at all.”

Our clothes graze each other lightly in the breeze. Either she doesn’t notice or deliberately ignores the contact.

A moment of silence passes. While I regulate my breathing during this rest period, I can’t tell what’s going through Anne’s mind. She tilts her head slightly toward me, lips sealed quietly.

This feels awkward.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?”

“For when the lightning struck. I think I never properly said it before.”

“It’s fine. You’ve done things for me too…”

“It was traumatic.”

She interrupts me mid-sentence.

“It happened when I was young.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It was raining, lightning flashed, and the thunder was unusually loud that day.”

Her breathing becomes irregular, showing the difficulty of recounting this memory.

“Just bad luck, I guess. Yeah, that’s it. My parents disappeared that way… They left me behind.”

“…”

“I waited endlessly. Every rainy day, every thunderclap—I believed they’d come back with the storm. Day after day, I kept hoping.”

Anne gazes at me now, tears welling in her eyes. Before they fall, my hand instinctively reaches out to wipe them away.

“When I was little, I was scared. On those days, something bad always happened—losing something, getting hurt, disappearing. Rainy days were the worst. Always. Especially during thunderstorms. Still, I tried to persevere. Someday, I wanted to show them how well I grew up despite being abandoned.”

“You’ve grown wonderfully.”

She smiles through her sniffles.

“Even though I still fear thunderstorms, I’ve managed to grow up well, haven’t I?”

“You’re someone who deserves respect. No one can argue against how far you’ve come.”

“True?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Anne hesitates, mouthing words silently as if wanting to say more but unable to voice them.

“Well, since I cried, we’re even.”

“What do you mean?”

“You sweated; I cried.”

“Did you really care that much?”

“Consider it my thoughtful consideration.”

Her absurd logic makes me laugh despite myself.

Quirky yet confident. Honest and charming.

That’s Anne in a nutshell.

“A bit embarrassing, though.”

“What is?”

“Just this whole situation. It took courage to open up like this. How did it feel?”

A strange warmth radiates from the skin touching mine. Is this heightened awareness due to sharpened senses? The increasing heartbeat and subtle tension transfer directly to me.

“That was impressive. Not everyone can rise above their past like you have.”

“I haven’t fully overcome it yet.”

“Facing it means you’re prepared to conquer it. Just like when you told me your story.”

I meet her gaze directly. Her pupils flicker slightly under my stare.

I believe conversations hold meaning. Sharing something small from within signifies readiness to confront inner truths—whether embarrassing, frightening, or anything else. Simply expressing it carries significance.

“So, listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m still scared. I think I’ll always be afraid.”

Anne fidgets nervously, struggling to continue.

“Okay.”

“Um…”

Is it the darkness? Her cheeks appear flushed, whether from crying or embarrassment, I can’t tell.

“During thunderstorms…”

“Yeah?”

“Could you… Would you be able to help again?”

“Invite me home?”

“Ack! Not exactly. Just… yeah.”

She flails her arms weakly, clearly dissatisfied with my answer.

“Well… yeah. Let’s start with that.”

“That sounds so formal.”

“You said you were scared.”

“I am… but hey, thanks. Thanks to you, I can sleep peacefully during thunderstorms. I genuinely appreciate it.”

“That’s great to hear.”

Anne stands quietly, the warmth of her presence slowly fading.

I remain seated, looking up at her. Her smiling face shines brightly in contrast to earlier.

“Well, I’ll go now. Did I interrupt your work?”

“Nope. I was resting anyway. Resting is important too, just like working.”

“Got it. See ya! Bye!”

“Sure. See you next time.”

“Bye!”

With that, Anne departs. Watching her briskly walk away in the dark feels oddly fascinating. Do villagers develop night vision as a passive skill, or is she just familiar with the area?

Curious thoughts linger as I lift my axe once more. There’s no option to call it a day early. Ahead lies an all-night logging marathon.

I roughly munch on fish scraps from my bag before diving back into work.

Chop… Chop…

The rhythmic chopping breaks the serene silence of the forest once more.

Day 44 of Spring.

Logging reached Level 9 Beginner.

Three levels in one day—impressive, though there’s no time to celebrate. I grab my axe and head back to work.

Planting seeds, watering them, routine tasks completed mechanically before heading to the forest with my trusty axe.

Feels kind of ironic being a Viking warrior wielding an axe—not against wild beasts but against trees.

Later, I visited the mage to learn magic. Unfortunately, Magic only reached Level 1 Beginner—not as expected, but still disappointing.

Day 45 of Spring.

Logging hit Level 1 Intermediate.

No hesitation choosing the bonus to increase the quantity of wood gained per log. Nothing else would’ve been useful for logging anyway.

Pain came, but defense buffs and painkillers helped me endure. Knowing I can handle such pain at higher levels brings relief.

Same old grind today. Cutting trees, cutting more trees. By the time I couldn’t tell if the axe was part of me or vice versa, the logging finally ended. Nights spent tirelessly chopping gave my body an indelible forest scent—wood mixed with flowers.

Wood piled up more than anticipated. One more day of this, and I could switch to mining stones. Of course, tomorrow is Day 46—the final day of spring planting. Special plans await.

Day 46 of Spring.

Morning wisdom and knowledge bring clarity. Feeling refreshed every day is always welcome.

Leveling Logging to Intermediate 2 gives me a pleasant start to the day. After waking with a refreshing glass of water, I energetically rise from bed.

Today promises to be incredibly busy. Perhaps I’ll spend the entire day planting seeds, tilling fields, and watering plants. Such prospects fill me with anticipation.

Looking back, adapting to this world didn’t take long. Repetitive labor became natural, revealing my hidden calling.

Of course, I don’t forget the help and companionship of wonderful people around me. Humans thrive together, not alone.

20,000 seeds.

Today’s quota.

A wave of nervous sweat dampens my hands. The subtle trembling overtakes them, prompting a deep breath to steady myself.

Work begins.

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