Chapter 16: The Timber Trail
The rising sun at Mike's back cast his shadow long across the rolling meadows as he headed east. He'd left Crafter's Haven two hours earlier, just as dawn broke over the hills, the ancient ruins now disappearing beyond the horizon behind him. The clothes from the underground storeroom proved immediately valuable—breathable enough to prevent overheating as the day warmed, yet sturdy enough to protect against the coarse vegetation he pushed through.
According to his hand-drawn map, the mill lay approximately two days' journey eastward, situated along one of the tributaries of the river system that cut through this region. Mike's plan was straightforward—follow the stream that had sustained him at Crafter's Haven until it joined the larger river, then track that watercourse east until he reached the mill.
"Two days there, one day to find whatever special wood this is, then two days back," Mike muttered, checking his heading against the position of the sun. "Five days if everything goes perfectly. So figure seven or eight with the usual disasters."
The stream had widened considerably since he'd left the Haven behind, suggesting it would soon merge with the main river. Mike kept to the northern bank, maintaining enough distance to avoid the muddier ground while keeping the water in sight as his primary navigation reference. The terrain here was less challenging than much of what he'd encountered since arriving in this world—open meadows interspersed with scattered copses of trees, the ground gently rolling rather than broken or mountainous.
By midday, the stream met the river proper, the waters merging in a small series of rapids before continuing eastward in a channel nearly thirty feet across. The current was strong but not dangerous, the water clear enough to reveal smooth stones and the occasional flash of fish-like creatures darting among them.
Mike paused at the junction to refill his water containers, eat a small portion of his provisions, and check his map again. The mill marker seemed to be located along this main river, perhaps another day and a half further east. Assuming his interpretation of the scale was correct, he was making good time.
As he set off again following the river's course, a notification appeared—one of the constantly present but still largely incomprehensible update boxes. This one, however, included a symbol he recognized from the map interface: the amber-colored mill marker, now with what appeared to be a progress indicator beside it.
"Distance tracker?" Mike guessed. "Helpful, if I could actually read the numbers."
Still, the mere fact that the system was acknowledging his journey toward the resource location was encouraging. The ring on his finger pulsed warmly in what he'd come to interpret as confirmation.
The afternoon brought a gradual change in the landscape. The river carved a deeper channel through the terrain, creating banks that rose several feet above the water's surface. The vegetation grew more lush and diverse, with flowering plants Mike hadn't seen before and trees that were noticeably larger than those near Crafter's Haven. Some of these trees exhibited unusual properties—bark patterns that seemed to shift in the changing light, leaves that turned to follow the sun's passage overhead, or trunks that spiraled upward in geometrically perfect curves.
"Getting closer to the special wood source," Mike surmised, examining a fallen branch from one of the spiral-trunked trees. The grain pattern within was as perfect as its external form—concentric rings of alternating light and dark wood that created an almost hypnotic visual effect. The material was dense but not heavy, with a subtle resilience when he tested its strength.
Not what he was looking for, but a promising sign that the mill's location wasn't arbitrary. This region clearly supported unique varieties of timber.
As evening approached, Mike sought a defensible position for the night. The river had widened further, now flowing more gently through a valley with steeper sides. A natural terrace about fifteen feet above the water offered good visibility and protection on three sides. Mike set up camp there, constructing a small lean-to from fallen branches and the tarp-like material he'd packed.
He kept his fire small and well-shielded, mindful of attracting unwanted attention. This world had already proven how quickly curiosity could turn deadly. Between the fire's warmth and his new clothes, the night chill was manageable, though he remained alert for sounds that might indicate danger.
When sleep finally came, it was in short bursts, his body having adapted to the constant vigilance required in this world. Each unfamiliar sound brought him instantly awake, hand reaching for the hammer beside him. Dawn found him tired but intact, no threats having materialized during the night.
The second day of travel brought more dramatic changes to the landscape. The river entered a region of increasingly massive trees—not merely large, but genuinely colossal, with trunks wider than Mike's entire shelter back at Crafter's Haven and canopies that soared hundreds of feet overhead. The forest floor beneath these giants was surprisingly open, carpeted with soft moss and ferns that thrived in the dappled light filtering through the distant canopy.
"Never seen anything like this," Mike breathed, craning his neck to look upward. The nearest trunk was easily fifteen feet in diameter, its bark deeply furrowed in patterns that resembled deliberate carvings rather than natural formation. The entire forest had an ancient, primeval quality—a sense of existing long before and continuing long after whatever civilizations rose and fell around it.
The notification appeared again near midday, the progress indicator beside the mill symbol showing a significant advance. If Mike's interpretation was correct, he was now less than half a day's journey from his destination.
As the river curved more sharply eastward, Mike began to notice signs of past activity along its banks. Stone pilings emerged from the water at regular intervals—the remains of what might have been a bridge or dock system. Further on, he found a section of stone-paved path running parallel to the river for several hundred yards before disappearing back into the vegetation. These weren't recent constructions, but neither were they as ancient as Crafter's Haven; perhaps a few decades of abandonment rather than centuries.
"Getting closer," Mike muttered, pace quickening with anticipation.
By mid-afternoon, the first unambiguous evidence of the mill appeared—a stone channel branching off from the main river, obviously man-made (or whatever-made) with precisely cut blocks forming its sides. The channel was about six feet wide and ran straight into the forest of giant trees. Following it, Mike found himself on what was clearly a constructed path, worn by years of use but still discernible.
He approached with greater caution now, all senses alert for signs of current inhabitants or threats. The giant trees had grown even more densely packed, their massive roots forming natural barriers and terrain features that the path wound around and over. The channel kept pace with the path, eventually widening into what appeared to be a holding pond or reservoir, now choked with water plants but still functional.
And there, rising through the trees ahead, Mike caught his first glimpse of the mill.
The structure was far larger than he'd expected—a sprawling complex rather than a single building, constructed from a combination of the same stone used in the water channel and enormous timbers harvested from the surrounding forest giants. The central building rose three stories, with a partially collapsed roof and walls overtaken by climbing vines. What had once been a massive water wheel hung broken and motionless at the building's side, half-submerged in the pond that had once powered it.
Surrounding the main structure were smaller outbuildings in various states of disrepair—storage sheds, drying barns, what might have been workers' quarters. The entire complex was nestled within a grove of the largest trees yet, some with trunks over twenty feet in diameter, their canopies creating a living roof hundreds of feet overhead.
Mike crouched at the edge of the clearing, studying the mill complex for any signs of current activity. Nothing moved among the buildings, no smoke rose from the collapsed chimneys, no sounds beyond the natural forest ambience reached his ears. Yet caution had kept him alive in this world; he wouldn't rush in blindly, no matter how abandoned the place appeared.
"Slow and careful," he reminded himself, moving from cover to cover as he approached the outer perimeter of the complex.
The first outbuilding he reached appeared to have been a guard post of some kind, with arrow slits in the stone walls and a collapsed watchtower above. The wooden door had long since rotted away, leaving an open entryway that Mike cautiously peered through. Inside was empty except for the remains of a table, some broken pottery, and an unidentifiable metal object fused to the stone floor by decades of exposure.
Mike moved deeper into the complex, maintaining his cautious approach. Each building told the same story—long abandonment, gradual reclamation by the forest, no signs of recent habitation. The absence of animal or monster remains was notable; either nothing lived here, or something was keeping the area clear.
As he neared the central mill building, the notification appeared again—this time with a strobing intensity that suggested he'd reached his destination. The amber mill symbol pulsed rhythmically, and another symbol appeared beside it—what looked like a tree with distinctive spiral patterning in its grain.
"That's what I'm looking for," Mike realized. The special wood would be inside the main mill.
The central building's entrance was a pair of massive double doors, each carved from a single slab of timber that had to have come from one of the forest giants. Despite decades of exposure, the wood showed minimal decay, retaining a rich, amber-like luster that caught the afternoon sunlight in unusual ways. One door hung partially open, creating a gap just wide enough for Mike to slip through.
Inside, the mill opened into a cavernous processing floor, with enough remaining equipment to understand its purpose. Massive saws—some with blades nearly twelve feet in diameter—stood in rows, connected by an elaborate system of gears, pulleys, and drive shafts that would have once been powered by the water wheel outside. Overhead, a network of cranes and hoists stretched across the ceiling, designed to move enormous logs through the various stages of processing.
What caught Mike's immediate attention, however, were the remains of the mill's final products—stacks of processed timber in various stages of completion, some rough-cut, others finished to a satiny smoothness. Most significant were the finished pieces stored in a partially collapsed rack along the far wall—planks and beams of a wood unlike any Mike had seen before.
The timber had a distinctive spiral grain pattern that seemed to catch and hold light, creating an internal luminescence that made the wood appear to glow from within. The color shifted subtly as Mike approached, ranging from deep amber to a lighter honey tone depending on the angle of view. Despite the mill's long abandonment, these pieces showed no signs of rot or decay—if anything, they seemed to have grown stronger with age, the spiral grain pattern more pronounced.
"Found you," Mike whispered, approaching the rack with growing excitement.
The notification reappeared, this time with a clear visual confirmation—the spiral-grained wood symbol glowing brightly, accompanied by what appeared to be a success indicator. This was definitely one of the materials he needed for the Void Ripper trap.
Mike examined the timber more closely. Despite its unusual properties, the wood responded to touch like normal lumber—solid, smooth, with a pleasant warmth rather than the cold hardness of stone or metal. Testing a smaller piece, he found it remarkably lightweight for its apparent density and strength. When he attempted to mark it with his knife, the blade skidded across the surface, barely leaving a scratch.
"No wonder they used this for the trap," Mike muttered. "It's almost indestructible."
According to the blueprints he'd seen, he would need several specific pieces: long, straight sections for the trap's framework, curved pieces for the mechanism components, and at least one solid block for what appeared to be the central anchoring element.
As Mike surveyed the available timber, a practical problem emerged. The amount of special wood required for the trap was substantial—far more than he could reasonably carry on his back for a two-day journey. Some of the longer beams were twelve feet or more in length, and while relatively lightweight for their size, they would be unwieldy and impossible to transport through the forest alone.
"How am I supposed to get all this back to the Haven?" he wondered aloud, frustration evident in his voice.
Then his eyes drifted toward the mill's water channel, and the solution became obvious.
"The river," Mike realized. "I can float it back."
By building a simple raft from the special timber itself, he could use the river's current to transport far more material than he could ever carry. The journey back would be faster too, flowing with the current rather than walking against it. With some careful steering, he could navigate all the way back to near Crafter's Haven before needing to move the material overland again.
Energized by this solution, Mike began selecting the pieces he would need, mentally calculating the minimum required for the trap plus extra to account for mistakes or modifications. The blueprint hadn't specified exact quantities, but Mike's builder's instinct gave him a good estimate.
His first challenge came when he tried to cut one of the longer beams to a more manageable size. The knife that had barely scratched the surface earlier was no more effective in a sustained attempt. Mike switched to his woodcutter's axe, putting his enhanced strength behind the swing.
The axe blade connected with the special timber with a sound like a dull bell, the impact sending jarring vibrations up Mike's arms. When he examined the wood, he found only the faintest mark where the axe had struck.
"What is this stuff made of?" he muttered, examining the axe's edge, which now showed signs of dulling.
A few more attempts yielded similarly disappointing results. The woodcutter's axe, which could fell normal trees in just a few strokes, was nearly useless against this material. The ancient hammer showed more promise—it could actually leave an impression in the wood—but it wasn't designed for cutting.
Mike surveyed the mill's abandoned equipment, looking for anything that might help. The massive circular saw blades were still in place, but with no power to drive them, they were useless. Smaller hand tools hung on wall racks, most rusted beyond use or with handles rotted away.
Then he spotted something promising—a two-handled saw with unusual teeth unlike any he'd seen before. The blade was made from a bluish metal that hadn't corroded despite the decades of abandonment, and its teeth had an almost crystalline appearance. The handles were wrapped in a material similar to the special wood itself, with the same spiral grain pattern.
"This was designed to cut that timber," Mike realized, lifting the saw from its brackets. It was heavier than it looked, but perfectly balanced for two-handed use.
The problem was that a two-person saw required, well, two people. Mike would need to improvise a way to secure one end while he worked the other. After some exploration, he found a vise-like mechanism attached to one of the workbenches that was still operational. With some adjustment, he could clamp one handle of the saw while he operated the other.
Setting up the system took the better part of an hour. Mike positioned one of the long beams across two supports, marked where he needed to cut, then secured one end of the special saw in the vise. It wasn't ideal—the angle was awkward, and maintaining consistent pressure was difficult—but it seemed workable.
The saw cut far more effectively than the axe had, its unusual teeth actually biting into the special wood. Still, progress was painfully slow. What would have taken minutes with normal timber required sustained, exhausting effort. Sweat poured down Mike's face as he worked the saw back and forth, the muscles in his arms and back burning with the unaccustomed movement.
After what felt like an eternity, he was less than halfway through the beam. The sun had begun to sink toward the horizon, casting long shadows through the mill's broken roof. At this rate, cutting all the pieces he needed would take days, not hours.
"There has to be a better way," Mike panted, pausing to rest his aching arms.
He examined the partially cut beam, noting how the special saw had managed to gradually work through the material. Perhaps with more leverage and a better setup, he could improve his efficiency. The ancient hammer had also shown some effect; maybe a combination approach would work better.
Returning to his effort, Mike positioned the hammer against the cut line and struck it firmly with a smaller mallet he'd found among the mill's tools. The impact drove the saw teeth deeper, allowing him to make several quicker strokes before needing to repeat the process. This hybrid approach proved moderately more efficient, though still frustratingly slow.
As twilight deepened outside, Mike reached a difficult decision. He couldn't complete all the cutting tonight. He would need to set up camp in the mill and continue in the morning. Once he had cut enough pieces to build a small raft, he could load the remaining full-length timbers and finish processing them back at Crafter's Haven, where he might find better tools or mechanical advantages.
Just as Mike was preparing to secure his position for the night, he decided to try one more approach with the saw. Positioning himself differently to get better leverage, he pushed the saw with renewed determination, his back to the mill's main entrance as he focused entirely on the task.
The first stroke of the saw cut deeper than any previous attempt, encouraging Mike to put even more force behind the next push. The special wood finally seemed to be yielding to his efforts, the saw moving with greater ease through the material.
So focused was he on this unexpected success that Mike failed to notice the subtle change in the air behind him—a slight pressure shift, the kind that precedes the arrival of something large displacing air as it moves.
The notification flashed in his peripheral vision: [DANGER].
But it came too late.
The attack came without sound or warning—no rustle of vegetation, no heavy footfall, not even the disturbance of air that might signal rapid movement. One moment Mike was alone in the mill; the next, something massive landed directly behind him, sending shock waves through the floor that nearly knocked him off his feet.
As he stumbled forward, trying to maintain his balance, Mike's mind struggled to process what stood before him. The creature was unlike anything he'd yet encountered in this world—a massive, insectoid form that combined elements of mantis, spider, and something entirely alien. Standing nearly nine feet tall on six jointed legs, its body was covered in iridescent plates that shifted colors like oil on water. Multiple eyes arranged in a complex pattern across what served as its head fixed on Mike with predatory focus.
Most disturbing were its forelimbs—no longer than normal arms but ending in serrated, scythe-like appendages that looked capable of slicing through stone. These it raised now in a classic mantis-like striking position, the edges gleaming wickedly in the fading daylight.
The notification changed: [GUARDIAN APEX: PHASE MANTIS]
As the creature took its first step toward him, Mike realized with sinking certainty that the mill wasn't as abandoned as he'd thought. It had a guardian—and he had just been caught stealing its treasure.