Leveling Up By Surviving Alone - L.U.B.S.A Chapter 16

—

**- As a bonus, your Agility increases by 3.**

 

By now, Ji Yeonwoo had naturally caught on:

It seemed **F-rank monsters gave +3** to a stat, while **E-rank gave +5**.

 

Moreover, this new Agility boost was particularly welcome.

 

“Agility… this is excellent!”

 

He felt a strange power surge through his body, then dissipate. Clenching a fist, he swung an arm through the air:

 

*Swish!*

 

This wasn’t a sound from his mouth but rather the sharp *whoosh* of his arm slicing through the air. It felt even crisper than before. Even the waves rolling in looked a little clearer, as though his perception had sharpened.

 

In the Hunter world, Agility is often valued above Strength, because dodging can be more crucial than landing hits. As far as Ji Yeonwoo knew, Agility not only allowed for fast movement but also honed reaction speed, enabling better evasion.

 

Korea’s top-ranked Agility Hunter once famously said that in combat, “everything looks like it’s in slow motion.”

 

Ji Yeonwoo himself had higher Agility than Strength. His Strength used to be 15, whereas his Agility was 42—on par with a typical C-rank Hunter. He couldn’t hit very hard, but at least his quick reflexes helped him avoid injuries in the hunting grounds. Of course, that sometimes drew the resentment of teammates when *they* all got hurt but *he* stayed unscathed. (T/N: don’t forget he wasn’t adventuring with A or S hunters… just F or E rookies!)

 

He could almost hear that tanker’s disgruntled voice after a big fight, as the guy slugged down potions for his wounds:

 

> “Wow… how’d you avoid *every* single hit? That why you barely carry any potions? …Ugh, you’re not completely useless, but still… your cooking’s tasty, I guess… Fine. Let’s just camp here tonight. The rest of us are exhausted!”

 

Although that tanker and their party had never been fond of his “ambiguous role,” they still relished his cooking on camping nights, so the memories weren’t too bitter.

 

“It’s all in the past now.”

 

He waited for another alert. The stat boost was nice, but the real excitement was the possibility of obtaining a new skill:

 

—

**- You have successfully cooked and eaten a Rift Filefish (F)!

– Cooking Satisfaction: 75%

– You may learn one of the Filefish’s skills.**

 

1. **Increase Liver Fat Flavor (F)** (Passive)

2. **Swift Swimming (F)** (Active)

3. **Rough, Scratchy Skin (F)** (Passive)

 

—

 

“Hmm…”

 

None of them looked terribly impressive. Either he couldn’t learn them, or he simply didn’t want them. He wasn’t too disappointed, though. Snagging a skill was just a side bonus to cooking an F-rank monster.

 

Still, at this point he’d formed a likely hypothesis:

 

**“Every 25% Satisfaction unlocks one skill slot?”**

 

At 50% Satisfaction, there had been two skills to choose from; at 75%, three; and at 100%, four. The higher the Satisfaction he felt in his cooking, the more skill options appeared.

 

So, should he always try his best to create elaborate dishes when preparing a new monster?

 

“That’s tricky…”

 

Everyone has their own tastes. With sea urchin or sea bream, he actually **preferred them raw** rather than cooked, and no matter how fancy he tried to get, it wouldn’t necessarily match his palate. If he went overboard and ended up dissatisfied, that might yield 0% or 25% at best.

 

He concluded, “I’ll just keep making whatever I want, how I want it.”

 

Having decided that, he chose a skill. Some were useless or unappealing, but there was one potential exception: **Swift Swimming (F)**. He had no desire to “enhance liver fat flavor,” and the scratchy-skin passive reminded him of the gill fiasco—body modifications he usually couldn’t learn or didn’t want.

 

—

**- You have learned [Swift Swimming (F)] (Active).**

—

 

A faint light shimmered over his body, then faded. He wanted to test it right away, but presumably it only worked underwater.

 

“Geh…”

 

Now that he had eaten enough, drowsiness set in. He was tempted to doze off but forced himself to stay awake. The sun was still dipping, and he had a lot of filefish to handle.

 

He couldn’t possibly eat them all before they spoiled, so he had to **dry** them:

 

“Time to make **filefish jerky**—like Ji-po,” he joked.

 

That was indeed how filefish were commonly turned into dried “jipo.” And he’d already made dried fish from bream fillets, so this was a natural extension. These fish were smaller, and he’d need less bamboo to hold them.

 

He began by cutting down one of the tallest, thickest bamboo stalks from his little grove.

 

*Craaaack.*

 

A ten-meter colossus toppled. As it was the largest and oldest, chopping it took real effort—his hunting knife, though sharp, wasn’t exactly a saw.

 

“If only I had better tools…”

 

He had ten knives, all identical throwing blades—versatile enough for cooking or cutting, but still limited. Sometimes he wished for a Chinese cleaver, sometimes a trident, sometimes a saw…

 

He thought of his father again, specifically the pocket multi-tool his dad once owned.

 

> **“Whoa, Dad! So you can do all sorts of stuff with just that?”**

> **“Not everything, but… yeah, it’s pretty handy.”**

> **“Can I have it one day?”**

> **“Of course. I’ll give it to you sometime!”**

 

A Swiss Army Knife–like tool, sometimes called a “MacGyver knife,” with various attachments: blade, saw, scissors, nail clipper… It had vanished along with his father, who’d gone on one last camping trip and never returned. The item was the only one of his dad’s not in Ji Yeonwoo’s possession.

 

“Where did Dad actually go?”

 

He’d often be gone for two months at a time, and by the time people realized something was wrong, he was classified as missing, not deceased. Now Ji Yeonwoo was likewise missing for his own family. He missed his father—and that multi-tool.

 

—

 

**- Your longing is being recorded.**

 

—

 

“…Huh?”

 

He thought he’d heard a system sound just now?

 

“…Hello?”

 

No response. Was it the Watcher or just the system or a hallucination?

 

“Whatever.”

 

He got back to work. Using a strip of that bamboo, he trimmed it in a place where he could more easily work. He sliced it into one-meter sections, then repeatedly split them—halving, quartering—until they formed sturdy skewers about a meter long. Not too thin to bend under the weight of fish, but pointed at one end so he could thread the fish fillets on them.

 

He wound up with 24 skewers, used 19 of them for the filefish fillets, and seasoned them lightly. Then he staked them upright, side by side, letting the sea breeze blow on them. Over time, they’d dry, just like the bream fillets had.

 

The giant sun sank, merging with the horizon until it looked like an ox’s tongue. Once the last of it disappeared and the moon peeked over the water, he finally finished his tasks.

 

“Whew!”

 

Nineteen skewers of drying filefish jerky stood in a neat row. Imagining how he’d snack on them later gave him a sense of accomplishment. He was tired from all that work and wanted sleep early.

 

He’d gotten up at dawn and worked all day; he needed a solid rest. He did a last check, trimming extra bamboo shoots for Kim Kkokko’s breakfast tomorrow, and by then his eyelids felt too heavy to keep open.

 

“Kkokko, I’m gonna crash, all right?”

 

“Cluck-!”

 

Kim Kkokko, who had been curiously observing the boiling bamboo shoots, hustled out in front of the camp. Maybe it was an illusion, but it almost looked like it was taking guard duty.

 

“You can come sleep in here, you know,” Ji Yeonwoo offered.

 

Kim Kkokko shook its head.

 

With a shrug, he ducked into his tent and slipped into the lightning goose–down sleeping bag. He fell asleep immediately:

 

*Kuuurrrk…*

 

Hearing his snores, Kim Kkokko’s expression grew content.

 

—

 

**- You have successfully survived the sixth day (6/7)**

 

Morning came, and with it, Kim Kkokko’s daily crow:

 

“**Cluck-OOOORRKK!**”

 

The next day followed the usual routine. Ji Yeonwoo watered his “plant squad,” admired how much they’d grown, gave Kim Kkokko its share of bamboo shoots, fried some bream fillets for breakfast, and lugged water from the little spring that had formed after the moonless night.

 

“It hasn’t dried up at all,” he noted, gratefully. He hoped it would remain stable, but he realized he might eventually need another water source.

 

However, that wasn’t his priority for today. He had other plans:

 

He wanted to **build a raft** to float on the sea—a simple vessel on which he could store his harvested sea produce, maybe lie down if he got tired. He wasn’t sure how to do it precisely, but rafts in cartoons and movies always seemed straightforward. Plus, he had plenty of ten-meter bamboo stalks; how hard could it be?

 

He also had a rope. The leftover climbing rope in his pack was quite sturdy—thicker than shoelaces, designed for holding great tension. He’d purchased a 100-meter roll before, and though half was gone from various uses, what remained should suffice.

 

He recalled a conversation with his father, about making big decisions:

 

> **“Yeonwoo. If there’s something you’ve decided to do—something you need to do—don’t hesitate. Just go for it.”**

> **“…Really?”**

> **“Sure. A lot of things aren’t that big a deal once you start.”**

> **“But I’m scared…”**

> **“Remember, I’m always behind you!”**

 

He remembered how reassuring his dad’s voice had been. And how, at the threshold of fear, his father had stood behind him, even pushing him forward when he wavered.

 

Like that time Yeonwoo went to the urology clinic to “catch the whale,” so to speak. Compared to that, making a bamboo raft for the sea was nothing.  (circumcised)