First Hunt (Trap)

Chapter 15: First Hunt (Traps)

The hope sown by the seeds glowed like warm embers in Chen An's heart, offering comfort but unable to fully dispel the growing chill of reality—the remaining beast meat was nearly gone. The dried meat hanging in the ventilated area would last at most two or three more days. The seeds in the garden had just been planted, with harvest far off. A stable food source, especially protein, had become a sword hanging over his head.

Passively waiting for small animals to wander into the Safe Zone was like waiting for a rabbit to crash into a tree stump—the odds were slim and full of uncertainty. He had to take the initiative. At the very least, he needed to carve out a chance for meat at the edge of the Safe Zone. Hunting—that primal, brutal word—was now officially on his survival agenda.

Walking out of the Safe Zone to fight Demonic Beasts head-on? That was suicide. The only possibility was to use tools and cunning to set traps.

The thought made Chen An uneasy. In civilized society, hunting was a concept far removed from daily life. But here, it was the most direct, most ancient law of survival. He took a deep breath, suppressing the hesitation in his heart. In the face of survival, sentimentality was a luxury.

He didn't act rashly. Instead, he spent an entire morning like a patient hunter, crouching behind the courtyard gate, observing the environment dozens of meters outside through the cracks.

He needed to understand the "prey's" activity patterns. Soon, he noticed several small creatures: one with gray-brown fur, quick movements, resembling a squirrel but with a short, stubby tail, often leaping among a few fruit trees near the cliff wall on the right, nibbling on some red berries; another was the timid rabbit-like creature he had caught before, which preferred the dense grass at the edge of the woods on the left, active mostly at dawn and dusk.

He also had to avoid dangerous areas: the giant serpent's territory straight ahead, and the terrifying insect nest beneath the cliff wall on the right. In the end, he chose the left edge of the woods, near a berry patch with relatively thick grass, as his first trap site. It was close to a water source (a small stream), rich in vegetation, an ideal activity area for small herbivores, and far from the insect nest, making it relatively safe.

The trap he designed was the simplest snare. The principle was to use the elasticity of a branch to instantly yank the noose tight, catching the prey's leg or neck. This required a flexible branch, tough rope, a sensitive trigger mechanism, and a fixed anchor point.

He found a low but highly resilient shrub in the yard, cut down a few branches as thick as a thumb and about a meter long, and bent them forcefully, feeling their strong rebound.

He used those same tough vine fibers, carefully twisting several ropes of even thickness and sufficient length.

This was the soul of the trap. He needed a small mechanism that would instantly release the tensed branch when the prey touched it. He tried several methods and finally used a Y-shaped twig and a thin cross-pin to create a simple balanced trigger. When the cross-pin was lightly knocked away, the Y-shaped twig lost its support, and the elastic branch would snap up instantly.

He needed a sturdy sapling or stump to anchor the other end of the trap.

All afternoon, he repeatedly practiced making and triggering the trap in the yard. He used stones to simulate prey, setting, triggering, and adjusting over and over. There were many failures: the rope knots came loose, the trigger was too sensitive (set off by wind or grass movement) or too sluggish (a stone pressing on it did nothing), the branch lacked enough spring...

Sweat soaked his clothes, and his fingers were blistered from the rough vines. But he didn't give up. Like an obsessive craftsman, he kept improving. He adjusted the knot-tying method, smoothed the contact surfaces of the trigger, and tested the elasticity of different branches. Failure, adjustment, failure again, adjustment again... until the sun set, he could finally make an effective snare trap skillfully and consistently.

The next morning, at the break of dawn, the roars of beasts outside had just subsided, and small animals were beginning to stir. Chen An knew the time had come.

He took a deep breath and checked his gear: a stone axe tucked at his waist, the trap components in his hands, and a long wooden spear with a sharpened tip (for self-defense and finishing off prey if necessary). He gently pushed open the courtyard gate. A wave of Primordial World air, mixed with morning dew and a faint, bloody scent, hit him, making his heart race instantly.

He was extremely alert, each step as light as a cat's, ears pricked to catch any faint sound. His eyes scanned like a radar, constantly sweeping the surrounding bushes and grass. It took him a full quarter of an hour to cover twenty meters.

Reaching the predetermined ambush point, he moved quickly. He chose a sapling as thick as a wrist as the anchor and tied one end of the vine rope firmly around it. Then, he forcefully bent the elastic branch nearly in half, carefully securing it with the trigger mechanism to hold its immense potential energy. Finally, he tied the other end of the vine into a noose, placed it above the trigger, the loop slightly open, and scattered a few berry-like baits he had brought from the yard (he had tasted them—non-toxic and slightly sweet) underneath.

The entire setup took less than three minutes, but his back was soaked with cold sweat. Every second outside the yard was filled with unknown danger. He gave the trap a final check, confirmed it was correct, then immediately crouched low and retreated to the courtyard gate at the fastest, lightest pace.

"Bang!" The moment the gate closed, he leaned against the door panel, panting heavily, as if he had just escaped the gates of hell.

The time that followed became a long, agonizing wait. He didn't dare stray far from the gate, peering through the cracks at the trap's direction every so often. Hope and fear intertwined. Hope that the trap would bring food, fear that it would attract something too big to handle.

Minutes ticked by. He saw a few small birds hopping on branches near the trap, a hedgehog-like creature slowly passing by, even sniffing at it, but not triggering the mechanism. Hope rose and fell, again and again.

In the afternoon, the sun grew scorching. Chen An began to feel discouraged, doubting whether his trap was too conspicuous or the bait unappealing. Just as he was about to give up hope for the day—

"Snap!" A crisp sound of the trigger mechanism came from afar!

Followed by the "whoosh" of a branch snapping up violently, then a flurry of panicked struggling and a short, desperate cry!

It worked!

Chen An's heart pounded wildly, blood rushing to his head. He forced down the urge to rush out immediately, instead carefully observing the surroundings to confirm no large predator had been attracted by the noise. He waited a few minutes. The area remained calm, the struggling sounds growing weaker and weaker.

He hesitated no longer. Gripping the wooden spear, he shoved the gate open and sprinted toward the trap.

Pushing aside the grass, he saw the trap's prize: a creature slightly larger than the last one, with gray-white fur, rabbit-like in shape, its hind leg tightly caught in the vine noose, dangling upside down from the sprung branch. It had stopped struggling, its body twitching faintly, its wide eyes filled with terror and despair.

A complex mix of joy, relief, and a faint sense of guilt washed over Chen An. Joy at success, relief at safety, guilt at taking a life. But he quickly shook his head, suppressing unnecessary emotions. Here, this was survival, not a game.

He stepped forward and ended its suffering cleanly with the wooden spear. Then, he quickly untied the noose, lifted the still-warm prey, glanced around warily, and hurried back into the small yard.

Closing the gate and sliding the bolt home, he leaned against the door panel, looking at the heavy prey in his hands, and finally let out a true sigh of relief. He had succeeded! For the first time, relying on his own wisdom and preparation, he had actively taken food from the Primordial World!

His skill in processing the prey had improved. He skinned it, removed the entrails (carefully keeping potentially useful parts like the heart and liver), and cut the meat into pieces. This time, he wasted nothing. The hide could be tanned for warmth or as a container, the bones could be used to make tools or weapons, and even the tough sinews he carefully collected, which might serve as bowstrings or binding material in the future.

That night, fresh meat roasted over the campfire, its aroma filling the air. Chen An ate the roasted meat and drank hot water, his heart brimming with an unprecedented sense of achievement. This wasn't just a successful hunt; it was a leap in mindset. He had begun to transform from a passive survivor entirely dependent on the Safe Zone's shelter into an active survivor who could use his environment and plan actions.

He stared at the dancing flames, his gaze firm. Traps would become a vital means of securing meat in the future. He needed to improve his trapping techniques, set up more varied and more concealed traps.

He was learning the laws of survival in the Primordial World, bit by bit, and trying to master them.

(End of Chapter 15)