CHAPTER 170: CHAPTER-170

Then there was the mermaid matter.

The flyers had finally been sent to the Mermaid tribe—each carrying a leaf instead of a letter. But not just any leaf. On it was a detailed diagram—one drawn with such accuracy that it might as well have been a portrait. Kaya’s face stared out from the leaf, her eyes unblinking, lips in a flat line, and that commanding expression that made even seasoned warriors hesitate.

When the leaf reached the mermaid tribe, panic spread faster than ripples on the ocean. The younger mermaids shrieked and swam for cover. Even their revered master, known for his calm wisdom, scowled darkly before crushing the leaf in his hand with a frustrated huff.

Still, grudgingly—he sent the salt back, bundled neatly in seaweed as an offering.

The first time they received their salt on time, no one questioned anything. No one cared where Kaya got it from, and frankly, no one dared to. The workers didn’t even care what kind of house she was having built. They were just glad to be working. After all, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to accept them.

Thanks to Kaya—though none of them would say it out loud—they were getting three to four meals a day. That alone was enough to keep them in line and working. Their stomachs were full, their hands busy, and their minds quiet.

They already had enough food and basic supplies. And now, with the salt finally accounted for, their work was officially complete. In just forty days, the wooden and stone houses stood tall. The Fox Tribe, true to their word, packed up and took their leave without a word of complaint.

Everything had gone smoothly. Suspiciously smoothly.

Kaya stood in front of the houses, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The structures were solid—sturdy wood, tightly fit stones, weather-sealed seams. Beautiful work.

But completely empty.

Not a single bed, chair, or even a stool inside. Just cold floors and colder walls.

Kaya narrowed her eyes.

She was not going to sleep on the ground like a half-dead traveler. Especially not in the middle of winter. The winds were shifting, the air already colder than yesterday. Cutie had warned her that winter in the wilds didn’t arrive politely—it slammed down like a hammer. No slow descent. No gradual breeze.

Just snow. Cold. Silence.

The beastmen, accustomed to the climate, didn’t seem to notice the drop in temperature. But Kaya did. She wasn’t raised in a den or a cave. She knew comfort, and she wasn’t going to freeze in her own house just to play the humble savage.

So she gave her orders.

Beds. Chairs. Firewood. Storage racks.

"Make them. I don’t care how."

Then she sent Cutie and Vayu along with a few flyers to the Sheep Tribe with one clear command: "Wool. As much as they have. Take it, trade for it, beg for it—I don’t care how. Just bring it."

And with that, her winter plan began.

Over time, Kaya hadn’t exactly stopped talking to Cutie... she’d just started talking less. It wasn’t out of coldness — more like the kind of silence that settles in when one’s hands are too full to carry words. Between measuring wood planks with nothing but her eyes and reorganizing fur stockpiles while mentally calculating how many mouths she had to feed this winter, conversation had become something she postponed rather than avoided. And not just with Cutie. With everyone.

She spoke when needed — direct, clear, with no time to spare for fluff. But she was there, always moving. Always doing. That was Kaya.

Seven days before winter truly sank its teeth into the earth, everything was—miraculously—ready.

And that’s when the Nikala beastmen looked around and collectively had a brain-freeze moment.

First, the beds.

"W-what is this?" one of them asked, patting the fluffy surface suspiciously, like it might purr or bite.

They weren’t prepared. These were people who had been sleeping on dry grass their whole lives. The concept of elevation while sleeping was foreign enough. Add in soft wool-stuffed mattresses, and they were baffled. A few even jumped a little when they sat down, expecting maybe a trap, maybe an explosion. Nope. Just comfort.

Thick blankets. Study beds. Real roofs that didn’t sigh with every gust of wind. One beastman sat with a slack jaw for ten minutes, gently squishing the mattress with both hands as if trying to understand how softness could exist like this without magic.

Kaya had also taken the time to distribute half of the food supplies to every house. As for the living arrangements, she left it entirely up to the beastmen—who wanted to live with whom was none of her concern. One thing, however, was certain: Kaya would live alone. With no one.

Each house had its own simple structure. Instead of a proper kitchen, there was a small enclosed room. Off to the side sat a stove—built from packed mud and a smooth sliding stone. But Kaya’s house was different. Very different.

The moment one stepped into her home, it felt like walking into a modern dwelling—quiet, clean, and far too refined for this wild place. And yet, despite all her efforts, Kaya was far from satisfied.

There was one major problem. The floor.

Her shoes had already worn out, and she no longer wore her usual pair. Now, she walked around in crude sandals made from braided grass—thin, fragile, and terribly uncomfortable against the cold earth. The chill of the ground seeped through them every time she stepped down. It made her restless.

She wanted to cover the entire floor with wood—build a neat paneling all around. A smooth, warm layer between her feet and the biting cold. But she didn’t want anyone else inside her house. That was non-negotiable.

The real issue was shaping the wood. She had no machine to cut it precisely, no tools to sand it down. How was she supposed to make it flat, make it shine, make it soft enough to walk on without splinters?