The Druid Who Devoured the Great Nature

“Your breakfast order.”

I had splurged on room service.

After factory slop that barely qualified as food, this was my first real meal since waking up in this world.

The extravagance was worth it.

“Mhm.”

But I’d overlooked one thing.

I had forgotten what a normal meal in this world tasted like.

“…Feels like I’m chewing rubber.”

The meat was fine.

This was an actual cut of meat—no insect cubes disguised as protein—grilled and seasoned properly.

The problem was the salad on the side.

“What is this supposed to be?”

I couldn’t even identify the vegetable.

The leaves were brittle, limp, with a leathery texture.

A casualty of this world’s barren nature.

Here, vegetables were harder to come by than meat.

“Can’t you do something about this?”

The World Tree scratched its stem with a leaf, as though embarrassed.

I sighed. I hadn’t really expected a miracle anyway.

‘So much for fresh greens from now on.’

Not every vegetable was like this, of course.

With enough money, one could buy high-quality produce—the kind only the upper class enjoyed.

But at those prices, I couldn’t afford more than a taste.

‘Which reminds me—I need income.’

The first problem was already looming: my lodging.

This hotel was considered “reasonably priced,” but not for someone like me.

The overseer’s stolen wallet would last a week at best.

‘That’s the first urgent issue.’

Without money, survival was impossible.

Restoring nature was a long-term goal, but this was an immediate one.

‘…Should I head to the Mage Tower?’

The Tower paid handsomely.

So long as results were produced, they funded all sorts of absurd research.

In many past runs, they had supported me generously.

But now?

I shook my head.

The entry requirements were strict.

With no magic skills, I’d be turned away at the door.

‘And ordinary work won’t cut it either.’

Unless I joined a stable corporation, it would barely keep food on the table.

And that left no room for my true mission—to revive nature.

‘Even the mayoral route is out.’

Politics required noble blood—or the equivalent.

A factory-born commoner like me would need nothing short of revolution.

‘Too early to decide. For now…’

I set aside my plate.

The salad had been disappointing, but compared to factory gruel, the meal was more than satisfying.

‘I’ll gather information first.’

Charging in blindly would only end in failure.

Better to take a slower, more certain path.

In my old world, the easiest way to get information was the internet.

But here, the net served corporations more than individuals—more advertising board than knowledge hub.

To find real information, one had to use traditional means: libraries, informants, private investigators.

‘The library’s useless.’

I’d scoured them in previous runs. Nothing new would turn up now.

‘And informants… too expensive.’

Especially for knowledge on the World Tree. Who knew how much gold that would cost?

So, how to get what I needed?

I chose a shortcut.

Step, step.

Even in a glittering downtown, there were always back alleys.

A street where broken lamps flickered fitfully, where trash crunched underfoot, where crumbling walls loomed over abandoned houses.

The city’s noise seemed distant here.

Only the wind’s whisper and the squeak of rats were close at hand.

Though mere minutes from the main street, it felt like another world entirely.

I moved through it like someone who’d walked it many times before.

‘Around here, I think.’

After twisting through a maze of alleys, I found what I was looking for.

It looked like a public phone booth.

Abandoned, unlit, covered in dust—just like the derelict houses around it.

I glanced around, then stepped inside.

Brushing dust from the machine’s surface, I placed my hand on it.

Crackle!

‘Good. It works.’

I had no magic spells, but I wasn’t without mana.

By forcing it through my fingertips, I roused the machine.

‘A Mage Tower information relay.’

A relic of fused magic and technology—an “OOPArt.”

Each city had a few hidden spots like this, activated only by mana.

But not just anyone could use it.

With the right ID and password, one could access the Tower’s archives.

‘And luckily…’

I entered an ID I knew would be active around this era.

A so-called “senior” mage who had joined the Tower at this time.

I knew it because… well, because I’d cleaned him up.

Like most mages, he’d been an insufferable egotist.

I’d wanted to kill him anyway. In hindsight, that had worked out.

Vrrrm.

The interface flickered to life, casting pale light into the dingy booth.

I typed in one word: World Tree.

‘…Pathetic.’

For all its speed, the search produced barely a page of results.

It was enough to trigger a flag, but only just.

‘Still, I should be grateful.’

For a Mage Tower archive, this much was already generous.

The public libraries hadn’t even mentioned the World Tree once.

I skimmed quickly through the results.

Using someone else’s ID meant I had no time to linger.

Best to finish before I was detected.

‘Nothing solid here.’

Most of it was worthless.

Legends, myths, symbolism—things I already knew by common sense.

Even the World Tree itself rustled its leaves in boredom.

Tap, tap.

‘Hm?’

That was when the World Tree brushed against a single line.

Puzzled, I shifted my gaze.

“…‘Fundamentally connected to spirits’?”

「The World Tree nods its stem, saying it remembers now.」

Its reaction to my spoken words was dramatic.

At last, something new—information I hadn’t known.

That the World Tree drew its strength from spirits.

Just one line, but enough to make it priceless.

‘Spirits…?’

Like the World Tree itself, I’d never known they even existed in this world.

But with the Tree’s confirmation, there was no doubt.

Which made things complicated.

‘So where am I supposed to find spirits?’

Across all my playthroughs, I had never once encountered one.

Odd, in hindsight.

A fantasy setting with not a single mention of spirits.

‘This has to be the growth condition.’

If they were the source of the World Tree’s power, then it was certain.

It fit perfectly with my mission to restore and revive nature.

Spirits—just the name reeked of a connection to the natural world.

I had to seek them out, gather them.

Crackle!

“Ugh.”

Just as I was about to search further, sparks leapt from the machine.

Even the World Tree wasn’t spared.

「The World Tree whimpers, shaking the leaf that caught a spark.」

I blew gently to cool it, giving a wry smile.

“…Looks like I’ve been caught.”

The connection had been forcibly severed.

Whether the original ID-holder had logged in, or the system had flagged unauthorized access—it didn’t matter.

I wouldn’t be using it again anytime soon.

‘It’s fine. I got the key I needed.’

Spirits.

I hadn’t learned the details, but the discovery itself was a major step.

‘And I did notice something else.’

The paper that mentioned spirits had a citation.

I remembered the name clearly.

‘Greenwood.’

Not unfamiliar.

In fact, surprising to see it here.

I left the booth, mulling over the memory.

In this world, environmental groups existed—not too many, not too few.

They were hounded, branded as nuisances, forced to work in the shadows like secret societies.

Still, in every city, there were at least a handful.

I knew them well, having partnered with some in past runs.

Greenwood was one of those groups.

‘Though I never worked with them directly.’

Most organizations had been hollow shells—empty slogans with no bite.

So I’d ignored them.

‘But Greenwood was different.’

They weren’t afraid to use force.

Not that it gave them much influence.

Compared to other hobby-club-tier groups, though, they were financially stable.

Where they drew that money from, I had no idea.

‘Strange, very strange.’

Now, I regretted never contacting them.

Back then, I’d had titles, positions, status.

But as I was now, tailing them would be a struggle.

‘Still, a lead’s a lead.’

A sign swung in the breeze, marking a boundary.

「District 3, Block 5 begins here.」

On the edge of downtown, this area was more remote.

Buildings weren’t run-down, but neither did they glitter like the neon-drenched city center.

Even the people felt different.

Most covered their faces, skulking like petty criminals.

‘The air’s thick here.’

It was geography.

A little farther, and you reached District 4—“Junk Town,” a lawless zone.

Outlaws made it their home, living by money and muscle.

District 3’s Block 5 was the funnel between downtown and that den of rogues.

A neutral ground, where corporations and politicians quietly cut deals in the shadows.

Safer than Junk Town itself, but still avoided by decent folk.

The atmosphere couldn’t be more different from downtown.

‘This should be it.’

I stopped before a shabby storefront.

Its signboard was half-broken, letters barely legible.

People came and went through the door, none of them respectable.

‘Right place.’

I stepped inside.

To my surprise, the interior was like a proper café.

A stark contrast to the grim exterior.

Crossing the quiet room, I saw only one man—an employee slouched with his feet on a table.

Not unusual here.

“Hey.”

I nudged him.

“…What?”

“I’m looking for work.”

“We’re not hiring.”

He yawned, brushing me off with a lazy wave.

“Are you crazy? Want to work in this neighborhood? Go back downtown if you wanna live long.”

He was trying to shoo me like a fly.

As he closed his eyes again, I added one more line.

“Not odd jobs. I heard there’s real money to be made.”

“…Ah. So you’re that kind of customer.”

The man froze mid-motion, then smirked.

“Back door, upstairs. What you want’s up there.”

I followed his directions up the stairs.

The upper floor was different altogether.

Shuttered windows, dim lamps even in broad daylight, furniture reeking of strong liquor.

The ceiling fan rattled loudly overhead.

On one wall hung a massive corkboard.

I was halfway across the room when a deep voice stopped me.

“…A face I don’t know. Did Jack send you up?”

A middle-aged man with a well-groomed beard.

An old scar across his brow lent him a sharp, intimidating air.

His neat suit and slicked-back gray hair would have fit an executive’s office better than this place.

“If the guy downstairs is Jack, then yes.”

“…I’ve told him countless times not to send up strays. He never listens.”

The man sighed, then fixed me with a piercing look.

“If you don’t know what this place is, leave now. I’ll forgive it once. But never come back.”

“No need to worry.”

I resumed my steps.

“I know it’s a contractor’s office.”

He gave a heavy nod.

“…So you’re not just some outsider. From another city, then?”

“Something like that.”

A contractor’s office.

Mercenaries for hire.

A bloody line of work.

But one I had no choice but to enter.

‘And one of their contracts mentioned Greenwood.’

Which meant, somewhere in this place, lay the lead I needed.

(End of Chapter)