Tom stepped out from the broken shelter once the sky had cleared. His leg felt better now, the herb's effect still lingering. He stretched it carefully, tested his weight, and nodded to himself. "Good. I can walk properly again."
His mind, however, was heavy. Those bandits were armed with plasma rifles and tools that looked far ahead of even modern weapons. High technology, far beyond his rusted dagger. If such people roamed freely, then he was nothing more than prey wandering in their hunting ground.
Tom called up his screen. The familiar blue glow shimmered before his eyes, and he searched for the Forge tab. A list appeared, words scrolling with a faint hum.
[ Craftable Weapons ]
– Wooden Club (Requirements Pending)
– Bone Knife (Requirements Pending)
– Steel Sword (Requirements Pending)
His eyes locked on the last one. A steel sword. Solid, reliable, balanced. Something he could actually fight with, unlike the dull dagger resting at his waist.
He tapped the option, and another window popped up.
[ Steel Sword Requirements ]
–15 Iron Ore
–2 Leather Straps
–1 Binding Core (Any Quality)
–10 Coal
[ Current Materials: 0 ]
Tom sighed. His chest sank, but at the same time, he couldn't look away. The screen shimmered once again, telling him that strength wasn't unreachable, it was only a matter of collecting, gathering, shaping.
He thought back to Vera's trident. How casually the man had pulled it from his slot, its jade edges gleaming under the moonlight, cutting through the bandits as if their weapons meant nothing. Compared to that, Tom's empty hands stung with shame.
"I need a weapon," Tom whispered. "I can't keep running. I can't always rely on others."
His mind sparked with memories. The boy who turned into slime, Grace struggling with her Face, Elior trying to keep peace, and Azmaik thirsting for power. Everyone was being pushed. Everyone was changing either willingly or forcefully.... for survival. The world wasn't waiting for him to catch up.
The glowing recipe lingered on his screen as if staring back at him, daring him to try. He closed it slowly and exhaled. "Fifteen iron ores, leather, coal… a core. Where do I even start?"
His hand went to the pocket where the rune rested. Its faint yellow glow warmed his fingertips, as though reminding him that he wasn't empty-handed.
He still carried something mysterious. Something that could mean more than he yet understood.
Tom pulled his cloak tighter and began walking again across the cracked land. Each step popped with a single thought. Gather, Forge, Survive.
The world would not hand him power. He had to build it with his own hands and .... this sword would be the first step.
Tom adjusted the strap of his cloak as the thought hit him of those bandits. Before Vera had cut them down, one of them had shouted about taking him to their mine. At first, it felt like just another threat, a place to enslave captives. But now…
He opened his menu, eyes tracing the glowing lines of the map. His pulse quickened.
There is the route to the Endless Black Ocean, veins across the wasteland. The marked path was long, winding, designed to bleed away time. But then his gaze slid toward a jagged mark drawn in faint red. A shortcut.
The path cut straight through a rocky gorge, then split open into a cavern icon. Beside it, faint letters shimmered. Ore Deposit. Unverified.
Tom blinked. His lips parted. "A mine… there's actually a mine here!"
Was it the same one the bandits controlled? His chest flattened with unease, but also a flare of excitement. If it was, then perhaps the very things he needed iron, coal, leather from their storage it could be taken there. It was dangerous, far too dangerous to even consider.
Yet the screen had given him a recipe, and the mine stood like an answer laid in his path.
He clenched his fists. Do I really have the time?
The shortcut meant he could reach the Endless Black Ocean faster than expected. But entering that cavern might cost him days or his life. He thought of Vera's words, that challenge to meet at the finish line. Of Grace's frightened face as she discovered her own terrifying power. Of Elior holding together a group already fracturing under greed.
If he came to the Ocean without power, without a weapon, he'd be nothing more than another weakling swallowed whole by the night.
He stared at the red mark until his breath grew shallow. The map flickered faintly, as though daring him to choose.
Finally, Tom whispered to himself, "That mine… it has to be the same one. And if it is, then it might decide whether I survive or not."
The thought both thrilled and chilled him. His steps carried him forward, deeper into the wasteland, eyes fixed on the horizon where jagged silhouettes hinted at the gorge.
Somewhere beyond those broken ridges, the bandits' mine waited.
Also, Tom could not tell if it would give him strength… or take everything away. He kept walking further. The night was still, like heaven. Felt like time stopped flowing.
Going straight at the edge of an area,
Tom suddenly stopped in front of a large wall.
It was taller than any house he had ever seen, black stone rising into the sky. Iron spikes lined the top, sharp and cruel. One wrong move, and they would tear him apart.
He stepped closer, pressing his palm against the cold surface. Too high to climb without thinking. Too risky to jump. He needed a plan.
Tom crouched, looking around. The ground was rough, broken with rubble and cracks. On the left side, a broken tree leaned close to the wall. Its trunk was dry, but thick enough to hold weight.
He nodded to himself. "That's it."
He dragged some loose stones, stacking them near the tree to make the base higher. Every sound rang in the still night, making him nervous, but he kept working. Sweat rolled down his neck.
When the stones were ready, he climbed the tree slowly. The bark cut into his hands, but he didn't stop. Higher and higher until the top branches touched the wall.
The spikes glinted above. Tom took a breath. He pulled off his cloak and wrapped it tight around the sharp ends. Then, with care, he placed one hand on the covered spike, then another.
It worked. No cuts. No blood.
He moved across, balancing himself like a tightrope walker. The night wind pushed against him, but he bit his lip, forcing his body steady. Step by step, he crossed the deadly line of iron.
Finally, he swung down the other side, landing on the dirt with a thud.
Tom sat for a moment, catching his breath. His heart was still racing, but he smiled faintly.
"One border crossed," he whispered, standing back up. "Many more to go."
Some grime still clung to his shirt and face, yet he let it be. A little dirt didn't matter anymore.
He walked forward, slow steps on the empty path. His thoughts grew heavier with each stride.
Why was he here? Why were all of them thrown into this strange world?
The System gave them quests, rules, faces to inherit. But for what? Entertainment? Punishment? A trial of some kind?
He remembered waking up in that white marble chamber with no name, no memory. Then the screen had called him "Tom Greyrat." It felt less like a gift and more like a leash like someone else was writing his story for him.
His eyes lowered. "Is this really me… or just another mask?"
The night air was quiet, yet the silence pressed hard on him. He thought of Grace back in the plaza. The way she had looked frightened, unsure of herself, even with that powerful Face. She, too, was trapped in the same cage. And Elior, calm but carrying a burden he never spoke aloud.
Everyone had their reasons to fight. Everyone had their fears.
But Tom's chest ached with a different weight. A memory he didn't have. A home he couldn't recall. Maybe.... somewhere.... somewhen.... he had a family, a life, a reason to laugh. Now it was gone, like smoke in the wind.
"I need to know the truth," he whispered, voice trembling. "Not just about this game… but about myself. My real world. My real home."
His pace quickened. The desert was wide, the broken moon above scattering faint silver light across the sand. He held the rune in his pocket, feeling its smooth edge, as if it might answer him one day.
No matter how long this nightmare lasted, no matter what horror the next night brought, he swore he would find the purpose behind it all.
Even if the answer was cruel.
Even if the truth shattered him.