After Chloe left, Ethan wasted no time.
Three days might sound like plenty, but when your life is on the line, every hour suddenly feels razor-thin. The system's warning echoed in his skull—failure meant death. That was enough to keep him sharp and restless.
He started by gathering tools from the back room of the internet café. Pliers, wrenches, hammers, even a bent old shovel—everything went into the storage ring. It wasn't elegant, but it was better than being caught unprepared. Then, after a quick trip down the street, he broke open a garage lock and rented out four brand-new electric bike batteries. Those too vanished into the storage space, solving his transport problem before it could even start.
Ethan leaned against the counter afterward, pulled out a scrap of paper, and began sketching a rough treasure map. The system's radar in his head blinked and pulsed with more signals than ever before, a constant storm of glowing markers. Thousands of them. It was overwhelming at first, but as he drew, the chaos became manageable.
The DC district lit up the brightest. The signals there clustered thick, almost stacked on top of each other. It was farther from the café, sure, but once he got there, he could sweep up a haul in no time. His plan was simple—hit DC, then swing north, where four or five more bright spots waited along the way back.
"Alright," Ethan muttered. He locked up the café, double-checked his backpack out of habit, and jumped on his electric bike.
Night air cut sharp against his face as he gunned the throttle. The city was half-asleep, its streets empty and lit only by the faint orange glow of streetlights. Ethan felt alive in that emptiness. The risk, the speed, the thrill of chasing treasure—it beat any late-night gaming session by miles.
Half an hour later, he rolled into DC and got to work.
The system didn't lie; treasures came fast. He uncovered bracelets, watches, even a wad of banknotes stuffed in a forgotten alley crack. One of his biggest finds came behind the red-light strip on Holloway Street: a leather handbag. The system's scan told him it was a genuine limited-edition luxury piece—worth thousands brand-new. Ethan whistled low and shoved it into the ring before anyone could notice.
The task bar in his head crept upward—5/8, 6/8, 7/8. He only needed one more treasure to finish.
Not every signal was worth chasing, though. Some blinked stubbornly from the bottom of the river, out of reach unless he sprouted gills. Others flickered inside public toilets. Ethan wasn't about to dig through piss-soaked floors for the promise of a shiny coin.
Still, with every signal, he got sharper. He could now tell from the pulse whether a treasure was near or far, and from the brightness, he could estimate its quality. Most so far were just low-level. The system counted things strangely—luxury goods like the LV handbag barely ranked, while a plain silver bracelet earlier had registered as a Level 2 treasure.
"Real gold and silver," Ethan muttered, pedaling hard. "That's what it values most."
When DC finally ran dry, he turned north, following his map. That's when frustration struck: every glowing signal in that direction came from the moat.
The city's old moat was wide and deep, a relic from centuries ago. Ten meters down in places, black water sloshed sluggish and cold. Ethan couldn't swim to save his life. Diving into that was basically suicide.
Grinding his teeth, he shifted west and rode slowly along the moat. Dawn threatened the horizon, the sky paling into gray, and exhaustion tugged at his shoulders. He was already rehearsing excuses to Chloe if he failed.
Then—flash.
A signal on his radar jumped, brighter than any so far. Not just bright—blinding. And unlike the rest, it wasn't in the middle of the river. It pulsed from the mudflat along the bank.
Ethan's heart kicked. He braked hard, skidding to a stop on the uneven path, and sprinted toward the stinking river beach. Garbage crunched under his boots. The mud sucked at his feet, foul and sticky, but he didn't care.
Half a meter down, the radar told him.
He yanked the shovel free from his storage ring and dug fast, mud spraying around him in wet arcs. Within minutes, he hit something solid. Dropping the shovel, Ethan clawed the dirt with bare hands until he pulled free a heavy lump caked in black sludge.
The system chimed immediately."Congratulations. You have discovered a Level 3 treasure—an Obsidian Writing Slate. Crafted in 1570, once belonging to European nobility. Cultural relic. Significant historical value."
Ethan's breath caught."A Level 3… treasure?"
He turned the lump over in his hands. It looked like nothing but mud. But the system's voice was never wrong. This was the real deal.
Before he could clean it, his vision flared with fireworks."Congratulations. The second mission is complete. System upgrade in progress. You have earned three points plus ten bonus points. Total points: 20."
A progress bar filled across his mind's eye. When it hit the end, the voice returned, louder, sharper."System upgrade complete. Store function unlocked. Historical plane access unlocked. Rewards incoming—three treasures, randomly selected."
Ethan barely had time to react before the first one dropped—literally."First prize: Level 1 treasure. Armani suit, custom fit."
A flash of light, and a brand-new designer suit materialized—right into the mud. No plastic, no bag, nothing. Just straight into the filth.
"No, no, no—!" Ethan swore, diving to scoop it up. The sight of it lying there, soaking in slime, stabbed him straight in the chest. He shoved it into the storage ring before the damage got worse, along with the still-dirty Obsidian Slate.
"Second prize: Five Translation Cards. Usable items. Translate any human language. Duration limited. Cards appear directly in the store interface."
Ethan's eyes flicked to the new glowing "Store" tab in the system. Translation across worlds? That could be priceless later. But before he could explore it—
"Third prize: Level 8 sci-fi weapon. All-terrain tank."
Ethan froze. The words rang in his head like thunder."Wait… what?"
A tank? A real, actual tank?
For a long moment, he just stood there on the muddy riverbank, clutching dirty hands and shaking with adrenaline. Then, slowly, a grin tugged across his face.
"Oh," he whispered, almost laughing. "Now we're talking."
(End of Chapter 6)