If there's one thing worse than waking up as a rusty dagger, it's being displayed like a cheap souvenir under the scorching sun.
I lay there on a splintered wooden plank, surrounded by other equally pathetic daggers, my new roommates. We were all lined up at the front of the weapon shop,m and baking like metallic breads. A crooked sign dangled over us:
"1 Copper Each: No Refunds."
Wow. That's humiliating, a bargain-bin level I didn't even know existed. Not only was I worthless, I was non-refundable. Talk about emotional damage.
Beside me, a chipped knife groaned.
"Another hot day, huh?"
I would've rolled my eyes if I had any.
Instead, I lay there, unable to move, unable to scream, unable to cool down as the sun slowly cooked me like a pan left on high heat.
Is this my arc? For real? I dream of becoming a hero's weapon, and I end up as… outdoor décor? When reincarnation gone wrong. Ugh. It sucks.
The day dragged on painfully slow until something snapped me out of my existential rust-spiral.
A commotion. I heard shouts, the thumbing of boots and harsh orders barked by deep voices.
And then I heard screaming. Not hunan scream yet painfully familiar.
My attention shot toward the sound, not physically, because again, no neck, no body, no freedom but something in me focused.
Down the street, dust rising in chaotic clouds, I saw them:
A family of small, green-skinned being being dragged by two armored men.
Goblins.
The mother fought against the soldiers, claws scraping the dirt, throat ripping out desperate pleas in a language I couldn't understand but every emotion slammed into me like what mothers usually do.
She wasn't begging for mercy or begging for herself. She was begging for her children.
One was a tiny girl, maybe ten. She cried nonstop, tiny fists beating the soldier's arm as he dragged her like a broken doll. The other was a boy who was older, maybe fifteen. He was silent, stiff, eyes sharp despite the bruises on his face.
And when his gaze swept across the marketplace, he looked straight at me. Straight at the rusty, worthless dagger lying under the sun.
My world paused.
I didn't breathe though I'm not sure if I actually did have lungs. I didn't blink despite not having eyes but something in the boy's eyes struck me like a lightning bolt. Like a spark so familiar and yet kind of dangerous but alive.
He was seeing me, yes me not the rust or the cracks. Me.
And in that moment, something clicked inside me so hard I swear I felt my metal vibrate.
This boy…This silent goblin boy…
He felt like a protagonist, no, he felt like my protagonist.
My weapon-sense, my newly awakened dagger-instinct, or maybe the leftover developer intuition inside me whispered:
"That one. That boy..He's your wielder."
Since waking up as scrap metal…I felt hope, a small, rusty, pathetic hope. But I don't care because it was still hope.
The goblin boy still kept staring at me..For a moment, I forgot how useless I was.
For a moment, I felt… chosen.
Come on, kid, I begged inside my metal skull. I'm literally worth one copper. I'm the discount of all discounts. Buy me. Pick me. TAKE ME. I'll take anyone at this point, just give me a chance!
His gaze didn't waver.
He didn't blink. He didn't look away.
Those sharp, dark eyes were locked onto me like he was trying to read something carved inside my blade.
He sees me. He actually sees me.
Something hot like pride started burning inside the cold iron of my core.
Maybe this world wasn't going to abandon me after all. Maybe destiny was-
"HURRY UP!"
The human knight's voice ripped through the air like a whip. He yanked the leash tied around the boy's neck, jerking him forward so hard the kid stumbled onto his hands and knees.
The little girl shrieked. The mother tried to bite the soldier holding her back.
I wanted to scream..Every developer instinct in me roared. Every piece of rusty metal in my tiny body rattled.
Let go of him! Don't touch him! He's just a kid!
But all that came out was the silent clink of metal as a breeze brushed over me.
The boy struggled to stand again, dust clinging to his bruised arms. But even as he was pulled, dragged, treated like livestock, he kept looking at me.
Even when he was forced forward…Even when he fell again…Even when he vanished behind the crowd…
His eyes never left mine until the last second. When the knight jerked him so hard he disappeared into the shadows beyond the street, swallowed by the approaching night.
And just like that; my hope died. I guessed I'll be stuck here until I corroded away.
–
As always for the past weeks, the sunlight dimmed. The marketplace noise blurred.
Everything inside me sank like a corrupted file crashing mid-save.
That was it, I thought numbly. My wielder. My one chance. Gone.
I lay there, still, silent, a useless piece of metal on a forgotten shelf as the sky turned dark.
I'm just a rusted dagger worth one copper. Worth even less.
Days passed… Or maybe weeks again. Time was hard to track when you were a glorified metal weight roasting under the sun like a cheap kebab.
I lay there on my wooden plank, rusting away molecule by molecule, while life in the marketplace kept moving in loud, cruel, indifferent.
Every morning, knights walked past, dragging chains behind them. Not empty chains, yeah never empty.
Some days it was orcs, bruised and limping, their massive bodies forced into submission. Some days it was beastfolk, their ears lowered, their tails dragging, and their eyes were hollow. Once, I even saw elves being marched through, their wrists bound, their elegant ears torn just to humiliate them.
And every time, humans spat at them. Aimed kicks at them. Mocked them.
Used them like props in their sick little power fantasy.
It was like watching every villain stereotype I had ever coded come to life, except this time, they weren't villains.
They were victims.
And the knights, the soldiers, the humans, the so-called heroes, were the ones treating them like trash.
If I still had a heart, it would've cracked.
This… this is exactly why I made Goblin's POV, I thought bitterly as another beastman collapsed from exhaustion and was dragged like a sack of grain.
This is why I built a game where monsters weren't just EXP drops, where they had voices, motives, families… where someone, ANYONE would finally say:
"Stop."
But here? In this world? Nobody said it. Nobody even wanted to try.
People watched from a distance, pretending not to notice. Children giggled as if cruelty was entertainment. Shopkeepers leaned over their counters to get a better look. The knights carried on proudly, as if dragging chained Beings was part of their morning exercise routine.
The only one who ever looked at me with anything other than indifference…was the goblin boy. And he was gone.
The sun rose and set. My hope was slowly dying. The rust crept deeper into my cracks. Every clang of a chain made my metal ache in ways I didn't know metal could ache.
I was supposed to be a legendary sword, a weapon meant to shift destinies. Instead, I was a sun-baked, forgotten dagger worth one copper.
And still…
Some stubborn part of me, the some leftover spark from my developer soul burned quietly:
One day… somehow… I'll say it.
I'll say "stop" for them.
Even if I'm nothing but rust right now.
Because if nobody else would, then I would. Even if I had to do it as a tiny, useless dagger.