The sound of claws scraping against ceramic ceased.
Silence.
That meant it was close.
I held my breath behind a stack of instant noodle boxes. In my right hand, gripped tight, was the only weapon available in this logistics warehouse: a rusty can opener.
Market Value: Zero.
Durability: Low.
Killing Potential: Depends on where you stab.
In the old world—the one that collapsed an hour ago when the sky turned purple—I was a warehouse manager. My job was ensuring goods flowed in and out with maximum efficiency.
In this new world, the principles remained the same. Only the commodities had changed.
Crack.
The metal shelf in front of me shuddered. A rat's head appeared. It was the size of a bulldog, its blistering skin dripping green pus, its eyes a blind, milky red.
[Mutated Sewer Rat - Lvl 2]
It sniffed the air. It smelled my sweat.
Its leg muscles coiled, ready to pounce.
I didn't wait. In business, whoever moves first corners the market.
I kicked an empty box straight at its face.
Crash!
Startled, the rat shredded the cardboard to pieces. An opening appeared.
I vaulted from my hiding spot. Not to run, but to close the distance. I slammed the can opener into its soft eye with everything I had.
Squelch.
Black fluid sprayed across my face. The rat shrieked, its body convulsing wildly. I didn't stop. I pinned it to the floor with my body weight and stabbed again. And again. Until it stopped moving.
Brutal efficiency.
[You have killed Mutated Sewer Rat - Lvl 2]
[Exp +10]
I slumped back, chest heaving. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Then, a Golden notification materialized, blocking my vision.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: FIRST KILL WITH TRASH]
[Evaluating User Potential...]
[Class Acquired: SOUL FORGER]
[Unique Trait: INFINITE GRIMOIRE unlocked]
My world shifted.
A thick, black leather-bound book fell into my lap. It was heavy, cold, and smelled of old scrap metal.
When I touched it, I didn't feel magic. I felt... a database.
My eyes fell upon the rat carcass before me.
Strangely, I didn't see blood or flesh. I saw a price tag.
[Corpse: Mutated Rat]
[Condition: Poor]
[Forgeable]
My hand moved on its own, guided by a strange new instinct. I pressed my palm against the corpse.
There was no holy light. Just a wet, slurping sound.
The rat carcass was sucked into the book, dismantling into black particles. The floor was left spotless. No waste.
On the first page of the Grimoire, a card appeared.
[ITEM: BONE SPIKE]
[RANK: COMMON]
[EFFECT: Thrown bone shard. Low damage. Bleeding effect.]
I stared at the card. Mediocre. Trash, even.
But my eyes caught the fine print in the bottom corner.
[Drop Rate: 100% (Trait Active)]
I fell silent.
In the real world, effort rarely equaled output. You could work hard and still end up poor. Luck variables always messed up the plan.
But this trait... this is a guarantee.
No probabilities. No "maybe."
One corpse. One unit of stock. Certainty.
I looked toward the dark warehouse aisle. The sound of squeaking returned. Many of them. Maybe ten, maybe twenty.
To anyone else, that was a death sentence.
To anyone else, that was the apocalypse.
The corner of my lip curled up.
I didn't see them as monsters.
I saw them as inventory packages.
"Let's harvest," I whispered.
Fifteen minutes later, the warehouse was silent.
I sat leaning against a rack, wiping black blood from my sleeve. My breathing was heavy, my stamina near zero, but I was alive.
Twenty dead rats.
Twenty corpses Forged.
I opened the Grimoire. The pages were packed. Turning them felt physically heavy, as if the weight of the corpses was stored within the paper.
15 Cards [Rat Claw].
5 Cards [Bone Spike].
"Messy," I complained. "Poor inventory management."
I tried to organize the pages. My fingers slid one [Rat Claw] card over another, intending to save space.
Suddenly, the book vibrated in my hands.
The cards didn't stack. They pulled at each other, like magnets meeting opposite poles. A low hum resonated from the paper fibers.
[Duplicate Concepts Detected]
[Fuse?]
My eyes narrowed at the notification.
The system offered a solution before I even asked. Logical. If you accumulate identical goods in one place, you don't leave them scattered. You package them.
"Fuse."
The ten [Rat Claw] cards on the page liquefied. Silver fluid swirled on the paper, absorbing one another, before solidifying into a single new card.
The frame changed color. From White (Common) to Green (Uncommon).
[ITEM: SHREDDER GLOVES]
[RANK: UNCOMMON]
[EFFECT: Gauntlets with steel talons. +5 Strength. Armor Penetration.]
"An upgrade," I said. "Raw materials turned into a finished product."
I equipped the gloves. They felt right on my skin, as if they had grown from my hands. The claws were cold, sharp, and hungry.
I had just leveled up. From victim to predator.
Suddenly, the warehouse floor trembled.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Cans of sardines fell from the shelves. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.
From the darkness of the loading dock, a pair of yellow eyes ignited high above the ground.
The monster stepped into the emergency lighting.
It was a wolf. But its skin wasn't fur.
Its hide was made of rusted iron plates growing through flesh. Its tail was a spinning motorcycle chain. Its teeth were jagged scrap metal knives.
[ELITE BOSS: SCRAP-METAL ALPHA - LVL 5]
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry.
It was Level 5. I was Level 2.
It was made of iron. I was holding rat gloves.
The monster stared at me. It didn't attack immediately. It assessed. It looked at the empty warehouse—void of rat corpses because I had taken them all—then looked at me with an unsettling intelligence.
A normal person would run.
But I didn't run. I stared back.
I didn't see a terrifying monster.
I saw Rare Materials.
I saw Loot.
I saw Profit.
I clenched my fists, the [Shredder Gloves] scraping together, sparking in the dark.
"You look expensive," I whispered.