After resting for a while, Michael stopped hauling supplies back and forth and shifted his focus to a more thorough exploration of the Armory Zone.
Physical exhaustion could be endured. Missed opportunities could not.
Deep within one of the side rooms, his attention was drawn to a shelf that had somehow avoided collapse. Lined up neatly on it were several sealed iron boxes, their surfaces dark and cold, edges reinforced with thick metal clasps. Unlike the surrounding wreckage, they were stacked with intent—as if someone had taken care to preserve them before abandoning the place.
Michael paused.
Boxes like these… felt familiar.
In his world, he had seen documentaries and videos introducing military supplies. Ammunition crates, emergency kits, weapon components—many of them had been stored in containers almost identical to these.
His breathing slowed slightly, instinctively.
"If that's the case…"
He stepped closer, eyes sharp with anticipation that he refused to let show on his face.
Driven by curiosity—but restrained by caution—Michael walked toward the stacked metal boxes. The embossed markings on their surfaces had long since faded. Only vague square outlines remained, barely discernible beneath layers of rust and dust.
"Could it be…?"
He swallowed hard and pried open a corner of one of the metal boxes. The lid creaked as it gave way, releasing a sound that echoed faintly through the silent structure.
Inside were neatly arranged blocks of compressed biscuits, each one shaped like a gold bar. A faint milky aroma drifted out, mixed with a slightly fermented sour scent that lingered in the air—unpleasant, yet unmistakably edible.
"It really is true…"
Expired or not, Michael didn't hesitate. He grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth.
The biscuit was dry and dense, almost chokingly so, but filling. He only ate a single block—he knew from experience that compressed food like this would quench hunger quickly but leave him parched. Overeating it without water would be foolish.
This Armory Zone was a semi-enclosed space, much like a massive matchbox.
Collapsed shelves lay scattered across the floor. Piles of rotting debris littered the corners. The stench of decay hung thick in the air, clinging to the lungs with every breath. The deeper he went, the stronger the smell became, making exploration increasingly difficult.
It wasn't just unpleasant.
It was oppressive.
After more than two hours of searching, Michael had only managed to find forty-two intact rifles.
Most of the others were either badly damaged or completely rusted due to improper storage. Their only remaining value lay in being dismantled and recycled through the processing table.
Still, forty-two was not a small number.
In addition to the weapons, he also loaded several pieces of usable ironware and timber onto the Ark whenever he came across them. Bent steel frames. Half-rotted beams that could still be salvaged. Anything that could be broken down had value.
While Ark upgrades could be performed directly through Enhancement, manufacturing items and refining blueprints still required raw resources. Even if he didn't need them immediately, he could always trade them later.
Preparation was never wasted.
Once again, he carried the supplies back into the Ark and glanced at the countdown displayed on the control interface.
[00:30:00 → 00:29:59...]
Thirty minutes remained before departure.
Enough time for one, maybe two more trips—if nothing went wrong.
"Let's go again. There should still be time."
As he looked at the Ark's interior, now noticeably more crowded with supplies, Michael felt that the most urgent structure to build next was the basic compartment.
The wood and mechanical components were now sufficient—he could recycle the discarded firearms using the processing table. But metal was still lacking.
For now, construction would have to wait.
Suddenly—
Crack!
That was the sound of bones being crushed.
Michael slowly lowered his gaze.
Beneath his boot, a section of a skull's shinbone had collapsed into fragments, reduced to powder under his weight.
"…Sorry, brother. I didn't mean to."
His tone was calm, almost casual.
He wasn't afraid.
From childhood to adulthood, even the most terrifying horror films had never frightened him—at most, he found them mildly entertaining. On the rare occasions he attended funerals, when he saw the swollen, bluish faces of the deceased laid out in silence, he felt nothing at all.
No fear. No sadness. Only distance. Death, to him, had always been something abstract.
Michael lifted his foot and was about to turn away when something caught his attention. Beneath the scattered remains of the skeleton lay a paper file bag, its surface coated in a thick layer of dust.
He paused.
Finding document bags in an armory wasn't strange in itself. Records, manifests, instructions—those things had always existed alongside weapons.
What was strange was its condition.
The surrounding iron fixtures were heavily corroded. Wooden shelves had rotted to the point of collapse. Even metal crates showed deep signs of decay.
Yet the paper file bag remained intact.
Too intact.
Michael crouched down, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"That's odd…"
With lingering doubt in his mind, he reached out and carefully pulled the file bag free from beneath the skeleton.
Whatever this was—
It clearly wasn't ordinary.
Michael didn't open it immediately.
Instead, he jogged back into the Ark.
The Ark Control System had an item-identification function. If there were any traps inside, the system should be able to detect them.
[Scan Complete!]
[Level 1 Treasure Chest]
[Status: Openable]
"A treasure chest…?"
Michael examined the thin folder carefully. Despite its unassuming appearance—no thicker than a biscuit—a faint spark of anticipation rose in his eyes.
"Hehe… thanks a lot, Brother Bone. I'll help you with your burial later."
Smiling, he was just about to open the chest when he suddenly paused.
"…Wait."
"This treasure chest should be enhanceable too, right?"
Just like with the Ark earlier, once the thought appeared, it refused to leave his mind.
Michael opened his personal status panel. He noticed that his energies have recovered a little.
[Physical Energy: 20 → 30]
[Mental Energy: 70 → 80]
"The container is small. Even if it costs Mental Energy, it shouldn't be too much."
"And there are still compressed biscuits. If needed, I can eat another to recover."
Once a person began convincing themselves, the decision was already made.
Michael silently recited the command in his heart.
"Enhance."
Suddenly, a sharp wave of dizziness struck him.
[Warning: Mental Energy at below 50!]
[Status: Mental Fatigue.]
His body went limp, collapsing onto the Ark's floor like a fish thrown ashore. He lay there motionless, staring at the gently swaying ceiling fixture above him.
Time passed.
Only after a long while did he finally push himself upright.
Michael scratched his head.
Aside from physical exhaustion, he didn't feel much discomfort from the so-called mental fatigue state.
"…Strange."
Shaking his head, he carefully examined the folder-like interface associated with the chest. It appeared unchanged.
[Enhancing Level 1 Treasure Chest → Level 2]
[Cost: Physical Energy 30 → 10, Mental Energy 80 → 50]
"That's more than I expected…"
"It looks like it can't be enhanced any further."
He frowned slightly.
"Is the potential of items like this limited to a single enhancement? Or are there special rules involved?"
He didn't dwell on it any further for now.
"Never mind. Let's open it first."
With anticipation rising, Michael opened the treasure chest.
[Ding! Treasure Chest Opened.]
[Received: 4 Ark Coins]
[Acquired: Colt M1911 Pistol]
[Obtained: Level 2 Blueprint: External Garbage Collector]
His eyes lit up.
Now this… was worth it.
"So this is how you get Ark Coins?"
Michael stared at the system notification, then glanced at the interface again.
"Four… that makes four in total."
Without wasting time, he opened the Ark Details panel. The upgrade perks unlocked earlier were still listed there, unchanged, quietly waiting for future decisions.
He shifted his focus back to the weapon in his hands.
After inserting a magazine loaded with low-grade ammunition, Michael raised the pistol and aimed at a wooden crate positioned a short distance away outside the Ark.
He steadied his breathing.
Bang!
The sharp crack echoed through the Armory Zone, reverberating against metal and concrete.
The wooden crate exploded inward, fragments scattering across the ground as a fist-sized hole was torn clean through it.
"…What the hell?"
Michael lowered the pistol, staring at the result with unconcealed shock.
He flexed his fingers, rubbing his slightly sore palm, then looked back at the firearm in his hand.
"This recoil…"
"They're both pistols. They even use the same ammunition."
Yet the difference in power was undeniable. The pistols obtained from the Armory Zone were at least twice as powerful as the standard firearms he was familiar with—if not more.
Michael's eyes narrowed.
"If this is already the result at this level…"
"And if I were to enhance it further…"
The thought alone made his heartbeat quicken—not from excitement, but from anticipation sharpened by danger.
In a world like this, firepower wasn't just an advantage. It was survival itself.