Compared to a Level 2 Treasure Chest, the rewards contained within a Level 1 Treasure Chest were undeniably meager. Still, in a world like this, even the smallest gain carried weight.
Medicine was priceless. Ark Coins were even more so.
Michael understood that far better than most.
"Hm?"
A faint notification flickered at the edge of his vision. He opened the private chat interface, his expression unchanged.
A single message sat there.
"How much metal do you have? How much do you need?"
Michael's gaze sharpened slightly.
The wording alone revealed quite a bit. The other party wasn't probing blindly. Someone confident enough to ask such a question so directly almost certainly possessed a considerable quantity of metal.
"Can you provide 150 kilograms of metal?" Michael typed calmly.
The chat fell silent.
One hundred and fifty kilograms.
Anyone who understood the system would immediately recognize that number. It was precisely the amount required for the Ark's first major upgrade.
What kind of person demanded that much metal in one transaction?
Had he already gathered enough wood and mechanical components?
Or was this nothing more than empty bravado?
After a short pause, a reply appeared.
"I can provide it, but what are you offering in exchange? If it's the beginner dagger, I can only trade ten kilograms."
Michael didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he activated the Ark's built-in camera function.
He took a clear photo of a low-grade rifle—standard condition, nothing fancy—and sent it across.
"How about 150 kilograms of metal for one rifle and twenty rounds of ammunition?"
The response came almost instantly.
"A gun?! You actually have a gun?! I can trade with you, but don't you think this price is too high? You're robbing me! Even a gun isn't worth this much!"
Michael calmly rotated the bullet between his fingers as he replied.
"It's not expensive at all."
His tone remained steady.
"You understand how important firearms are right now. And more importantly—can you guarantee the next platform will be safe? If danger appears, a gun may be the difference between survival and death."
Silence.
The man on the other end—Loid—understood exactly what Michael meant.
At the first platform, Loid had obtained over three hundred kilograms of metal and even discovered a treasure chest. He had believed himself to be among the luckiest Ark Controllers alive.
Yet luck alone didn't guarantee survival.
"…Can it be a little less?" Loid finally asked.
No bargaining.
Michael didn't even bother responding with words.
He simply typed a single sentence.
"What do you think?"
On the other end of the screen, Loid inhaled deeply. His hesitation was obvious, but so was his resolve.
"I've thought it through," Loid replied. "I'll trade with you. But I want to ask—what do you need this much metal for? Is it for upgrading your Ark? Or do you have blueprints for this firearm and plan to mass-produce it?"
Michael's lips curved into the faintest hint of amusement.
"Don't misunderstand," he replied evenly. "I'm not like the people in the chat room. I'm not asking you to produce anything."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"But if you're still interested in cooperation, you can contact me later. I'm confident that I can upgrade my Ark to Level 2 within three platforms. When that time comes, I may be able to help you promote this weapon."
Confidence radiated from his words—quiet, controlled, absolute.
"Where did this man get such confidence?" Loid wondered.
Michael didn't explain.
He simply closed the chat window.
Thinking back to the enhancements he had already completed, Michael narrowed his eyes slightly. This Loid likely possessed some kind of talent as well.
What kind, he had no way of knowing.
And frankly—he didn't care.
Upgrading an Ark within three platforms… was that supposed to be impressive?
Michael's gaze drifted briefly toward his own Ark—already upgraded to Level 2 before even fully leaving the platform.
All he could say was—
The best way to deal with Michael's inexplicable self-confidence was simple.
Two words. "Deal accepted."
This was Michael's first transaction.
Following the system's instructions, he placed the low-grade rifle and twenty rounds of ammunition onto an open patch of ground near the Ark.
A virtual halo swept across the items.
In the next instant, they vanished.
In their place appeared a stack of neatly arranged metal ingots.
"So that's how it works," Michael murmured. "So convenient."
There was no concern about deception. All transactions were notarized and enforced by the Ark System itself. No one could cheat.
His focus shifted immediately.
Without hesitation, Michael retrieved the Basic Compartment Blueprint and placed it onto the processing table.
A translucent light curtain rose from the blueprint.
[Materials Required:]
• 100 kg of wood
• 150 kg of metal
• 60 mechanical components
[Proceed Construction: Yes / No]
Michael selected Yes.
[Ding! Construction Proceeding, Please Wait...]
Suddenly, the materials vanished.
High above, at the rear of the Ark, raw matter began to reorganize under an unseen force. Metal fused. Framework assembled. Structure condensed.
A new compartment slowly took shape.
Construction Successful.
[This compartment can be modified using glass and fiber.]
[Basic Compartment]
[Internal Facilities: None]
[Functions: None]
[Modified: No]
There was no internal door connecting it to the engine compartment—it could only be accessed from the rear of the Ark.
The space inside was surprisingly large. Roughly ten meters long, with a ceiling just under the height of an adult man. Window frames were present, though no glass had been installed yet.
Michael nodded slightly.
"An engine-only Ark was never viable anyway."
He transferred the piled resources from the engine room into the new compartment, organizing them efficiently.
Only then did he glance at his remaining Physical and Mental Energy values.
[Physical Energy: 21]
[Mental Energy: 59]
[Current Status: Mental Fatigue]
Too low. Any thoughts of Enhancement would have to wait.
Michael looked at the countdown timer for platform departure, his expression calm and composed. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
...
Inside the Ark, Michael lay sprawled on the cold metal floor, completely motionless.
Like a lazy person that had already lost its motivation.
His body felt heavy, drained to the core. Even the simple act of breathing required conscious effort. Every muscle protested faintly, sending dull reminders of how far he had pushed himself. This was the inevitable cost of repeated Enhancements, system exploitation, and forcing progress beyond what was considered "safe."
Still—
This marked the final achievement of this leg of the journey.
As the countdown to departure reached zero,
the Ark—silent until now—shuddered faintly and began to move.
At first, the motion was slow, almost hesitant, as if the massive structure were waking from slumber. Then the hum of its engines deepened, vibrations spreading through the metal floor beneath Michael's feet.
As the Ark advanced, spatial fluctuations suddenly reappeared.
The air ahead twisted and distorted, rippling like a shattered mirror struggling to reform. Invisible pressure pressed in from all sides as the Ark was pulled forward, drawn into the warped space ahead.
The Ark continued to accelerate.
In the next instant, it pierced through the distortion.
When the violent tremor subsided, the world outside the windows shifted once more.
The platform vanished.
What replaced it was the familiar sight of the boundless, dark wasteland—endless, silent, and swallowing everything beyond the reach of sight.
The Ark's engines settled into a low, steady hum as the platform phase concluded. At the same time, a system-wide broadcast rippled across the survival network.
[Ding—All Ark Controllers have departed the platform.]
[Congratulations to the 9,892 survivors who have successfully and safely left the first platform.]
[You have officially exited the Newcomer Protection Phase.]
The message lingered for a moment longer than the previous system prompts, as if deliberately allowing its meaning to sink in.
Then—
A second line appeared.
[Beginning from the second platform, Ark docking zones will no longer be guaranteed to be safe.]
No explanation followed. No clarification. Just a cold statement of fact.
And it caused an uproar.
"What does this mean? Weren't we supposed to leave the platform an hour ago?"
"Someone stayed an extra hour at the first platform? Why should they get that privilege?!"
"Could the rule be fake? Does that mean the Ark won't leave even if you're not aboard when the countdown ends? Has anyone tested this at the next stop?"
"You're right—someone should try it next time."
"Damn it! I'm reporting someone for exploiting the system!"
"The first platform was safe?! I should've gotten off and explored!"
"Can people actually die at 'safe' platforms?"
"Of course they can! My first stop was a desert. If I hadn't been lucky, I'd have been swallowed by quicksand."
The chat exploded with speculation, frustration, envy, and regret.
Yet the so-called "big shot" they were arguing about wasn't paying attention at all.
Michael sat quietly on the floor of his Ark, eyes half-lidded, calmly reviewing and organizing the final gains from the platform.
[Inventory Summary:]
[Low-Level Marksman Rifles]: 49
[Low-Level Ammunition]: 1,100 rounds
[Wood]: 150 kg
[Metal]: 104 kg
[Mechanical Components]: 162 units
In addition to these, Michael had recovered a variety of usable tools from the Armory Zone—crowbars, shovels, screwdrivers, and other basic hardware. Anything damaged or unusable had already been fed into the processing table for disassembly and recycling. The rest were neatly stored away as backups.
In a survival environment like this, even the most mundane tools could become critical at the right moment.
As for the blueprints he currently possessed—the Low-Level Water Storage Module and the External Waste Collector—their construction requirements were modest.
Together, they required only 40 kilograms of metal and 110 mechanical components.
For Michael, this was well within acceptable limits.
He didn't open the chat.
Instead, he summoned the Ark Control System.
Blueprints were deployed. Resources were allocated.
Everything was handled directly through the system—efficient, precise, unquestionable.
"The water storage tank goes inside the carriage," Michael muttered quietly.
"The external collector gets mounted on the left side."
His voice was low, steady, devoid of unnecessary emotion.
When the installation was complete, he rose and stepped into the newly constructed compartment. The difference was immediately apparent.
The pile of scattered supplies was gone.
In its place stood a reinforced metal reservoir, secured firmly to the floor. Thick brackets held it in position, and its wheels were locked in place, preventing even the slightest movement. The design was crude but practical—built solely for function, with no excess.
Michael examined it for a moment.
"Unfortunately, there's no purification system."
A hint of regret passed through his eyes.
But only briefly. He wasn't in a rush.
This was only the beginning. In a world like this, survival wasn't about immediate perfection—it was about steady accumulation, careful timing, and knowing when to wait.
[A/N: Please enjoy my novel! By voting power stones and puting leaving review can inspire me even more :)]