Morning light passed through the gaps in the leaves and kissed Rook straight in the eyes.
He groaned, rolled over, and immediately regretted it. The F-rank shelter leaned like it was about to collapse any second, and even using the bedroll from yesterday's quest reward didn't make his neck any better — it still felt like someone had used it as a pillow at a rock concert. Dew soaked the back of his sweatpants. Everything hurt in that "I slept on the ground like a caveman" way.
The bedroll had helped a lot compared to the first night on bare moss and leaves, but it was still basic and thin. Not exactly a luxury camping bedroll.
"Alright, new day, new me," he muttered, pushing himself up. "Or at least new inventory management."
He opened the panel.
🎒 INVENTORY
[Slime Jelly x5]
[Slime Core x3]
[Fallen Branch x1]
[Adventurer's Bedroll — Basic]
[Random Sticks x7]
[Random Rocks x12]
[Empty Slots: 28/30]
Rook stared at it like a kid who just got admin commands in a new game.
"No weight limit. No backpack. No 'your inventory is full, idiot' message yet." He grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. "This is the cheat code I've been waiting for my whole life."
He spent the next twenty minutes being an absolute gremlin with it.
First he pulled out every single stick and rock and laid them on the ground like he was playing real-life inventory Tetris. Then he started testing limits. He picked up the biggest rock he could carry — one that would've made him curse on Earth — and thought Store.
It vanished with a soft shing sound and popped into the panel.
"Holy shit."
He tried it with two rocks at once. Worked. Three. Still worked. Then he tried to store the entire fallen branch he'd been using as a weapon. It went in smoothly.
"I'm basically a walking warehouse now," he said out loud, laughing. "Watch me store an entire tree next. The system's gonna give me an achievement called 'Hoarder God' or something."
He kept going. Sorted the slime jellies into a neat little stack in one corner of the mental grid. Put the cores in another. Folded the bedroll like he was packing for a convention and stored it again. He even tried storing a live leaf just to see if the system would let him.
It did.
He cackled like a madman with a ridiculous grin on his face.
Then he pulled out one of the five slime jellies and held it up. The blue blob wobbled in his palm, still smelling faintly of sour candy and gym socks.
"Last time this nasty thing gave me +8 HP," he told the empty forest. "Let's see if it scales with levels."
He took a bite. Same disgusting texture. Same weird warmth rushed into his stomach a second later.
[Slime Jelly consumed]
[HP restored: +8]
HP: 150 / 150
"Nice. Full health. I now have five disgusting emergency potions. I am officially prepared for... whatever the hell comes next."
He stored the rest carefully in their own little section. Labeled them mentally as "Do Not Eat Unless Dying."
Feeling way too proud for someone who had slept on the ground like a caveman, he decided to scout a bit further around his base camp while the sun was still low. Bare feet still sucked, but he was getting better at reading the ground — dodging the sharp pebbles, stepping on the soft moss patches.
About forty meters downstream, something white caught his eye through the ferns.
He slowed.
Bones.
A full skeleton sat slumped against an old oak tree, ribs caved in like something had punched straight through the chest. One arm was missing. Rotten leather armor hung off the bones in strips. A rusty dagger lay on the ground right next to where the hand used to be.
No system tag. No glowing loot box. No [Decayed Corpse Lv.1] or anything.
Just... a dead guy.
Rook's stomach did a slow flip.
He crept closer, heart beating louder than it had any right to.
The skeleton looked old — moss growing on the skull, vines crawling through the ribcage — but the dagger still had some shine under the rust. Rook crouched down and picked it up carefully.
[Rusty Iron Dagger]
Low-quality weapon
Damage: 6–9
Durability: 18/30
He turned it over in his hands. The grip was wrapped in old leather that was starting to crumble.
This wasn't a monster drop.
This was someone who had lived here. Someone who had fought, probably laughed, probably cursed at slimes just like him... and then died.
For real.
No respawn. No "You have died. Continue? YES/NO." Just bones and silence.
Rook sat back on his heels, the dagger heavy in his palm.
"Fuck," he whispered.
He stared at the empty eye sockets for a long time. The forest kept making its normal sounds — birds, wind, distant water — but they felt farther away now.
Back on Earth he'd died once already. Woke up here like it was nothing. But this guy? This guy didn't get a second chance. No system, no levels, no inventory cheat. Just... ended.
Rook swallowed hard.
"I've been treating this like the tutorial zone in every LitRPG I've ever read," he said quietly. "Laughing at slimes, grinding for EXP, calling my shelter F-rank like it's funny. But it's not a game for everyone else. It's real. People actually die here."
He looked down at the rusty dagger again.
"Great. My first real weapon and it came from a dead adventurer. Loot goblin achievement unlocked, I guess."
He stood up slowly, slipped the dagger into his belt alongside the stick he still carried. The weight felt different now. More serious.
He glanced back at the skeleton one last time.
"Sorry, man. I'll try not to end up like you."
Then he turned and headed back toward his shelter, steps heavier than before.
Halfway there he stopped.
Something moved in the bushes ahead — small, fast, white-brown flashes.
Rabbits.
Three of them, nibbling on some low plants, ears twitching.
Rook's hand tightened on the new dagger.
"Alright," he said, voice low and determined. "Time to see if this thing actually works. And maybe unlock something useful while I'm at it."
He crouched, eyes narrow, gamer brain already calculating angles and weak points.
The rabbits hadn't noticed him yet.
But they were about to.