The "Resource Assessment" chamber was a vault of cold stone and colder intentions. Lord Zilton sat behind his desk, his fingers interlaced, watching Ren with a self-righteous smirk that didn't reach his eyes. To Zilton, everything was a matter of "proper order"—and in his order, commoners didn't hold onto A-rank treasures.
"The Dragon Scales, Ren," Zilton said, his voice a smooth, unsettling purr. "As an official of the Crown, it is my duty to ensure that such rare materials are utilized for the greater good of the kingdom, not hoarded by a boy who barely understands their value."
Ren stood his ground, his hand resting on the leather satchel he used as a decoy for his inventory. Inside his mind, he was counting. Sixty scales. Each one a piece of a god.
"I can offer twenty for inspection," Ren said, pulling them out. The room bathed in a dull orange glow.
"Inspection?" Zilton's eyes flared with greed. "The Academy requires all of them. For research. For the other Heroes."
"I need them," Ren countered. His Intelligence (142) was analyzing Zilton's micro-expressions. The man was pushing, but he was afraid of the King's favor. "I am the one who will be bleeding in the Chaotic Lands. I will give you five. In exchange, I want a tax-free stall in the Capital's Adventurer Guild. Permanent."
Zilton stiffened. The audacity of the request was a slap to his noble sensibilities. "You negotiate with the Crown as if you are a merchant, boy. It is... distasteful."
"It is survival," Ren said.
The silence stretched for minutes. Finally, Zilton signed a parchment with a jagged, angry flourish. "Five scales. And you get your stall. But do not think this makes us equals."
Ren took the parchment and left. He had cheated a man who made a living out of cheating others, but as he walked down the hall, he didn't feel triumphant. He felt the target on his back grow larger.
Ren had only 4,000 Yen left. In this city, that was the price of a few good meals and a night of comfort. To him, it was a dangerously thin margin of error.
On his way back to the academy, he stopped at a bulk mineral warehouse. The air was thick with rock dust. After an hour of grueling haggling that left his throat dry, he spent 2,700 Yen on a jagged, heavy chunk of Level B Ores.
He returned to his dorm, locked the door, and collapsed onto the bed. He was exhausted, but he couldn't rest. He opened his Inventory and brought out the boxes he had bought in the village black market, the ores, and the remaining fifty-five scales.
He activated Graceful Hand.
[PING!]
[Condition Met: High-Intensity Crafting Initiated.]
[Skill: Graceful Hand has been upgraded to Level 4!]
For three days, Ren became a ghost. He didn't eat. He barely drank. He sat on the floor of his room, his fingers moving with a precision that defied human biology. He felt the mana from the ores flowing into the scales. He was weaving shadow and steel.
He crafted a Level S Cloak for himself—the Void-Stitch Mantle. It was a deep, matte black that seemed to pull the light from the room. Then, he used the remaining materials to forge B-rank daggers and reinforced leather gear.
On the fourth day, he went to his guild stall. He didn't speak. He just laid out the gear. By sunset, the high-rank adventurers of the capital had stripped the stall bare.
The receptionist handed him a voucher. 90,000 Yen.
Ren sat on his bed, staring at the voucher. His hands were shaking from three days of overexertion. Then, the System shrieked.
[System Milestone Reached!]
[Condition: Total Yen received has exceeded 1,000,000.]
[Calculating Rewards...]
[Skill Upgraded: Martial Arts — Level 5]
[New Skill Granted: Fire Tornado — Level 2]
[New Skill Granted: Beast Taming — Level 1]
Ren's heart hammered—until the red text appeared.
[CRITICAL ERROR: SKILL SLOTS FULL.]
[Current Capacity: 10/10]
[Please delete 2 existing skills to finalize the acquisition of new rewards.]
Ren froze. The room felt suddenly very small.
He looked at his skill list. Weaver. Graceful Hand.
These weren't just numbers. Weaver was the first skill he had ever earned. It was the skill that had kept his clothes clean when he was covered in the blood of his classmates in the forest. It was the skill that had given him his first sense of dignity. Graceful Hand was the reason he was currently holding 90,000 Yen. It was his craft. His trade.
'If I delete them... I can never make anything again,' Ren thought.
He sat in the dark for an hour, the blue screen illuminating his pale face. He remembered the forest. He remembered the "Freeloader" insults. He remembered that in this world, the "Creator" was just a servant to the "Killer."
A tear he didn't expect traced a path through the dust on his cheek. He wiped it away, his expression hardening into a mask of cold pragmatism.
'I don't need to be a craftsman,' he told himself, though his chest ached. 'I can buy what I need. I need to be a monster.'
'Delete: Weaver.'
'Delete: Graceful Hand.'
[Skills Deleted. New Skills Integrated.]
The loss was physical. A hollowness settled in his fingers, a lack of "feeling" that made the world seem duller. He had traded his soul for more weapons.
Then, the Administrator's Tasks appeared, flashing like warning lights.
Task 1: Liquidation. (Sell the 3 wolves).
Task 2: The Mobile Fortress. (Acquire a Mobile Mansion in 2 months).
Task 3: The Void Walk. (Empty Inventory for 3 weeks).
Task 4: Supremacy. (Rank 1 in the Festival).
The penalty for Task 4—System Reset—was a death sentence. If he lost his stats, he would be a Level 0 boy in a world of Level 50 predators. He would be "Batch Two" all over again.
Ren stood up. He couldn't wait. He couldn't be a pawn anymore. He needed a variable that the System didn't control.
He pulled out the Summoner's Key. It was cold, etched with runes that seemed to writhe like snakes. He remembered the description: The summon depends on your Will.
Ren closed his eyes. He thought of the forest. He thought of the 1,000 blows he took from the Devil. He thought of the skills he had just murdered to stay relevant. He poured all that bitterness, all that endurance, and all that hunger into the key.
"Summon," he whispered.
He didn't just speak it; he commanded it.
VROOOOM!
The floor vanished beneath a tide of emerald light. A runic circle, five meters wide, erupted in the center of the room. The pressure was staggering—the air itself was being squeezed out of the room, replaced by a thick, ancient mana that smelled of ozone and primordial earth.
Ren stood at the edge of the circle, his cloak billowing in the magical gale.
Inside the pillar of green light, a massive silhouette began to take shape. It wasn't a beast, and it wasn't a human. It was something that radiated a killing intent so pure it made the B-rank Devil look like a house pet.
The ground beneath the hostel groaned as a heavy, clawed foot stepped out of the light, shattering the stone tiles.
Ren gripped his dagger, his breath catching. He had asked for a partner.
Something was answering.
[End of Chapter 37]