Bob lingered a handful of paces from Debt Keeper’s stall, every instinct screaming at him to turn back. ‘Hardcore’ still thrummed through his veins like a live wire. One life, no safety net. His breath came measured, controlled, but deep inside, he knew better. He wasn’t just about to make another transaction. It would be an offering at an altar where consequence was worshipped as some sort of god-king. Even so, the figure at the stall stood motionless, waiting.

  Bob stepped closer. "Debt Keeper. You probably know why I'm here." He muttered.

  It did not move, did not react. And yet, when it spoke, the words seeped through space between. “All debts must be paid.”

  Bob’s fingers twitched. “Yeah.” he said, forcing a smirk. “Kinda knew you’d say that.”

  A parchment materialized on the counter, edges crisp as if freshly cut. The ink was already written, his name, his current curse-stack of.. one. His singular life balanced against an invisible scale. Bob swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if he was looking at a warning or a promise.

  “I’m debating having another of those loans. Hardcore, is that the worst you got in your bag?” The words prompted no response from Debt Keeper, but the truth behind them stung. His mind replayed getting hit with the last curse. That feeling of absolute loss. No appeals. No second chances. He let out air through his nose, shaking off the memory.

  I can’t survive on leftover scraps. And the orbs will be my chance to adapt mid-fight. This bank, however deranged, it is my edge. His fists clenched, then relaxed. I’ll dance once more, just to get the mill going. Can’t hit me with hardcore-mode twice, right? Bob squared his shoulders, forcing down the dryness in his throat. He looked to Echuu who had been oddly silent. A part of him wanted to hear a joke. Maybe how ‘the only thing more dangerous than a boss fight is financial ruin.’ Nothing came. No trademarked immediate quip or snark. Just hesitant silence. As if even Echuu realized how big of a risk Bob was about to take.

  Bob smirked halfheartedly. “Echuu? Where’s the bold remarks hiding?”

  [Echuu] I could throw some at’cha. But do you reeeally want me to?

  Bob let out a dry chuckle. Yeah, this time I actually do, pal. The quest up for grabs read:

  Depleted, not defeated (tier 1-5 available). It didn’t give away much. All the same, he got the general gist by now. Different loan quests were terms in their own right, and came with the unspoken footnote: You do not come back from this unchanged.

  “I already have the worst curse imaginable. How much worse could it get?” It was a statement born of fatalistic defiance, one the universe would no doubt take as a challenge. Then “So yeah. Sign me up for tier five, please.”

  [System] Loan Quest Accepted. Tier 5. The final tally of your debt grows. 66.66%.

  Bob tensed. Final tally.. What happens at a hundred percent? That phrasing gnawed at him. This wasn’t just about loans and repaying them. Sensing his suspicion, Echuu wobbled beside him, a text-box thrown into existence right after.

  [Echuu] Don’t sweat it Bob. The fineprint at the bottom is Debkeeper’s bittersweet congratulations. You have almost achieved peak financial despair! A state of no refunds, no renegotiations. Just you, your debt, and the unrelenting embrace of crushing, everlasting consequence.

  Bob arched his brow. “Sounds just like my old bank, really.”

  [Echuu] Exactly, Bob! Except if you default here, instead of foreclosure, you get erasure.. and something worse as a cherry on top of that.. Knowing you, it’s a cherry you’ll eventually eat!

  He sucked in a slow breath. Right. Nothing new, just higher stakes. As if on cue, the coins materialized onto the counter. 10x50c. Nice, didn’t even have to ask for Debtschach to break the coin. At Least there’s some quality of life to this. He rolled a coin between his fingers, feeling the weight of it. It wasn’t just metal, but a promise of collection. Then, for a brief moment, it felt like a presence settled over him: A fine, unbreakable wire resting inches from his throat. The slime guide broke his tension.

  [Echuu] That’s definitely one way to double down on your bad luck!

  Bob huffed, rolling his shoulders. “Guess we’re doing this. How big can this rabbit-hole get, am I right?”

  No response. That was worrying. Echuu usually had at least three follow-up jabs ready to fire. Instead, the slime just wobbled slightly, as if bracing for some kind of impact. Bob turned toward the Development Fund. The monstrous, chained chest loomed in its usual spot, wrapped in iron links thick enough to tow a small battleship. ‘Unlock crafter’. He dropped exactly 250c into the slit, hands steady. No accidental overpayment, no tips-for-noms. He had learned that lesson the first time. A sound rumbled. The grotesque hybrid of metal grinding against itself and something vaguely organic, like a beast clearing its throat after a meal. The chains rattled, but didn’t fall away. Instead, the darkness inside the chest moved, churned, writhed near the slit.

  Then a loud, booming, beastly voice. “Nom, nom.” It reverberated through the antechamber, sending a subtle vibration up through the stone floor. The kind of weight that said: something woke up.

  [System] Crafter Unlocked.

  A surge of low, rippling energy pulsed outward. Bob instinctively took a step back, heart rate kicking in half-wary, half-excited anticipation. It was like the moment before opening a blind loot crate in a gacha-game known for screwing over sheepels. Then, the ground at the edge of the antechamber cracked. Slowly, a stall forced itself to open for business. Wooden beams creaking, metal supports grinding against each other as if the world itself was reluctant to make room for yet another cog in its brutal economy. The air smelled of heated iron, scorched wood, and something acrid. Bob felt the hidden load-screen transitioning his hub into a newly unlocked feature. Then, a small, energetic figure practically bounced out of the emerging storefront.

  "Welcome, honored warrior!" The voice rang out, high-pitched, bubbling with an unnatural amount of enthusiasm.

  Bob blinked. The girl.. No, NPC.. barely reached his chest in height. She had absurdly oversized anime eyes, glimmering with a faint sparkle almost starlike, boasting a smile so wide it had to be a class skill. A tiny hammer and anvil clinked behind a strutting ear, secured by a loose strap, and a spool of thread bobbed merrily in her ponytail. Her entire person radiated a strange fusion of blacksmith and seamstress, a contradiction of soot-covered sleeves and frilly leggings. Her apron was stitched with a delicate crosshatch of runic embroidery: Mikoko, it read, in a mix of curling text and pastel-colored hearts. Bob’s gaze flicked down to her boots. Too big. Like, comically oversized. The kind of accessory that made it impossible to take the wearer seriously unless they were actively drop-kicking you through a boss room.

  Mikoko beamed at him, hands clasped together. "You're my first customer today!" she chirped, rocking forward with enough energy to nearly faceplant over the counter. "Oh, wait, first customer ever! I just unlocked!"

  Bob hesitated. This was.. strange. The antechamber had been a bleak, oppressive place up until now. Debtkeeper. An Iron-patched merchant. A literal sense of existential dread woven into its walls. Now, here was something else entirely: a JRPG NPC running a goddamn mom-and-pop crafting shop.

  Bob rubbed his temple. "Okay." he muttered. "Sure. Why not? Just when I thought this place couldn't surprise me, it spawns an overenthusiastic blacksmith-maid."

  Mikoko didn’t seem to register his skepticism. She spun on her heel, scooping up a leather-bound order book. "Right! What can I make for you, Mister." She peeked at him with dramatic curiosity. "Oooh, wait. You don’t have a class path, do you?"

  Bob tensed slightly. Observant. I’ll give her that. Then, he nodded.

  Mikoko tapped her chin with her tiny hammer. "Hmm. I see, I see! No preset paths! No restrictions! A totally blank slate!" Her eyes shimmered. "That means I get to design anything.”

  She vibrated on the spot with unchecked excitement. Bob could feel the exclamation marks hovering in her aura. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his throat. He'd seen her type before. A long time ago, at a convention. The cosplayer had set up her booth, forging expressive armaments from foam and latex. She too had a childlike glee, loving what she was doing. No jaded outlook, no bitterness over mishaps and mechanics, just pure passion. Bob crossed his arms, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest. Nostalgia. Amusement. Maybe even the faintest hint of admiration. Before the grind, before the endless DLCs, before the meta-worship, this kind of enthusiasm had been at the heart of gaming. And here it was again. In the form of a pint-sized blacksmith with literal stars in her eyes.

  Mikoko dipped into an impeccably formal bow, her tiny hammer and various tools jingling as she moved. "Thank you, sir, for trusting little me!" Her voice practically sparkled.

  Bob didn’t respond. She had already drawn him into her universe. Now, he was just enjoying the show. Mikoko clasped her hands together, tilting her head just slightly in perfectly calculated anime charm. Then her gaze flicked to his weapon. Or rather, the battered steel-teller of questionable life choices resting in his belt.

  Her eyes went wide in horror. "My goodness! You poor, battered lump of metal. Who deserves a dignified upgrade, if not you." She reached out, hesitated, then clasped her hands to her chest like a tragic maiden in distress.

  Bob glanced at his crowbar, then at her. “You’re serious.. Upgrade that thing?”

  Mikoko’s head snapped up. The wide-eyed innocence didn't falter, but there was something else underneath it now. A gleam.

  "Of course, sir!" She practically purred. "I can already picture it! But first, do tell me. Would you prefer your tool quenched in dragon’s breath or ghostly frost, hmm?" She tapped her chin, her tone soft, thoughtful. Then her grin widened, and her voice trembled with barely contained glee. "Oh, oh, oh. Maybe cursed bile-n-lacquer, so it may glow in the dark?"

  Bob blinked. There the shift was. A gleeful madness hiding just beneath her surface of saccharine demeanor. His lips twitched, and he mused out words, mostly to himself. "You do remind me of a side-quest from way back. She sweet-talked me into forging the biggest warhammer imaginable."

  Mikoko gasped dramatically. "Spoiler territory, sir!" she whined, waving her hands. "I still haven’t finished that storyline!"

  Bob raised a brow. That game’s been offline for eight years. No way she.. An NPC? He shook his head. Alright. Maybe this wasn’t just some prefab NPC. Maybe Mikoko was something else entirely. A next-gen AI-agent bouncing with his groove.

  Bob let her have the crowbar. She tapped a tiny fist against her palm, pivoting back to her stall with newfound vigor. "Now then! Let's see what we’re working with. Oh, dear stars above.. " She leaned in, inspecting Bob’s ‘weapon’ like a doctor assessing a critically wounded patient. "This is tragic." she whispered, tracing a finger over the crowbar’s chipped edges.

  Bob shifted slightly, feeling a tiny pang of gear-related shame. He had fought an entire undead army with this thing. And now, under the scrutiny of a less than four-foot-tall craftswoman with sparkles in her eyes, it suddenly felt like he’d been running around in pre-tutorial gear this whole time. Mikoko turned to face him. There was no cutesy bow this time, just a quiet sort of reverence.

  "I do need your help, Mikoko." Bob admitted, his voice calm. "If I want to keep fighting.. Winning.. I need an upgrade. Something worth using."

  Mikoko lit up like a raid-boss triggering its final phase. “Yaaay! Let’s craft a masterpiece together!” she chirped, fists clenched with raw excitement. Her ears, slightly pointed, twitched. "Your first craft I’ll waive the fee. Just promise.. ” She took at deep breath before blabbering at x3 speed:

  “that-you-will-return-to-my-forge-n-shop-for-every-single-weapon-n-armour-related-repair-n-upgrade-hench-forth-n-forever-sir-please!" She giggled, but her eyes held an eerie, expectant glint.

  Bob let out a quiet chuckle. He’d done this speed-up thing with online videos before, so he did catch her drift. "Right, I promise.” Bob padded her twice on the forehead, as if consoling a child.

  He figured it would be rare to meet someone who genuinely wanted to build something in this place. She wasn’t just here to provide him a service. She lived for this beyond her code. That energy, it once again tugged at something deep inside Bob, something older than hardcore-modes and tier five death penalties. A time when gaming wasn’t about min-maxing. When it wasn’t about pushing optimal DPS rotations or tracking build efficiency down to the pixel. A time when it was just.. exploration and fun. New worlds promising endless possibilities at your fingertips. A time of trading secrets with your closest friends who were as knee-deeply immersed in a foreign world as you.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Bob exhaled, shaking off the sudden wave of emotion before it could settle. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

  He couldn’t help but feel something dangerously close to hope. Or, at the very least, curiosity. If anyone could turn an unassuming crowbar into an unstoppable weapon of mass destruction, it was probably this tiny, glitter-eyed forge-goblin grinning up at him like she had just unlocked the next level of her own personal boss-rush.

  “Right. Wait here. Gotta check something.” Bob, determined, went to browse Iron Jaw’s stall. He scanned the inventory list, eyes flicking past the usual array of overpriced, underwhelming gear. Daggers, bucklers and what-nuts. Then he saw it. Crowbar, 10c. No limit on supply. Bob squinted, then blinked to double-check his hunch. Daggers and bucklers were 30c, larger weapons even more. He flicked back to the crowbar. Sure, his one had already proven itself as a gloriously underrated weapon of destruction, but at this price? It was practically free-on-top.

  Iron Jaw’s voice rasped through the thick air. “Staring at it ain’t gonna make it swing itself.”

  Bob tapped the listing, ignoring his remark. “Why is this thing so cheap?”

  Iron Jaw let out a gravelly chuckle, shifting his weight against the counter. “Because it ain’t supposed to be a weapon, lad.” He gestured at it with a casual flick of his calloused fingers. “It’s a tool. Breaking doors, prying chests, only occasionally cracking a skull if you’re desperate enough. Not forged for true fighting.”

  Bob hummed. That’s what they always say before someone breaks the meta. His fingers twitched. He had 250c on hand. He could buy 25 crowbars, even more if he popped some path orbs. Okay. Maybe I’m missing something here. He viewed his equipment tab. He hadn’t touched this menu much, no reason to, since he was barely surviving as is. But now, with Mikoko’s stall open, more info was available, a new section even: Breakdown and Upgrade Materials.

  …

  Crowbar (Tier 1): Breakdown, Steel x1 : Upgrade, Item and Steel x3.

  …

  Bob froze. The gears in his head turned fast. Wait. WAIT. Steel was the material for both features. If tier 2 to 3 followed the same pattern, he would need just.. 16 crowbars to reach tier 3. A half way-to-maxed-out-item ready to pound boss number two. It can’t be that simple. Bob blinked hard, refreshing the menu. No quick-fix-patch incoming. No error message. No nice try, scumbag-system warning. This upgrade feature wasn't balanced around tool prices and improvised weapons. His heart started beating faster. This was an exploit. A beautiful, undiscovered, game-breaking exploit.

  Bob turned sharply toward Mikoko’s stall and paced. "We need to talk."

  Mikoko looked up from polishing a set of delicate rune-etched tongs, her ponytail bouncing. "Ooooh, Bob! Back already? Did you bring me that fun new challenge?"

  Bob slapped the Breakdown and Upgrade-interface onto the counter, pointing “Explain this. Now.”

  She gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks. "You found it so fast! Awwww, you’re such a diligent student! Every weapon and tool has a tier, right? But breaking them down lets you salvage raw materials for reforging!"

  Bob nodded, motioning for her to keep going.

  Mikoko tapped the numbers with a flourish. "To upgrade your current crowbar you need three steel and the original crowbar!"

  Bob felt his pulse quicken. "And pushing it further?"

  "Nine runic steel and your new tier 2 crowbar!" she said, practically singing the answer. "So wonderful, right? A proper smithing challenge!"

  Bob’s eye twitched. "So, I assume runic steel comes from breaking down tier 2 of this thing?” Mikoko’s smile widened and he continued. “Then, It’d take.. Just 16 crowbars total to reach tier 3?"

  Mikoko clasped her hands together with pure joy. “Yes! Weapons and armor require multiple crafting materials. But the basic tools, they mostly just require one item. In this case, an increasingly rare metal. Isn’t the world of crafting WONDERFUL?”

  Bob choked on air. "No. It’s broken." His hands itched to test it. The numbers were too good. Too perfect. If I just keep breaking this basic item down and forging it back up, I’ll leapfrog to miles ahead! His gamerbrain was screaming. It was the same thrill as finding early XP farms before the devs nerfed them into the ground at the label of exploit. This wasn’t just a crafting quirk. This was power. And he was going to abuse the absolute hell out of it.

  Bob gazed at Mikoko, cracking his knuckles. "Alright. Time to game the system. Let’s forge a goddamn bent rod of destruction."

  She lit up. "Yaaaaay! I knew I liked you!"

  Bob shopped then came back. The moment Bob dumped his ridiculous armload of crowbars onto Mikoko’s crafting table, she let out an ear-piercing squeal and flailed in sheer forging ecstasy.

  "Mass forging?! ALL AT ONCE?!"

  Bob winced at the volume. “You’re way too into this.”

  She practically vibrated in place, her eyes gleaming. “Of COURSE I am! Look at all this material in the making! It’s like someone dumped a pile of potential into my lap and said, ‘destiny awaits!’”

  Bob folded his arms. “Yeah.. You mean my destiny, right?”

  “Yes, yes, same thing, sir!” She waved him off, already flipping through her crafting ledger. “Okay! Breaking these bad boys down, one at a time, is going to take a bit of effort.” She snatched the first crowbar and slammed it onto the forge table, hammer in hand.

  Bob took a deep breath. This is either going to be the dumbest waste of time ever.. or.. Then the clang of hammering rang through the antechamber. Sparks flew. Steel piled up. Mikoko worked like a lunatic, processing every single crowbar through the breakdown-upgrade chain. It was slow at first. One steel. Two steel. Three steel. Crowbar T2. Repeat.. Bob counted every single process, watching raw materials shift before his eyes.

  But once Mikoko’s momentum built, everything just rolled. “Bob.” She sighed dreamily, flipping over and expecting a piece of runic steel. “I never imagined I’d meet someone as dedicated to breaking crafting mechanics as I am.”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead, the heat of the forge slow-cooking his lard, then responded. “You’ve never seen someone dump this many resources into a single item?”

  She giggled. “Don’t people usually focus on variety first? Armor, one or two weapons, a few tools. A balanced build.” Her eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “But you? You’re risking everything for one single masterpiece, a tool so perfectly honed, so refined, it will defy reason itself.”

  Bob cracked a grin. “That is the plan, yes. Hope it pays off. I’ve gone into serious debt sponsoring this play-sesh.” Mikoko smiled in silent recognition.

  With every upgrade, his crowbar evolved. It felt like cheating and Bob loved it. As the final strike of the forge-hammer resounded, something shifted. Faint golden lights flickered around Mikoko’s stall, swirling in lazy arcs before drifting into the forge itself.

  [System] Reputation with Crafter increased to Friendly.

  Mikoko gasped. Then bowed so enthusiastically that her arsenal of tiny tools jingled in her hair. “My dear forging partner.” she declared, eyes glittering, “You’re quite the resourceful genius!”

  Bob scratched the back of his head. “Could be we’ve done something genius here. Could be plain lunacy. Not sure there’s a difference.” Theory-crafting doesn't always pan out, kid.

  She laughed, bright and carefree. “Sir! I don’t think there is a difference! That’s what makes it fun!”

  [System] Weapon Crafted: Tier 3 Crowbar

  AtkP: 20

  Damage type: Blunt / Pierce

  Durability: 100/100

  Gem slots: x2

  Inherent Effects:

  Reinforced Leverage: Armor and objects break more easily.

  Improvised weapon: -3 AtkP when not used as a tool.

  20 AtkP? Holy cow-level! He gave it an experimental twirl, feeling the weight shift just right. Not bad. Break locks. Break armor. Break expectations. The newly forged Tier 3 Crowbar gleamed, its reinforced edges and carefully distributed weight making it feel less like a desperate scavenger's tool and more like a proper weapon of war. He inspected his new weapon carefully. Objectively, it was a solid weapon. Consistent. Even after factoring in its -3 AtkP effect, it still landed at +17 ATK. And since upgrades seemed to double AtkP at each tier, its next upgrade might put it at +37. No dependencies. No weird stacking requirements. Just raw, guaranteed damage.

  [System] Mail Received (Sender: Mikoko)

  Bob looked back at Mikoko. Mail? Must be the reputation thing. He grinned, setting the newly forged Tier 3 Crowbar against his shoulder. Yeah, this world might be peddling curses and debt, but we just turned a pile of metal into a sick-ass-monster-hunter. Good job.

  A metal rasp interrupted his thoughts. Iron Jaw, the gear merchant, had come over from his own stall, eyeing him a look that fell somewhere between amusement and disappointment. “What’s the damage, lad.. Trying to count past your fingers?"

  Bob exhaled sharply. “Just doing some damage calculations on this bad-boy’s future.”

  Iron Jaw grunted. "Oh, I thought you were lost in that nonsense of raw attack vs. crit potential. Seeing as your first purchase was a dagger."

  Iron jaw had beat Bob to his next trail of thought. He squinted. “Wait, you’ve seen this debate before?”

  The merchant let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. “More times than I can count. There’s always been two types of fighters in this hellhole. First type stack damage, swing hard, crush through defenses. Second type plays the long game. Build synergies. Goes all-in on weak-points and criticals, stacking multipliers until their numbers make no goddamn sense.”

  Bob drummed his fingers against the counter. Yeah, I’m usually the latter of those. “And which one wins here?”

  Iron Jaw tilted his head. “Depends.” His single good eye fixed Bob with a knowing look, not telling the full scope of his tale. The metallic jaw scraped audibly as he leaned forward, voice dropping low. “I’ve seen all kinds of greens drop to their knees. What matters is how you use everything at your disposal. Not just some of it.”

  [Echuu] Saw-bite’s keeping it a hundred Bob. Might not be the best idea to go full crow-bar-barian already.

  Bob exhaled sharply through his nose, biting down a nervous chuckle. Then, a second message popped.

  [Echuu] Some fights can’t be solved by simply playing whack-a-mole with a metal rod, though it would surely be fun to see you try.

  Bob rolled a shoulder, letting the words sit. The little blue menace had a point. Some fights couldn’t be solved that way. Alright. Maybe not all-in on crowbars. He jammed the T3 crowbar through his dagger-sheath punching through the bottom.

  [System] Small Sheath, Damaged.

  That.. fits nicely! And with this damage, he might actually stand a chance against the next big boss. If not? Well at least he’d go out swinging dynamite. As Bob stepped away from Iron Jaw’s stall, a soft hum rippled through the Antechamber. Not the ominous, reality-folding pulse of Boss Door awakening. No, this was different, less threatening, more inconveniently mysterious. Like the gentle, mocking chime of an unread notification in an app you forgot you installed. Bob’s brow furrowed as he turned toward the mailbox. A floating envelope icon pulsed above it.

  [Echuu] Mail time! Wonder if it’s a free lottery ticket for the curse-tombola.

  Bob snorted, stepping up to the box. "If it is, I hope it's at least a useful one. Maybe something like ‘Glass-canon: take double damage, hit twice as hard.’ Wouldn't be the first time I ran a build like that."

  Touching the mailbox, his UI expanded into a new window.

  [Inbox: 2 Messages]

  Forge-friends! (Unread) From: Mikoko

  Fucking help me someone.. (Unread) From: Derrin

  Bob raised an eyebrow at the last message, but before he could poke at it, his fingers instinctively hovered over Mikoko. With a flick, it opened.

  Forging-friend! I stumbled upon this wonder while rummaging for material! I swear I heard it calling your name. Or maybe that was just me being poetic? Either way, find its secrets, will you? A gift, from one craft-obsessed soul to another!"

  [Attachment: Unidentified Gem]

  Click. A small pulsating gemstone materialized in his hand. It was roughly the size of a marble, but the way it shifted colors in the dim light reminded Bob of something he’d seen before, game items that looked completely ordinary until someone in a forum cracked them wide open. Bob tilted his head, rolling the item between his fingers.

  "Unidentified, huh?" He shot a glance at Echuu. “Identification. It must be an Enchanter perk, right?”

  [Echuu] Bingo! And just for you, the Enchanter’s stall awaits.. This time, the pay-2-win fee is also 250c!

  Figures. His newly-forged crowbar had two small recesses near the grip. Perfect materia-like slots. Bob’s brain ticked through his options. He could slot the gem in right now and hope for the best, but that was rookie behavior. The first rule of optimization was never to commit resources until you knew their best possible use.

  [Echuu] Oh no. The min-maxing is taking hold. We’re about ten minutes away from you starting a spreadsheet.

  Bob snorted. “Hey, true optimization is an artform. You don’t just slap things together. You curate.”

  [Echuu] Ah yes, because curating is exactly what people think of when they see a dude swinging about his hard tool with criminal intent.

  Bob ignored the slime. He was tempted to just gobble up the pill. No. Not yet. He sighed, tucking the gem into his inventory. First gold, then enchanter. As he pulled up his mailbox again, his eyes drifted back to the last mail. Bob exhaled sharply, tension coiling in his gut. Does someone need my help?

  [Echuu] You have more mail Bob! Is it a love letter from a past life? Or the system finally sending you a cease-and-desist for your ongoing war crimes against bone-people.

  Bob sighed, and for a moment, he debated ignoring the cry for assistance. But that wasn’t his style. Every nook and cranny, Bob. Click!

  [System]

  Request for Assistance

  Boss: The Bone Assembly

  Difficulty: Tier 1

  Reward: ????

  Would you like to assist?

  Yes / No

  Bob tilted his head. That first boss again? Exhausted by the thought, his brain still kicked into calculated greed mode. A T1 fight meant less risk, easy loot. And maybe, just maybe, a Path Orb if thats how the system worked. Plus, it would be a free test run for the new crowbar. His fingers twitched. This was the perfect excuse to farm some materials and flex on a few brittle skulls. Alright, why not? Click.

  [System] Request Accepted. Transporting..

  .. Oh shit. No time to grab fire from Iron Jaw’s.

  'Wallop!'