'How... do I use 'Forge'?' Davin asked, eyes narrowed as he gazed at the skill's description on the system screen.
Now that he understood where his skills came from, it made sense to figure out how to use them.
[Picture something you want to craft from the corpse—a tool or a weapon—and I will make it for you.]
"So that's how it works... Alright then," he muttered, falling into thought.
If he was going to use Pulse Points, it had to be worth it. The best weapon possible.
His eyes drifted across the dead Feralkin bug. It's spotted red exoskeleton gleamed faintly under the morning light. But it was the curved, sickle-like blades on its forelimbs that caught his attention.
His eyes lingered there as he realized what they looked like...
A scythe.
Back on Earth, it was the symbol of death's handy walking stick.
Ironic, given what he'd just survived the previous night.
His screen flashed.
"Huh?!" he gasped.
'System, wait—I'm not ready yet—!'
[Weapon successfully envisioned.]
[Acquiring resources...]
Golden threads of light shot from his chest in graceful arcs, homing in on the sickle-like limbs of the corpse. The moment they touched, the limbs began to glow, veins of golden light pulsing beneath its shell.
For a moment, Davin almost stepped back fearing that his system was bringing the bug back to life for a round three.
[Integrating formula...]
'Dammit, System—are you even listening to me?!'
[Pending crafting.]
[Do you want to spend 1000 Pulse Points to craft the weapon?]
[Yes] [No]
"A thousand?!" Davin gawked.
'Lower the price and I might consider it. And what weapon are you even making?'
[It is a surprise. And bargaining is not allowed.]
'What do you mean a surprise?'
[Answer the question: Yes or No?]
He squinted at the eyes at the system screen, suspicious.
'Well if that's how you're gonna play it... No—'
[I don't know why I even bothered asking you in the first place.]
'But I'm the host here—!'
[-1000 Pulse Points]—Balance: 2160
"Oh, come on!" he shouted.
[Crafting... 1... 2... 3... 4... 5...]
The golden light flared brilliantly, then dimmed.
[Crafting complete.]
[New weapon has been successfully made.]
Davin looked down. Two shorthand scythes now lay before him.
His brows drew together.
"Scythes…?" he whispered, lifting them.
They were small, short for scythes in his memories—barely twenty-six inches long—but disturbingly elegant.
Their curved blades shimmered with a purplish-black hue. Not reflective…but absorbing. As if they drank in the light around them like dying stars.
They felt sharp enough to slice air, and the atmosphere around them seemed thinner somehow—like reality itself bent slightly to their presence.
He swung one experimentally. It made no real sound—just a faint whisper, like wind brushing a tomb.
They belonged to him. With a perfect fit in his hands, he knew it instinctively.
And somehow, they didn't feel like they should exist.
[What do you think?]
'They feel... eerie. Can you fix that?'
[They were forged from your life energy. And meant to be used to take life from others. So yes, they are eerie.]
'So you can't fix it?'
[For 10,000 Pulse Points, I will.]
'They're perfect this way.' He gave a small, sheepish smile. He felt as if the system was swindling him.
'Got any info on them though?'
[Apart from being newly forged, they have no special data yet.]
"Then I'll name them!" he declared righteously, raising one blade dramatically in the air.
"Twin-Scythe Excaliburs!"
[That is a really dumb name.]
"Black Scythes?"
[Despite having an Intelligence stat of 27, that's the best you can come up with?]
"Haah, fine. How about...Night Scythes?" He said with a sigh.
[You are terrible at naming.]
'You're right... I had dropped out of school back on Earth...'
[How about: Requiem Blades.]
'Too grim. I'm not naming my weapons like some brooding villain—'
[Weapons have been named successfully.]
'Why do you keep doing that?!'
[Because it's better than your shabby excuse of a name.]
'Between you and me, who's the ho—'
Shriek!
A creature's cry echoed in the distance.
Davin's head snapped up.
"On second thought… I should get going."
[I suggesting heading on your right.]
'In that case... I'll go straight ahead.' Without turning, he walked in a different direction.
[I see. You have become wiser.]
'And you're the dumbass who thinks they can fool me twice.'
[...]
On the tenth step past a bush, he slipped—his foot sliding down a small steep, leafy slope.
[-1 HP]
[HP: 279/280]
"Dang it!" he shouted as he hit the bottom.
[Nope. You're still the idiotic boy I tricked yesterday.]
He groaned, standing up and wiping mud from his pants.
"I need new change of clothes," he muttered.
Since based on how he looked now, he resembled the poorest homeless kid in the entire world of Ecclesia.
But as he stared out at the deep forest ahead, one thing became clear.
The path forward would be brutal.
But now, he was aware.
The system wasn't just a gift.
It was a game master and a judge.
Its 'trials'?
They weren't just opportunities to gain pulse points.
They were also threats to his survival.
And though he had survived his first real trial— though luckily—he had paid a steep price.
Next time, there might not be a convenient sunrise to wake him up.