Ethan exhaled softly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The skill pulsed faintly within him, eager to be unleashed.
But then, he lifted his gaze once more toward the silent sentinel before him. He hesitated for a moment, then asked with genuine respect, "Senior… may I ask if you have any advice for me?"
For a heartbeat, silence. Then, the Dark Knight's helm tilted forward, the dim embers behind his visor igniting faintly.
When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, metallic, and cold as the grave.
"Be ruthless."
The words struck Ethan harder than any blow.
"If your heart is not ruthless," the Dark Knight continued, "you will not survive long. Mercy is a luxury for the strong."
With that, the elder knight fell silent once more. His body stilled, and his presence returned to its statue-like stillness—motionless, eternal, terrifying.
Ethan bowed slightly, gratitude flickering behind his steady eyes. Then, without another word, he stepped onto the glowing magical array.
A blinding light surged upward, and in the next instant, he vanished from the temple.
The Dark Knight's gaze lingered on the spot where Ethan had stood.
For a brief moment, the emotionless ember behind his visor flared—a glimmer of recognition, perhaps even pride—before it faded into the endless dark once more.
---
After stepping out from the sacred gloom of the Dark Knight Temple, Ethan made his way toward the equipment district. The transition from divine solemnity to industrial heat was jarring—where the temple whispered of dark power, the equipment quarter roared with the clanging of metal and the scent of smoldering oil.
The air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the metallic tang of burning alloys. Sparks rained down from iron anvils, lighting the dim corridor in brief, fiery flashes. Ethan brushed past several mechanics and scavengers, each one busy repairing old rifles or reforging broken blades salvaged from the wastelands outside Havenstead.
He finally stopped before a weathered iron door engraved with the mark of a hammer and serpent—a sign that read [Black Forge Workshop].
Inside, the place looked like chaos sculpted into art. Weapons lined the walls—swords, pistols, makeshift spears, and crude machine parts—all either melted, reforged, or waiting to be reborn. Piles of empty bullet casings and scorched metal fragments littered the ground. The sound of an anvil striking resonated like a steady drumbeat in the background.
Behind the counter sat a large, bearded man with burn marks crawling up his arms like black veins. His chest was bare, revealing muscles that had hardened from years of hammering steel and channeling mana into molten cores. He held a cracked bottle of something strong in one hand, and his eyes—sharp and weary—shifted lazily toward Ethan.
"Come to upgrade weapons?" the man asked, his gravelly voice echoing faintly under the clatter of machinery.
Ethan gave a short nod. "Yes. How much for upgrading a level 3 weapon?"
The blacksmith leaned back slightly, swirling his drink before setting it down with a dull thud. "Five hundred Survival Coins and one magic gem."
Ethan exhaled quietly, a trace of relief passing through him. "That's manageable."
After purchasing his new skill earlier, he had just over six hundred coins left. Enough for a single upgrade—but barely.
He reached into his pack, pulling out a faintly glowing magic gem and a sleek black pistol—the Stinger Pistol, a weapon that had already saved his life more times than he could count. Placing them both on the counter, he said calmly, "Please upgrade this."
The blacksmith raised a scarred brow. "The Stinger, eh? That's not something a rookie usually carries. You've got good instincts, kid—or damn good luck."
He reached forward and, with a subtle gesture, invoked a binding spell. The pistol floated into the air, spinning slowly as faint blue runes circled around it. The gem followed, shattering into radiant shards that merged with the gun's metal frame.
A brilliant flash filled the room.
The Stinger dissolved—its structure broken down to atoms—before being reforged in midair by invisible hammers of magic. Streams of molten light carved new details into its design. When the glow faded, what remained suspended above the blacksmith's hands was no longer a pistol. It was something far deadlier.
The newly reforged weapon spun once before dropping gently into Ethan's palm. Its surface gleamed silver-gray, cold to the touch yet thrumming faintly with restrained violence.
[[Level 4: Stinger Revolver – Model 2]
Type: Advanced Firearm – Heavy Revolver
Caliber: 19.5 mm
Ammo Capacity: 6 Rounds
Effect:
An upgraded version of the legendary Stinger Pistol, Model 2 pushes destructive efficiency to the edge of what is mechanically possible. Enhanced with refined energy channels and reinforced alloy structure, this revolver delivers monstrous firepower in every shot—powerful enough to cripple tanks if aimed correctly.
Special Traits:
Stinger Round Generation: Automatically generates 2 Stinger Bullets per day. These enhanced rounds can penetrate high-density armor and even reinforced hide of elite mutated creatures.
Indestructible Frame: Cannot be damaged through regular wear. Only overwhelming external force (magic, explosions, or high-level abilities) can destroy it.
Armor Penetration: Near-absolute. Pierces through most known materials, including advanced composite armor.
Lethality Range: Lethal to targets up to Level 45, depending on hit placement.
Requirements:
Minimum Strength: 15
Minimum Firearms Control Recommended: Intermediate or higher. Poor aim nullifies the weapon's full potential.
Drawbacks:
Massive Recoil: Without proper strength and training, users risk dislocation or self-harm.
Limited Ammo: Still relies on rare Stinger Rounds; careless use may leave the wielder defenseless.
Durability: Infinite (Unbreakable)
Sell Value: 55,000 Survival Coins
Description:
The Stinger Revolver – Model 2 is a masterpiece of lost military engineering—an anomaly born of a different future. Its sleek yet brutal design conceals power capable of toppling armored columns and elite infected alike. In the hands of a skilled marksman, this revolver becomes a symbol of dominance—turning any battle into a one-sided slaughter. It is not a weapon. It is a verdict.]
Ethan's fingers traced the revolver's cold frame, a rare glint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes. The craftsmanship was immaculate. The design—sleek, aggressive, deadly. With this in hand, he could level the field even against elite mutated beasts or corrupted soldiers.
"Thank you," Ethan said sincerely, slipping the revolver into his holster.
The blacksmith simply grunted, his expression unreadable as he returned to his forge. Sparks burst behind him, the light reflecting off his burn-scarred skin, painting him like a relic of war himself—a man who had seen civilizations fall and rise again in fire.
Outside, the world was quieter, but no less bleak. The faint wind carried the scent of dust and decay from beyond Havenstead's walls. Ethan didn't linger. He turned sharply and entered the equipment store next door.
---
The contrast was immediate.
Where the blacksmith's shop felt like a furnace of chaos, this place gleamed with polished steel and faint magical lighting. Glass display cases lined the walls, though most were empty—evidence of the world's scarcity and the desperate scrambles of survivors.
Behind the counter stood a young attendant, her uniform clean and neat despite the times. Her smile was bright and practiced, her eyes catching the faint light. "Welcome!" she said warmly.
Ethan returned a polite nod. "I'd like to see the equipment list."
"Of course."
She waved her hand, and a translucent screen unfolded midair. The faint hum of magic filled the air as lines of text appeared one by one.
Ethan's sharp eyes scanned the listings. His expression darkened slightly—most categories were empty. No protective garments. No armor. Nothing even remotely useful for field defense.
The only listed item caught his eye near the bottom.
[Stinger 2 Special Bullet – 50 Survival Coins per round.]
He frowned, lips tightening. "That's outrageous," he muttered under his breath. Fifty coins per bullet meant each trigger pull was worth a small fortune.
Still, he kept scrolling, his mind dissecting each section for opportunity. On the next page, his eyes widened slightly.
Rows of medical supplies and combat drugs appeared.
Regenerative serum—capable of restoring lost limbs.
Adrenaline boosters—to restore stamina instantly.
Universal antitoxins—effective against most poisons and viral mutations.
His analytical mind processed them instantly, calculating which would be most vital in the field, which could be crafted later, and which were irreplaceable.
And at the very bottom of the list—something else caught his attention.
Something that made his pupils contract slightly.
Ethan's eyes traced the glowing text of the listing before him, and for the first time in a while, he was speechless.
[[Level 6 Medicine: G Drug]
Type: Advanced Medical Injection
Usage: Single-use
Effect:
A miraculous biomedical creation born from forbidden fusion of divine essence and apocalyptic virology research. The G Drug is one of worlds's rarest salvation tools—capable of reversing catastrophic damage and countering terminal viral infections.
Primary Functions:
Viral Cure: Instantly neutralizes all active viral infections, including advanced and mutating strains already present in the host's body.
Limb Regeneration: Regenerates all lost limbs or body parts upon injection—restoring them to perfect functional condition, including lost nerve pathways and muscle memory.
Cellular Repair: Enhances tissue regeneration and restores structural integrity at a cellular level, even in cases of near-death physical trauma.
Permanent Immunity: Once the injected individual's immune system mounts an adaptive response against a wide range of viral pathogens, that host attains immunity to all identified zombie viruses.
Limitations:
Ineffective on completely deceased individuals.
Cannot be used preventively—only after infection or loss occurs.
May trigger temporary fever or hallucinations during regeneration.
Usage Conditions:
Recommended only for users with Spirit 15+ to survive the intense metabolic demand. If not, the infected may require the G-solution.
Professional supervision or cooldown period advised after administration.
Sell Value: 50,000 Survival Coins
Description:
A myth among survivalists and a holy grail among medics—the G Drug stands as a testament to what humanity once dreamed of achieving. It doesn't just heal—it resurrects a body on the brink of ruin. Legends say the drug was first synthesized in the final days before the collapse, too late to save the world, but powerful enough to save those bold enough to keep fighting. It could cure viral infections no matter how advanced, regenerate missing limbs, restore shattered bones and ruptured organs—and even grant permanent immunity to all known zombie viruses. A single injection could turn a dying man into a miracle.
Use it wisely, for it may be the difference between legend and loss.]
Ethan exhaled slowly, his eyes dimming.
"It's too expensive. I'm really poor," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with self-mockery.
For someone who had survived this long through calculation, instinct, and luck, he understood the brutal arithmetic of survival: everything had a price, and miracles cost the most.