The Goblin's rusty sword was still falling.
Time hadn't stopped. The world hadn't paused for him to strategize.
The blade was real, heavy, and coming straight for his chest.
But Dante wasn't looking at it. He was looking at the light in front of him.
His will had pressed the button. The blue interface didn't just appear; it became his vision now.
The forest, the Goblins, the pain in his arm, all of it faded into a blurry background.
The UI expanded, instantly accessing a vast internal database.
Four hundred and fifty-three names.
Portraits, avatars, forgotten save files; his entire gaming history condensed into a blinding torrent of light.
His mind locked onto one name instantly.
Kaelen.
His Main. His pride. His answer to every problem.
Her portrait glowed: the Level 99 Paladin, shining in max-tier Aethelgard armor, her hammer raised high in a pose of divine power.
A translucent panel appeared beside her image.
[Dame Kaelen the Just (Lv.99)]
[Summon Cost: 50,000 Mana]
[Upkeep Cost: 1,000 Mana/hour]
Then his own pathetic stats flickered in the corner.
[Creator Mana: 10/10]
The Goblin's sword was inches from his chest.
Fifty thousand. Ten.
He wasn't just short. He was a joke.
'I'm a low-level free-to-play idiot!'
Cold dread sank into his stomach. The system wasn't a cheat code.
'Why???????'
He rolled hard, slamming his shoulder into the ground.
Klang!
The sword hit dirt where his heart had been. Real sound. Real impact. He scrambled back, his good arm clawing at the earth.
The second Goblin, the club-wielder, moved to flank him.
He flipped through the interface, his mind racing.
Not Kaelen.
He checked Bloodrazer. [Cost: 55,000 Mana.]
Morgana. [Cost: 48,000 Mana.]
Aegis. [Cost: ???]
His gods. His mains. His trophies. All useless.
The Goblins closed in, sneering. They could smell weakness.
Panic crushed him like a physical weight. He had a power system. But what good was it if he couldn't afford it?
Wait.
[Command: Filter by Lowest Cost]
His mind screamed the input.
The list vanished. All the legends were gone. Now came the trash. His Level 1 bank alts. His failed builds. His dumbest, most forgotten experiments.
The Goblin with the club raised its weapon for a killing blow.
Dante scanned fast.
[Subject 9] (Lv.2 Slime)
Cost: 3 Mana.
No. That's a puddle.
[Pebbles] (Lv.1 Golem)
Cost: 5 Mana.
Too small. It'll be crushed.
[Rin-Rin] (Lv.20 Idol)
Cost: 10 Mana.
Affordable. But she'll sparkle and die in one hit.
He scrolled faster. The club started to fall.
Then he saw it.
[Shivvy] (Lv.3 Rogue)
Cost: 5 Mana.
He froze. He remembered the name. Barely. Ten years ago. He had made her in Aethelgard just to pick a chest lock.
A random Rogue he named "Shivvy." He leveled her to 3, opened one chest, and parked her at the auction house forever.
She had been nothing but a glorified storage locker.
But she cost 5 Mana. And he had 10.
I have no choice. It's the only 1-Mana Gacha pull I can afford.
Dante clenched his teeth.
SUMMON.
The world tore open.
A dry, ripping sound filled the air, like reality being de-rendered.
His Mana bar plummeted.
[Creator Mana: 5/10]
A blue upkeep line, [1 Mana/Hour], began to tick down in the corner.
The Goblins shrieked, clutching their ears.
The light that spilled out wasn't divine, but it was glitched and flickering.
It leaked into a humanoid shape. Then solidified.
A girl stood there.
Small. Maybe sixteen. She was wearing the default Aethelgard leather gear: a torn jerkin, scuffed bracers, and a cheap iron dagger she hadn't drawn. Her face was pale and dirty, her brown hair tied in a weak, half-hearted ponytail.
She was trembling like a leaf.
Her hazel eyes darted from Goblin to Goblin, then landed on Dante's bleeding arm.
No. This wasn't a summon. This was a person!
A terrified, living person. Someone he had created, abandoned, and forgotten for a decade.
His chest tightened with a crushing, suffocating guilt.
She looked at him. Recognition flashed across her face.
Awe. Disbelief. A hint of absolute pure Worship.
Her voice cracked. "C-c-creator?"
The Goblins recovered. Their eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
They saw her weak armor, her shaking legs, and the dagger she hadn't even reached for.
Suddenly they split targets.
One for Dante. One for her.
The club-wielder took a step forward.
Shivvy backed into a tree, her eyes squeezed shut.
And instead of a battle cry or a spell, what came out of her mouth was a pathetic high-pitched squeak.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"
Dante's heart sank.
He had spent half his available magic to summon a girl who couldn't even stand.
He had pulled a failure.