At the hardware store, I moved fast and precisely. My head had a clear list, born under the Intellect Potion and internet guides. PVC pipes of the right diameter for the crossbow and water cannon, elastic bungee cord, compact pump, a couple valves, nozzles. Parting with another hundred dollars stung. My wallet, pleasantly plump just yesterday, was depressingly thin again. Final balance of a hundred bucks couldn't help but make me feel vulnerable.
I mentally repeated the mantra: "Money's not a problem. I have the miracle crate." But knowing and feeling are different things. Alright, I had a clearly defined goal ahead, and I had to reach it.
Starting with the PVC crossbow. Craft. That word now evoked something akin to awe in me. It wasn't just assembly—it was an act of creation the System itself recognized and rewarded. So, where does turning a plumbing pipe into a weapon begin? With bending.
I took a 70-centimeter section of 25 mm diameter PVC pipe. Over a heated burner, the white plastic slowly yielded. A characteristic acrid smell appeared, and the pipe became pliable as clay. I carefully but confidently bent it into a perfect arc, measuring the curve about 25 centimeters from the center. For the next five minutes, I just held it in position, feeling the plastic cool and harden, forever memorizing its new shape. The bow was ready.
Now the body. Simpler here. Same pipe, but 50 cm long. I carefully cut a slot on one end—a guide for arrows. Then, with clamps, attached a wooden block to the middle—a simple but comfortable handle. Next was easy: connect the bow to the body with screws, stretch the elastic and sturdy bungee cord over the bow. The string snapped into place with a tight, promising click.
Final touch—the trigger mechanism. I carved a small lever-trigger from a wooden spoon and attached it to the body. A simple dense wire catch to hold the string, connected to the lever—and done. The crossbow lay in my hands, fully functional and menacing-looking. But I mentally held off, and the System stayed silent. Of course. What weapon is complete without ammo?
Arrows were orders of magnitude simpler. Ordinary 30 cm wooden dowel, sharpened on one end and notched for the string on the other. I drew the string, loaded the makeshift arrow into the guide. Now—definitely everything.
For good measure, I aimed the crossbow at one of the many cereal boxes and pulled the trigger. A sharp, whipping sound, and the arrow whistled through the air, thudding into the cardboard and plastic cereal bag inside, piercing clean through. Penetration achieved. And the System, thankfully, agreed.
[Created simple weapon design "PVC Crossbow." Complexity: Minimal. +50 OP awarded!]
Excellent, +50 OP. By analogy with the Potato Cannon, the next crossbow would give 40, then diminishing. But before mass production, I needed to test one hypothesis noted during the brainstorm under the potion.
I took the freshly assembled crossbow and methodically deconstructed my creation. Disassembling was easier than assembling. When I had a pile of components again, I swapped the wooden handle for another nearly identical block and started reassembly. Five minutes, and the crossbow was ready again.
No notification. Silence. Theory confirmed. You can't fool the System by constantly assembling and disassembling the same thing. It rewards the act of creation, that very "Spark" breathing new life into a set of components, turning them into something whole. The components' potential in this creation is exhausted. However, those same components can be used to create something else. Already tested with the wooden trigger I originally made from a spoon. Logical.
Alright, next on the list—PVC water cannon. And honestly, after the Potato Cannon, after the Marx Generator, even after this simple crossbow, making it felt like assembling a kid's toy. Just four steps: creating a reservoir from thicker pipe, installing a valve, adding a nozzle, connecting the pump. Filling the resulting monstrosity with water and opening the valve, I deliberately aimed the stream at the bathroom wall. A powerful jet hit the tile, spraying everything around. Stupid, simple, and surprisingly fun. Most importantly, the System accepted this craft.
[Created simple weapon design "PVC Water Cannon." Complexity: Minimal. +50 OP awarded!]
I farmed the remaining 65 OP by making another crossbow and another water cannon, getting 80 OP total from them. Balance at 415 OP pleased the eye, and I even briefly considered spinning the gacha for 300 OP, but it was a fleeting second-long desire I easily ignored, mentally calling the system and pouring OP into unlocking the Magical Ore Crate. OP instantly deducted from the balance, and without fanfare, notifications, or anything else, the crate appeared in my inventory. Thankfully, it didn't vanish from the tech tab, though the next crate now cost 500 OP—might come in handy later, but one is enough for now, hopefully.
Surveying my studio, which over these days had become a center of seemingly chaotic mess, I realized materializing a 2x2x1 crate here wasn't an option—not because of space (I could clear a spot if needed), but the floors. Old building, the weight of a crate packed with ores of varying density and thus weight was hard to imagine, and I didn't want to risk the floor collapsing, even if the chance was tiny. So, I needed to scout the city for abandoned construction sites.
It was four in the afternoon. At this time, Hell's Kitchen lived its usual noisy life, and daylight made its streets relatively safe. I threw on inconspicuous street clothes and headed out to find a temporary lair. I needed an abandoned building—someplace so unappealing even the homeless would pass. Plenty in this district, but I was looking for a specific one: isolated, minimal through passages, far from prying eyes.
After half an hour of searching, weaving through alleys reeking of piss and rotting trash, I found it. A five-story unfinished brick monster with empty window sockets, standing on a small lot. Walls covered in ugly graffiti, ground around dug up and littered with construction debris. Perfect.
But even here, caution was key. I hit a nearby shop and bought a pepper spray canister for ten bucks. Small thing, but it eased my mind. Gripping the canister in my pocket, I slipped inside the building.
Inside was dim and smelled of damp concrete dust. Every step echoed hollowly in the emptiness, making me flinch. I moved carefully, checking every room until I found on the first floor what I needed—a small windowless room with only one doorway, deep inside the building. Confirming I was alone, I held my breath and materialized the miracle crate from inventory.
It appeared silently, massive and alien in this realm of ruin. The crate was packed to the brim with rough, unprocessed stones of all shapes and sizes. "Well, it really is packed," I muttered into the void, my whisper sounding deafeningly loud. "And at first glance, not the most valuable ore, as I thought…"
I picked up a heavy, dark-gray piece with metallic sheen and placed it in inventory for analysis.
[Chunk of raw Earth Lead Ore (galena). Weight 1.4 kg. Metal content 89%. Rarity: Common. Condition: 10/10]
Aha, lead. With nearly 90% pure metal content! This wasn't just ore—it was almost a finished product. I mentally bowed to the crate's unknown creators. Curiosity spurred me on. What else was here? I pulled out a reddish-brown stone.
[Chunk of raw Earth Iron Ore (hematite). Weight 1.7 kg. Metal content 82%. Rarity: Common. Condition: 10/10]
Clearly, a full inventory was needed. But sorting through hundreds of kilograms of ore on a dirty floor wasn't an option. I desperately needed containers for sorting. That meant another trip to the city and spending my already meager cash. But looking at this treasure, complaining would be sinful.
Hiding the crate back in inventory, I left my temporary hideout. At the nearest hardware store, I bought a set of ten large moving boxes. Another ten bucks gone. The boxes were flimsy, but their physical properties didn't matter in inventory. The main thing—they were containers.
Returning to the same secluded room, I spread ten boxes on the floor, creating a sort of sorting center. Summoning the cheat crate again, I began a monotonous but incredibly engaging treasure evaluation marathon.
Each ore chunk I picked up, sent to inventory for a moment for scanning, and upon receiving info, moved to the corresponding box. First came industrial metals.
[Chunk of raw Earth Copper Ore (chalcopyrite). Weight 1.2 kg. Metal content 84%…]
[Chunk of raw Earth Tin Ore (cassiterite). Weight 2.1 kg. Metal content 80%…]
[Chunk of raw Earth Aluminum Ore (bauxite). Weight 1.3 kg. Metal content 82%…]
Gradually, boxes filled. But real excitement started when I hit the first precious metal.
[Chunk of raw Earth Silver Ore (argentite). Weight 1.1 kg. Metal content 86%…]
My heart skipped a beat. And then more came.
[Chunk of raw Earth Gold Ore (nugget). Weight 0.7 kg. Metal content 88%…]
[Chunk of raw Earth Platinum Ore. Weight 0.4 kg. Metal content 82%…]
[Chunk of raw Earth Palladium Ore. Weight 0.5 kg. Metal content 87%…]
[Chunk of raw Earth Titanium Ore (ilmenite). Weight 1.0 kg. Metal content 89%…]
When the first wave of inventory ended, ten boxes stood before me, each labeled with its metal. All ten were common "Earth" ores. Pretty… few, if you think about it. Where's nickel for alloys, for example? Or refractory tungsten for serious tools? But complaining was stupid. Gold, platinum, palladium—these weren't just crafting materials; they were my financial independence. Especially with such insane pure metal content!
I thought the surprises were over, but digging through the remnants at the crate's bottom, I found something else. Among ordinary stones lay three ore chunks that looked… wrong. One shimmered with all rainbow colors, another was coal-black but absorbed light, and the third faintly glowed in the room's dimness. Inventory confirmed my guess—these were something entirely different. The little crate saved the rarest and most exotic for dessert. And each, even by System standards, was immensely valuable.
The first of the three unusual chunks shimmered with every color of the rainbow in the light. I picked it up, feeling a strange, barely perceptible vibration, and sent it to inventory for scanning.
[Chunk of raw Vibranium Ore. Weight 0.3 kg. Metal content 96%. Rarity: Rare. Condition: 10/10]
My breath caught. Vibranium. The metal Captain America's shield, Black Panther's suit, Winter Soldier's prosthetic, and who-knows-what-else are made of. The foundation of an entire secretive high-tech nation's technology. I swallowed, carefully setting it aside like it was a sleeping grenade.
The second chunk was coal-black, so dense it seemed to swallow light itself. Deceptively heavy for its size.
[Chunk of raw Adamantium Ore. Weight 0.4 kg. Metal content 93%. Rarity: Rare. Condition: 10/10]
Adamantium. The metal coating Wolverine's skeleton. Symbol of absolute, unimaginable durability. Cold sweat broke out. Holding both these metals at once wasn't just luck—it was some cosmic joke.
And the third… the third chunk faintly glowed in the dim room with its own unearthly light, like an ember from a god's forge inside.
[Chunk of raw Uru Ore. Weight 0.5 kg. Metal content 98%. Rarity: Rare. Condition: 10/10]
Vibranium, Adamantium, and fucking god-metal Uru. At that moment, I nearly laughed from hysterical terror and delight. I had no idea yet what to do with these Treasures. But I knew one thing for sure: for each of these unassuming stones, people in this world wouldn't just kill. No… They'd rip your soul from the afterlife to make you tell where you hid more. Flashing such valuables was like hanging a neon sign around my neck: "Kill me and become one of the most powerful beings on the planet."
Gathering every last piece of these three ores, I put them in a separate cardboard box, mentally noting their total weight, and immediately sent that box to inventory. Let them not tempt reality.
Now, with the most valuable safe, a full inventory was needed. The next two hours turned into monotonous but vitally important labor. The room filled with the dull thud of stones, dust rustling, and my ragged breathing. It was the work of a loader, accountant, and appraiser all in one. I hauled hundreds of kilograms of ore from the miracle crate to the floor, weighed each batch by sending to inventory for summation, and sorted into boxes. When the dust settled, a complete picture of my newfound wealth appeared in my mind's eye:
Iron ore: ~700 kg
Lead ore: ~500 kg
Copper ore: ~250 kg
Tin ore: ~200 kg
Aluminum ore: ~150 kg
Titanium ore: ~80 kg
Silver ore: ~60 kg
Gold ore: ~12 kg
Platinum ore: ~10 kg
Palladium ore: ~6 kg
Vibranium: ~2 kg
Adamantium: ~1.8 kg
Uru: 0.5 kg
Roughly two tons of ore, with about two hundred kilograms impurities. Not bad. The System didn't lie: the more valuable the ore, the less of it. The hierarchy was obvious.
A plan formed in my head, clear and inevitable. Step one: Isolation. Separate gold, platinum, and palladium—the most monetarily valuable metals—from industrial ones. Step two: Optimization. Move all this main bulk (iron, lead, etc.) to a separate large container in inventory so the miracle crate stays empty and refills with new ores in a month. Step three: Constant development. Get home before the streets go fully dark and try crafting something to earn a bit more OP—despite the hassles, at least 50 OP a day I must farm. Step four: Legalization. Plan tomorrow's pawn shop route, not forgetting to smelt the gold. I'll do a quick price comparison, no need to waste Intellect Potion on that.
Mentally agreeing with this sequence, I put the boxes and ore crate into inventory, folded the remaining empty boxes, took them with me, and headed home. Twilight was already thickening over Hell's Kitchen, and the night life was starting to crawl out of dark alleys.
Tomorrow is Monday, and it won't just be another tough day. It'll be the first day of my new life. The day I stop being a poor orphan from Hell's Kitchen clinging to survival. Tomorrow I start building my own kind of financial empire, even if just personal for now.