As dawn approached, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, painting the room in a warm glow. Alex stirred, the events of the previous night replaying in his mind. It was time to make choices, to invest his unused bonus points wisely. The weight of responsibility settled upon him, but it wasn't a burden, but a challenge, a fuel for his growing determination.
Today, he would take another step forward, forging his path in this new world, one strategic decision at a time. The adventure had begun, and he was ready to face it.
[Alexander Kael Touch]
Experience Value:0/100
Gift: Two Guns *Sealed*
Skills: [Normal Appraisal Level 1] [Language Comprehension] [Item box Level 1] [Swift Fingers Max] [Presence Detection Level 1]
Titles: [Otherworlder] [The one who can't use Magic] [The one whose fingers are faster than Flash] 』
Alex checked his stats; Attack and Agility were the lowest stats. Followed by Defense and Luck. However, he was not planning to touch those two, at least for now.
As a result, he was going to use his BP for his Attack and Agility Stats.
[Alexander Kael Touch]
Experience Value:0/100
Gift: Two Guns *Sealed*
Skills: [Normal Appraisal Level 1] [Language Comprehension] [Item box Level 1] [Swift Fingers Max] [Presence Detection Level 1]
Titles: [Otherworlder] [The one who can't use Magic] [The one whose fingers are faster than Flash] 』
Alex prioritized Agility over Attack when assigning his BP. With quicker reflexes, he could dodge attacks and reposition faster, crucial for survival. After all, in this world, death meant game over, and he wasn't ready to forfeit his second chance.
But one anomaly gnawed at him. Unlike everyone else, his Magical Power stat boasted a significant value despite his inability to use magic. Why? Magic Points fueled spells, yet someone like him, magic-less, shouldn't even have any. Maybe it was tied to his sealed "Two Guns" Gift? Did they require magic to function?
The questions swirled unanswered.
He pushed them aside for now. Answers would come with the Gift's unsealing, which he intuitively felt was nearing. But first, he needed levels. And for that, he needed an alternate weapon.
An idea sparkled from his sleep-addled mind. Descending to the bustling first floor, Alex searched for Lea, the innkeeper's daughter. Waiting for her to finish serving patrons, he approached.
"Good morning, Lea," He greeted. "I need a favor."
Lea turned, a welcoming smile gracing her face.
"Morning, Alex! Slept well?"
"Like a log," He answered with a grin.
"Speaking of which, I could use your help. Would you lend me a knife?"
Lea raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A knife? Interesting. What for?"
''I just want to test something.'' Alex responded, flashing a smile at the girl.
''Sure!'' She nodded before disappearing somewhere, probably the kitchen and came back a few moments later.
The cool metal glinted under the morning light as Alex accepted the knife from Lea.
Her playful tease, "Just don't cause any trouble,"
Silence hung in the air, drawing a chuckle from him. He understood her concern; after all, he was an enigmatic outsider in this new world. Yet, the familiar heft of the blade brought a sense of comfort, a tangible reminder of his past life and the skills he still clung to.
He practiced a few flourishes, the weight shifting effortlessly in his hands. No searing headache lanced through his skull, no agonizing rejection from his Gift. Relief flooded him. This ordinary knife, unassuming as it was, offered a lifeline until his shrouded abilities finally surfaced.
"Thanks, Lea," He said, handing the knife back.
Her brow furrowed, a glimmer of curiosity sparkling in her amber eyes.
"Strange," She muttered, "But I'm glad it worked out. Now, get seated, your breakfast awaits."
With a quick smile, she whisked into the kitchen, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon wafted from the back, momentarily distracting him. But the question of his weapon lingered. Now that the knife test had proven successful, a sense of purpose rekindled within him. A custom-forged blade, tailored to his needs and preferences, felt essential.
Back on Earth, during his idle moments, he'd delved into the world of military knives, their sleek designs and tactical functionality. One particular blade had captivated him: the "Military Tactical Fixed Blade Survival Bayonet Combat Knife Rambo Army." Its intimidating 13.5-inch length and sturdy handle conjured images of unwavering strength and resilience.
It resonated with him, felt like an extension of his own determination.
Lea returned, placing a steaming plate before him. The sight of fluffy scrambled eggs and golden hash browns instantly sharpened his appetite. As he dug in, the blacksmith's shop beckoned. He could almost picture the fiery furnace, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal, and the skilled hands shaping molten steel into his envisioned weapon.
He finished his breakfast with renewed zeal, the image of his custom-made knife spurring him onward. With a confident stride, he exited the inn, eager to turn his dream into a tangible reality.