Inside the hut, the blacksmith stared intently at the loincloth-clad man in front of him.
"Why don't you have clothes?" asked the blacksmith.
"Senior must be joking. If I had clothes, obviously I'd wear them. It's cold sleeping outside, you know? You should've let me sleep here..." Dexter said while nibbling on the food.
The blacksmith stood, went to his room, grabbed something like a set of villager's clothes, and threw it at Dexter.
"Wear it, you perverted kid."
Dexter caught the clothes and tried to put them on, but he was stopped by a system prompt:
["Ert!" Your current level does not meet the required threshold for this action. Please level up and try again.]
'Damn! Really?'
"I can't wear it, Senior..." Dexter said dejectedly.
"How the hell can't you wear it? Are you an idiot?"
"No! The 'system' is stopping me!"
"What the fuck kind of 'system' are you talking about?"
They bickered like a peddler and a beggar until the blacksmith stopped cursing.
After finishing the food, Dexter thanked the blacksmith and immediately went outside. He let the meal settle first before moving, worried that if he moved too much, appendicitis would come knocking.
After an hour, he approached the gate, observing the two bandits who stood casually talking.
Dexter's hands were shaking—one wrong move, and he'd be dead. His post-traumatic tremors flared up again.
Yet, he steeled himself. He gripped his trembling hands and took a deep breath.
'I need to survive. I need to go home alive. Alicia is waiting for me... I don't want her to be alone in life. We don't have parents anymore... but at least we still have each other.'
'Wait for me, Ali. Big bro will treat you to a five-star restaurant when I get back... or maybe just your favorite fried chicken. My salary still isn't enough for fancy places.'
Then, after calming his mind, Dexter walked silently and slashed the first bandit's neck horizontally. Thanks to his morning-to-noon sword practice, his swing was now more powerful and precise. Yet, the crude blade still couldn't sever the bandit's head—it wasn't sharp enough to even qualify as a real weapon.
The second bandit staggered back, weapon raised.
"What the fu—"
Dexter lunged mid-curse. The bandit, though momentarily shocked, was far more skilled. He blocked each strike, shattering Dexter's crude sword with every parry.
But Dexter had planned for this. Dozens of crude swords littered the ground—each time his blade broke, he snatched another, slashing or hurling it wildly.
The bandit panicked. No one fought like this—no one this reckless, this relentless.
"What the fuck are you, madman?!" he shouted between panting breaths.
Dexter didn't answer. He didn't need to. His calm focus, untouched by tremors now, made him move like a feral beast—all wild slashes and thrown steel.
And then—
—Schlick!
A lucky strike pierced the bandit's throat.
Dexter panted heavily, his body crisscrossed with wounds. Blood dripped onto the ground where numerous broken swords and shattered shields lay scattered.
[HP: 130/300]
[MP: 300/300]
[SP: 50/300]
[Status: Bleeding (-1HP/sec)]
He looted the bandits' corpses, stripping them of clothes and weapons while pocketing a few coins. But when he tried to wield their sword, another system prompt flashed:
["Ert!" Your current level does not meet the required threshold for this action. Please level up and try again.]
Dexter barely reacted—he'd expected this. After all, he knew this game's mechanics inside out.
Turning toward the glowing portal that marked the exit from the starting area—the gateway for all who survived the bandit trial—he read the new prompt:
[Proceed to Small Village? — Y/N]
[Warning: This area is a point of no return. You cannot revisit this location after departure. Confirm your choice.]
For a long moment, Dexter stared at the lifeless bandits. Then came a quiet sigh.
'I'm not ready yet. I won't leave until I can take them down without a single scratch.'
Dexter turned toward the blacksmith's hut but froze mid-step. His gaze drifted back to the gate, curiosity gnawing at him.
After a moment's hesitation, he pushed the gate shut. When he reopened it, the battlefield had reset—no broken weapons, no bloodstains, just two fresh bandits standing guard.
'Just as I thought... an infinite training ground!'
A grin spread across his face, but the persistent ache of his wounds ([HP: 129/300]) killed the excitement. With a resigned sigh, he trudged back to the hut.
"Senior! Got any bandages?"
The blacksmith's head snapped up.
"What the fuck, kid? You're a damn blood fountain! Every time you—goddammit, just get your ass over here!"
…
The blacksmith tended to Dexter's wounds, pressing a strange, wiry grass against the worst gashes.
Dexter watched in amazement as his bleeding slowed—this wasn't how healing worked in the original Eldrion. Back then, he'd just wait passively for HP to regenerate.
"Senior," Dexter asked through gritted teeth, "you got a fishing rod even a kid could use?"
"Don't have one," the blacksmith grunted. "Could make one though... Why?"
"Can't keep mooching your food forever, right?"
The blacksmith paused, studying Dexter's face—now a comical patchwork of bandages and medicinal leaves. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips before he sighed deeply.
'This idiot... He's actually got principles.'
"Wait here. I'll make you a fishing 'twig'," the blacksmith grunted.
"A twig?" Dexter's nose wrinkled. "What the hell kind of fishing gear is that?"
"You wanted something even a brat could use, didn't you?" The blacksmith rolled his eyes. "A twig's perfect for an idiot like you."
After disappearing into his workshop, the blacksmith returned moments later and tossed a slender branch with nylon cord at Dexter.
Dexter caught the crude-looking gear—then froze. The unassuming twig glowed faintly with a crimson sheen. His hands trembled as he whispered:
"/inspect."
[Fishing Twig (Mythic)—Crafted by *********]
[A lucky fishing twig, made from a Crimson Tree branch, can catch fish without bait, making it ideal for children.]
[Level Restriction: N/A]
Dexter's jaw dropped. He stared at the blacksmith, then back at the twig, then at the blacksmith again. When he finally found his voice, it came out as a strangled shout:
"You made me a fucking MYTHIC item?!"