Money is energy. Once spent, it dissipates. The objective of an efficient thermodynamic system is to minimize loss and maximize yield.
Adrian sat on a stone bollard at a street corner, out of sight. He emptied his purse into his palm. The financial statement was precarious. "Renting" knowledge from the Guild had cost greatly. The meal and night at the inn had gnawed at the rest. He had seventy-two coppers left.
It was derisory for a complete set of gear. A new iron sword cost one hundred coppers. A decent leather armor, double that.
Most "novices" would have panicked or gone into battle with a butter knife, hoping luck would protect them.
Adrian did not have luck. He had method.
He stood up, turning his back on the gleaming stalls of the main street. He could not afford to pay for "new." He plunged into the adjacent alleys, where the signs were hand-painted and where merchandise had already lived one or two lives.
He was looking for a specific shop. Not an armory. A bric-a-brac.
He found what he was looking for under a rotten wooden sign.
[OPTICAL ANALYSIS: GLYPH IDENTIFICATION.] [TRANSLATION: G-A-R-E-L. SCRAPS AND TRADE.]
The window display was a chaos of punctured cauldrons, mismatched boots, and rusted tools. The smell emanating from it was a complex blend of mold, old leather, and dust.
Adrian entered and scanned the room, looking for an indication of his interlocutor. On the greasy wood of the counter, a tarnished copper plate was nailed down.
The owner, presumably Garel, a gaunt man with shifty eyes, did not bother to get up.
The interior was a labyrinth of rickety shelves. Garel, a magnifying glass screwed onto his right eye, was sorting nails in a jar.
— We don't buy rat pelts, we don't give credit, he grumbled without raising his head.
— I'm here to buy, Adrian replied.
He scanned the room. For an untrained eye, it was a scrapyard. For IRIS, it was a deposit of mislabeled raw materials.
— IRIS, search filter: Functional equipment. Priority: Structural integrity, regardless of aesthetics.
[SCAN IN PROGRESS...]
Adrian moved down the aisles. He needed three things: mobility, carrying capacity, and striking force.
He started with his feet.
A wicker basket overflowed with shoes. Adrian plunged his hand in, ignoring the sandals and city shoes. He pulled out a pair of high-top buffalo leather boots.
They were hideous to look at. The leather was gray, dry, cracked by the sun and dried mud. The left sole was slightly peeling off.
Any adventurer would have thrown them away.
Adrian, however, pressed the leather. It was rigid, but not brittle.
— Analyze the sole.
[OBJECT: INFANTRY BOOTS (USED)] [SOLE: REINFORCED VEGETABLE RUBBER]
[INTEGRITY: 75%] [DEFECT: SUPERFICIAL DRYING + MINOR DETACHMENT]
The leather was of good quality, merely poorly maintained. With a little animal grease and heat to rehydrate the fibers, they would become pliable again. For the sole, pine resin would make an acceptable glue.
He set them aside.
He then moved on to weapons. Used swords were often traps: micro-fissures invisible to the naked eye, fatigued metal ready to snap at the first impact. He could not take that risk.
He needed something crude. Simple physics. Mass against Volume.
He rummaged through a barrel filled with agricultural and mining tools. Chipped picks, twisted shovels.
His hand closed around an ash handle, blackened by sweat and oil. At the end, a solid iron head, oxidized, forming a rectangular mass on one side and a crude spike on the other.
A modified miner's hammer-pick.
It was heavy. Brutal. Rust covered the metal in a leprous orange crust.
[COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS: IMPACT TOOL VS BLADE WEAPON]
[OBJECT 1: MINER'S HAMMER-PICK (MODIFIED)]
[MASS: 1.8 kg (impact force equivalent to a 12-meter drop on a 2 cm2 surface)
[COMPOSITION: Unalloyed carbon steel - coarse-grained ferritic crystalline structure
[EFFICIENCY:
- Maximum Kinetic Energy: 120 J (average strike velocity 5 m/s)
- Impact Pressure: ~600 MPa (reduced contact area)
- Grade 1.2 Chitin Penetration Coefficient: 0.87
[OBJECT 2: STANDARD SHORT SWORD]
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
[MASS: 0.9 kg (inhomogeneous distribution along the blade)
[COMPOSITION: Low-quality water-quenched steel - brittle martensitic structure
[STRUCTURAL DEFECTS:
- Quenching micro-fissures visible under 10x magnification
- Stress concentration at the guard notches
[OPERATIONAL LIMITS:
- Resistance to repeated shocks: 2-3 impacts against a hard surface before rupture
- Inefficient energy transfer: 60% of energy dissipated in parasitic vibrations
- Average penetration depth: 3 mm on Grade 1.2 chitin (random projection)
[TACTICAL EVALUATION]
Hammer-pick Advantages:
- Superior Mechanical Effect: Mass concentration allows 92% of kinetic energy to be converted into pure compression force, bypassing the limitations of bladed weapons against exoskeletons.
- Intrinsic Robustness: The lack of heat treatment preserves the metal's toughness, avoiding catastrophic fractures.
- Structural Versatility: The rear spike acts as a stress concentrator, ideal for exploiting anatomical weak points (joints, chitinous sutures).
Sword Disadvantages:
- Brutal Failure Mode: Rupture by crack propagation without warning signs.
- Dependence on Quenching Quality: Significant variability in artisanal production.
- Inadaptation to Biological Armor Combat: Energy dispersed over too large a surface area.
[RECOMMENDATION]
For a Grade 0.000 user facing Grade 1.0-1.5 arthropods, the impact tool offers a reliability/efficiency ratio 3.7x superior to a standard bladed weapon.
Recommended Optimization: Application of acid tempering oil onto the hammer head to raise superficial hardness to 220 HB without compromising core resilience.
Adrian smiled. He already knew he held the perfect weapon for scarabs. No need for sharpening. Just kinetic energy. And the rear spike would be used to pierce joints or pry.
He added the hammer to the boots.
He was missing the most important thing for a field alchemist: storage.
He found a military canvas backpack, oil-stained, with a strap that had been sewn back on with fishing line. Ugly, but solid.
And crucially, he unearthed a wide belt with several leather loops, probably intended for a carpenter to carry his tools.
Perfect for slipping in vials or harvest pouches.
He brought his loot to the counter. Garel looked at him with amused contempt.
— Are you going to war or are you fixing a barn? the merchant asked, pointing at the rusty hammer.
— I'm going cleaning, Adrian answered evasively. How much for everything?
Garel assessed the pile. Dry boots, a rusty hammer, a stained bag, and a worker's belt.
— Sixty coppers. That's buffalo leather, kid.
— The leather is dead, Adrian calmly countered. It will break if I run. I'll have to fully regrease it. The sole is peeling off.
He took the hammer.
— And that, that's scrap metal. I'll have to spend three hours sanding it so it doesn't infect me if I cut myself with it.
He placed thirty coppers on the table.
— Thirty. And you get rid of stuff that's been cluttering your shop for months.
Garel grumbled. He knew the kid was right. These items would never sell to a "real" adventurer.
— Forty. And I'll throw in a jar of mutton grease for your rotten boots.
— Thirty-five. And I take the grease.
— Sold. You're a rat, you are. You'll go far if you don't die tomorrow.
Adrian paid. He had thirty-seven coppers left.
He made one last stop at the grocery store next door. He bought white vinegar (the cheapest, the one for cleaning the floor), fine sand, and five small terracotta vials with cork stoppers (cheaper than glass).
Total Cost: twelve coppers.
Remaining: twenty-five coppers.
He settled in the inn's backyard, enjoying the last rays of sun. It was time for applied chemistry.
He started with the hammer.
He poured vinegar onto the metal head and rubbed vigorously with the sand.
The acetic acid in the vinegar attacked the iron oxide. The rust dissolved, forming a brownish paste. Adrian rubbed, his movements precise and repetitive. It was meditative. Beneath the filth, the dark gray of the steel appeared.
It was not shiny like a knight's sword. It was matt, industrial, threatening.
He rinsed the metal, dried it carefully, and coated it with a thin layer of grease to prevent the return of oxidation. The weapon had undergone a change of purpose. It was no longer an abandoned tool. It was a rehabilitated instrument of death.
He then tackled the boots. He warmed the mutton grease between his hands and massaged it lengthwise into the dried leather.
The buffalo drank the grease, darkening, regaining its suppleness. He re-glued the sole with a little resin he had scraped from a pine tree in the courtyard.
An hour later, Adrian stood up.
He put on his gear.
The boots hugged his ankles, firm and flexible. The carpenter's belt held his five empty vials and his dagger. The backpack, loaded with his canteen and rope, rested high on his shoulders.
The hammer hung at his right, heavy, reassuring.
He had no armor. No helmet. No shield.
He was vulnerable to any arrow or sword blow.
But he was mobile. He was light. And he looked like what he was: a pragmatist. A "Ranger" of the trash.
He checked his pockets. Twenty-five coppers.
It was little, but it was enough to celebrate his first logistic victory.
He left the courtyard. Twilight had given way to night. Torches were lighting up in Coldvale.
Most people were going home. The city gates would soon close, allowing passage only to those with a pass or those who knew the guards.
Adrian headed towards the East Gate.
— IRIS, recalibrate the center of gravity with the new load, he commanded.
[CALIBRATION COMPLETED] [TOTAL EQUIPMENT WEIGHT: 6.4 KG] [MOBILITY IMPACT: NEGLIGIBLE]
The guard at the East Gate was chewing on a piece of bread. He watched Adrian approach.
— We're closing in ten minutes, friend. Are you going out now?
— I like working in the cool air, Adrian replied.
The guard glanced at his hammer, then at his patched boots.
— You don't look like a hero, that's for sure. Watch out for the scarabs; they're out tonight.
— That's exactly why I'm going.
The guard shrugged and activated the mechanism. The heavy gate creaked open just enough to let a man through.
Adrian slipped out.
The air was different on the other side of the wall. Wild. Laden with the scents of damp earth and nocturnal sap.
Before him, the path stretched towards the East Orchard, a dark mass silhouetted against the starry sky.
Adrian took out one of his empty vials.
Hunting was not a sport. It was a collection of data and resources.
He gripped the handle of his hammer. The wood was warm under his palm.
— IRIS, switch to assisted Night Vision mode. Contrast amplification.
[NIGHT MODE: ACTIVATED] [MOVEMENT SCANNER: ON STANDBY]
The world became a color palette of grays and blues.
Adrian took the first step into the night. The Gradeless was going to war, and his armor smelled of mutton grease.
[SYSTEM NOTE: WEAPONRY]
Observation:$F = m \times a$.
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