Back under the Minotaur’s rafters, Garric looked up from polishing a mug to a blind shine. His eyebrow asked a question his mouth didn’t.
“Tonight,” Kevin said. “Or not at all.”
Garric nodded. “Borik’s got knowledge for a shield that won’t forgive your mistakes but better than your ribs will.”
Kevin grinned, sudden and unpretty. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve got to annoy a wolf.”
Kevin wandered over to Borik. “Umm, Hi.” He said with all of the social awkwardness of a teenage boy. Borik wore a scowl on his face as he vehemently scrawled on parchments spewed across the table between them
“Huh?” He grunted.
“I… ugh, I have an odd request. I kind of need to know how to make shields.” Said as if it was taboo. Christ this is going to sound weird, who ever heard of dual wielding tower shields… Kevin realised how strange it sounded—all defense, no offense.
“A shield huh?” Borik’s attention, still on his work. “Makes sense, you seem the type.” He stopped scrawling, chewing on the end of his pencil stub. “Although, maybe two would be better, one in each hand kind of thing.”
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Kevin couldn't believe his ears.
“That was exactly my thinking!” He said excitedly, the words almost jumbled.
“Tower shields too I think.”
“I think I've just met my new best friend.” Kevin smiled and brought out some materials allowing Borik to inspect them.
“Come with me, boy.” Borik said, rising from his seat.
Borik brought him to the workshop for the first time. The floor was scattered with a thick layer of sawdust with splotched stains distributed near racks and machinery that Kevin could not identify. There was a long wooden box, with one end open and a tube that led to a barrel of water with charcoal laid underneath. Borik flicked a match under the barrel and the fire sprang to life.
“Cut a notch down the length of two of the Greenwoods and stick them into the box.” Borik instructed. Kevin did so, using a wooden hammer and a chisel from one of the many toolracks hanging from the walls. He chased out a groove in the wood from one end to the other then placed them inside the box—it was lined with what looked like wool and it was damp and warm already
They tanned, then layered three rat hides together using a broth made with tannins and animal bone between each layer. Borik instructed him to make six of these stacked hides. After it had gone dry the rat leathers felt strong, extremely strong.
“What’s next?” Kevin said. He lay down the laminated hide, wiping his hands on a ragged piece of cloth nearby.
“The wood should be ready by now, but we need a shape to bend it around first.” Borik said. “I have honed some of the other Greenwood lengths for you while you laminated the hides.” He presented a small pile of plank shaped wood like slats waiting to be joined together.
“Use the twine and tie these onto a center spine, that’s where your handle will go when we have finished. Then we will wrap the hide around it and give it one more coat of glue. That will harden the shield as it dries.”
Borik opened the wooden box, steam pillowed out and the smell of tree oils permeated their nostrils. He grabbed a pair of tongs and reached inside for one of the lengths. “Put the shield in one of the jigs over there.” He gestured to the long bench along one of the walls of the workshop. Borik laid the length on one edge of the shield, he grabbed a dry rag and pushed, he pushed hard, bending the wood around the edge of the shield, the notch hugging the wood as he did. The two ends of the shield curled around the top edge of the shield, almost meeting at the top before stopping short, a small gap enough to place your fist.
“Oh no… Not enough!” Kevin said, he sounded disappointed, frustrated that they would have to start again.
“Don’t panic, I measured before. We just need a keystone. Like on an arch.” He reached to his pile of honed wood—a larger lump of wood with a carving of a rat's head menacing with its sharp teeth bared. It bridged the gap beautifully.
“Right. That’s the hard part.” Borik said, nailing the last of a bunch of pewter tacks around the perimeter to hold the wood to the rest of the shield. “Now it just needs a varnish. Fetch that pot over there.” He pointed to a brush handle dangling out of a pot of a shimmering golden liquid. “Brush that over all the wood. I’ll make a handle loop out of this spare hide.” Kevin followed his every instruction, rhythmic in learning the techniques of an obvious master-craftsman.
“I wish I had the chance to do this before. Learning all of this isn’t just a necessity, it's actually fun…” Kevin said to Borik as they both worked on his first shield.
“Before? Where did you come from then, boy?” Borik replied.
“Honestly, I’m starting to forget what it looked like already.” Kevin said, the brushing soothing his heart ache. “I never enjoyed myself as much as I have in the last few days here, though. That’s for sure.”
Borik nodded. “Home should always be a part of you, boy, forgetting where we’re from only leads to forgetting how you got here in the first place.” It was obvious he wasn’t talking about geography.
He tacked the handle to the back spine of the shield and a notification popped up:
Ratleather Tower Shield
Armor Rating: +15
Block Chance: 22%
Weight: Heavy (slow stamina recovery)
Enchanted Varnish bonus: +1 to Constitution
Who needs a sword when you can carry a door? I'm sure there's a knock knock joke there somewhere… +50 Armourcrafting EXP / +50 Player EXP
Armourcrafting Recipe Unlocked—Ratleather Tower Shield
You can now craft this item at any time, regardless of tools available, so long as you have the materials of course.
“Oh, it says I can craft another one without the tools.” Kevin said. He flicked to the crafting tab and to the new blinking grid item next to the armour he was already wearing. This was his first time crafting a completely tangible item like this. The crafting menu had multiple slots with silhouettes of the material type. All of the slots orbited the shield with arrows from the slot to the destination the material would be on the shield. He willed all of the items required into their awaiting slots and a button appeared at the bottom of the menu—Craft. He pressed the button.
Ratleather Tower Shield
Armor Rating: +15
Block Chance: 22%
Weight: Heavy (slow stamina recovery)
Enchanted Varnish bonus: +1 to Constitution
Who needs a sword when you can carry a door? I'm sure there's a knock knock joke there somewhere…
+50 Armourcrafting EXP / +50 Player EXP
The second shield appeared in his other hand, the first shield clasped in his other. They were perfectly identical down to each minute detail, down to the exact placement of each pewter tack and both with the same savage rat carving at their apex.
Player Level Up—Level 3
+2 Attribute Points Awarded
Kevin – Level 3 (Title: Rat Slayer)
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 0 + 2 (From Armour Set bonus)
Intellect: 1
Wisdom: 0
Charisma: 0
Constitution: 11 + 2 (From equipped items)
Health: 220 ? Mana: 110 ? Stamina: 100
Armour: 55 ? Dodge: 0 ? Magic Absorption: 0
He kept with the same formula, the knowledge that armour would contribute not-insignificantly to his stats was a warming thought.
Constitution increased to 12 (+ 2)
Max Health recalculated: 244 + 24—268.
Strength increased to 3
Base melee damage increased.
Kevin tested the weight of his new shields again, flexing his arms as if trying to decide whether he looked ridiculous or brilliant. The rat-head carvings stared back at him like mascots of poor taste. He trudged back to the counter where Garric leaned, broad as the bar itself, polishing the same mug with the same rag as though it were a ritual.
“You ever feel like you’ve just invented the dumbest smart idea in history?” Kevin asked, hoisting both shields for effect. “Because I’m ninety percent sure I’m about to redefine ‘laughable death’.”
Garric squinted at him, the chipped tooth showing in his half-smile. “You’ll redefine something, lad. Whether it’s death or survival—that’s your wager.”
“Great. No pressure,” Kevin muttered, setting one shield down with a thunk. “It’s just… everyone else gets swords or bows or fireballs. Me? I get two planks of wood strapped in rat hide. I mean, who does that? Who looks at an apex predator with three howls and says, ‘yeah, better bring two doors to the fight.’”
“You,” Garric said simply, and went back to polishing.
Kevin blinked. “That’s it? No pep talk? No wisdom about courage or destiny or—”
“Boy,” Garric cut him off, setting the mug down at last. “I keep an inn. I sell stew and ale, not poetry. You want destiny, talk to an oracle. You want advice? Don’t get eaten.”
Kevin laughed despite himself, a sharp little bark that earned him a few side-eyes from the other patrons. “Not getting eaten. Revolutionary strategy. I’ll write that down.” He mimed scribbling notes on the wood of the shield. “‘Step one: avoid becoming wolf chow.’”
Garric leaned his elbows on the bar, his expression softening into something like concern. “You’ve grit, Kevin. I’ve seen plenty come through here. Some think themselves heroes before they’ve killed a rat. They don’t last. You? You don’t think you’re anything but still you keep at it. That’s rarer coin than silver.”
Kevin shifted, uncomfortable with the compliment. He tried to hide it with a smirk. “So what you’re saying is—I’m too stubborn to die properly.”
“Exactly.” Garric chuckled, low and rough. “A man who refuses to fold makes a fine wall. And walls, lad, are what keep villages standing when monsters come sniffing.”
Kevin tapped one shield with his knuckle. “Guess I’m a walking cottage, then. With two very questionable front doors.”
“Better questionable doors than none.” Garric pointed a thick finger at him. “Now eat. Drink. You’ll need both tonight. Wolves don’t stop howling ‘cause you’ve got jokes.”
Kevin’s grin faltered just enough to show the weight pressing underneath. He nodded, lowering himself onto a bench. “Right. Tonight or not at all. Guess we’ll see if being stubborn is enough.”
Garric poured him a mug of something frothy and dark. “It often is.”
Kevin raised it in a mock-toast, voice wry. “To not getting eaten.”
Garric clinked his own against it. “To being too bloody stubborn for death to chew.”
The fields hushed themselves into the kind of silence that warned rather than welcomed. Kevin stood at the edge of the rise again, the new tower shields heavy at his sides, the leather straps digging into the crook of each arm. He flexed his fingers once, twice, rehearsing the rhythm of holding, bracing, surviving.
The first howl split the air, sharp and ceremonial, a knife drawn along bone.
The second followed in the marrow of his spine, close and cruel.
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The third—he felt in the soil itself, a subterranean shiver that told him the earth was listening too.
Kevin’s jaw clenched. “Right. Showtime.”
Tracking lines flickered over his vision: three trails, sharp as cracks in glass, threading through the hedgerows and into the long grass. The System tagged them in neat white:
Dire Wolf — Level 3
Dire Wolf — Level 3
Dire Wolf (Boss: Greyfang) — Level 4.
“Oh fantastic,” he muttered. “Two monsters and their big brother.”
The trails converged. He crouched low, shuffled forward until the ground fell away into a hollow. The sheep had long since fled. The scent hit him next: musky, feral, rank with blood not his. Then eyes—six of them—lit against the gloom like lanterns in a tunnel.
The wolves stepped out together, no need for secrecy when you owned the dark. Lesser Dire Wolves, shoulders like barrels, fur thick as armour, teeth glinting white against black lips. Between them padded Greyfang, taller, crueler, a scar carving through his muzzle. His breath steamed in the autumn air, his chest rising and falling with a predator’s patience.
Kevin’s throat worked. “Hello boys… and one very unpleasant main act.” He raised both shields, clapped them together with a hollow boom. “I’m your entertainment tonight.”
The wolves charged.
The first hit like a battering ram. Kevin braced both shields and the impact rattled him from wrist to spine, but he held. Claws screeched down wood. He shoved sideways, bashing the wolf away, only for the second to dart in low, jaws snapping for his calf. He twisted, brought the other shield down like a guillotine. Teeth crunched against reinforced ratleather; the wolf yelped and recoiled.
And then Greyfang came.
He didn’t leap. He stalked, deliberate, letting his lesser kin soften the wall before him. Kevin could feel his stamina ticking down already—shields were heavy, movements slow. He couldn’t afford to just block.
The left wolf lunged again. Kevin pivoted, letting its teeth close on shield-edge, then heaved, flipping the beast onto its side. He stomped down hard—its ribs crunched—but claws raked his thigh in the scramble. Pain screamed red.
“Yep, that’s… fantastic. Keep it coming,” Kevin gasped.
The second wolf circled, its growl a drumbeat. Greyfang surged forward suddenly, impossibly fast for his bulk. The boss’s claws tore into Kevin’s shield, carving gouges deep enough that he saw daylight through wood. The sheer force sent him stumbling back, boots digging trenches in the soil.
Kevin shoved one shield into Greyfangs muzzle, smearing the boss with ratleather and sweat, then rammed forward with the other shield like a battering ram. For a heartbeat, Greyfang staggered. Kevin didn’t waste it—he slammed both shields down in a crushing clap against the wolf’s head. The sound was like a snapped log. Greyfang snarled, blood flecking his fangs, more furious than wounded.
The lesser wolves seized the chance. One sank teeth into Kevin’s forearm, biting past hide and cloth. He screamed, jerking wildly, the second wolf barreling into his knees. Shields went wide—he toppled, the pack piling on.
Panic flared. He scrambled for one of his quickslot keys.
Warmth spread under his skin as the bite wounds knitted just enough to stop his vision from graying out. He shoved upward, shields jerking like broken wings, and forced the lesser wolves back a pace. Greyfang, though, stayed in close, his breath hot, teeth snapping for Kevin’s throat.
Kevin ducked, felt the air of Greyfang’s sweep past his ear, and rammed his forehead into Greyfang’s muzzle. Pain exploded in his skull—but the wolf reeled, momentarily dazed.
“Oh my god… I just Glaswegian-kissed a wolf,” Kevin panted. “Mum would be proud.”
The wolves regrouped, fanning into a triangle. Kevin dragged one shield into the dirt, smearing it with salve from a shattered vial, then smeared the mixture over the claw marks across his thigh.
Another howl shook the hollow, this time from Greyfang alone. It wasn’t a call—it was a challenge. Both lesser wolves sprang. Kevin crouched low, let the first slam into shield, then pivoted and body-slammed the second with both tower shields pressed together, crushing it against a rock. The crack of bone was wet, final.
Lesser Dire Wolf slain — Level 3
+120 EXP / +30 Skinning EXP
Item Acquired: Dire Wolf Pelt / Dire Wolf Meat / Dire Wolf Claw
The remaining wolf hesitated, ears flat, before Greyfang snapped at it and forced it forward again. Kevin barely had time to brace before it hit. His ribs screamed.
Kevin gritted his teeth. “Fine. You want stupid? I can do stupid.” He shoved upward with everything left, driving his shield’s rat-head keystone straight into the wolf’s jaw. It toppled, howling, and he finished it with a brutal shield-bash that collapsed its skull.
Lesser Dire Wolf slain — Level 3
+120 EXP / +30 Skinning EXP
Item Acquired: Dire Wolf Pelt / Dire Wolf Tooth / Dire Wolf Meat
That left Greyfang.
The boss circled now, pacing like a duelist. His breath came steady, unhurried—this wasn’t desperation, this was sport. Kevin spat blood, braced both shields, and beckoned him with a flick of his wrist.
“Come on then. Let’s find out who’s the bigger stubborn bastard.”
Greyfang obliged.
The impact nearly tore Kevin’s arm from its socket. The shields slammed against his chest as Greyfang drove him back, claws gouging, teeth snapping. Kevin felt wood splinter, felt varnish crack.
“Okay. Bad time. Very bad time.” He staggered, chugged another Vitality potion, slammed another salve into the open gashes at his side, biting back a yell as it burned like fire.
Greyfang lunged again, jaws wide. Kevin jammed both shields into the wolf’s maw, forcing it open, arms trembling. The beast’s saliva dripped hot onto his face, its eyes twin lanterns of hunger. Inch by inch, Kevin forced the shields wider, turning its bite into leverage. Then he twisted, using its own weight to slam it sideways into the ground.
“Die you motherfucker!” he roared, bringing both shields down in a brutal double smash. The first cracked ribs, the second split skull. He kept hitting until the wolf's body finally grew still.
Boss Slain: Greyfang, the Dire Wolf — Level 4
+240 EXP / +50 Skinning EXP / +1 Silver, 40 Copper
Item Acquired: Greyfang’s Tooth (Quest Item)
Item Acquired: Greater Dire Wolf Claws
Item Acquired: Unique Pelt — Greyfang’s Hide
Item Acquired: Dire Wolf Meat (x3)
Kevin slumped onto his knees, both shields still clenched in his hands and dripping, his breath a ragged saw and the lump of grey fur—now barely wolf shaped—stained and still, quickly growing cold.
Aural Module Enabled
“Wow! Just wow!” The same voice boomed in Kevin’s ears—already throbbing his heartbeat. “Such a great effort from our little—and I must stress little—mobile tank in the making! Bets are off for these games.”
“They definitely are not!” Said the AI. “Momma needs a new pair of seraph cores.”
“Just look at all that blood! And some of it isn’t even his! There’s just no telling how far he will go from here, folks!” The Commentator continued, ignoring the AI. Kevin could tell it was pandering as his eyes rolled.
“Fuck. Off…” He muttered gently into the ground, panting.
“What was that Kev? Got a new catchphrase for us?! Let us hear it big boy!”
“I said FUCK OFF!” Kevin's head turned to the sky and he yelled.
“Oh my!” Said the Commentator. “Only Jeb’lor could have known that this puppy had some bite back too! Good job player! Keep it up Kev! We’re expecting things from you! Not sure if they’ll be big yet, but yanno. Fingers crossed!”
Aural Module Disabled
God damn it. Why… Why can’t they just leave me the fuck alone?!
The tooth was heavy in his palm, heavier than enamel had any right to be. It glinted a sickly ivory, long as a dagger and twice as menacing, streaked with the blood that hadn’t dried yet. Kevin wiped it on his shield strap out of habit, but it still seemed to radiate menace—as if the fight weren’t entirely over.
The fields of Northwood felt different now. The sheep no longer huddled in terror, though they hadn’t yet scattered to graze either. The air was relieved but watchful, as though the land itself were holding a cautious breath.
Mara was waiting by the same fencepost, crook still planted against her hip. She looked him over, and if she noticed the limp, the torn leathers, the way his breath still rasped shallow, she didn’t remark on it. Instead, her eyes went to his hands.
Kevin lifted the tooth with a grimace of triumph. “Proof enough?”
She stepped forward, took it from him with both hands. Her fingers brushed his, roughened with years of field work. She turned the tooth slowly, nodding once. “Aye. That’s Greyfang. That one won’t trouble these fields again.”
The System pane burst open before Kevin’s eyes, sharp and triumphant:
Daily ? Boss: Farmland Greyfang— Complete
+350 Combat EXP, +250 Player EXP
+90 c
Extra Item Acquired: Greyfang’s Hide
Chance Roll: Uncommon Equipment — Success!
Item Acquired: Wolf Fang Amulet — Uncommon
+1 to Strength ? +3% Physical Resistance
Kevin blinked at the new item, then dug into his inventory. A necklace appeared in his hand, the fang polished smooth, strung on a loop of braided hide. It was primal and crude and, to him, absolutely glorious. He slipped it over his head, felt the faint hum of System approval as the bonus ticked across his sheet.
Kevin – Level 3 (Title: Rat Slayer)
Strength: 2 + 1
Dexterity: 0 + 2 (From Armour Set bonus)
Intellect: 1
Wisdom: 0
Charisma: 0
Constitution: 11 + 2 (From equipped items)
Health: 268 ? Mana: 110 ? Stamina: 100
Armour: 85 = 28.33% + 3% = 31.33% ? Dodge: 0 ? Magic Absorption: 0
“Stylish,” he muttered to himself. “You’d think wolves would be put off by me wearing their mate’s tooth, but… sure.”
Mara was still watching him, the tooth Greyfang’s mate once wielded now in her grip. Her face softened, but only a little. “You’ve done what no one else would. You’ve bought these flocks a little more time. That’s all we ever ask.”
Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, shields clanking awkwardly as he shifted. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d walk back. Two shields, a lot of screaming, some… very messy potion-chugging. If you heard a man yelling about being wolf chow, that was me. All part of the service.”
Her mouth twitched, almost a smile, though it never quite bloomed. “You stood when others would have run. That matters.”
Kevin swallowed, a lump forming that he hadn’t expected. Compliments, real ones, hit harder than claws. “Well. Stubbornness is kind of my only stat right now.”
She finally handed back the tooth, wrapped now in a strip of cloth. “Keep it. You’ll want the proof, and the story.”
Kevin looked down at it, then back up at her. “Thanks. Really. I don’t think I’ve ever been this… alive. Which is ironic, given how close I came to the other option.”
Mara’s gaze swept over the horizon, the fields already softening with the light of late afternoon. “Alive is all we can ask for, lad. Anything more is a gift.” Kevin nodded, shields slung heavy against his back, the fang amulet warm against his chest.
Kevin’s sleep that night was anything but peaceful. The moment his body gave in to exhaustion, the dream took him—not the ordinary nonsense of memory replay, but something vast, something weighted, as if it were being sent to him.
He stood beneath a bruised sky. At first, it seemed like nothing but stormclouds rolling, darker and heavier than any thunderhead he had ever seen. Then the ground shook. Dull booms echoed from far off, steady and growing, like colossal drums being beaten beneath the earth. The forest around him—familiar trees, their trunks silvered by moonlight—shivered as if afraid. Bark cracked. Branches rattled with a sound like teeth.
From the distance, shapes emerged. Towering figures, forms loose and hulking, as if carved from mountain rock. They lumbered forward, each step leaving a pit that smoldered faintly with the same purple-black whisps as they were seemingly made from. They pulsed faintly from within. Their eyes were pits of ember, their chests heaving with the sound of boulders grinding.
One bent low, and as it pressed its hand to the earth, a purple geyser spidered upward and outward through the roots. Trees hissed, leaves curling to ash in seconds, carried away by the invisible winds. Another creature lifted its head to the sky and bellowed, a cavernous roar that carried a bright light up its throat.
Kevin felt small—less than small, insect-like—caught in the wake of giants that were not yet fully awake. The forest burned in fragments around him, but this was only the beginning. He saw it, impossibly: a mountain rising where no mountain had been. The earth buckled upward, vomiting into the skies above. A volcano, being birthed by will alone.
Kevin tried to run. The ground opened under his feet, splitting into open crags. He stumbled, fell, heat scalding his face, and -
He woke with a gasp, sweat slicking his chest despite the cool air of the inn. For a few seconds, he couldn’t shake the sound of that roar, couldn’t unsee the volcano blooming where the forest should be. He rubbed his face, half-expecting his palms to come away dusted in ash.
A chime interrupted his panic. His vision blinked, and the System’s UI slid across his eyes with bureaucratic smugness.
Daily Quests Allocated
Three new tasks available. Complete before day’s end for rewards.
Three slips of glowing parchment unfurled in midair, each one snapping into sharp focus before his eyes:
- Cull the Vermin (0/12 Rats Slain)
- Gather Glow-cap Mushrooms (0/5)
- Gather Wolf Fangs (0/3)
The papers hovered with the officious air of assignments handed down by a soulless manager. The cube-thing was practically humming with delight.
“Every bright and shiny morning,” it crooned, “three daily quests, fresh from the oven! Like a bakery, if bakeries served only monotony and death! Complete them before sundown, or watch them vanish into irrelevance. Either way, I win.”
Kevin rubbed his eyes, still half tangled in the memory of burning trees. “So this’ll be every day. I just… wake up to work?”
Another tab pulsed faintly at the edge of the tabbed menus:
Daily Quest Replay
Kevin sat up, squinting. “What the hell is this now?”
The cube-thing, ever too pleased with itself, crackled into view. “Congratulations, meat-stick! A shiny new feature for your otherwise featureless existence. Daily Quest Replay! Because apparently, even you needed an option to do the same menial task again and again. Truly, innovation at its peak.”
Kevin frowned. “Replay… daily quests? You mean I can redo old jobs?”
“Exactly!” the AI squealed. “Didn’t get enough joy from your thrilling rat-bashing escapades? Not enough bruises and bites from that fearsome old boss? Fear not, for you may now relive that glory. Grind to your heart’s content! It builds character! Probably.”
Kevin chuckled lightly. His eyes lingered on the glowing icon. The Greyfang quest—the first real task he’d completed—now sat there, reset and waiting. He thought of the steady rhythm of it: the hunt, the fight, the reward. Small, predictable, and achievable. Safe, even. And after that dream, after seeing the sky torn open and forests burning, safety sounded like something he could cling to.
“Fine,” he muttered, pressing it. “Greyfang again. I suppose it will help me progress the fastest.”
The menu chimed. A parchment quest note appeared in his hand, the ink still drying as if freshly written. The same bounty: wolf fangs for coin and credit. Kevin tightened his grip. If the world was to burn, maybe I can be strong enough to at least shield the inn. He thought of Garric, of Borik and Tharn, of Anwen, Renna, Lirae. They needed someone to care, someone to keep them safe.
And so he went out again, and again after that, repeating the Greyfang quest until his boots were slick with mud and his hands smelled of iron and fur. With each return, Garric gave him the same nod, the same gruff chuckle at his stubbornness. With each turn-in, the coins clinked heavier in his pouch.
Repetition, yes. But it was also progress. Tiny, stubborn steps.
Because if the dream was true—if volcanoes were about to rise and magma elementals descend—then Kevin needed every coin, every scrap of gear, every ounce of resilience he could scrape together.