[Tough Rabbit Hide] (Common) ×3
[Rabbit Leg Bone] (Common) ×2
[Rabbit Meat] (Common) ×4
[Spiral Rabbit Horn] (Uncommon) ×1
[Low-Grade Mana Crystal] (Rare) ×1
Null blinked, then blinked again.
This… seemed excessive.
Normally monsters in games sometimes dropped a horn. Wolves might drop meat or hide. But this single rabbit — a horned, murderous demon-rabbit, sure — had dropped a full butcher shop’s worth of parts, plus a mana crystal. It was absurd.
Then he remembered the earlier system message: 100% Increased Drop Rate for 7 Days.
“So this is what broken luck looks like,” Null murmured.
Broken or not, he needed gear. Weapons. Anything better than the blood-smeared shard of metal still clutched in his hand.
His gaze slid to the shattered boulder. Hundreds of obsidian fragments glittered across the ground like black stars, their edges razor-thin, gleaming sharply under the cold morning light. Something stirred inside him — not a thought, not even a decision, but an invitation. A tug deep in his bones.
Make one.
Null stiffened.
The idea wasn’t his.
A cybersecurity analyst from Kuala Lumpur didn’t wake up one morning knowing how to craft stone-age weaponry. He barely trusted himself with assembling IKEA furniture. The very concept of building a dagger out of volcanic glass should’ve felt laughable.
And yet here he was, already moving.
His body stepped forward without waiting for permission. His hands — his very fingers — seemed guided by an instinct older than the ruins surrounding him. Kneeling beside the obsidian field, Null sifted through the shards. At first, it seemed random. Then he realized each motion had a purpose. Tap, tilt, test the weight. Reject. Tap again. Turn the edge toward the light. Reject. Reject.
Finally, his hands paused over a flat, palm-sized shard. Its cutting edge caught the light like oil on water.
“That one…? Really?” Null whispered.
His body didn’t answer.
It didn’t need to.
He opened his inventory and withdrew one piece of [Tough Rabbit Hide], spreading it over his lap like a makeshift apron. Then he pulled out one [Rabbit Leg Bone]. To Null it was a bone — nothing more. But to the instincts controlling him, it was a tool. A hammer.
The crafting began.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Obsidian flakes chipped off the main shard with flawless precision.
Null’s conscious mind reeled. His hands struck each blow at the perfect angle, applying the exact amount of force needed to shape the stone. Flint knapping — an art from the dawn of humanity — performed with the effortless grace of a master craftsman.
He had seen documentaries about this once. On a survivalist channel, maybe. But watching something on screen wasn’t the same as shaping the stone yourself, turning raw earth into a killing tool. This was skill — ancient, muscular memory. Something Ethan Tan should not possess.
But Null — whatever he was becoming — performed it as naturally as breathing.
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Once the rough blade shape emerged, his hands switched techniques, taking up the second bone. Using pressure-flaking, he carved serrated micro-edges along the blade’s sides, each flake popping off with a crisp tick like breaking glass.
By the time he finished, the obsidian blade shimmered like jet-black water, leaf-shaped and lethally sharp. He wrapped strips of rabbit hide around the base, forming a crude grip. But his hands weren’t satisfied. He took the new blade to the Ironwood Tree — the same ancient trunk the rabbit had impaled itself upon — and peeled back a strip of bark to expose the fibrous strands beneath.
[Ironwood Fiber] (Material) acquired.
He braided the fibers into intricate knots, binding the leather securely, creating a primitive handle with surprising elegance.
As the final knot tightened, a soft chime echoed in his skull.
[Ancient Crafting (Passive) – Rank C] learned.
Mastery: Beginner (1/100)
Description: You can craft basic tools and weapons using primitive methods. The quality of the item is dependent on your skill and the materials used.
Another window appeared.
[Crude Obsidian Dagger]
Tier: Rare
Attack: 35–45
Durability: 15/15
Special Effect: [Shatter] – On a critical hit, this weapon has a chance to ignore a portion of the target’s defense.
Note: This weapon is a masterpiece of primitive crafting, but it is incredibly fragile. It cannot be repaired.
Null stared at the dagger.
35–45 attack.
For a Level 3 player?
That was enough to kill many low-tier monsters with one strike. Too much power for someone who barely knew how this world worked.
He should’ve felt proud. Instead, dread gnawed at him.
He hadn’t earned this.
Something deep inside him had.
Tying the dagger to his belt, he pushed himself upright — and the world immediately punished him.
A crushing weight slammed onto his chest. His breath hitched. The air felt thin, too thin — almost absent. His vision swam, colors bleeding at the edges.
He staggered backward, slamming a hand against the Ironwood Tree for support.
“Shit— not now—”
[Altitude Sickness] (Debuff)
Recovery Rate (HP/MP/Stamina): -50%
Agility: -5
Persists while in high-altitude zones.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Null hissed, forcing air into his lungs.
A deadly monster? He could handle that. Crafting a dagger from stone? Apparently his body could handle that too. But a basic environmental debuff? Taken out instantly.
He slid to the ground, head pounding. His breaths were shallow and fast. Sweat chilled against his skin.
Then — something shifted.
Not the air. Not the ground.
Something inside the ruins.
A whisper, faint as dust sliding across old stone.
…chosen… at last…
Null’s head snapped up. He scanned the ruins, eyes darting between broken pillars and jagged shadows.
Nothing.
He held his breath.
…here… the fountain… release me…
This time the whisper burrowed directly into his mind.
Not sound. Not hallucination.
A thought that wasn’t his.
Null’s pulse spiked.
Every horror story he’d ever heard about “voices in ancient ruins” screamed at him to run.
But stronger than fear was the same instinct that had driven him into the capsule…
and guided his hands just now.
Something beyond logic tugged him toward the voice.
“Dammit,” he whispered, pushing himself to his feet. “Every bad decision starts with me listening to something creepy.”
He moved deeper into the ruins.
Altitude Sickness slowed him, each step weighted like he was wading through sludge. Twice he dropped to one knee, dizzy. Sweat blurred his vision. But the whispered pull was irresistible.
He passed broken archways, toppled pillars, and the scattered bones of creatures long dead. Every distant sound made him tense — the skitter of a rabbit, the grinding shift of a stone giant’s limb — but instinct guided him around danger. His body chose paths he would never have noticed.
Ten minutes later, he reached it.
A vast circular plaza lay before him, illuminated by cold, angled sunlight. In the center stood a fountain — or what remained of one.
A colossal structure of carved stone tiers rose from the ground, cracked and dry, filled only with dust and old leaves. The carvings along its spiraling basins showed a great tree — vibrant, filled with life — its branches stretching impossibly wide.
Now it was nothing but decay.
…in the basin… the key…
Null swallowed and stepped forward.
Dust puffed under his boots as he leaned over the main basin. At first he saw nothing. Then, buried in the very center as though it had been placed with deliberate care, he spotted it.
A small silver pendant.
Simple. Unadorned.
Hanging from a leather cord that looked untouched by time.
Null hesitated only a moment. Then he reached in and lifted it.
The world inhaled.
Light exploded from the pendant — soft, silver, and cold. It pooled onto the ground and rose like mist, swirling upward into a humanoid shape.
A ghostly figure formed.
An elderly man, beard long and white.
Eyes full of sorrow, wisdom, and exhaustion deeper than centuries.
He looked at Null and smiled — a weary, fragile smile.
“At last,” the old man breathed, his voice the same whisper that had entered Null’s mind. “After all these centuries… someone heard me.”
His translucent hands folded loosely before him.
“Welcome, child. You are the successor I prayed would come.”
The words hung in the air like a divine charge, shifting the ruins around them from lifeless stone into the birthplace of something far greater.
Null’s breath caught.
And the world held its own.