I waited, I waited silently for the arrival of the zombie core. It was then I suddenly heard the ding! sound. I knew it was the system that was about to speak. I couldn't even help but wonder what the use of such a system was. Always being cold and all that, can't even answer a simple question. But I knew my anger could only be kept to myself, for even if I told the system or questioned it, I would never receive a reply. Well, at least it is still helpful in some areas, I murmured as I settled my mind.
The system's voice resounded as I had expected. "Evolving Blade hidden attributes have leveled up to level 3. The Ethereal Wraith Blade has taken a soul. A death has been achieved. The Ethereal Wraith Blade has leveled up to level 2. Due to being the master and possessor of the Ethereal Wraith Blade, Master-Weapon growth has been initiated. You have leveled up to level 3. You have gained the hidden attributes. Level 3 instinct."
The system's voice resounded in my ears. And although I did take note of the voice and words of the system, I didn't pay that much attention to it. For some reason, my eyes were on the zombie corpse. I was waiting for the arrival of a level 5 core. A level 5 core that could increase my strength greatly. If I could get hold of a level 5 core, it would improve my chances of surviving in this cruel, familiar yet strange world. I would be one step closer toward my will of survival. Although only the beginning, I believed I could see it through. I believed I could live through it all. I believe I would survive the hidden lurking dangers and shadows that shroud this strange yet familiar world. I believe a day will come when I will proudly face the sky and shout out in joy: "I survived!" And getting the zombie core would be one step further in accomplishing my plans.
But I was destined to be disappointed, for I had waited for a whole minute. A whole minute, but the zombie core didn't appear. I was left reeling in shock. "Where is the zombie core? Or doesn't a zombie have a core?" I murmured, as sudden realization struck me. That should be the reason; if not, nothing else can explain this. The answer is that they don't have a core.
"Huh," I said, "at least I still have my mythical-grade dagger: Ethereal Wraith Blade." I tried to comfort myself. I was really angered and aggrieved. It was just like a kid finishing all his household chores just to get a gift from his parents, and then the parents suddenly tell him he wouldn't be getting the gift after the kid had finished all his chores. One could wonder how the kid would be feeling; that was exactly how I was feeling, if not even more aggrieved. For I had given it my all, my wits, my strength, and all my willpower just to survive a fight. And when I was prepared to reap the rewards that I had worked hard for, I suddenly realized that I couldn't get what I wanted.
Sigh! Although angry and aggrieved, I knew that there was nothing I could do about it. Unlike others, I still gained something from killing a zombie. "Right," I questioned myself, "at least I have leveled up to level 3, and even the Ethereal Wraith Blade has leveled up to level 3. So I still gained something, while others wouldn't gain a thing even after such a strenuous and great battle. One could think of how much anger they would accumulate. It could basically people a mountain. For I knew that if I was in their shoes, after such a strenuous and life-endangering battle, and I hadn't gained anything in return, I would have cursed, been aggrieved, and sad. But one thing I knew about myself was that I would never allow myself to give up on myself. I would brace up and toughen my trousers. For I knew any man couldn't have all he ever wants in this life. One way or the other, he is surely to encounter some depressing challenges and setbacks. And I also knew that I could allow myself to be proud. In this vast new and strange yet familiar world, there would surely be people, creatures, and species far stronger and more talented than I am. In this vast world, I am nothing but a speck of dust, but this speck of dust will make use of everything in its power to survive to the end. The speck of dust shan't be passed or blown away by the passage of time. I shan't be blown away by the river of time. I shall forever survive, at all costs, with everything I have got. I will make sure I can survive; nothing will stop me from surviving.
I had these various great and relieving thoughts as I suddenly reminisced about the time that I collected the dagger from the mysterious World News. I had been asked some questions when I had the dagger with me, and the one that I suddenly recollected was, "What will you call this dagger if a time arises and you feel that you have to or should give it a name?" I didn't really think too much about it then and didn't even want to answer such a stupid question. For no matter how much I loved how shiny the dagger was, I would never get to the extent of giving the dagger a name. I didn't want to answer, but it was one of the compulsory questions I was made to answer. Finally, upon thinking about the radiant beauty of the dagger, I had given it a name. A name that I found suitable and loving for the dazzling dagger. The dagger that brightened even the darkest nights. The dagger that shone with blinding rays of light. The dagger that would illumine even the hardest road, even the road filled with the darkest path. The dagger that would elucidate even the greatest of life-threatening situations. The dagger that would serve as a source of light. As a light of hope. A light of hope during the darkest times. "Dark Aurora."