The clock had already struck ten.
"Hmm... slept in," Ivan murmured, blinking as the soft morning sunlight spilled through the hotel window, gently coaxing him awake.
He stretched, savoring the luxurious comfort of his bed. It had been ages since he'd slept this well, no restless tossing, no cramped mattress. When he first saw the room last night, complete with its plush bed and goose-down pillows, he'd nearly choked up. Two years of scraping and saving, two years of hiding in dusty corners and hoarding every coin, all to collect 100 dollars in royalties from Mr. Depp's shady deals. And now, here he was, finally reaping the rewards.
Ivan's hand drifted to his temple. 'Don't you think so, Atom?' he thought wryly. The "program" in his mind, however, stayed silent, just as it always did. Atom was no AI companion, merely a structured system, offering guidance when needed but never engaging in conversation or giving him a friendly nudge.
After a few more blissful minutes under the covers, Ivan forced himself out of bed, washing up and dressing quickly. His stomach growled in anticipation, he'd spotted the hotel's dining area last night and noticed a row of parallel tables. If his hunch was right, today's breakfast was likely a buffet. It had been far too long since he'd indulged like this.
With a grin, Ivan headed out of his room, trotting down the stairs and crossing the lobby before reaching the restaurant. His instincts hadn't failed him, the smell of hot food wafted through the air, welcoming him in. Scattered guests were already enjoying their meals, while waitstaff hurried between tables. Plates loaded with food lay on the buffet, tempting him like forbidden treasure.
His eyes widened at the spread: meat patties, golden sausages, warm pizza, fresh pasta, toasted bread with eggs, and fluffy rolls slathered in butter.
"Not bad for two dollars a night," he muttered, impressed.
Ivan enthusiastically crafted a double-stacked breakfast burger with toasted bread, two juicy patties, a fried egg, pickles, and a slice of melting cheese. On the side, he helped himself to a generous spoonful of salmon and potato salad, alongside a hearty scoop of beans simmered in a meaty sauce.
With his tray in hand, Ivan found an empty table near the window, set down his feast, and prepared to dig in. Just as he was about to take his first bite, he noticed a row of small condiment jars on the table; sugar, salt, and pepper, all for diners to season their meals to their liking.
A sudden thought crossed his mind. He had one more task to complete.
"Retrieve the Whisperer's Awl," he whispered, a command he'd waited to give since yesterday.
The system sprang to life in his mind:
> [Searching…]
> [Found: Whisperer Bone Awl]
> [Rating: 3D]
> [Required materials: 1 radius bone from a demon spirit, 1 spirit salt, 1 silver]
> [Description: A tool forged from a recipe left by a demon spirit. Inflicts tinnitus, dizziness, muscle aches, and weakness in those it strikes.]
Ivan smirked. This weapon blueprint had been a lucky find from a monster he'd crossed paths with once. Simple but effective, the Whisperer's Awl had become his go-to weapon, particularly useful when his options were limited.
"Refine the Whisperer Bone Awl," Ivan commanded quietly.
> [Scanning for available materials…]
> [Missing materials: Spirit Salt]
> [Retrieved material from space: Alchemical matrix]
> [Environmental material located: Salt]
> [Refine Spirit Salt?]
"Yes," he replied, keeping his voice low.
> [Refinement complete: Spirit Salt]
> [Materials retrieved: Radius bone from demon spirit, Spirit Salt, Silver dinner knife]
> [Materials consumed…]
> [Current space: 7/10]
> [Refinement complete: Whisperer Bone Awl]
A strange sensation tingled in Ivan's mind, like a faint hum or static that cleared abruptly, leaving a solid weight in his right hand. When he looked down, he found the weapon he'd envisioned; a sleek, elongated bone awl, about as long as his forearm and palm combined, its sharp tip glinting ominously. Silver inlays snaked along its length, giving it a sinister elegance.
He examined it closely, noting subtle differences from his usual store-bought tools. This awl was unique, crafted from actual materials rather than summoned from a marketplace inventory.
No matter. The specifics didn't matter as much as the increase in his fighting strength. With the awl's added reach and the option to throw it, Ivan's combat tactics had just opened up considerably.
Ivan tucked the awl into his jacket, satisfied. Now it was time to enjoy his breakfast; after all, it wasn't every day he had a full buffet at his disposal.
Ivan stashed the bone awl with a look of satisfaction and then picked up his carefully assembled breakfast burger, taking a hearty bite. Juices from the patty dripped down his fingers, a rich blend of flavors reminding him just how long it had been since he'd enjoyed a decent meal.
Half an hour later, Ivan dabbed his mouth with a napkin, pushed back his chair, and left the Puget Center Hotel with a newfound sense of purpose. Today, he had a list of tasks to tackle: cashing his check for 1,500 dollars, filing the patent transfer form he'd promised Mr. Depp, and handling the issue of Malor.
Malor's body was still stored in Ivan's personal space, but it wasn't exactly a permanent solution. It wasn't like he could keep it there forever as if it were some frozen meat stash.
As Ivan exited the restaurant, a diligent waiter approached to clear his table. Pausing, the waiter examined the salt shaker and blinked in surprise. The entire salt shaker, freshly filled that morning, was mysteriously empty.
"Huh?" The waiter stared after Ivan, a mix of shock and admiration in his eyes. "Did that guy really eat that much?"
---
Meanwhile, across town, the clock struck 10 a.m., and sunlight filtered down through the narrow alleyways, striking the mud and trash-strewn ground below. The heat catalyzed the stench, filling the air with an almost nauseating odor.
In a shadowy nook, a sixteen-year-old boy named William crouched behind a trash can, shivering. Just weeks ago, he'd been a regular student with an interest in the occult. That changed when a strange man had approached him with a tempting offer; a chance to awaken mysterious powers if he followed a few instructions. William had been skeptical, but the man hadn't lied; he'd unlocked the ability of a 5D-level [Perfumer].
What the man hadn't told him, though, was the cost of becoming a wizard. He hadn't mentioned the most important rule: 'As a wizard, you would become prey.'
Now William understood all too well. Trembling behind the trash can, he cursed his overly sensitive nose as the reek of the alley pressed on his senses like an assault. The faintest whiff of danger, it seemed, could set him on edge, filling his brain with instinctive warnings.
A green-headed fly buzzed near, finally landing on his head, drawn to the sweat dripping down his scalp. He dared not swat it away. For hours, he'd managed to evade the wizards hunting him, his knowledge of the city's alleys helping him outmaneuver them. But this pursuer was different, he could hear almost impossibly well. The slightest misstep would give William away.
Just then, the sharp, rhythmic sound of boots echoed from the alley entrance. A wave of danger seemed to invade his nostrils, transforming into a raw, visceral fear that coursed through his body. His instincts screamed at him, like a rabbit catching the scent of a prowling fox. Every nerve in his body told him: 'You've been found.'
In an instant, he bolted from his hiding spot, heart racing as he lunged toward the narrow alley exit. His gaze flicked toward the entrance, where a shadowy figure, silhouetted against the sunlight, raised something in his direction.
A gun.
The sight was shockingly clear. It was a Colt revolver, its metallic surface gleaming under the dim alley light. The cylinder was loaded, brass-colored bullets visible within. The barrel and slide created a dark, concentric circle; a strangely hypnotic design that seemed to convey a sense of looming fate. In the center was the barrel's black muzzle, a void so dark it seemed to absorb light itself, like an opening to another world.
From William's perspective, it almost felt like looking at an abstract painting. In his mind, the shadowed figure before him appeared as a crude, penciled outline against a sheet of white, as though drawn on sunlight itself. The revolver in his hand was a dark mark on the otherwise blank page, its muzzle a tiny, ink-black dot, almost as if the weapon had punched a hole through reality itself.
In that surreal, split-second moment, William sensed he was looking at more than a simple weapon. The dark muzzle aimed at him seemed to symbolize the rules and inevitabilities of the wizarding world, a grim reminder that here, prey had few places left to hide.