Dawn came, the city was quiet except for the distant hum of early traffic. He'd barely slept. Instead, he'd spent most of the night hunched over that old sword manual, practicing footwork in cramped space, memorizing each stroke drawn on those yellowed pages.
His arms and legs ached from careful repetition, but he welcomed the pain. It meant he was building something real, something he could rely on once the world cracked open.
He fixed a quick breakfast—instant coffee and a plain roll. The taste was nothing special, but normalcy calmed him.
Afterward, he showered, dressed in comfortable clothes, and stood before the bathroom mirror. This face, younger and less weathered, stared back.
He had time. Not much, but more than anyone else understood.
He checked the System in his mind:
[Study Progress: Unrefined Sword Manual: 1/20 hours]
He snorted quietly. Only one hour recorded, though he'd spent longer. Maybe he needed more focused practice, not just flipping pages.
He'd try again later with something more akin to real drilling.
For now, he had another errand in mind. He recalled a rumor about a construction site near the outskirts of the city that would later become a hidden Rift entrance.
When the apocalypse struck, it spawned a low-level boss with a unique drop. The item—a simple bracelet with minor stat boosts—was laughed at by those who got stronger over time, but at the start of the crisis, such a boost was priceless.
If he could find that place and somehow influence events, maybe even secure the item in advance, it could help. Or he might at least mark its location to be first on the scene when chaos began.
He pocketed some cash, stepped outside. The morning felt cooler, a slight breeze carrying distant conversation and the scent of fresh bread from a bakery downstairs.
He caught himself smiling at such mundanity. After facing horrors untold, simple things felt precious.
A bus ride took him across town. He scanned the passing streets, noting landmarks that would become future battlefields: a park that would hide a minor healing fountain after the apocalypse, a convenience store that would later supply rare potions.
All of it looked so ordinary now. He'd return to these places when the time was right.
Arriving at the construction site, he hopped off the bus. Fences of corrugated metal surrounded a half-finished building.
Trucks and workers milled about, hammering and shouting instructions. The Rift would appear right in the basement level of that building once reality tore.
He couldn't just break in and start digging. He needed a quiet approach.
He walked around the perimeter, looking for anything that might stand out even now. A foundation stone with odd markings, perhaps.
As he reached a corner where workers took a smoke break, he caught snippets of their conversation:
"Yeah, weird stuff in the basement," said one man. "Last week, found some old carvings on the stone, no idea what language."
Another shrugged. "Boss said ignore it. Probably nothing."
He felt a surge of excitement. Old carvings? The Rift's focal point might already be etched into reality here.
If those carvings were related to the future Rift's item drop conditions, maybe he could do something. But he needed a reason to get inside.
He circled again, spotting a site office trailer. He took a risk and approached a foreman leaning on the fence.
The foreman, a broad man with a sunburned neck, frowned as he came near.
"Can I help you?" the foreman asked, suspicious.
"I'm a student of architecture," he lied smoothly. "Researching old foundations and unexpected finds in construction. I heard there's something unusual in your basement?"
The foreman squinted. "Who told you that?"
"Just a rumor," he said, handing over a small bribe, a few bills folded in his palm. "I won't touch anything. Just want a quick look."
The foreman hesitated, then sighed, pocketing the money. "Fine, but be quick. Wear a hardhat."
He grabbed one from a hook and tossed it over. "Down the ramp to the basement, no funny business."
He nodded, grateful, and slipped inside. The basement was dimly lit by a few hanging lamps.
He moved carefully over rough concrete and scattered tools until he reached a far wall where a section of old stone protruded from the earth. He knelt down, heart pounding.
Faint carvings covered the stone's surface—patterns that twisted the eye. He didn't recognize the script, but he sensed System energy thrumming faintly.
He touched it lightly.
[System Notification: Anomaly Detected. Possible future Rift Anchor Point. Insufficient conditions to claim or alter outcome. Requirement: Increase Personal Power or Acquire Specific Keys to Influence Spawn Rewards.]
So he was too weak and unprepared. It confirmed his guess. He would have to come back later, once he gained at least the basic Sword Mastery or another advantage.
Still, this was good intel. He knew where the Rift would form. On day one of the apocalypse, he'd rush here and secure the drop before others could react.
That could give him a small stat boost, vital in the early chaos.
He stood, dusted off his hands. Time to leave before suspicion rose. As he turned, he spotted something half-buried under debris—a small chunk of metal.
Not a System item, just a strange fragment of old iron. Worthless now. He shrugged and left it.
He wouldn't fill his room with junk.
Outside, he returned the hardhat to the foreman, who waved him off impatiently. The trip had been worth it.
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
Back on the bus heading home, he considered his next steps. He had the manual to study, a Key Fragment stored safely in the System's single slot, and knowledge of where a future Rift would appear.
He also recalled other rumors. For example, a certain old park statue would later drop mysterious seeds that grew into healing herbs.
Could he dig near that statue now? Maybe too risky. People would notice.
He'd focus on what he could do quietly: train, learn the sword skill, keep scouting locations.
As evening fell, he returned home. He reheated leftover noodles and ate mechanically, mind elsewhere.
Afterward, he cleared a small space in the living room and resumed practice. This time, he followed the manual's instructions step by step, careful and slow.
Foot placement, angle of the wrist, tension in the shoulders. He swung an imaginary blade through the air, imagining how it would feel to slice through monsters instead of empty space.
Minutes passed. Then hours. His muscles burned, sweat forming on his brow.
He didn't stop until his arms trembled. He checked the System:
[Study Progress: Unrefined Sword Manual: 3/20 hours]
Only 3 hours total now. This would take time. Still, he had a few weeks.
If he pushed harder each day, he'd get there.
He dropped onto his bed, chest rising and falling, a faint grin on his face. He was taking steps no one else even considered.
When the apocalypse hit, people would panic and scramble for any advantage. He'd already have skills, fragments, and the first pick of hidden treasures.
Sure, some might say this was too convenient, too much like those stories he'd once heard in passing. But he didn't care.
He was living it, and he'd bend every trope in his favor.
As he lay in darkness, he pictured the future monsters and Awakeners struggling to survive. He would be different—calm, prepared.
This time, he wouldn't watch the world burn and fight a desperate last battle. He'd rule the battlefield from the start, carving out a safer path for himself and perhaps… others too, eventually.
But first, he had to be strong enough to matter.
The night wore on in silence. He drifted off, mind full of plans. Tomorrow, he'd intensify his training.
He had time and knowledge on his side. The apocalypse was coming, and he would be ready.