Early morning light touched the corner of his desk, making dust motes dance in the air. He had risen before dawn again. There was no time to waste. He stretched his sore muscles and recalled yesterday's progress with the sword manual. Slow, but steady. His arms still felt like lead, and he welcomed it as proof of effort.
He needed a real sword. Practicing empty-handed helped memorize stances, but nothing replaced the weight of steel. In the future, weapons were conjured from monster drops or carved out of Rift materials. Now, he'd have to settle for something mundane. A cheap practice blade from a martial arts supply store might do. He knew a place downtown that catered to hobbyists—kendo clubs, reenactors, that sort of crowd. With a real blade, even a dull one, his training could advance faster.
He tossed on a jacket and left, the streets barely awake, shop shutters rattling open, workers rushing to morning shifts. He walked with purpose, weaving through side streets until he found the small shop he remembered. Its front bore a faded sign reading "Steel Leaf Armory—Traditional Weapons & Supplies." Back then, it was nothing special. In the future, similar shops would vanish or be looted for anything weapon-like. Now, it stood quiet, ordinary.
The bell chimed softly as he entered. Inside, rows of wooden swords, practice spears, and padded armor lined the walls. A portly man with thinning hair looked up from behind the counter, blinking sleepily.
"Morning," the man greeted. "Bit early. We open in a few minutes, but go ahead and look around."
He nodded and scanned the shelves. He didn't need a fancy blade—just something with decent weight and balance. His eyes settled on a dull-edged training sword made of reinforced steel, meant for martial arts demonstrations. It wouldn't cut flesh easily, but it had the heft and shape close enough to a real weapon. Perfect for now.
He picked it up, tested the grip, and gave a slight swing. The balance was off from what he remembered high-quality weapons feeling like, but it was better than nothing.
The shop owner approached. "Good choice. That's popular with local kendo enthusiasts. Not sharp, but sturdy."
"How much?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.
The price was higher than he liked, but he had saved some money and wasn't here to bargain hard. He paid and left with the sword wrapped in a cloth. Outside, the city was brightening, people more awake. He carried the sword discreetly, not wanting odd looks. Back at his apartment, he placed it on the floor and unwrapped it. The dull metal caught the morning light. He couldn't help a slight grin. Finally, a proper tool.
He took a stance, recalling the manual's instructions. This time, when he moved through the first sequence, he felt the strain in his wrist and shoulders, the added complexity of controlling real weight. It would slow him down at first, but in the long run, his muscles would adapt. He let the sword rest on his shoulder after a few sets, breathing hard.
[Study Progress: Unrefined Sword Manual: 4/20 hours]
Good. Another hour of focused training counted. He had to guess the System recognized genuine practice from half-hearted attempts. The weight of the sword probably helped convince it he was serious.
As he sipped a quick cup of tea, he thought about his next location. He had the Key Fragment and a plan for the Rift anchor. He knew of a shrine in the old part of town that, after the apocalypse, would spawn rare elemental stones once a month. Those stones boosted elemental resistance. Could he get one early? Probably not—the System had indicated he needed certain conditions.
Still, scouting it out might help him when the time came. He also remembered a rumor that before the apocalypse, the shrine's caretaker held a small talisman that ended up becoming a minor artifact. If he could persuade the caretaker to part with it now, it might evolve into something useful post-Event. A small gamble, but worth a shot.
He packed light, tucking a folding umbrella under his arm—the forecast hinted at rain—and headed out again. His apartment felt more like a base now, a safe haven where he planned and plotted. Each excursion served a purpose.
The old shrine lay in a quieter district, a place of narrow alleys and old wooden houses. He took a bus, then walked the rest of the way. The city's rhythm shifted here; fewer cars, more bicycles, stray cats perched on walls. The shrine rose at the end of a small lane, fronted by ancient steps and weathered stone lanterns. He climbed those steps, heart steady, scanning for anything unusual.
A middle-aged woman tended to the grounds, sweeping fallen leaves. He guessed she might be the caretaker. He approached, bowing politely.
"Good morning," he said softly. "Beautiful shrine."
She glanced over, friendly but curious. "It's old and humble, but yes, it has its charm."
"I've heard rumors of old charms or talismans kept here," he began, careful with his words. "I study local folklore and thought maybe I could see them?" He fished out some cash as a donation, hoping to sweeten her mood.
The caretaker hesitated, eyes on the money, then nodded slowly. "We have a few old talismans stored away. Nothing special, I think. But if you want to look…" She led him inside a small storage room adjacent to the main hall.
In the dim interior, old boxes and chests lay stacked. She rummaged through and pulled out a small wooden box, opening it to reveal several old cloth strips inscribed with faded ink, a few beads tied with string. All looked ordinary, but he focused, seeking a System reaction.
After a minute, he spotted a particular bead with subtle patterns. He reached for it.
"This one is interesting," he said. "What does it represent?"
The caretaker shrugged. "No one remembers. It's been here forever. Probably a blessing for harvest or safe travels."
[System Notification: Minor Catalyst Detected.
Potential growth item post-Event.
Do you wish to acquire?
Conditions: Small Donation or Exchange.
No direct System intervention possible now.]
So it wasn't free. He'd have to negotiate. "I'd like to buy this bead, if possible," he said calmly. "I can offer a small sum. It may only be folklore, but I love collecting these things."
The caretaker raised her brow. "We don't usually sell shrine items. They're blessings, not merchandise."
He nodded, understanding. Perhaps a direct purchase would offend her. "What if I make a generous donation to the shrine's upkeep? I'll keep this bead safe and honor its meaning."
The caretaker's shoulders relaxed. Money always helped with maintenance, he guessed. "If you're respectful, then maybe." She named a modest sum, not too large, and he paid without haggling. A win for both sides.
He slipped the bead into his pocket, smiling. Another small piece of potential secured. It might do nothing now, but after the apocalypse, it could turn into a charm boosting elemental resistance or providing minor healing—he recalled faint details from survivor talk. Even if it's weak, every edge mattered.
Outside, drizzle had started, gentle rain speckling the old lane. He opened his umbrella and walked back, mind churning with plans. He now had a training sword, a Key Fragment, knowledge of a Rift anchor point, and a minor catalyst bead. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
Over the next days, he would keep training, visiting a few other known pre-apocalypse hotspots, always careful to remain low-key. The world's calm wouldn't last. He spotted people laughing, couples strolling, old men smoking under eaves. They had no idea what awaited them. He couldn't warn them—he'd just be seen as insane.
Back at the apartment, he placed the bead inside a small drawer. He'd keep it safe. The sword lay on the floor where he'd left it, inviting more practice. He picked it up again, forcing weary muscles to move through the manual's sequences. This was his life now: quiet preparation, gathering crumbs of advantage. The System's slow, silent presence hovered at the edge of his mind, waiting for something.
[Study Progress: Unrefined Sword Manual: 5/20 hours]
He gritted his teeth and continued, each swing a step closer to survival. Soon, his efforts would pay off, and when the sky shattered and monsters roamed, he'd be there, ready and waiting.