Hector Dry used Skill: Reinforcement. The system immediately displayed a text box above him. The sword in his hand instantly began to darken, a black wave spreading from the hilt to the tip. A sharp, metallic scent filled the air. Hector Dry looked at Tyler, a strange glint in his eyes. "And that, kid," he said, tossing the sword to Tyler, "Is how you make a sword."

Tyler caught the weapon. "You see that whetstone?" Hector Dry asked, pointing to a white stone on the floor. "I need you to grind this until it's razor sharp. The edges are sharp, but they're still blunt. Sharpen both sides—it's double-edged."

Tyler examined the sword, his amazement palpable. The silver blade felt intensely warm, almost hot, yet it hadn't burned his hands. Now, as Hector had used his reinforcement skill to change its color, it was black. Hefting it by the hilt, he moved toward the whetstone. Suddenly, a jolt of electricity surged through him, blue sparks erupting from his hands like miniature lightning strikes. The shock was intense; he dropped the sword with a cry of pain. Hector watched, a mixture of surprise and concern on his face.

A system message appeared: Weapon Restriction: Only self-crafted weapons may be utilized. Tyler stared, a cold dread settling in his stomach. He hadn't considered this implication. Since arriving in this world, he'd only handled weapons of his own making. But what did this mean? Could this mean he could no longer work in the blacksmith's shop? The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. He couldn't handle other people's tools, couldn't even pick up a sword without risking another painful shock.

"What happened?" Hector asked, noticing Tyler's sudden pallor.

"I... I don't know how to explain it," Tyler stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. "I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean? Just pick up the sword and sharpen it already," Hector said, his voice laced with impatience.

Tyler hesitated, his gaze flickering between the sword and Hector's expectant face. He reached out a trembling hand. As his fingers brushed the hilt, a sharp jolt—less violent than before, but still intensely unpleasant—shot through him. He recoiled, holding his hand.

"What the hell just happened?" Hector demanded, his gaze sharp.

Tyler swallowed, his face pale. "I'm not allowed to use... I think I'm not allowed to touch any weapons that aren't mine. I am getting electrocuted every time I try."

Hector stared at Tyler, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, are you saying you can't touch any weapon?"

Tyler nodded miserably. "Yeah, it seems so."

Hector let out a long sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. "Well, kid, then I don't think you can work here. Helping a blacksmith involves a lot of handling weapons, you know. Plus, who's not letting you touch any other weapons?" Hector asked, genuinely curious.

Tyler hesitated, then said, "Well, there's this... thing. I think I'm just going to call it the 'system.' It's not letting me use any other weapons."

"System," Hector mused, then continued, "Oh, so you're cursed."

Tyler's eyes widened in surprise. "No, I'm not cursed. I'm just—"

"Then what do we do?" Hector interrupted, looking around the cluttered workshop. He spotted a traditional broom leaning against the wall. His eyes lit up. "Hey, Tyler, don't worry. How about you sweep up the floor for me? One silver coin."

Tyler looked up, a small, hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Okay," he said quietly. "I think I can do that."

Hector returned to his work, the rhythmic clang of his hammer filling the air. Tyler began sweeping, the broom stirring up a cloud of dust motes dancing in the sunlight. After a while, Hector called out, "Whoa there, Tyler! Easy on the dust. There's too much swirling around. Try splashing some water on the floor to settle it down."

Where can I get water?" Tyler asked.

Hector gestured towards to the other room. "Oh, just go to the shop where I sell the weapons. Look behind the counter. There are barrels of water there, and a small bucket. Grab the bucket, fill it with water, and start splashing it around. That'll settle the dust. Then you can continue sweeping."

Tyler carefully filled the bucket with water, then returned to the workshop. He splashed the water onto the floor, taking care to avoid the weapons and tools meticulously arranged on the workbenches. Once the dust had settled somewhat, he resumed sweeping, diligently collecting the debris into a pile. He carried the dust outside, dumping it into a large pit overflowing with discarded metal scraps.

Returning to Hector, he asked, "You said those metal scraps don't work anymore, right?"

Hector glanced at Tyler. "Yeah, but some of them are still usable, just not very useful. And they take up too much space. Even if someone stole them, I wouldn't care much."

Can I take some?" Tyler asked, gesturing toward the pit of scrap metal.

Hector continued working on the sword, the rhythmic pounding of his hammer unwavering. "Um, yeah, sure... but why would you want those scraps?" he asked without looking up.

Well... I can craft weapons, too," Tyler replied, his voice quiet and unassuming.

Hector's hammer stopped abruptly. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his face hardened, though he still didn't look away from the sword. The sudden silence in the workshop was heavy with unspoken tension.

"I thought you said you can't handle weapons," Hector said, his voice sharp, finally looking up from his work.

"No, no, no," Tyler said quickly. "The system—it's not letting me handle weapons crafted by someone else. It needs me to craft weapons of my own in order to utilize them.

Hector stared at Tyler, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What? So if I give you this hammer right here, are you telling me you can actually craft a weapon?"

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Tyler shook his head, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "No, no, I can't craft a weapon like you. Well, not exactly. The system... it kind of does it for me. It says it's a skill I have."

Tyler kept mentioning the system, the system, over and over, but Hector didn't understand what Tyler was talking about. What was the system? Wasn't Tyler just cursed? He thought Tyler was one of those people who were cursed to not be able to do some tasks, but that didn't seem to be the case with how he was explaining things. And yet, it sounded familiar. Hector then looked at Tyler and said, "You know what, just take whatever you need from that pile. As I said, I'm not really using them."

Tyler felt a bit happy after Hector's words. He went outside and surveyed the pile of scrap metal. Iron, copper, and what looked like zinc littered the heap. Some scraps were jagged and potentially dangerous, others resembled shattered swords. As he began to sort through the pile, the system displayed the name of each scrap: iron, copper, steel, and other metals.

He placed the selected metals into his inventory, intending to gather more steel. However, the system promptly announced, "Inventory full." He checked his inventory and realized, with a sigh, that his storage space was indeed limited—a consequence of being only a level four. He knew that his inventory capacity would increase with each level-up. What surprised him was the system's precise count of the materials: eight copper and nine iron.

Tyler stood up and returned to the shop. "So, I can clean the shop as well?" he asked Hector.

Hector looked around the already tidy space. "Oh, yeah, um... it's already clean. So, I guess I'll just give you one silver coin for today." He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it to Tyler.

Tyler caught it. "Thank you," he said.

Hector shrugged. "I think that'll be all for today. Since you can and can't craft at the same time... I don't want to think about it. My brain hurts every time I try to think too hard. Come back tomorrow, and maybe you can show me this crafting skill of yours."

A thought struck Tyler: maybe he could store the coin in his inventory! It was full of scrap metal, but he could remove the wooden sword to make room. He wondered if it would work. Stepping back outside, he started walking toward Groom's house. A wooden sword materialized in his hand. He heard gasps from passersby but continued walking, his gaze falling upon the silver coin—which vanished as he looked at it.

He checked his inventory; there it was—one silver coin. A wave of satisfaction washed over him. Even if robbed, his money would be safe, hidden unless he chose to reveal it. Still, the thought lingered that someone might attack him regardless of his lack of visible funds. Dismissing the worry, Tyler continued walking. Then, another thought surfaced. Grone had taken him to the blacksmith after he'd expressed his desire to be a hunter. Yet, a growing feeling persisted that perhaps his true calling was being a hunter after all.

He looked up and continued walking to Grone's house. Reaching the house, he entered and saw Grone's wife. "Good evening, Lisa," he greeted her.

"Good evening," she replied. "How was your first day at the job?"

"It was okay," Tyler said. "I made a silver coin."

Lisa looked at him, confused. "You made a silver coin?"

Tyler explained, "I couldn't really help Hector with the crafting, so I just cleaned the shop."

"Oh, okay," Lisa said.

"Where's Grone?" Tyler asked.

Lisa replied, "Oh, Grone's gone to take on some quests. He'll be back a little late."

"Oh," Tyler said. "Okay, I'll... um... be in the room." He gestured vaguely toward the room on the left where he slept.

"Come up later for dinner, alright?" Lisa said.

"Okay," Tyler replied.

Tyler entered the room and sat on the bed, a single bed clearly designed for one person. A mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbled inside him as he thought about the system, the crafting, and the inventory, which shimmered into view. He stared at the system interface, a question forming in his mind: What if I asked the system some questions? Would it be able to answer?

He'd asked the system before why he was there, and received no response. He'd also inquired about returning home, a question that felt foolish given the system's inert nature. The system's silence had left him feeling awkward. Now, he tried a different approach: "System, how do I know which item to craft?" To his surprise, a text box appeared, displaying a message.

The system displayed its message: "Recipes are quest rewards. To craft, use the command 'Craft [item name]' (replace '[item name]' with the actual name of the item). Your crafting level impacts the success rate."

Tyler was astonished. "It actually answered me!" he exclaimed. "Wait, wait... um, okay... man, this thing really answered me! Um, what do you mean by 'recipes'? You mean like, ingredients I need to craft items?"

Another text box appeared: Correct

"But I don't understand," Tyler said, shaking his head. "How... can you give me an example?"

A new text box appeared, empty except for three ellipses (...) as if the system were processing his request.

The system responded with a new text box: Searching inventory for suitable recipe example... A moment later, another text box appeared: To craft The Bashing Hammer, user needs 10 iron and 2 slime cores.

"Wait," Tyler said, "I have nine iron and two or three slime cores. So I need one more iron to make this hammer. Is this the only thing I can make right now? What other recipes to make other weapons?"

A new text box from the system appeared: only one recipe example can be used as a tutorial.

Disappointment washed over Tyler, quickly followed by a flicker of hope. He had crafted a rusty sword before, and he hadn't needed a recipe for that. Did that mean he didn't always need a recipe? Perhaps recipes were only necessary for knowing how to craft stronger items; otherwise, he'd just end up crafting random wepons. The possibility that he could craft without a recipe was appealing.

"Can I craft anything with this copper?" he asked the system.

The system replied Crafting is possible , followed by a new text box that read: Craft item.

"No, wait," Tyler said, "what about iron?" He remembered the rusty sword; perhaps the random crafting worked because he'd used scrap metal. "Craft sword using iron," he instructed.

The system responded: Eight iron is needed to craft an Iron Sword. Crafting is possible. Crafting item...

Excitement surged through Tyler as he watched a progress bar slowly fill. Then, as if summoned from thin air, a sword materialized in his hand. It wasn't a slender blade; instead, it possessed a substantial weight and a subtle curve, almost crescent-shaped, a gentle bend along its length. The surface gleamed, a polished silver mirroring his own awestruck face. It felt substantial, high-quality steel, far surpassing anything he'd seen before, even Hector's finest work. The craftsmanship was exquisite; intricate details, barely visible to the naked eye, hinted at a level of skill beyond his comprehension. He slid a finger along the razor-sharp edge, a tiny prick of blood welling instantly where the steel had grazed his skin. The sharpness was breathtaking, a testament to the sword's deadly potential. He could feel the weight, the balance, the perfect distribution of mass in his hand—a weapon both beautiful and terrifyingly efficient.

Tyler licked the blood from his finger, tasting the metallic tang. The cut was minor, just a superficial graze, but the sharpness of the sword had impressed him. He stood, waving the newly crafted weapon experimentally. The system remained silent, offering no electric shocks this time. "Hey," he muttered to the system, "why do I have to use my own weapons?" The system ignored him, leaving him feeling that familiar awkwardness.

Just then, Lisa, Grone's wife, opened the door. "Tyler," she said, "who are you talking to?"

"Oh, um, no one," he stammered, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

"Where did you get that sword?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Oh, um, I made it," Tyler said, the sword shimmering and vanishing as he spoke.

Lisa's eyes widened in surprise. "What? You can do that?"

"Yeah," Tyler said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sort of a craftsman."

Lisa was confused. "Craftsman? It's more like you're some kind of mage-hunter," she mused. "You made the sword?"

"Yeah, I made it right now," Tyler explained. "You see, I have this skill that lets me create weapons from materials... magically, I think."

Lisa, fascinated, said, "Why didn't James tell me about that?"

"Um, I don't know," Tyler replied.

"Oh, okay," Lisa said. "Anyways, dinner's about to be ready, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Tyler responded.

Lisa closed the door. Tyler was left alone with his thoughts.

He reacted to the system's continued silence. "Oh, yeah," he said, "you said I get recipes and stuff. How do I get recipes?"

Surprisingly, the system responded: Recipes can be rewarded after completing hunter quests.

Tyler's surprise was palpable. "Wait a damn minute," he exclaimed. "Are you telling me I actually have to become a hunter and take hunter quests to get recipes as rewards?"

The system, once again, ignored him.

The answer was clear: recipes were rewards for completing hunter quests. That meant he had to accept a quest, just like Grone, and complete it. But Grone and his wife clearly didn't want him to become a hunter. What was he to do?

He looked at the system, deciding to try a different approach to a question he knew had been unanswered before. Instead of asking directly, "How do I get home?", he rephrased it: "What do I need to do to get home?"

Surprisingly, the system responded. The text box was initially empty, then shimmered with a vibrant blue light.

Objectives have to be fulfilled ,the system stated. Certain achievements and objectives have to be fulfilled in order for the user to return to their own world.

Tyler was stunned. There was a way home! "Wait," he exclaimed, "what are the objectives? What are they?"

The system, predictably, ignored him.

"Wait," Tyler insisted, "are you going to ignore me just like that? What are the objectives? What do I need to do to go home? What do I need to do?"

The system responded: Objectives cannot be revealed at the user's current level.

This only fueled Tyler's frustration. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm going to become a hunter," he declared to himself. "I have to reach a certain level for the objective to be revealed. With or without Grone's help, I have to do this."

Outside the room, Lisa was busy cooking. She paused, a puzzled expression on her face. "What's wrong with that kid?" she murmured to herself. "Why does he keep talking to himself in there?"