The rising sun cast long shadows as a carriage, resplendent in its red and white livery, with gleaming polished wood and a small, curtained window, moved through Viridia's main road. Inside, Dean White, the nobleman who ruled their town, sat ramrod straight, his expression unreadable. Two powerful horses, their coats gleaming, pulled the carriage, flanked by guards whose impassive faces reflected years of service. The market, usually a cacophony of sounds and activity, fell strangely silent as the carriage approached. A hush descended, broken only by the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves and the hushed whispers of the onlookers. "It's Lord Dean White," someone breathed, the words spreading like wildfire. "He's back." Some faces registered surprise, a mixture of awe and apprehension. Others, however, tightened with barely concealed anger. "He's back," they thought, the resentment palpable. Though often absent at the kingdom, Lord Dean White's rule over Veridia was absolute. His infrequent visits were dreaded by many, his arrogance and disregard for the common folk legendary. The simmering discontent beneath the surface of the town's daily life threatened to boil over with his return.

Four guards marched behind the carriage, four more flanking its sides, a silent, watchful escort. The carriage proceeded straight out of the marketplace, towards the three-way intersection, taking the middle road. Lord Dean White was headed towards his manor, his carriage passing the left turn that led to the street where Grone's house stood, where Tyler lay sleeping, unaware of the imposing presence now moving through the town.

Tyler's eyes fluttered open, slow and heavy. He lay on his bed, attempting to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest. He remained on his back, gazing upward, and muttered the command word, "Status." The information that flooded his mind stole his breath.

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: F LVL: 11

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 52/52 MP: 47/47

STR: 38 AGI: 32 DEF: 53

STATUS: Exhaustion

Skills: Armour Craft, Weapon Craft, .......

Level 11. F-Rank. Finally. Then, overlaying the status display, a new message from the system appeared: Achievement Unlocked: Breaking Point. Agility +5. Strength+5

The system announced, New skill unlocked, followed immediately by another message: View skill. Tyler groaned, a low sound of pain and bewilderment. "View skill," he muttered, the words barely audible. The skill's name materialized: Weapon Mastery. Another text box appeared, this one announcing: Another stat has been added to the stat menu. Tyler's confusion deepened; the system had never done this before. He accessed his status again, his eyes widening in surprise at the addition.

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: F LVL: 11

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 52/52 MP: 47/47

STR: 43 AGI: 37 DEF: 53

STM: 25

STATUS: Exhaustion

Skills: Armour Craft, Weapon Craft, Weapon Mastery

He saw a new stat on his status menu: Stamina (STM). A two-digit number sat beside it. He blinked, a slow, dawning comprehension spreading across his face. "Huh. Stamina," he whispered, tracing the unfamiliar abbreviation with his finger. He noticed something else—all his stats were now two-digit numbers. A quiet smile touched his lips. He'd really done it. He'd improved. He was F-Rank. A wave of relief, so profound it almost brought tears to his eyes, washed over him. He had leveled up. He had broken through.

His attention shifted to his new skill: Weapon Mastery. He addressed the system, "Weapon Mastery, can you give me the skill information?" A text box appeared, displaying the skill's description: Weapon Mastery allows the user to master the skills of every single weapon with ease.

Turner's eyes widened. This was incredibly useful. With Weapon Mastery, sword fighting would be a breeze. He could learn any weapon he crafted, mastering its use effortlessly. He attempted to stand, but his muscles protested with a chorus of aches. With considerable effort, he managed to sit upright, then slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He left his room and found Lisa, Grone's wife, seated at the table in the sitting room, eating porridge. Heather sat beside her.

Lisa's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, you're up!" she exclaimed, quickly rising from her chair. Tyler blinked, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Yeah, I'm up," he mumbled. "What happened? What's wrong?" Lisa looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean, 'what's wrong'? Yesterday, I tried to wake you for dinner, but you wouldn't wake up, no matter how much I shook you. I asked Grone what happened, and he just said you needed rest. What happened yesterday? What did you do?" Tyler remembered Grone's instructions to keep his training a secret from his wife. "I must have overworked myself at the store," he said, offering a vague explanation.

"I thought you couldn't help at the store," Lisa said, her brow furrowed with concern. Tyler nodded. "Yeah, I've been doing a lot of cleaning. You know, for a craftsman's shop, there's a lot of dirt. Everything was super dirty. I had to clean the furnaces, clean the swords... I sort of overdid it yesterday, overworked myself," he said. Lisa looked unconvinced but decided not to push him further. Sitting back down, she gestured towards the kitchen. "Go grab some porridge," she said.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Tyler felt a pang of guilt about lying to Lisa, but he went to the kitchen nonetheless. A plate of porridge already sat on the table. He returned to the table, sat down, and began to eat. Lisa watched him for a moment. "You really shouldn't overwork yourself, you know," she said gently. "It's not good for your health." Tyler nodded, his mouth full. "I know. I'll take it easy next time." He continued eating, the warmth of the porridge a small comfort. After finishing, he asked, "Where's Grone?" "Oh, he left for work already," Lisa replied. "Wow, he's always going so early," Tyler commented. Lisa smiled. "Yes, but tomorrow's his day off."

"Oh,Well, I'm going outside," Tyler announced.

Lisa called after him, "Don't forget to chew your Sylvanstone!"

"Oh, that," Tyler replied, already heading for the door. He mused to himself as he walked, "This stuff tastes weird. I mean, it's how everyone cleans their teeth, but seriously..." The memory of the Sylvanstone's texture made him grimace. First, it's hard like rubber, then it gets softer, almost like gum—you could almost blow a bubble with it at that stage—before finally turning completely liquid. You chew it until all the gunk and cavities are dissolved into that liquid, then spit it out."I always rinse with water afterward to get rid of the sour aftertaste. I really don't like chewing it," he thought, "but it's the only way to keep my teeth clean." He reached the kitchen and grabbed a piece of Sylvanstone.

Tyler went outside, grabbed a wooden cup, and filled it with water from a nearby barrel. He then found a secluded spot outside, placed the cup on the ground, and began chewing his Sylvanstone. He chewed and chewed, the rubbery texture gradually softening until it became a liquid. He spat out the resulting liquid, gargled with some of the water, spat that out, and then drank the remaining water. Returning to the kitchen, he placed the cup on the table before heading out again. He decided to visit Hector's workshop that day and soon reached the marketplace.

Tyler entered Hector's workshop, the familiar wooden counter immediately catching his eye. Hector wasn't there, but the usual sights were present: swords hanging on the wall, armor gleaming in the corner, and a barrel tucked away behind the counter. "Hello? Hector, are you there?" Tyler called out. He moved to the back room, finding Hector there, carefully examining a sword, turning it over and over in his hands as if assessing its condition. "Ah, Tyler," Hector said, looking up. "You're here."

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't come by yesterday. I was kind of busy," Tyler explained.

Hector waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, it's okay. Why did you come by today, then?"

Tyler frowned, confused. "What do you mean? You said I should come by the next day to show you my crafting."

"Ah, right. I completely forgot. Anyways, what did you have to show me?" He placed the sword he'd been examining on the anvil. As he spoke, a sword materialized in Tyler's hand. Hector's eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you do that?" Hector asked, his gaze fixed on the sword in Tyler's hand.

"It's a long story," Tyler replied.

"Tell me," Hector urged.

Tyler pointed the sword towards the ground. "Well, if I collect enough materials, I can put them in this space I call my inventory. It lets me craft weapons—and armor—if I have enough of the right materials. This sword is one of the results. It's actually one of my skills."

Hector's eyebrows shot up. "So you really are a craftsman."

Tyler nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "In a way, yeah. Yes, I am."

"Your work is very good," Hector said, "but I don't think this sword is going to last."

"What do you mean?" Tyler asked, puzzled.

"It's very good," Hector clarified, "I'm just saying the durability feels... off. It might endure a few battles, but it won't last very long. It looks like it's going to break."

Tyler was confused. He'd thought the sword was perfectly fine. "Can I take a look at it?" he asked. Hector handed him the sword. Tyler examined it carefully, turning it over in his hands. "But it looks fine," he said, still unconvinced.

Hector shook his head. "I guarantee you, that thing isn't going to last very long."

"Somehow, Hector's words started to sound convincing. He wasthe experienced blacksmith, the expert in crafting weapons. Tyler nodded. "Well, how do I increase the endurance?"

"Firstly, I need to see how you craft your swords," Hector said. "Show me your process."

Tyler scratched the back of his head. "Well, I don't have enough materials right now."

Hector waved a hand. "Nah, it's okay. I'll give you some materials; I just need to see your method."

"I need about ten iron ores," Tyler said.

Hector raised an eyebrow. "Ten? Seriously?"

"Um, yes," Tyler insisted, "I need ten iron ores."

"I'm sorry, but I can't really give you ten," Hector said, shaking his head.

"No, um... okay, I think I'll just use the iron scraps outside. I think they'll be good enough," Tyler said, slightly embarrassed.

Hector paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Wait... what if I give you some of these ores, and you go get some iron scraps as well?" Then, realization dawned. "Wait... are you telling me you actually crafted that sword using only the iron scraps from the other day?"

Tyler nodded. "Yes."

Hector was genuinely surprised. "That sword's durability is a bit off, but to think he made something of that caliber with just iron scraps... His ability is exceptional."

Tyler went outside to the pit filled with iron scraps. He selected five pieces, and they vanished into his inventory. Returning inside, he went to the furnace and, from a large zinc bowl sitting nearby, grabbed five more iron ores.

Tyler quietly checked his inventory. He was surprised to see ×22 displayed next to the iron ore entry. He knew he'd only had one before, and he'd just added five from the bowl near the furnace. The inventory was counting the five ores as a larger number. Maybe the ores were compressed, containing far more iron than they appeared to. They were a bit heavier than he expected. That's why he thought the number was higher than five. He decided to keep quiet about it for now. This was an opportunity. The ores near the furnace were far more plentiful than he'd initially thought. Were they Compressed? He wasn't sure.

He then checked another inventory slot; it showed "3 Slam Cores." "Craft Bashing Hammer," Tyler commanded. A system message appeared: Craft Item? (Yes/No). "Yes," Tyler replied. Hector, watching, was utterly confused. Tyler looked up, as if observing something invisible to Hector. A text box and loading bar appeared, visible only to Tyler, indicating the item was being crafted. Finally, the system message appeared: Crafting Successful.

Tyler smiled, then checked his inventory. He realized the number of inventory slots had significantly increased; there were many more boxes than before. It must be due to level-ups; each time he leveled, his inventory expanded. He didn't know the exact amount added per level, but it was noticeable. He spotted a hammer-shaped icon representing the newly crafted item. He said, "Equip item," but a message flashed in red letters: Cannot equip item. User needs to reach level 15 in order for item to be equipped. Tyler's eyes widened; he was both disappointed and angry. "What do you mean I have to reach level 15?" he muttered. The system remained silent. Hector, completely bewildered, asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Ah, the system says I need to reach level 15 to equip this item," Tyler corrected himself.

Hector frowned. "What do you mean, reach level 15? You can't be an F-rank still, can you?"

Tyler waved a hand, slightly embarrassed. "Ah, right. I'm rambling. Let's try crafting something else."

"Crafting something else?" Hector asked. "Then you should give me my iron ores back."

"Oh, yeah, about that..." Tyler hesitated. "I crafted the item, but it seems I can't get it out of my inventory."

Hector's gaze narrowed, suspicion evident in his eyes. "What?"