"Huh? Wait, I think I can give you your iron ores back," Tyler said, holding out both hands. He'd realized the system showed 22 ores total; he'd used 10 for the hammer, leaving 12. Five shimmering, faintly blue iron ores materialized in his hands before the glow faded, leaving them solid.

Hector was surprised. He picked one up. "Huh? Oh, this is weird. These iron ores... they look different. Better than before."

"What do you mean?" Tyler asked.

"They don't look like they used to," Hector said, turning the ore over in his hands. "They're totally clean." Tyler noticed then that the ores had been slightly glistening before he'd put them in his inventory; they'd been dark and dirty before.

Hector looked at Tyler. "So, you want to craft something else? What can you make?"

Tyler frowned, considering. "I don't really know. I could try that other sword again, but... I don't know what else to craft."

Tyler then realized something. The system had once mentioned that to craft an item, he needed to specify the weapon type. He didn't know what kinds of weapons he could even name, though. Maybe he could experiment. "What kind of weapons are there?" he asked Hector.

Hector replied, "What do you mean? There are a lot of weapons. Swords, spears, axes..."

"Ah, I asked the wrong question," Tyler said. "What I meant was, what kinds of weapons require the least materials?"

"Well, less material..." Hector considered. "Most likely bows, daggers, small knives, things like that."

"Hmm," Tyler murmured, then addressed the system directly. "System, craft copper daggers."

The familiar system message appeared: Craft Item (Yes/No) Tyler felt a wave of relief. He could actually craft this.

Tyler responded, "Yes." A text box with a loading bar appeared, signifying the crafting process. It was surprisingly fast; almost as soon as it began, it was finished. The system announced, Crafting Successful.

"Aha! I crafted an item!" Tyler exclaimed, checking his inventory. He saw a new icon: two small knives crossed in an 'X'.

"Equip item," Tyler commanded. The system message reappeared, its words flashing red: User cannot equip item until level 12. Disappointment and frustration flickered across Tyler's face. He sighed and said to Hector, "Um, it seems I can't equip this one either."

Hector's patience was wearing thin. "Ah, what is wrong with you? Are you actually playing some kind of trick on me?"

"I'm not," Tyler said, then paused, searching for the right words.

Hector interrupted, "You know, Grone said you're a bit unusual, but I didn't think you'd be... this unusual."

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

Hector continued, "Okay, how about this? The least you can do is help me clean these iron ores today. You can put them in your inventory—or whatever you call it—since whenever you take them out again, they're clean."

"Okay," Tyler said, and began the process. He took iron ores from the zinc bowl near the furnace, placed them in his inventory, then took them out again, handing the cleaned ores to Hector, who placed them in a separate container. They repeated this until all the ores from the bowl had been cleaned and transferred. Hector smiled, a genuine expression of satisfaction. "You did a good job, kid. Do you even know how much money you could get just cleaning these things? It's a whole lot of work. I think you've earned yourself three silver for this." Tyler's eyes widened. Three silver—that was equivalent to thirty copper.

"Can I clean your store as well?" Tyler asked.

Hector looked around. "Oh, okay, I guess you can. It's pretty dirty again, isn't it? I don't really clean much."

Hector grabbed a traditional broom and began sweeping and dusting, cleaning the entire store until it sparkled. He gathered the debris—a mix of iron scraps, copper scraps, steel scraps, and other miscellaneous scraps—and tossed it into the pit outside in the back. As he did so, he added some of the iron, copper, and steel scraps to his inventory.

After that, he returned to the store. Hector said, "Oh yeah, here," and handed Tyler three silver coins and three copper coins. Tyler was confused. Why the five copper?

Hector, noticing Tyler's puzzled expression, explained, "Well, kid, to tell you the truth, the reason I gave you one silver last time was just me being generous. Cleaning is actually only worth three copper."

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"Really? Well, thank you," Tyler said. "Well, I have to go now."

"Oh, you're already leaving?" Hector asked.

"Yes," Tyler replied. "I have to go train. I want to level up a bit."

"Are you planning on becoming a hunter?" Hector asked.

"Yes," Tyler said. "I'm planning on becoming a hunter, just like Grone."

"You do know that's a dangerous job, right?" Hector said, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yes, I know," Tyler replied. "But nonetheless, I need to become a hunter. I just don't want to do it... I need to do it. Anyways, I'll see you soon."

Tyler left the store and headed for the bustling marketplace. The air buzzed with activity; the sounds and smells of countless vendors filled his senses. He navigated the crowded stalls, finally stopping at a stall run by an elderly woman. "Hello," he said.

"Hello, young man," the old woman replied. "What would you like to buy? What would you like to have today?"

Tyler pointed to a particular fruit. "I want to have that."

"Ah," the woman said.

"That will be one copper, please," the old lady said. Tyler gave her the coin and took the fruit. It was round, slightly spiky, and hard on the outside. He remembered eating this fruit before; it had been surprisingly juicy and delicious despite its tough exterior. The "spikes" weren't sharp; more like bumps. He thanked the old woman. "Thank you, son. Come again," she called after him as he left.

He went to the waiting wagons near the wall gate. He spotted the man he and Gron often rode with. "Hey," Tyler said.

The man, leaning against the wagon bench, looked up mid-chew, a piece of straw dangling from his mouth. "Oh, it's you. You're here for a ride?"

"Yes," Tyler replied. The man said, "Hop on. Where are you going?"

"Um," Tyler said, "for training. I'm not really sure where it's called."

The man chuckled. "Ah, you mean you just want to go outside the walls. I remember."

"Oh, right," Tyler said, and climbed onto the wagon. As they rolled out of town, the village shrunk in the distance. Tyler glanced back, noticing the village was completely encircled by a massive grey stone wall that stretched as far as he could see in either direction. He then turned to face forward, focusing on their destination. Before long, they arrived.

Tyler jumped off the wagon and gave the man his fare. "Alright, I'm going back to town now," he said.

"You know what," the man replied, "I'm going to the Crossroads Base." He continued down the main road, heading towards the base instead of returning to town.

Tyler turned and walked back towards their training spot. As he reached the familiar tree, he smacked himself on the forehead. He'd forgotten the leather bag!

"Damn it, how could I forget that?" he muttered. "What am I going to do now? I planned to put the rocks in the bag and then run to the tree, but it seems I can't do that." He approached the tree, grabbed a spark, and examined its square leaves. "Well, this means I just have to test my current agility without straining myself," he mused, looking at the distant tree. He remembered his runs with the heavy bag. "Let's see how long it takes me to run there without anything holding me back."

The tree loomed closer than he expected, its familiar shape growing rapidly in his vision. He hadn't anticipated reaching it so quickly. His breath hitched slightly as he slowed, the last few strides less powerful, more controlled. He leaned against the rough bark, the coolness a welcome contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. He was surprised. His chest heaved, his breathing still ragged, but the exhaustion he anticipated wasn't there. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, but it wasn't the drenching perspiration he usually experienced after such exertion. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow: he was stronger, faster than he'd thought. The idea sparked in his mind: ten more times. He needed to level up, to reach that elusive level 12, to equip the items the system teased him with. He glanced back at the starting point, the distance now seeming less daunting, a challenge rather than an insurmountable obstacle. With a renewed surge of adrenaline, he pushed away from the tree, preparing for another run.

He ran back to the starting tree, then to the distant tree, and back again. He repeated this grueling shuttle run, pushing himself further than he'd initially planned, surprising himself by completing far more than ten repetitions. By the nineteenth run, however, exhaustion slammed into him with brutal force. His legs, screaming in protest, threatened to buckle. He fought against the overwhelming fatigue, but his body finally gave way. He stumbled, falling halfway back towards the starting tree, collapsing onto the soft earth. "Ah," he groaned, the sound ragged and strained, "it's happening again. I'm falling. That's right. I just gotta break through this breaking point. Break through this limit."

A groan escaped his lips. "That's how I'll level up," he muttered, the words laced with grim determination. Despite the burning pain in his legs, he pushed himself upright, the effort a monumental struggle. He began jogging back to the starting tree, the movement slow and deliberate. As he reached it, regret washed over him. He should have saved that fruit; he was parched and his stomach growled. He'd eaten it earlier, on the wagon ride. He lay down on the grass, the coolness a small comfort against the aching muscles. "300," he said to himself, beginning a set of press-ups, his resolve hardening with each repetition.

He pushed through the press-ups, his muscles screaming in protest. He reached two hundred, then his body simply gave out. His chest hit the ground with a thud, his breath coming in ragged gasps. After a moment, he mustered the strength to sit up, leaning his back against the tree trunk. His chest heaved, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He looked at the tree, its sturdy form a silent witness to his exertion. A wave of gratitude washed over him. He thought, "I would have never been able to do any of this without the system, without the logic of this world. If I were my previous self, before coming here, I couldn't even manage twenty push-ups, let alone run this far, this fast."

Feeling the heat radiating from his skin, he shrugged off his t-shirt. He looked down at his abdomen, a surprised grin spreading across his face. His abs weren't perfectly defined, not yet sharply visible, but they were definitely there, a testament to his grueling workout. A surge of pride warmed him more than the sun. "Man, I wish Mike could see this right now," he said, a chuckle escaping his lips. "He'd be out of his mind. Science fiction and fantasy movies were his thing. He always told me to exercise. He once said he'd kill for a body like this. But now to think that..." His voice trailed off, the thought left unfinished, the implication hanging heavy in the air.

He realized dwelling on his friend would only distract him from his training. The conflict gnawed at him—the pull between his old world and this new one. It was a bizarre predicament. Logically, he should return home, but what was there for him? He'd accomplished nothing, achieved nothing of significance. No one would truly miss him except Mike, his best friend. Perhaps Mike would even be better off without him, free from the burden of his presence. But in this world... if he kept training, kept pushing himself like this, maybe, just maybe...

He stood up, a renewed determination hardening his gaze. "Well, that's enough rest," he declared. "I need to do those sit-ups again, then more push-ups, then another run to the tree. And after that, I'm going to refine those techniques Grone taught me." With that, he dropped to the ground, beginning his sit-ups, his movements precise and powerful. The day blurred into a relentless cycle of training; push-ups, sit-ups, sprints, and the painstaking refinement of his combat techniques. As the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, exhaustion finally claimed him. He pulled his shirt and armor back on, the familiar weight a small comfort against the aching muscles.

Tyler returned to the main road and waited, a growing unease settling over him as the sun dipped lower. The lengthening shadows stretched across the road, amplifying his anxiety. If the carriage didn't come, he'd be stranded here overnight. He shouldn't have gone to training, he berated himself. He should have just waited for Grone. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching wheels, a rumble growing steadily louder from his left. A wagon emerged from the twilight. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips as he recognized the driver—the same man who'd earlier headed towards Crossroads Base, now returning to town.

As the wagon drew closer, Tyler noticed something odd. Besides the six-legged horses pulling the vehicle, a blue bird-like creature sat beside the driver. The system instantly identified it, even from this distance: Craven Level 7. Tyler was astonished. The man was driving, completely unfazed by the creature perched beside him.

The wagon reached him, and the man said, "Ah, so you're done with your training?" Tyler was surprised by the man's casual tone, especially considering the creature beside him. "What...what is that thing?" Tyler asked, gesturing towards the bird-like monster. The man scratched his head. "Oh, you mean this? That's my pet," he said, completely nonchalant. "Yeah, I had a tamer tame it for me. But don't worry about it, it doesn't bite. Get in the back." Tyler was utterly bewildered. People here could own monsters as pets? "What the hell is going on?" he muttered to himself.