Fragment: [Shade's Whisper].

| Tier: Apprentice

| Type: Weapon.

| Description: Forged in the tradition of the nomadic tribes of the Ashen Wastes, this weapon is as much a tool for survival as it is an instrument of death. Its blade, forged from tempered shadowsteel, glimmers with an eerie, dark sheen, whispering of battles fought in the dead of night.

| Runes: Sharpness, Hardened.

| Evolution Requirement: Shadowstalk.

The kukri emerged, fitting in his palm as if it had been custom-made just for him. The handle nestled perfectly in his grip, like a glove tailored to his hand. The blade appeared to be ordinary steel, but intricate black lines etched across its surface gave it an unmistakable air of something more powerful. Then, recalling how the main character checked the runes of his Fragments, Owen called out to the weapon in his hand from the connection born the moment he had received it.

(Rune) Sharpness: This Fragment has been enhanced with a sharper edge.

And–

(Rune) Hardened: This Fragment has been tempered and won’t easily be broken.

Although basic, they were good Runes to create a durable and effective weapon.

The final roll felt different, charged with an intensity Owen hadn’t felt before. The wheel slowed, its motion growing agonisingly deliberate as it hovered over a deep, pulsing red. When it clicked into place, the world seemed to hold its breath. Seven stars flared into existence, glowing with an ethereal brilliance. Owen’s heart nearly stopped.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think—he was paralyzed in absolute awe.

You have summoned the 7-star Spectre: Pyris Starbreaker.

The words burned into his mind, heavy with a power he could scarcely comprehend. Time seemed to stretch as the very air around him twisted and bent. The space in front of him distorted, the atmosphere charged with raw energy. His breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly, a force like a meteor struck the earth, sending tremors through the golden sands. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust and light. Owen shielded his eyes, but he didn’t dare look away.

The figure lying on the yellow sand was unlike anything Owen had expected. It was a humanoid figure, distinctly human save for the long, velvety ears perched atop her head. She was tall, around six feet, her frame marked by curves and sharp features. What stood out the most were those ears, poking out from her cracked, full-face helmet. Her armor, sleek and slender in black and white, had clearly taken a beating. A jagged scar tore down one side of her helmet, revealing a glimpse of a pale, beautiful face—one that hadn’t escaped the damage unscathed.

Owen’s stomach churned as his eyes fell on the deep wounds etched into her flesh, the gashes raw and horrifying. A 7-star Spectre—humanoid and clearly powerful—lay before him, but she was clear she was badly injured. She didn’t even have the strength to return to his Soul. If she tried, she’d likely die.

Without thinking, Owen rushed forward, his hands trembling as he flung his pack to the ground, frantically searching for his first-aid kit. He unzipped it and grabbed the healing tinctures obtained with the bag. There were five in total. Any guilt he might have felt using them here vanished. All he wanted to do was save her. A life that, coincidentally, was also an incredibly powerful 7-star Spectre.

He gently cradled her head, tilting her neck just enough to pour the potion down her throat. Relief washed over him when she didn’t choke. He quickly fed her another. With practiced hands, he wrapped her wounds in gauze that came with the backpack, trying his best to stop the bleeding.

Through their soul connection, Owen could feel her agony. It wasn’t physical for him, but the mental weight of her pain was crushing.

Moments passed, and her eyes fluttered open. Owen knelt beside her, his heart pounding. She flinched, and suddenly, a wave of killing intent washed over him—so intense it nearly knocked him over. His skin went cold, his muscles stiffened as if paralyzed by the sheer force of it. Fear clawed at his mind, screaming at him to either flee or finish her off.

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Fighting the urge to run, Owen forced his voice to remain calm, though it trembled. “Please… calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Sweat poured down his face, his heart racing faster than ever. He wasn’t sure how to make her believe him. For a moment, she struggled, her intent still sharp like a blade to his throat. Then, as suddenly as it came, the murderous aura faded, leaving a chilling stillness. Was she too weak to kill him, or had she chosen not to?

Owen shivered. A 7-star Spectre was truly terrifying.

“I… You—” she tried to speak, but her strength failed her. Her head slumped forward. She wasn’t dead, though. He would know instantly if she had vanished from his System.

He stared at her, his mind torn in a storm of indecision. Should he end her life now? All Spectres were supposed to be subservient to their summoner, like Units. But higher-ranked ones like her—they had wills of their own. They could betray, could kill. He had read about it. it was a lot more common than one would think. These were beings with prior history, all of them powerful. And they became strong for a reason.

Owen’s hand trembled as he drew his blade, the decision weighing heavily on him. Draed and the Builders watched silently as Owen pressed the cold steel to Pyris’s throat. His grip tightened, feeling the resistance of her skin beneath the blade.

He hesitated.

Her face, pale and twisted with pain, made him falter. Or maybe it was Draed and the Builders carefully watching him. All his resolve crumbled. She had drawn back her killing intent earlier, even if it was just out of weakness. And something in their soul connection told him she wasn’t going to harm him.

He hoped.

Sighing, Owen sheathed his blade and erected a makeshift tarp over Pyris using the supplies he had. He couldn’t kill her. Whether that decision would come back to haunt him, only time would tell. For now, he had to trust his instincts.

Brushing the sand from his hands, Owen stood, forcing himself not to dwell on the decision. He needed more summoning tickets. Warriors, Hunters, Miners, Builders, Alchemists—he needed them all. And the only way to get them was to kill monsters and complete Quests.

First, he needed to understand his new Skill a bit more.

With a thought, Owen activated Unlimited Plunder on the sand beneath his feet. A portion of the ground vanished, stored away in his Plundered Storage. A simple label appeared: Sand x1.

He decided to push it further, imagining excavating a large chunk of the sand. The ground beneath him shifted. Then, his heart clenched painfully, and before he could react, the sand collapsed, pulling him under.

“Help!” he gasped, sand filling his mouth as he sank deeper.

Suddenly, the sand above him crunched, and a long neck extended into the pit. His tortoise Spectre had answered his call. Owen grabbed onto its neck, and with surprising strength, it lifted him from the hole, dropping him safely back onto solid ground.

“That was close,” Owen muttered, spitting out the sand from his mouth. Note to self: don’t stand on what I’m plundering.

He tested the Skill on rocks and nearby cacti, successfully storing them in his inventory, but the larger the object, the more energy it consumed. He could feel fatigue setting in, a dull ache settling in his chest. By his estimation, he had a lot more in him. How much exactly? he'd have to find out later. Despite that, he couldn't help but marvel at his ability. having the ability to Plunder resources, Skills, Stats, Fragments... It was absurd. It was incredible.

There were also potential combat uses for this Skill, but for now, he shelved those thoughts. He didn't want to risk using it in a fight. One small misstep and he'd lose his head.

After securing his pack, Owen turned to the tortoise Spectre who had saved him. He gave its hardened shell an affectionate pat. “Forward,” he commanded, and the creature obeyed, its heavy steps sinking into the sand as it trudged toward the barrier.

Owen chuckled nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow. He knew heading out to hunt was dangerous, but with the Lord’s Shield still active, it was the perfect time to act—to grow stronger. If he let this chance slip by, it could cost him dearly later. He had a safe haven to retreat to, a fortress protected by an impenetrable barrier that even demi-gods couldn’t break.

With renewed determination, Owen sprinted after the lumbering tortoise. Timing his leap, he clumsily scrambled onto its back, his grip slipping as he fought to stay on. Just as he felt himself losing balance, Draed’s strong hand shot out, gripping his arm and hauling him up onto the creature’s massive shell.

“Thanks, Draed,” Owen muttered, collapsing onto the tortoise’s back as it lumbered through the barrier.

"It's my duty, my Lord," Draed replied firmly.

Owen gave a quick nod, his hand resting on the creature’s weathered shell. The hot, dry air swept past, stirring his hair, and for a brief moment, a sense of calm washed over him despite the insane situation he was in.

With a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, Owen broke the silence. “I shall name you Shelldon,” he declared, his voice carrying a hint of lightness as they ventured deeper into the unknown.