The rest of the evening was a study in mundane normalcy, albeit with the persistent chime of quest completions. Dinner with Mom involved the usual interrogation about my day ("So, anything exciting happen? Meet any nice girls? Did you remember to take out the recycling, or am I going to find mutant banana peels under your bed again?"). I carefully omitted the part about the exploding bathroom and the secret organization hidden in a hoax museum. Mutant banana peels seemed like a less alarming topic.
Chores followed, each accompanied by a satisfying little ding! Quest Completed: Sweep the porch (+10 XP) or Quest Completed: Empty the dishwasher (+10 XP). Honestly, if real life had a decent questing system, I might actually enjoy cleaning my room.
Finally, the sweet siren call of a hot shower. The steaming water worked wonders on my aching muscles, slowly ticking up my Stamina bar. By the time I emerged, smelling faintly of lavender and not-so-faintly of monster guts, my HP was a respectable 92%. Ah, the simple pleasures of not being actively attacked.
Now, the moment I'd been (vaguely) anticipating. Time to survey the spoils of my… eventful day. I flopped onto my bed, mentally sifting through the notifications and the strange, almost tactile sense of my inventory. What exactly had I managed to accumulate in the last chaotic twelve hours? It felt like sorting through a grab bag of the bizarre and potentially dangerous.
Alright, time to sift through the digital detritus of my yesterday late-night skeletal encounter. Ten boneheads, all eager for a hug (with their bony arms). Their loot?A rusty spoon, perfect for stirring my future concoctions of "what even is this?"
A moldy hat, which I'm pretty sure is now a protected species. And oh joy, two rusty swords! Because one rusty sword is clearly insufficient for facing the horrors of my neighbor's overgrown lawn. An ancient mop, probably used to sweep the cobwebs out of King Tut's tomb. And an assortment of bones. (Gross 🤢, but my inner gamer is screaming "alchemy ingredients!" Come on, brain, get with the program.)
Then, the financial plot twist. A bright green "$1010" in the corner of my mental HUD. My brain did a mental spit-take. A thousand bucks? I haven't seen that much cash since… well, never. I cautiously tapped the icon, and bam, a surprisingly substantial wad of actual paper money materialized in my hand.
Ten crisp hundred-dollar bills and a lonely ten. My real-world wallet was currently rocking a cool twelve dollars and a half-eaten pack of gum. Had I somehow mugged a digital ghost? I compared a real ten to a loot ten. Identical twins. I nervously shoved my real cash into the inventory. Ding! $1022. So, the system tracked my pathetic earthly wealth. Which meant… the loot money was real? My inner capitalist was doing the cha-cha. I was practically a walking, monster-slaying piggy bank.
This needed further… market research. But seeing as my usual nighttime activities involved battling the dust bunnies under my bed, that would have to wait for a more economically viable monster.
Now, the goblin goodies. The red one, bless its angry little heart, was surprisingly generous in defeat. First, an "Small HP Potion" It looked like slightly watered-down ketchup someone had sneezed into. The bottle was minuscule, probably held about as much liquid as a particularly dejected tear. Appraisal Lv. 3: restores a whopping +200 HP. Grade F for presentation, potential S for "not dying immediately." Then, my first actual equipment drop! "Goblin Arm Guard." A lovely shade of radioactive swamp green, with stats like Strength +3, Vitality +3, Attack +10%. "Suitable for Level 5 and Above." So, beginner-level awesome. I was practically a low-rent superhero with questionable fashion sense.
My moment of triumph was immediately squashed by the next delightful find: five enormous vats of "Goblin Blood." Each one looked like a rejected science fair project. Appraisal Lv. 3 chirped helpfully:
[Red Goblin Blood - Grade D]
[Good for alchemy ingredients.]
[Warning: Drink = Berserk (5 min) then Permanent Naptime (if Vit < 20).]
So, not exactly a thirst-quencher. My inner gamer screamed "rare crafting material!", while my stomach threatened to file a restraining order against my brain. They were staying in my inventory. Under strict "Do Not Consume Unless You Have a Death Wish" mental labeling.
And finally, the "Goblin Loincloth." Description: "Never washed… never seen sun." Stats: Defense +3. This, my friends, was the Mount Everest of "ew." The mental image alone smelled like a gym sock that had gone on a three-week backpacking trip through a goblin sewer. Defense +3 was tempting, but the sheer level of unsanitary awfulness… yeah, that was getting a permanent "Hard Pass" in my mental equipment catalog.
Thankfully, that red goblin's temper tantrum had inadvertently granted me an early school escape and, even better, no homework. For a glorious five seconds, the siren song of video games almost lured me in. Almost. But after a day that involved actual goblins and secret societies, pixelated adventures felt… underwhelming.
My phone buzzed. It was Jimmy, wanting to virtually frag some digital bad guys. I figured an hour of shooting pixels and recounting my "exciting day at school" (he got the heavily sanitized, monster-free version) would be a good way to decompress. I carefully avoided mentioning my newfound ability to access a personal inventory or the fact that I seemed to be leveling up in real life. Explaining that would likely result in either bewildered silence or a swift intervention involving a therapist and a lot of concerned questions about my screen time.
As the digital gunfire faded and the conversation with Jimmy wound down, a familiar sense of impending doom started to prickle at the back of my neck. Yesterday. The emergency dungeon. I'd been snatched from my bed like a particularly unlucky sock. What about tonight? The red goblin had been a rude interruption, but the system hadn't exactly said "dungeon hiatus." Panic started to bubble. My current arsenal consisted of a rusty sword that looked like it had lost a fight with a butter knife, and an ancient mop whose primary offensive capability seemed to be its sheer level of grime. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.
Time for Operation: Arm Myself (Without Looking Like a Complete Nutjob). My Appraisal skill hummed to life as I began my search. First stop: the kitchen. A promising array of potential projectiles! Carrots (+3 Stamina!), apples (+4 HP!), even a particularly menacing-looking pineapple (+5 Stamina and a spiky aura!). But actual weapons? A kitchen knife (+1 Attack, pathetic) was the best I could manage. Not exactly going to intimidate a horde of angry garden gnomes, let alone whatever lurked in those emergency dungeons.
Then it hit me. My Uncle Tony, the gym fanatic, had gifted me a baseball bat, glove, and balls for my birthday two years ago. Said it would "build character." At the time, it had mostly built dust in the extra closet, the Bermuda Triangle of unwanted presents. I raced to the rarely-opened door, a cloud of dust erupting like a forgotten civilization. And there it was. My trusty aluminum bat. It had lost its shine, but it still looked surprisingly solid. Ping!
[Aluminum Baseball Bat]
[Attack +10]
(System Comment: Yep, that's the best weapon under this roof. Swing away, slugger.)
A wave of relief washed over me. Finally, something that didn't look like it belonged in a museum of tetanus. Mental thwack! The bat joined the dubious ranks of my inventory. And then I spotted the matching baseball helmet, complete with a faceguard that looked vaguely protective. Ping!
[Baseball Helmet]
[Defense +3]
(System Comment: Well, it's better than a goblin loincloth, we guess.)
Okay, so maybe my defensive gear still had room for improvement, but at least I had a weapon that could potentially dent something harder than a marshmallow. Bring on the emergency dungeon. (Maybe.)
For more defense, Operation: Cardboard Knight and Winter Warrior was officially underway. I wrestled a stack of those surprisingly sturdy boxes Uncle Tony had used to ship my "character-building" sporting goods. Duct tape, my dad's universal solution to all of life's problems, became my primary construction material. After some surprisingly intuitive folding and sticking, I surveyed my handiwork. I looked like a refugee from a low-budget robot movie, all boxy chest plate and surprisingly well-fitted (if a little crinkly) leg guards. I even had a cardboard arm shield that felt about as aerodynamic as a brick. My inner Leonardo da Vinci of disposable packaging beamed with pride. Time to see what the universe thought of my artistic endeavors:
Ping!
[Cardboard Fortress Armor (Crude)]
[Defense +2 (Torso), +1 (Limbs)]
( Well, at least the monsters will laugh before they attack. Mostly effective against paper cuts and the crushing weight of disappointment. Keep away from water and anything remotely pointy.)
After my whirlwind crafting session, turning humble cardboard boxes into a questionable suit of armor, a cheerful Ding! echoed in my mind:
[New Skill Learned!]
[Cardboard Crafting Lv. 1]
[Description: You have a rudimentary understanding of manipulating cardboard for various purposes.]
(Congratulations! You can now assemble cardboard boxes 10% faster and with marginally improved structural integrity. The world trembles before your box-folding prowess.)
(Don't get too excited. It's still cardboard.)
I blinked. A skill? For making cardboard armor? Seriously? My life was officially a poorly balanced RPG where crafting useless items apparently granted experience points. Still, a skill was a skill, I supposed. Maybe I could eventually evolve into the legendary Cardboard Colossus. The thought was almost enough to make me forget I was probably about to face unspeakable horrors in a randomly generated dungeon. Almost.
Next, the thick winter jacket. Exhumed from the deepest, darkest recesses of my closet – a relic from that one year Halloween fell during an actual ice age, it was bulky enough to hide a small gnome. I shrugged it on over my cardboard couture, feeling slightly less like I was about to face the forces of evil in glorified recycling. Appraisal time:
Ping!
[Thick Winter Jacket (Slightly Used)]
[Defense +2]
(System Comment: Offers the protective qualities of a slightly damp sponge. May also attract moths eager for a new winter home. Bonus: Grants +5 to "Looking Suspiciously Out of Season.")
So, the Cardboard Fortress offered a bit more targeted "don't stab me here" protection, while the jacket provided a general "maybe they won't hit that hard" vibe. Slap on my trusty baseball helmet (+3 Defense – apparently my head was a high-priority target), and I was looking… well, I was looking like I was about to star in a very low-budget superhero origin story. Captain Cardboard and the Slightly Padded Avenger. Coming soon to a dungeon near you!
(Don't forget your trusty aluminum bat! Sometimes, the best way to avoid getting hit is to hit them first. Repeatedly.)
Feeling about as stealthy as a marching band in a library, and with the structural integrity of a soggy cereal box, I considered my options. Should I reinforce my cardboard creations with more duct tape? Maybe fashion some cardboard throwing stars? Or was I as "defended" as I was going to get with household refuse and sheer desperation? The emergency dungeon clock was probably ticking, and I had a feeling waiting for a monster to politely knock on my door wasn't part of their modus operandi.
Finally, the sweet release of sleep beckoned. I carefully peeled off my cardboard carapace and mentally tucked it into my inventory – who knew when I'd need to look like a walking shipping container again? Sleeping was blessedly simple in this new reality. Mental command: Sleep. Timer set. Poof. Out like a light. The usual bizarre dreamscape flickered behind my eyelids – something about sentient socks arguing over territory – but as always, the details dissolved upon waking.
Then, a familiar, unwelcome chime sliced through the remnants of my sock-puppet drama:
[Chaos Detected.]
[Emergency Dungeon Detected.]
[Wake up now.]
[Entering emergency dungeon in 3... 2... 1...]
My eyes snapped open, the remnants of sleep instantly banished. Not again! I hadn't even had a full night's rest! My heart hammered against my ribs. Cardboard armor? Rusty sword? This was not how I envisioned my night.
My eyes snapped open, not to the familiar sight of my slightly cluttered bedroom, but to the unsettling ambiance of… well, familiar scene of an ancient room. I was lying on a bed that looked like it had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, currently favoring the "moldy" stage. The air hung thick with the scent of dust and something vaguely… undead. This was definitely the emergency dungeon from last night. I'd apparently fallen asleep in it. Brilliant.
Just as I was processing the sheer level of "ancient" in my surroundings, a new notification blared into my consciousness:
[Emergency Quest!]
[Chaos Multiplying!]
[Objective: Defeat 30 Normal Skeletons, 1 Skeleton Mage, and 1 Skeleton Soldier.]
[Completion Rewards: Various Loots + Permit to Exit Dungeon.]
[Quest Failure: Dead, Terminated, Others (System Warning: 'Others' is rarely pleasant.)]
Thirty normal skeletons? A red skeleton mage? And a skeleton soldier?
Thirty regular skeletons? A red skeleton mage? And a skeleton soldier? Last night's ten boneheads had almost rearranged my skeletal structure. This wasn't an emergency; it was a skeletal apocalypse with a participation prize of "various dusty things" and a "get out of hell free" card I probably should have had before my involuntary overnight stay.
My gaze darted around the dimly lit chamber, torchlight casting dancing, creepy shadows. The clatter of bone on stone echoed closer. My rusty sword looked about as threatening as a wet noodle. My cardboard armor felt like I was facing the undead in a Halloween costume made of discarded pizza boxes. And the ancient mop? Maybe I could bore them to death with its historical significance. This was going to be a long, bony night. Again.
Character Panel: Kyle (Lv. 10)
HP: 280/280
MP: 250/250
SP : 250/250
Stats:
* STR: 15
* VIT: 18 ( +3 from arm guard )
* DEX: 18 (+1 from title)
* INT: 15
* WIS: 14
* LUK: 27
* Unassigned Stat Points: 30
* Unassigned Skill Points: 47
Att: 25
Def:24
Eva : 18