I wandered through the forest for what felt like half an hour, occasionally checking my inventory. So far, it contained:
- One (1) slightly wilted flower I'd accidentally stepped on
- Three (3) pinecones of questionable origin
- One (1) rock that looked sad
The universal classification system was apparently very strict about what counted as "trash."
That's when the ground began to tremble.
Trees shook like they were in an earthquake. Birds fled in terror. Small woodland creatures scattered with the desperate urgency of extras abandoning a disaster movie set.
Then it appeared.
A massive stone golem, easily twelve feet tall, with arms like tree trunks and eyes that glowed with the dull red light of someone who'd left the stove on for several centuries. Moss covered its shoulders like a very committed environmental protest.
It spotted me and let out a roar that sounded like grinding concrete mixed with disappointment.
"Right," I said, backing away slowly. "So we're skipping the gradual difficulty curve and jumping straight to mini-boss territory. That's not ominous at all."
The golem swung a colossal arm, smashing a nearby tree into splinters. The tree had probably been growing peacefully for decades, maybe centuries, and now it was kindling because I happened to be in the neighborhood.
I felt personally responsible.
The golem stomped toward me, each step registering somewhere between 'earthquake' and 'divine wrath.' My options were limited: run and probably get caught, or try something absurdly desperate involving my useless inventory skill.
I checked my trash collection again. The sad rock, the pinecones, the wilted flower... wait. I'd picked up something else without noticing.
- One (1) single sock (origin unknown, probably someone's laundry mishap)
Perfect.
I grabbed the sock and flung it directly at the golem's face. It hit with all the impact of a disappointed sigh.
The golem paused.
Not because the sock hurt it—because it was apparently confused by the sheer audacity of someone throwing laundry at a twelve-foot stone monster. In that moment of bewilderment, I rolled between its legs and spotted what every RPG player knows to look for: the glowing weak point. (Which as the author I didn't know by the way until the AI went like, that's not how it works in RPGs which I never played like every other auth... wait, why am I saying that... )
A crystal core embedded in its back, pulsing with that convenient "stab here to win" light.
I grabbed one of my pinecones and jammed it into the crystal.
Nothing happened.
"Right, pinecones don't count as weapons," I muttered.
The golem spun around, confused about where I'd gone. I tried the wilted flower next, pressing it against the crystal core.
Still nothing.
"Come on, universal classification system! Work with me here!"
In desperation, I grabbed the sad rock—the one that had been classified as trash despite being perfectly functional rock material—and drove it into the glowing crystal.
The core cracked.
Light flared like a camera flash in a dark room. The golem froze mid-swing, made a sound like a sigh of relief, and collapsed into a pile of rubble.
I stared at my hands. "What... just happened? Did I just defeat a mini-boss with literal garbage?"
The warm glow enveloped me again, stronger this time. I felt faster, stronger, more confident. No numbers, no pop-ups explaining my new abilities. Just the vague sense that I could probably take on slightly larger rocks now.
Among the rubble, I found a chest. Because of course there was a chest. This was an RPG world—mysterious treasure containers spawned after boss fights like mushrooms after rain.
Inside: a sword that hummed with barely contained energy, armor that fit perfectly despite having no sizing information, and a small egg with silver speckles.
The egg cracked in my hands before I could properly examine it. Out popped a tiny dragon, no bigger than a house cat, with silver scales that caught the light like polished metal. It had curious blue eyes and sneezed immediately, releasing a small puff of smoke that smelled like cinnamon.
It looked up at me and chirped.
I stared back. "Oh no. You're going to turn into a human girl and call me 'Papa,' aren't you? This is exactly how it starts in every dragon-raising light novel."
The dragon chirped again, tilting its head with the kind of innocent confusion that absolutely confirmed my worst predictions.
"And you're probably going to be jealous of any female characters who show interest in me, despite being technically my daughter, which will create uncomfortable romantic tension that the author will never properly address."
Another chirp. If dragons could look smug, this one was definitely trying.
I sighed and picked it up. "Well, at least you're cute. What should I call you? Sparkles? Princess? Ultimate Weapon of Mass Destruction?"
The dragon sneezed again, this time producing a small flame that singed my eyebrow.
"Sassy it is."
***
We continued down the forest path—because there's always a convenient path in starting zones—until civilization appeared in the distance. A proper fantasy city with stone walls, guard towers, and the kind of medieval architecture that suggested indoor plumbing was more of a suggestion than a standard.
Before I could appreciate the view properly, the sound of battle echoed from ahead. Shouts, clashing metal, and the distinctive roar of something large and definitely not friendly.
A massive wyvern—basically a discount dragon with budget wings and anger management issues—swooped low over the city walls, spewing flames with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just discovered arson. Guards scrambled along the battlements, shouting orders and firing arrows that bounced off scales like rubber balls.
One figure stood out among the chaos: a woman in silver armor, commanding the defense with a spear that looked like it could double as a small tree. Her voice carried over the noise with the kind of authority that suggested she'd done this before.
The wyvern banked for another attack run, aiming directly for her position.
I didn't think. I just ran.
Maybe it was heroic instinct. Maybe it was protagonist syndrome finally kicking in. Maybe I was just tired of watching obvious plot developments unfold exactly as predicted.
I vaulted over a chunk of broken stone, landed on the wall beside the commander, and drove my new sword into the wyvern's neck as it swooped past.
The beast roared—a sound like a chainsaw having an argument with a foghorn—and thrashed violently. Its claws raked across my new armor, leaving scratches but no real damage. Apparently the mysterious chest had provided quality gear.
Blood—or whatever counted as blood for CGI monsters—sprayed across the stone wall. I twisted the blade deeper, ducking as the wyvern tried to bite my head off. Its breath smelled like sulfur mixed with bad decisions.
With a final, desperate shove, I wrenched the sword free. The wyvern crashed into the courtyard below and stopped moving.
The warm glow hit me again, stronger than before. I felt like I could probably take on a small army now, or at least a medium-sized angry mob.
The commander turned to me, eyes wide with what I recognized as the dreaded instant affection syndrome. For a brief, awkward moment, we just stared at each other while I mentally calculated how long it would take for her to fall completely in love based on this single heroic act.
"You..." she began, voice soft with that particular tone that meant 'romantic interest acquired.' "You saved me."
"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound too resigned about it. "I get that a lot. Well, I assume I will, anyway."