The walk back to his outcrop camp was a silent, grim procession. The euphoria of the quick, brutal victory by the river had evaporated, replaced by the chilling aftertaste of the Protocol's automatic claim. The crystal shard's disappearance from his palm felt like a theft, even though he had signed the contract. He was a tenant in his own survival, paying rent with the very treasures of the world.
He returned to find his camp undisturbed. The smoke still curled lazily from the rack, a comforting, mundane sight. He spent the remaining daylight in a fury of productive labor, as if by sheer effort he could outrun the terms of his debt. He cured more meat, scraped the boar hide further, and used the new goblin spears to fashion a crude, but effective, thorn-and-branch barrier around the most accessible approaches to his rocky shelf. Each task was performed with the Sovereign's Tusk, its efficiency a constant reminder of the pact that bound it to him.
As dusk settled, he sat by his small fire, chewing on a piece of jerky. He pulled up his system interface, not to browse, but to study.
[Host: Chen Mo]
[Level: 2 (Experience: 42%)]
[Protocol Points (PP): 195]
[Active Contracts: Material Debt (Duration: 29 days, 18 hours)]
[Skills: Keen Eye (Novice - 15%), Wilderness Survival (Novice - 18%), Flintknapping (Rudimentary - 3%), Close-Quarters Combat (Novice - 8%)]
He focused on the contract line. "Protocol," he said aloud, his voice rough from disuse. "Define parameters. What constitutes a 'naturally occurring arcane-conductive material'?"
The system's response was prompt, its text appearing in the neutral blue of information, not the yellow of contracts or red of warnings.
[Query Acknowledged. Definition: Any material substance, in its raw or minimally processed state, that demonstrates a quantifiable capacity to channel, store, or resonate with ambient mana or higher-dimensional energies. Examples include but are not limited to: Mana Crystals (graded), Certain Rare Metals (e.g., Sky-Iron, Soul-Silver), Animated Woods, Concentrated Elemental Essences (e.g., Emberstone, Frostheart Sap).]
[Addendum: The Protocol's sensors are calibrated to detect such materials within a 1-meter radius of the host. Claim is automatic upon host contact.]
"So, I can't even pick it up," Chen Mo muttered. "The moment I touch it, it's gone." He thought of the quartz. "What about common minerals? That quartz was 'low-grade'."
[Low-grade materials are included in the contract. Refinement and aggregation of low-grade materials is a primary function of the Protocol. Host benefits from the refined products, as demonstrated.]
The blade at his side hummed faintly, as if in agreement. He touched the warm bone of the handle. The benefit was real. But the cost felt open-ended, a blanket claim on an entire category of wealth he didn't yet understand.
"Is there a list? A way to identify these materials before I touch them?" he asked, a spark of his programmer's mind seeking the API documentation.
[Negative. Comprehensive database is restricted to higher Protocol Clearance Levels. Basic identification is a function of developing host's own perceptual skills (e.g., Keen Eye, Mana Sensitivity) or acquired knowledge.]
A loophole. Or at least, a path. The system wouldn't hand him a guide, but if he learned to spot the materials without the system's help first, he might be able to avoid them. Or, a darker thought occurred, he might be able to have someone else carry them.
"Can the claim be triggered by indirect contact? Through another material? If the material is inside a container?"
[Claim requires direct biological contact from the bound host. Containerization delays but does not prevent analysis and claim if host handles the container. Prolonged proximity (over 24 hours) within the 1-meter radius may also trigger passive scan and claim notification.]
He filed that away. So he couldn't just put it in a bag and forget about it. But the 24-hour proximity rule was interesting. It meant he had a grace period if he found something and didn't touch it.
His thoughts were interrupted. His Keen Eye, which he kept passively active, flickered at the edge of his vision. A tag, faint and yellow, appeared downslope: 'Unidentified Metallic Reflection - 80 meters.'
His breath hitched. A test. A dangerous one.
He stood, blade in hand, and moved silently towards the tagged location. It was off his usual path, in a small, rocky hollow. There, half-buried in leaf litter and dirt, was a piece of metal. It was not a natural ore. It was worked. A broken dagger blade, about six inches long, made of a dull, greyish steel. It was pitted with rust, but the break was clean, as if snapped in a fight. It had a simple, crossguard hilt wrapped in rotten leather.
This was not a "naturally occurring" material. This was a crafted item. Discarded, broken, but crafted.
He crouched, using a stick to carefully brush away the leaves. No system warning appeared. He reached out slowly, his fingers hovering an inch above the cold metal. Nothing. He took a breath and picked it up.
The metal was cold and heavy. No blue light. No claim.
[Item Acquired: Broken Dagger (Low-Quality Steel).]
[Status: Severely damaged. Blade integrity: 12%.]
[No arcane-conductive properties detected.]
A wave of relief washed over him. So the contract had limits. It only wanted the "natural" magical resources. Junk steel, wood, stone—these were his to keep. This broken blade was worthless as a weapon, but it was his. It was a data point. A cornerstone.
He took it back to his fire. An idea began to form, born of loopholes and a desperate need for agency. He spent the next hour with his rudimentary Flintknapping skill and the Sovereign's Tusk. He used the supernaturally sharp blade to carefully score and snap the broken dagger blade into several smaller, flake-like pieces. He then painstakingly pressure-flaked one of these steel fragments, much harder than flint, into a crude but viciously sharp arrowhead. It was exhausting work, dulling even the Tusk's edge slightly (though it seemed to recover, the faint pattern along its blade shimmering), but by the end, he had a single, ugly, functional steel arrowhead. He lashed it to one of the straightest goblin spear shafts, using sinew from the boar.
He held the finished product—a monstrous, hybrid arrow. [Crude Steel-Tipped Arrow. Quality: Very Poor. Damage: +2 vs unarmored.] It was a pathetic thing by any standard, but it was his first true act of creation from scavenged materials. The system had provided the knowledge and the supreme tool, but the design, the effort, the ownership was his.
The exercise clarified his strategy. For the next 29 days, his goal was not to hunt for magical treasures. It was to avoid them. His goal was to build a foundation of purely mundane value and skill. He needed information, a safe route to trade, and a currency that wasn't subject to the Protocol's lien.
As if summoned by his thoughts, a new notification pulsed, not from the main Protocol, but from the Crude Map module he had purchased.
[Passive Geographic Data Updated.]
[Landmark Identified via Host Observation: 'River Trail'.]
[Landmark Identified via Host Observation: 'Blackstone Outpost' (Approximate Location - 15 km downstream). Data Confidence: Low. Source: Heard conversation.]
[New Suggestion: Map data can be improved by direct exploration or acquisition of superior cartographic materials.]
Blackstone Outpost. Fifteen kilometers. A day's hard hike, less if he followed the path. But he couldn't go as a wild man. He needed a commodity.
His eyes fell on the large, partially cured boar hide. And the jerky. Meat and hide were universal currencies. But they were bulky, heavy. He needed something lighter, with higher value for its weight. His gaze drifted to the remaining boar tusk scraps and bones. Then to the Primitive Toolcraft Fundamentals data-packet in the Marketplace (70 PP). He had 195 PP. It was a significant investment.
"Protocol," he said. "Purchase Primitive Toolcraft Fundamentals."
[Transaction Confirmed. 70 PP deducted. Remaining: 125 PP.]
A flood of information filled his mind—not just how to make arrowheads, but how to work bone and antler, basic wood joinery, the principles of making glue from hides and sinew, simple tanning methods better than his crude scraping. It was a craftsman's primer.
In the light of the fire, he began to work. Using the Sovereign's Tusk, he carved the smaller bones and the base of the remaining tusk. He didn't try to make weapons. Instead, he made tools. A heavy bone needle, polished smooth. A set of toggle-fasteners for clothing. A smooth, polished bracelet from a section of tusk, etched with simple geometric patterns using a sharp flint flake. They were crude, but they had a certain primitive elegance. [Bone Needle], [Toggle Fasteners (Set of 4)], [Bone Armband (Decorated)]. The system tagged them as simple crafted items, with no inherent value, but to a frontier outpost, they might be useful trinkets, proof of a craftsman's hand, not just a hunter's kill.
He worked late into the night, his mind focused, the terms of the debt pushed to the background. This was his response. The Protocol claimed the magical ore. Very well. He would become a master of the mundane. He would build his worth in bone, sinew, and cunning.
Just as he was finishing the armband, a new sound pierced the night. Not a howl or a chitter. It was a low, pained moan, humanoid, coming from the woods downslope, near where he'd fought the goblins earlier.
He froze, his hand closing around the Sovereign's Tusk. The moan came again, weaker. A voice, in a language he didn't know, but the tone was unmistakable: agony and despair.
The system offered no assessment. This was not a hostile contact. It was an event.
He sat in the darkness, weighing the risk. A wounded traveler could be a source of information, a potential ally. It could also be a trap, a lure set by smarter predators or bandits. His every instinct screamed to hunker down, to let the forest take its course.
But the memory of his own helplessness in the slave cart flashed before him. The moan came again, a thread of sound soon to be swallowed by the night.
Cursing his own lingering humanity, Chen Mo stood. He pocketed the bone artifacts, took his blade and his crude bow with the single steel-tipped arrow, and slipped silently into the dark trees, towards the sound. The Material Debt timer glowed in his vision, a countdown to a different kind of reckoning. Tonight, however, a more immediate debt—one of conscience, perhaps, or simple opportunity—called for payment.