Insomniac Player

For several seconds, Damien could only stare.

Mr. John stood there with his giant mace resting comfortably on one shoulder, as if he hadn’t just introduced a wolf’s skull to several exciting new directions.

The older man grinned, his mustache bouncing slightly.

Damien had never noticed that before; then again, he’d never seen Mr. John commit wolf-based violence before either.

The wolf incident had altered the dynamic between them, yet before either could process the event or exchange words, the sudden rustling of nearby bushes interrupted, drawing their attention to a new development.

The two goblins that had spent the last several minutes chasing Damien finally arrived.

The creatures looked excited; that excitement lasted approximately half a second.

John’s eyes caught him, and in the next moment, he swung his mace.

WHAM

The first goblin vanished, not metaphorically. It genuinely disappeared behind a cloud of dirt and leaves.

The second goblin suffered a similar career-ending experience a moment later.

The forest fell silent, leaving Damien blinking, caught between amazement and puzzlement.

John lowered the mace. "Problem solved."

Damien looked at the goblins, or rather, the locations where goblins had once existed.

He gulped and looked back at John. For the first time in years, Damien truly saw his neighbor.

Mr. John was big, not merely tall but enormous, with his frame casting a substantial shadow that stretched across the mossy forest floor. The man stood around six and a half feet tall, his head nearly brushing against the lower branches that hung overhead.

His arms were thicker than Damien’s thighs. A magnificent pot belly, earned by spending years in corporations, stretched his shirt forward with remarkable confidence.

His ginger mustache was large enough to deserve citizenship, curved at the ends like indian shamshir.

Combined with his receding hairline, the entire package somehow created the image of a friendly uncle who would offer life advice and grilled meat at family gatherings.

Nobody ever found him intimidating, mostly because he never stopped smiling, or talking, or asking about the weather.

Looking at him now, Damien realized something: the apocalypse had not transformed Mr. John.

It may have unintentionally revealed him; the man had apparently been built like a walking fortress the entire time.

But before they could process what happened, a notification suddenly appeared before them.

—-------

➤ [Achievement Unlocked!]

➤ [First Night Blood Wolf Slain!]

➤ [Reward Granted.]

—-------

A small flash of light appeared in front of John; a dagger dropped into his hand.

The blade was short, curved, and made entirely from a sharpened wolf fang.

John examined it. "Hoho."

He turned it over and glanced toward Damien. His eyes descended at Damien’s oversized sword and again back to the dagger.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "that sword looks a bit big for you."

Damien looked at the sword and at his own arms. He also took a glance at John’s arms. Everything looked small compared to John’s arms.

Before Damien could answer, the older man tossed the dagger.

Damien barely caught it. "Whoa! Easy."

"You take it." Said John.

Damien threw it on the ground. "What? No, I don’t need it."

"You need it more." He said, stroking his well-kept mustache.

"What?! But why, it’s yours."

John shrugged. "I already have a mace."

As if that explained everything, a notification immediately appeared before Damien.

—-------

➤ [Player #218640187 has sent you a gift.]

➤ [Accept?]

➤ [YES] ➤ [NO]

—-------

Damien looked at John with questioning eyes; John nodded.

Damien hesitantly pressed YES and looked at John.

A new icon appeared in the corner of his vision.

➤ [Inventory]

Curious, he mentally touched it, and a translucent window opened.

Several slots appeared; inside them rested his sword and the newly acquired dagger.

He looked down where the dagger was thrown, but it was no longer there.

"Holy shit." Damien gasped.

’That is freaking convenient.’

Damien focused on the dagger; he pondered how to draw it. The weapon instantly appeared in his hand.

His eyes widened as he looked at John. "That’s actually useful."

Then he wondered how to put the sword away.

The thought had barely formed before the sword vanished from his other hand.

Damien flinched. The System had understood him.

No buttons or commands, just thoughts. A dangerous amount of convenience.

He could already imagine accidentally throwing things away while half asleep.

Well. Half-comatose.

He focused on the dagger again, and a detailed information panel appeared.

—-------

➤ [ITEM INFORMATION]

Name: First Blood Dagger

Rank: Epic

Type: Dagger

Attack: +175

Description: Obtained by slaying the first Night Blood Wolf within the Tutorial.

Set Effect activates during nighttime.

Set Effect: Additional Attack Power while under night conditions.

—-------

Damien stared, then stared harder. He rubbed his eyes, yet the information remained.

"Epic?" His voice cracked.

"Epic?" John looked confused. "What?"

Damien shoved the screen toward him. "The dagger! Can you see it too?"

John read the information; his eyebrows climbed.

"Oh yes, I can read it very clearly." He hummed as he looked at the dagger and spoke. "That’s pretty good."

"Pretty good?" Damien nearly choked. "That’s way more than just pretty good. It’s more like GAWD DAAMMNN!"

The dagger alone had one hundred and seventy-five attack power.

He didn’t even know what attack power meant yet.

But one hundred and seventy-five sounded significantly larger than zero.

John scratched his cheek. "I guess we got lucky."

"We? Haha, no, sir. You got lucky." Damien looked at the weapon, then at John. "You’re seriously giving this to me?"

"Sure." Mr. John replied as he took out a tissue from his pocket and wiped off the purple colored remains from his mace.

"Why?" Damien was curious; he thought Mr. John was stupid.

John clicked his tongue. "It dropped because I killed the wolf."

"Exactly." Damien nodded.

John added. "And now it’s yours."

Damien frowned. "That’s not how ownership works!"

He could not bring himself to trust John; after all, who would offer such a valuable item without expecting something in return? Yet, this suspicion conflicted with his own experiences. He had known John for years, and throughout that time, John had consistently shown a disarming generosity toward others.

Damien’s uncertainty deepened; he found himself questioning whether he was being naive or unfair, unable to reconcile John’s apparent selflessness with his own doubts.

John laughed; his mustache bounced again. "I have a feeling you’ll make better use of it."

Damien suddenly felt guilty, which was annoying.

The man had just handed him what appeared to be a lottery ticket disguised as a knife.

Meanwhile, Damien had spent years avoiding conversations with him.

Perhaps Mr. John wasn’t so bad; the thought lasted roughly three seconds.

Then John started talking about weather patterns. Damien immediately regretted everything.

Still, one thing had become clear. Weapons possessed rankings, just like classes.

Common, Rare, Elite, Legendary, and Special categories.

The hierarchy applied to equipment as well; if an Epic weapon existed, then stronger items probably existed too.

That thought was both exciting and terrifying; a scream echoed through the forest.

The two men instantly turned; the cry came from the main group.

Several more shouts followed, then the sound of fighting.

Without another word, Damien and John started moving.

Branches scraped against them as they hurried through the forest.

The noise grew louder, closer. Weapons clashed, goblins yelped, and wolves howled.

People shouted orders, then they reached a clearing and stopped.

"Well." John sighed. "That’s unfortunate."

Damien wholeheartedly agreed; the path ahead had become a battlefield.

Several dozen goblins poured from every direction.

Among them prowled large Night Blood Wolves.

The monsters had completely surrounded the group of Players.

Some fought desperately, and others had formed defensive circles. A few already looked injured; the pain was real.

Damien turned to go back, but his stomach sank at the sight; his legs shook.

More goblins emerged from the trees behind them; several wolves followed.

Yellow eyes glowed between the shadows; the duo had walked directly into a trap.

Within seconds, they found themselves encircled; monsters blocked every escape route.

Goblins in front unknowingly served the purpose of cannon fodder; wolves stayed behind for an opportunity, with the forest on all sides.

John tightened his grip on his mace. Damien wrapped his fingers around the First Blood Dagger.

The weapon felt strangely warm; the surrounding creatures slowly advanced.

One step at a time, predators were patiently cornering the prey.

Damien swallowed. A few minutes ago, he had been worried about killing a single goblin.

Now, an entire army seemed eager to make him a group project. The monsters moved closer.

John cracked his neck, then smiled.

"Damien, stay behind me, son."

Damien immediately disliked that smile. "I was intending to do that from the start. But... there is a problem."

John jerked his head to ask. "What problem?"

"There are 32 goblins and 4 wolves coming from behind you."

"My behind! How is this possible? My butt is clenched."

"No, it’s... shit, not that. I mean... fuck man. Just save me."

The giant man lifted his mace. "Worry not, Damien. For I am here."

’What in the Shakespeare was that?’

The monsters finally reached the attacking distance; the wolves growled, and the goblins screamed.

And Damien realized his survival chances had somehow become entirely dependent on an overly friendly neighbor whose solution to every problem appeared to involve hitting it very hard.