I leaned against a crumbling pillar, breathing steady for the first time in forever. Hitting level 30 had officially made me an [Order and Chaos Gamer], which sounded super cool—until I realized it mostly meant I got a full heal every time I leveled up.
Still. Free refill on HP, MP, and SP? I wasn't complaining.
What I was complaining about? The ballroom door.
It loomed across the room like it knew it was the Final Boss Gateway. Like it was smug about it.
And after fighting a zombie butler with anger issues and a banshee violinist who thought dubstep counted as combat? Yeah, my spine wanted to resign and become a noodle.
"I need upgrades," I muttered, flicking open my HUD like I was checking emails and expecting bad news.
Gear check: Barely passable.
Stats: Decent, sure. But "decent" gets you killed in the last act.
If I wanted to survive the next horror waiting behind that fancy mahogany murder-door, I needed to go full gamer: optimize, upgrade, overprepare.
---
First stop: the System Shop.
Unfortunately, it hadn't refreshed since I leveled up.
Maybe it updated daily? Weekly? During full moons? I didn't know. Probably some cruel timer only the developers and ancient seers understood.
I was Level 31. The shop? Still stocked with Level 30 gear.
But that would have to do.
I scrolled through the digital aisles of fantasy fashion and death-prevention tools.
Current equipment slots:
Head
Torso x2 (inner + outer)
Arms
Legs
Rings x10 (because logic took the day off)
Amulet
Earring
Most of my dungeon drops so far had been "fine." As in, "fine if I wanted to die slightly slower."
I had just over 7,000 Ancient Coins, everything I'd scraped together from the emergency dungeon, violin hell, and a few lucky loots. It was my entire savings account, and I was ready to blow it all.
Step one: Ditch the bone helmet.
I'd picked it up way back in Skeleton Tutorial Land. DEF +5? Please. I could get more protection from a soggy napkin.
I filtered the shop for headgear. A hundred options popped up some sleek, some spiky, some that looked like rejected costume pieces from a fantasy-themed music video.
And then I saw it.
---
Mindveil Circlet (Rare)
Type: Circlet
DEF: +15
+5 INT, +5 WIS
Passive: [Focus Pulse] – Automatically clears Daze, Fear, or Confuse once per minute.
( 1200 acient coins )
---
I stared at the screen like it had just offered me free pizza.
"Now that's more like it."
Solid defense? Bonus brain stats? And protection from getting status-stunned into a ghostly beatdown again? It was practically made for me.
"Purchase. Confirm. Equip."
The bone helmet disappeared into my inventory with a sad little plop, replaced by the Mindveil Circlet.
I felt it right away like my thoughts sharpened. Clearer. Faster. Stronger.
Like I'd just chugged a magical energy drink and it didn't even taste terrible.
I cracked my knuckles.
"One slot down. A few thousand coins left."
The ballroom door still loomed across the room, daring me to try.
But now?
I was just getting started.
I looked at my current torso setup.
Orc Chainmail (Rare):
+30 DEF, +10 VIT, +10 STR
Also came with Intimidating Body Odor (probably not a listed stat, but definitely a vibe).
Rare Leather Armor:
+20 DEF, +5 STR, +5 VIT
Smelled faintly like smoked jerky. Might've been cursed. Might've just been lunch. Either way—still holding strong.
"Okay," I muttered. "Not exactly cutting-edge fashion, but they get the job done."
I kept both. No point tossing decent gear just because it didn't sparkle like a K-pop idol. Plus, my Ancient Coin stash was sweating harder than I was during the banshee fight.
Instead of swapping stuff out, I decided to stack power somewhere else.
Time to check the fun slots.
Rings. Ten of them.
Bless the game dev who said, "Let's give them ten ring slots. What could possibly go wrong?"
Spoiler: everything.
Currently equipped?
Ring of Little Power
+3 STR
Not bad. Not good. Kinda like off-brand cereal—technically edible.
I filtered the system shop.
Boom. Instant eye overload.
Rings of Flame, Ice, Storm, Cheese, Aggression, Love, Tax Evasion—it was like someone let a bunch of chaotic wizards name stuff while drunk.
Then one caught my eye.
Ring of Focused Mayhem (Rare)
+5 INT, +5 STR
Passive: [Controlled Chaos] – First attack in battle always crits… but only if you yell your move's name out loud.
900 Ancient Coins.
I stared.
"That's either genius or a lawsuit waiting to happen," I muttered.
I bought it. Equipped it.
One ring down. Nine more fingers to go.
Problem: I didn't have enough coins to go full bling mode. Not unless I wanted to sell my inner organs.
(Not that the system offered that option… yet.)
So I had to be strategic. Smart. Selective.
Which meant filtering for rings that didn't cost a small kingdom.
Then...bingo.
Ring of Fire (Rare)
+5 INT
+5 WIS
Passive: All Fire Magic Damage +30%
1100 acient coins
System Remark: "Not responsible for spontaneous combustion, burned eyebrows, or overly dramatic guitar solos."
"Oh, yes," I whispered, eyes gleaming like a pyromaniac at a fireworks convention.
It wasn't just the stats. It was the vibe. The ring practically oozed hot wizard energy.
I could already imagine the possibilities. Fireball? Now a firebomb. Flame burst? More like flame explosion.
Sure, it cost me another hefty chunk of my precious Ancient Coins, but come on, +30% fire damage. That's not gear. That's a lifestyle.
"Purchase. Confirm. Equip. Try not to catch self on fire."
Two new rings down. A lot less coin in my pocket.
But if I had to go broke, at least I'd go down in a blaze of glory.
Literally.
Naturally, I had to test it out.
I stepped a safe(ish) distance from the pillar I'd been leaning on, cracked my knuckles, and pointed at a pile of debris like a wizard about to make an example out of a garden gnome.
"Okay… here we go. Just a small one."
I focused. Fire energy pooled in my palm.
"Fireball!" I shouted, mostly for fun. Partly because the Ring of Focused Mayhem might've been watching.
A glowing sphere of flame roared to life and rocketed forward like it had unresolved trauma.
It hit the debris.
And everything exploded.
Like, Michael Bay directing a fireworks warehouse on discount day exploded. Debris flew. A dust cloud swallowed the hallway. The pillar behind me creaked ominously, like it was filing an HR complaint.
I stumbled back, instinctively casting Magic Shield, coughing as smoke slapped me in the face.
"…Okay," I wheezed.
"Note to self: +30% fire damage plus crit hit is not OSHA approved."
I leaned against a crumbling pillar and checked my legs slot.
Still empty.
A tragic story, really. No epic drop. No random loot. Just me, raw-dogging danger in my everyday jeans.
"Fashionably doomed," I muttered.
The jeans had held up surprisingly well, probably because they were from a brand called 'Plot Armor Denim'. But still, one good fire trap and I'd be moonwalking straight into the afterlife.
Before my remaining coins collectively threw themselves into a wishing well, I filtered the shop for leg armor.
Most of the stuff was either overpriced, overcomplicated, or designed by someone with a very specific kink.
Then I saw a contender.
Blazebound Greaves (Rare)
DEF: +25
+5 Dex
+5 Fire Resist
Passive: Immune to Burn status.
(May cause enemies to develop sudden fear of leg day.)
Price: 1200 Ancient Coins
"Okay," I said, nodding. "Practical and vaguely threatening. My kind of legwear."
I hit purchase.
And then like a tragic romance novel, I looked at my coin purse and felt it tremble. From over 7000 Ancient Coins to just a smidge above 2000.
" Wallet. Exe has stopped responding," I muttered.
But just as I was about to sulk off and buy a budget healing potion or something equally sad, I saw it.
Staff of Thunder Storm (Superior)
INT +10
WIS +10
Spell 1: Thunderbolt (30 sec cooldown)
Spell 2: Thunderstorm (1 min cooldown)
Bonus: If your INT is over 100, you can eventually learn the built-in spells permanently—usage between 50 to 100 times, depending on WIS.
(Thunderbolt: For when you want your enemies to really hear you coming.)
2100 acient coins.
I blinked. My eyes might've sparkled. The system might've played a fanfare. I'm not ruling anything out.
"Bingo."
This wasn't just a staff. This was the staff. The one every mage in a video game dreams of when they're stuck whacking rats with a stick.
Finally, I could cast something that sounded like it came with its own dramatic weather warning.
"Thunderbolt, Thunderstorm… all I need now is a third spell called 'Regret Insurance,'" I said, hitting Purchase with absolutely zero hesitation.
The staff materialized in my hands with a low rumble, like the sky itself was politely clearing its throat.
Now I was as broke as a bugbear with a gambling problem.
With just a few hundred Ancient Coins sulking in my inventory, I made my way to the Potion Lab, the fantasy equivalent of a microwave and a prayer.
The setup was blissfully simple: drop ingredients into the slots, mentally hit "Start" (or poke the glowy rune if you're feeling dramatic), and thirty seconds later...voilà. Potion.
My first attempt? One-star HP Potion (E Grade). Basically flavored water with commitment issues. Tasted like strawberry sadness.
Thankfully, I wasn't going in blind. I knew the basic potion recipes, and I'd snagged a "Potion Starter Pack" from earlier dungeon loot. So I whipped up a batch: ten HP, ten MP, ten SP. My own little survival starter kit.
Now, the system had a built-in luck mechanic, which meant sometimes you'd get a bonus D-rank potion or sometimes you'd get two E rank potions for one set of ingredients.
Still, I loved the whole potion brewing thing. No weird ingredient-matching puzzles. No energy timers. No "please buy premium crystals to speed this up!" pop ups.
Now I had enough potions to survive a small apocalypse—or at least a boss fight with extra drama.
The Doomsday Clock in the corner of my HUD ticked down: 4:54… 4:53… 4:52…
Which was a really stylish way of saying: Hurry up or get eaten.
Problem was, I didn't have much else to do. My Ancient Coins were basically pocket lint at this point. My crafting materials? All low-tier stuff—like "build your own disappointment" kits. And without proper recipes, I couldn't even DIY a decent throwing knife.
So I got up, stretched, and did the paranoid gamer's ritual: double-check all gear.
Head? Mindveil Circlet, check.
Torso? Orc Chainmail and Rare Leather Armor, check.
Legs? My shiny new Blazebound Greaves, no more denim near-death experiences.
Rings? Finger bling activated.
Staff of Thunder Storm? Hugged it like a long-lost best friend. The other hand, I got my Necrofang Saber.
I was ready.
…Or I thought I was.
Then I opened my stats panel.
And frowned.
Because while my gear screamed "respectable," my stat distribution still whispered, "he did his best, okay?"