CHAPTER NINE
The Shovel
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
A few goblins crawled out of the portal. Not many, barely enough to count on one hand. "Alright, you little shits. Time to settle the score."
He waited, bracing for them to charge. Nothing. Right, he was one of them now. Monsters didn't typically waste energy fighting each other… unless provoked. They just whooshed past him like he wasn't even there. Great.
"Well," he muttered, "this is going to be tougher than teaching an orc manners."
"Baby steps first," he added dryly.
Before anything else, he needed to salvage a shred of dignity. The threadbare shawl was slipping off his tiny corpse-body, so he reached down and tried to wrap it around his waist. He attempted to stand, but his limbs betrayed him immediately. His arms buckled before they even straightened, and he flopped onto his side with a wet thud. A baby grunt escaped him.
Scowling, he adjusted the cloth from the ground instead, fumbling with stubby fingers until it vaguely resembled a warrior's bahag. It was crooked, loose, and sad. But it was something.
"This undead baby," he grumbled, "is now a warrior."
Then he tried to stand. Or at least… something like standing. Realistically, it looked more like a corpse trying to do a push-up for the first time in its miserable afterlife: his arms wobbled beneath him, his bloated baby-belly dragged in the mud, and his legs kicked weakly, more flailing than functional. He slipped on a root, squelched down hard into a tangle of mud and sludge, and yet, he tried.
"Okay, this time for sure. Ow." His elbow gave out.
"Alright, little legs, don't embarrass me." One knee bent. Then immediately betrayed him.
"Third time's the charm. Aaand no, face first again." He fell like a sack of wet meat. Again.
"You know what? Screw this shit." He slumped in the swamp like a disappointed worm, limbs sprawled, dignity left behind somewhere between attempt one and three.
But after a few seconds, he grunted and tried again. Slowly, shakily, he pushed up onto his elbows. One leg bent, then the other. His body trembled, but this time, he didn't fall. He managed to stay there, low to the ground, knees and hands in the mud.
System: Failure to stand detected. Stability: 0%. Progress: negative.
Recommendation: initiate crawling mode. Crawling mode training engaged.
A translucent, bald, gender-neutral 3D hologram materialized a fair distance beside him, kneeling on all fours. Its expressionless face stared ahead while it mimicked the posture of a parent coaxing a baby to crawl.
Abo squinted at it. "Wait. Is that supposed to be you?"
System: Negative. This unit is a generated holographic assistant.
Purpose: visual coaching aid.
Emulating parental encouragement behavior for optimized crawling acquisition.
"You're joking, right?"
No response.
He sighed. "Of course not. Whatever floats your boat pal."
Abo paused, realization hitting him hard. No weapon. Then it clicked... The shovel his mom used to dig up his grave, the same one his dad used to knock her out. He spotted it just forty crawls away, maybe less, if he hadn't been booted halfway across the swamp by pissed off monsters. Now how the hell am I supposed to carry this thing? His training arc began. He was dragging the shovel by the end of its handle with his teeth.
"Why do I have teeth?"
System: Rapid dental development attributed to enhanced regenerative traits. Functionality prioritized: tool manipulation, aesthetic intimidation, and biting.
"Ok, that's unsettling." He shook it off; he had more important things to do.
At first, he couldn't even move it. The damn thing just sat there, refusing to budge. It took him nearly an hour before the tip twitched forward.
System: POW +1 (You looked pathetic.)
"Oh God! I finally moved!" he gasped, half-muffled by the wooden handle clamped in his teeth.
The shovel scraped an inch forward. "One inch at a time."
Abo crawled through the swamp, his small undead body straining with every movement. His arms and legs trembled, his belly dragging through the semi-dry mud as he steered clear of the wet patches. He clenched the shovel's handle in his teeth and dragged it behind him, the blade carving a line in the dirt. Slowly, he inched toward the hologram.
System: Quadrupedal locomotion detected. Progress toward target: 50%.
Incremental improvements recorded: Power +1. Speed +1.
Abo shot a glare at the hologram. "Fantastic. My new 'parent' doesn't even have a face. Just what every orphan dreams of. Being raised by a bald blue ghost. No snacks for good behavior, just a lame stat boost."
System: Encouragement operations ongoing. Parenting simulation: 70% efficiency.
He reached it. The hologram's blank face stared ahead, and it held out a palm. The hand glowed slightly. Abo looked at it, breathing hard. "What the hell is this? You want me to bite your hand off?"
System: It is a human social gesture. You are meant to strike their hand with your own.
Abo raised his chubby hands, planning to hit the hologram's palm as hard as he could. The word "strike" made him think it was a chance to vent his pent-up anger. He swung, shouting, but only a cute infant's squeak came from his mouth. His hand passed through, and his face smacked into a wet patch of mud.
⚡ QUEST UNLOCKED ⚡
GYM RAT
Type: Physical Conditioning
🎯 Objective:
Bench-pressing the shovel (0/50)
Reward: +5 XP
Time Limit: None
Note: At your current strength, a goblin could punt you into a tree. Improve your odds of surviving five seconds in combat by completing this regimen. Yes, this is serious.
FAILURE CONDITIONS
None
FAILURE PENALTY
None
"What the fuck does wrench pressing mean?" Abo said as he wiped the mud from his face.
If the System had eyes, it would've rolled them, but it didn't. So it just answered.
System: Bench press - A strength-building exercise.
Lie on your back. Push the shovel up from your chest. Repeat.
"Fucking hell. You want me to lift the shovel? Fifty times!?" He threw his hands up. "Motherfucker!"
He glared at the quest window, and he knew he had no choice. "It's not like I can fight a goblin with just insults and spit…"
QUEST ACCEPTED
He took a breath. "System, how much POW do I get out of this?"
SYSTEM ANALYSIS
• Estimated post-training - POW: 7.
• Current - POW: 2.
• Goblin average - POW: 20+.
"Great! Should be fine as long as they agree to fight with one arm."
He lay flat on the wet muck, shovel balanced across his tiny chest. He pushed it straight up.
"...This is genius," he muttered, arms shaking. "Back in my day, we just threw rocks at each other until someone bled out. You're telling me this builds strength without killing someone?"
He did one rep, it nearly crushed his sternum. Time passed—he didn't count the reps, just the pain. Each push felt the same as the last. His elbows locked, his chest burned, and the shovel constantly threatened to crush his ribs. Now, every muscle in his body screamed.
"And... one more." His voice barely held. He lifted the shovel, his arms shaking and his grip slipping as it dipped, then hovered unsteadily above his chest. Gritting his teeth, he growled and forced it upward, an inch, then another. Until, with a final breath, he managed to push it to full extension.
With a ragged yell, he hurled the shovel sideways. It spun once and landed in the muck with a satisfying thud. Then, still flat on the ground and too weak to stand, he began to thrash in place, kicking, twisting, jerking his shoulders like a baby having a seizure.
"Fifty," he gasped between breaths. "Fucking done."
🌀 QUEST COMPLETED 🌀
GYM RAT
Reward: 5 XP
🎯 Objectives:
Bench-pressing the shovel 50/50 ✓
Progress: 100% Complete
The hologram flickered out, then rematerialized in the snowy distance beside the portal's threshold, just beyond the swamp edge's corrupted boundary where reality had been split. The hologram silently dropped back into a kneeling pose and gestured forward. Abo looked at the shovel he had thrown and immediately regretted it. He would have to crawl ten full lengths just to reach it before he could even start moving toward the System's hologram.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Abo finally reached the portal's edge, snow crunching under his hands and knees. He glanced down at the shovel clenched tightly between his teeth.
"Made it," he wheezed triumphantly. "Took half a damn day, but I'm here. Still crawling like a champ… with a shovel stuck in my teeth."
System: You are now capable of bipedal locomotion. Standing is within your parameters.
Abo blinked. "Wait, what?"
He carefully pushed himself up, and didn't collapse. Wobbly, yes, but upright. Shovel still clutched between his teeth. "You're telling me I could've been walking this whole time? Carrying this beast no problem?"
System: Affirmative.
Congratulations. You now possess the musculature of a ten-year-old human, along with the bite force of a Rottweiler pup. All while still occupying the body of an infant.
Abo looked down at his tiny, pale corpse-gray hands, then at the shovel still firmly in his mouth.
"So let me get this straight," he mused, infant babble muffled by the metal. "I'm a shambling, bite-sized horror with the chomping power of a rabid terrier and the hygiene of a filthy latrine. And this—"
He grated the shovel between his molars for emphasis, "Is my evolution.'"
"…Toddler Terminator, with predatory hardware." He spat out the shovel and used the new word he'd learned from the System. "Fucking fantastic."
System: Clarification: Not exactly. Your evolution will occur upon reaching Level 10 and unlocking your class. Current status: woefully underleveled.
The portal no longer looked like a swirling tear in space. It had settled, become something more solid, more grotesque. It looked like a cave opening, its edges coated in a wet, oily film. Inside, the stone moved slightly, as if the whole thing was breathing. Abo tightened his grip on the shovel. The handle was rough against his skin, steadying him. The air seeping out of the portal smelled like wet soil and something long dead.
System: Warning. Host's heart rate is unusually high.
"Shut up."
He stepped through. The world shifted, and the snow vanished, swallowed by a throat of jagged stone. The air grew heavy, it was damp, stale, and close.
Abo walked.
And walked.
He gripped the shovel tight, careful not to let its edge drag against the cave floor. Every scrape might echo, and every sound might bring something worse. The roots under his feet twitched and pulled away from his skin. They reacted to his touch like they could sense he wasn't alive. A faint green light coated the tunnel walls. It flickered unevenly, just enough to outline the tunnel's unnatural curves.
He tilted his head. That light, it was green. It wasn't fire, but not from a torch. The word came to him, something he'd seen in the System's data dump. "Lichen, right? Some kind of… fungus thing that glows? Like, it eats magic instead of wood or whatever."
System: Correct. The glow is produced by mana-fed lichen—photosensitive fungi that convert ambient arcane energy into bioluminescent light. These organisms thrive in zones with high mana concentration, especially near interdimensional rifts and dungeon portals.
Abo nodded slightly. "So it's alive, and feeding on mana."
System: Luminosity levels dropping. Lichen cannot survive below critical mana saturation. Further descent will result in total darkness.
Abo's lips pressed together. "Good."
His footsteps echoed at first, then faded, the sound swallowed by the dark. The tunnel grew deeper and darker.
The air shifted. It was heavier now, disturbed by something moving. He caught the faint scrape of skin against stone, followed by the uneven rhythm of breathing, soft, but close. The ground trembled slightly under his bare feet. Something nearby was moving. Something alive.
It wasn't sight, it was awareness. Abo slowed his breath and stilled his body. There was something between the jagged stone and crooked roots, a presence, short and slouched, moving with an uneven gait.
A goblin.
Alone.
Unaware.
Abo's lips curled into a crooked grin. "Oh look," he muttered, "a reunion."
Abo moved forward, careful and silent, weaving through the roots and rocks. The darkness helped his Stealth Mastery. Up ahead, the goblin shuffled along, twitching and muttering to itself.
Five meters.
Four.
Three.
His breath hitched with every crawl.
Finally, he dropped low behind a jagged stone and whispered, "Alright, isn't this a little too overpowered?"
He focused, summoning the Shadow Step skill: the one meant to make him vanish and reappear behind his target. Nothing happened. He tried again, willing the skill into existence through sheer mental effort. Still nothing.
"Am I doing this wrong?" he muttered, brow furrowed. "Should I be... I don't know, touching a sacred glyph? Chanting forbidden words? Instead of just thinking it over and over like an idiot?"
ℹ SYSTEM NOTICE
Negative. Activation failed. Reason: insufficient mana.
Abo's eyes went wide. "Oh shit."
△ SYSTEM WARNING
Host heart rate elevated. Risk of cardiac arrest detected. Please remain calm.
If you die, I die too. No pressure.
Abo let out a shaky sigh and rubbed his temple. "Alight, my bad. I forgot the part where using active skills burns mana."
You couldn't really blame him. The System had just dumped a lifetime's worth of RPG mechanics into his brain all at once. Abo crouched low behind a jutting rock, shovel at the ready, senses locked on the twitchy goblin up ahead. His mind raced through options. Crawl closer? Try to bait it? Maybe go for the eyes? He didn't have a real plan, just fragments. Still, he was trying.
SYSTEM ANALYSIS
Inconsistency detected. Your behavioral data suggests persistent cowardice. You display hyperreactivity to stress stimuli, irrational fear responses, and a specific breed of creeping paranoia. You are full of contradictions, Host.
And yet... the Book of Threads records you as a terror. Feats no coward should be capable of. You kill without hesitation. You walk into slaughter without sight. You move like someone who has no fear of death. It does not align.
Abo exhaled slowly, eyes unfocused. "Fear… Fear has been with me for as long as I can remember. From the moment of my birth, the day I was born into darkness. My mother always sang me this lullaby… about how even though the Gods stole my sight, they gave me something else in return: a fire inside. A rage I could use, not just to survive, but to outrun it all. To outrun fear, to outrun the dark."
His grip tightened around the shovel. He remembered the first time his heart pounded like it wanted out of his chest, when that blade hovered too close to his little sister's throat. The second time—When he was forced to choose which brother would die. The smoke dulled his senses, his heart thundered louder than his brothers' screams, and his mind churned with the ghost of his sister. He was truly blind again, more than just without sight.
The memory blurred and faded. His strategy was set, his gaze hardened, cold, steady and unblinking. He moved.
⋗ STEALTH MASTERY
Abo flattened himself against the twisted root, breathing quietly. The goblin's back was just a step away. He could smell the iron stink of its dagger, a rusted, pitted thing hanging loosely in its grip. He slid forward on hands and knees, every muscle silent. When he was almost touching the creature's spine, he made his presence known, materializing a fist's distance behind it. The goblin whirled. Its rusted dagger plunged into his gut before he could blink.
⋗ REGENERATION
A sickly green glow pulsed where the blade withdrew, flesh knitting itself shut, but not fast enough. The goblin stabbed again, higher this time, puncturing a lung. Air escaped from the wound with a wet, wheezing sound.
A third strike.
A fourth.
Each cut sealed slower than the last, the magic straining under repeated damage. His vision swam with black spots. Through it all, he still hadn't let go of the shovel. His tiny fingers locked around the handle, joints stiff and trembling, even as his body began to shut down.
Then—
⋗ BATTLE INSTINCT
A hot pulse of green energy stitched torn flesh even as his reflexes sharpened. He staggered, power surging through him, strength up and speed heightened. He lifted the shovel in a single, fluid motion. His tiny hands gripped it halfway down the handle, the only way he could manage its weight. No time for a wide swing. He aimed the blade's tip at the goblin's midsection and drove it forward, releasing his grip mid-thrust. His small leg whipped around in a sharp arc, his foot connecting with the shovel's end and driving it home. Flesh parted, the goblin froze, eyes wide, before collapsing in a heap of ragged limbs and dark blood.
The weapon shook in Abo's trembling hands.
Not a blade.
Not a spear.
A shovel.
✓ NOTIFICATION
You have leveled up!
He stared down at the gore-coated tool, breath ragged. "…What the hell is this weapon called?" he asked, more to the air than anything else.
System: Weapon Class - Unconventional Blunt-Edge Hybrid.
Subtype - Adaptive Tool of Termination.
Common Name - Shovel.
✦ ✦ ✦
End of Chapter