[Unique Talent: 100% Drop Rate]
[Effect: All drop chances are raised from 0.01% to 100%. Whether slaying monsters or opening chests, every rare item is guaranteed to drop.]
Trafalgar stood frozen, his heartbeat thundering like a war drum in his chest.
He remembered all too well from his past life: among the very first generation of "Heroes" from Blue Star, there had been a man named Jamie. With only an S-rank talent, Jamie rose to become a War God of the continent. Millions marched under his banner, entire armies trembled before his might, and he alone slaughtered hundreds of demons, his name feared across every land. Yet, for all his glory, ten years later he vanished amidst the chaos—no corpse, no relic, only a legend whispered by countless players.
And himself? Trafalgar had been nothing more than a coward. He spent three whole days cowering in ruins, too afraid to step outside. By the time he scraped his way to Level Ten, true powerhouses were already slaying dragons, toppling cities, and standing upon unreachable heights.
——But this time was different.
Now he carried ten years of future knowledge… and in his hand burned the power of the one and only SSS-tier talent.
Trafalgar gripped the hilt of his rusted longblade tighter. A cold, sharp smile curled at his lips.
"Absolute Drop Rate… hahaha! This isn't just above S-rank—it's two whole tiers higher. With this, how could I possibly lose?"
The carriage rang with a cacophony of shouts and laughter as others revealed their draws.
[Hahaha! I pulled a firestarter staff that never burns out! Brothers, we'll never lack a flame for roasting meat!]
[I got a bottomless water jug! Anyone thirsty? Step right up!]
[Damn it, I got something called 'Eternal Parchment'—says it can be written on forever. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?]
[Does anyone have a real combat-type pull?!]
At that very moment, a hulking brute pushed his way forward. Gleaming black gauntlets encased his fists, their metallic sheen razor-sharp beneath the flickering carriage light.
"Watch closely!" The brute swung his fists through the air. The gauntlets boomed with a heavy thud, compressing the very air. "First-Tier Armament—Ironcrusher Gauntlets! Strength +2, Attack +5! My Combat Power is now ninety-five!"
The crowd erupted at once. Eyes lit up with greed and awe as people swarmed toward him, shouting over each other:
"Boss, take me with you!"
"Cover me, and I'll be your loyal follower!"
Almost immediately, a lanky youth with round glasses stepped forward, raising a bronze shield inlaid with glowing runes. A faint radiance pulsed across its surface—clearly another First-Tier Armament. With the two of them standing side by side, they became the undisputed center of the plaza's attention.
From the corner, Trafalgar watched in silence, his gaze cold.
These two… he knew them all too well.
Bob—the self-proclaimed boxing champion, a reckless brawler.
Elmer—the damage-calculator fanatic who never stopped crunching numbers.
Ten years ago, it was with this very stroke of luck, these initial armaments, that they had quickly formed a squad—eventually rising to become the core of a second-rate faction.
And now, their lottery results were exactly the same as in his past life.
"So… after time itself rewinds, the only thing that changes… is me," Trafalgar thought, retreating a few steps, slipping quietly into the shadows at the edge of the crowd.
At this moment, all one thousand chosen stood upon an ancient stone plaza. A translucent barrier of energy sealed the edges, turning the place into a colossal cage.
Trafalgar lowered his gaze to the ancient hourglass on his wrist. Only the final layer of sand remained.
"Nine… eight… seven… six…" he counted silently.
The last grain fell.
BOOOOM!
The energy barrier shattered in an instant. A tide of foul, choking miasma surged into the plaza. The earth itself quaked as guttural roars echoed from the mist.
Out of the darkness lurched a pack of twisted figures—hunched, green-scaled monstrosities, eyes glowing with bloodlust. Their jaws jutted outward, fangs bared, clutching bone clubs that gleamed with deathly cold.
[Monster Invasion: Level 1 Beast — Greenclaw Fiend. Count: 15]
With a chorus of snarls, they charged straight into the crowd.
"Ahhh—!"
"Help me!"
"Stay away!"
The crowd dissolved into chaos. Screams, shoving, frantic scrambling—panic consumed the plaza as order collapsed completely.
Only a handful managed to muster their courage, gritting their teeth as they swung rusted blades in desperate defiance.
Among them, Bob—the brute with the iron gauntlets—roared and charged forward.
"What's there to fear?! They're just Level One trash mobs! Watch me smash its skull with a single punch!"
His fist slammed down, the crash of metal against bone booming like thunder. A Greenclaw Fiend was hurled back, crashing heavily onto the stone floor.
But before Bob could even move in for the finishing blow—
A razor-thin flash of steel carved through the air.
Shhhhkt!
The creature's snarling head was sent flying, blood spraying in a crimson arc.
The system's cold mechanical chime rang in Trafalgar's ears:
[Kill confirmed: Level 1 Greenclaw Fiend. Gained EXP +8.]
["Absolute Drop Rate" triggered. Loot acquired: Ironclaw Armor (Tier 1, Defense +5).]
Brilliant white light burst forth. A gift that belonged solely to him surged into Trafalgar's inventory space.
"My turn," he whispered, licking the corner of his lips. A predator's gleam lit his eyes.
While the novices on the plaza still cheered Bob's mighty punch, none noticed the silent youth quietly sheathing his blade—vanishing back into the crowd, eyes already fixed on his next prey.
——His hunt had only just begun.