The train gradually slowed to a crawl. The deafening roar of the wheels faded into silence, and Jack realized he had arrived at his very first stop.
He stood before the train door, gripping the Sublimation Dagger tightly. Taking in a deep breath to steady his nerves, he pressed the button to open the door.
A strange world revealed itself.
It was silent—eerily silent. Darkness pressed in from every direction, yet the road beneath his feet and a massive, matchbox-shaped building in front of him were perfectly visible, as though faintly illuminated by some unseen source. Above, there was no sun, no stars, just endless emptiness.
"Space travel…" Jack whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "What a terrifying and incredible power. No wonder all trains arrive at the same time."
He stepped onto the ground, boots crunching against the dusty surface. The building was only a few strides away; in less than ten steps, he was standing before its sealed doors. He jammed the Sublimation Dagger into a crack and pried it open. The hinges groaned, and then—
A foul stench rushed out like a tidal wave.
Decay. Rot. The smell of things long forgotten.
Jack covered his nose, but forced himself forward. Inside, wooden crates were stacked in rows, most of them rusted shut with heavy iron locks. The oppressive stench came from these very boxes.
Curiosity overpowered hesitation. Jack wedged his dagger under a lock, forced it loose, and pried the box open. Inside lay two bolt-action rifles, half-buried in wood shavings.
[Low-grade Rifle] – Equipped with 20 rounds of low-grade ammunition.
Two rifles. Forty rounds of ammunition.
And that was only one crate.
His heart pounded with excitement as he opened another. And another. Every box was the same—old rifles and ammunition, all waiting for someone to claim them.
"Good stuff," Jack muttered, grinning.
He began hauling everything back to the train. Trip after trip, box after box, he worked tirelessly, adrenaline masking his fatigue. By the time he finally stopped, his body trembled with exhaustion.
[Current Stamina: 15 points]
Even with the help of his Sublimation ability, his stamina had hit rock bottom. Still, his excitement had restored some of his mental energy, now hovering at seventy. The train would stay parked for three hours, but without rest or food, he wouldn't have the strength to carry much more.
Jack sat on the floor for a moment, catching his breath. Then, unwilling to waste time, he rose and explored deeper into the armory.
One room held shelves lined with sealed iron boxes. He froze, staring at them. Back in his old world, he'd watched videos about military storage, and many showed similar cases.
Could it be…?
Heart racing, he pried one open. Inside, neat stacks of compressed biscuits gleamed faintly like gold bars, giving off a faint milky scent tinged with fermentation.
"It really is!" Jack exclaimed, grabbing one without hesitation and shoving it into his mouth. The dry biscuit crumbled instantly, expanding in his stomach, filling him up.
It was almost unbearably dry.
"It'd be great if there was water too…" he muttered, licking his lips.
He quickly counted the supplies: four sealed barrels filled with biscuits—eighty pieces in total. Enough to feed an adult man for half a month. Not bad at all.
Nearby, he found barrels of liquid as well. But the smell was off, sour and chemical. Not drinkable. Still, water—even bad water—was worth something, so he moved it all to the train.
The armory itself felt like a massive coffin. The deeper he ventured, the worse the air became. Collapsed shelves, decayed wood, rotting materials—all of it released a suffocating miasma of death.
Two hours passed before Jack returned to the train again, arms full. By then, he had gathered forty-two intact rifles. Many more had rotted beyond repair, little more than piles of rusted iron. Those he tossed aside, planning to recycle them later at the processing station.
He also picked up scrap iron and wood whenever possible. Resources, after all, were never useless. They could be traded, crafted into tools, or used to upgrade the train itself. Sublimation allowed direct upgrades, but raw materials were always needed.
Jack glanced around his now-cluttered train car. Piles of rifles, crates of biscuits, and scattered barrels filled nearly every corner. The sight made him grin.
The operating system's countdown reminded him that thirty minutes remained before departure. Just enough time for another trip or two.
"Let's go once more," he decided. "I can still squeeze in one more haul."
What he lacked most at the moment was metal. If he could gather enough, he could finally build a normal carriage. Wood and parts he already had, but without metal, his plans were stuck.
He hurried back to the armory, heading straight to the rooms he hadn't checked yet. Most appeared to be old living quarters—dusty bunks, collapsed shelves, rotted furniture. Nothing useful.
Until the last room.
Crack.
The sharp sound echoed under his boot. Jack froze and looked down. He had stepped on a skeleton, its shin bone crumbling into powder beneath his weight.
"…Sorry, brother," Jack muttered, half-apologetic, half-indifferent. "Didn't do it on purpose."
Death didn't frighten him. Ever since childhood, even the scariest horror movies had left him amused rather than afraid. He had even attended funerals before, staring at swollen, lifeless faces without so much as a shiver.
Stepping carefully, he prepared to leave. But something caught his eye.
Beneath the skeleton lay a dust-covered document bag.
That wasn't unusual. Papers belonged in armories. What was strange was its condition. The bag looked perfectly preserved, untouched by time, while even iron and wood around it had long decayed.
Intrigued, Jack pulled it free.
He didn't open it immediately. Instead, he ran back to the train, where the operating system could analyze items. If it was dangerous, it would detect it.
[Level 1 Treasure Chest] – Can be opened.
Jack blinked. "This… is actually a treasure chest?!"
He turned the bag over in his hands, marveling at how ordinary it looked. His lips curled into a grin.
"Hey, thanks, old bones," he said softly, glancing back at the skeleton's memory. "I'll bury you properly later."
Excited, he was about to open it. Then a thought struck him.
"Wait. If this is a treasure chest… can it also be Sublimated?"
The idea was irresistible. Just like he had Sublimated the train before, the possibility burned in his mind.
He checked his current stats:
[Stamina: 30]
[Mental Energy: 80]
The bag was small. Even if Sublimation consumed energy, surely it wouldn't be much. Besides, he had food now—compressed biscuits that could quickly restore stamina.
"Alright," he murmured. Once a person starts convincing themselves, the decision is already made.
Jack closed his eyes and whispered the command.
"Sublimation."
Instantly, numbers on his status began to fall.
[Mental Energy drops below 50 – Entering Self-Doubt State]
His limbs weakened. He collapsed onto the carriage floor, gasping like a fish out of water. The chandelier above swayed gently in his blurred vision. Minutes ticked by before he forced himself to sit up.
[Stamina: 30 → 20]
[Mental Energy: 80 → 50]
He groaned. "So much energy… and I don't feel anything special."
Other than crushing fatigue, there was no noticeable effect from this so-called "self-doubt state." Shaking his head, Jack examined the document bag again. It looked unchanged.
But when the system chimed, his eyes widened.
[Level 2 Treasure Chest] – Can be opened.
His heart skipped. It worked! The chest had evolved. But apparently, it could only be Sublimated once—any further attempt might be impossible, or perhaps governed by rules he didn't yet understand.
"Forget it," Jack muttered. "Let's just open it."
Hands trembling with anticipation, he tore the bag open.
[Opened Level 2 Treasure Chest]
[Obtained Train Coins: 4]
[Obtained: Colt M1911 Pistol]
[Obtained: Level 2 Blueprint – External Waste Collector]
Jack burst out laughing. Coins for trading, a reliable pistol, and even a blueprint for a valuable upgrade.
This expedition had turned out far better than he ever imagined.
And this was only his first stop.