Chương 62: Shopping Spree

The Tutorial Shop greets me with six neatly arranged icons, each labeled in a rare and deeply appreciated act of basic usability. Which is good. I was mildly concerned I would be forced to navigate something resembling a department store the size of a small nation, organized by whatever abstract logic the System finds amusing—like a library sorted purely by vibes—but it appears someone, somewhere, made a responsible decision for once.

Altogether, we have Weapons, Armor, Accessories, Consumables, Utility, and Miscellaneous. Clean. Efficient. Acceptable. Naturally, I select Weapons first. Armor is unnecessary if I simply avoid being hit, which is, as always, the plan. Consumables are for hoarding in a carefully curated pile of "I might need this later," where they will never be used. And Utility sounds suspiciously like "things that are useful but not immediately fun," which places it firmly below "sharp objects that solve problems."

My personal moral framework continues to strongly favor excessive violence paired with tasteful dramatic flair, so a new weapon is clearly the most responsible choice. … Assuming any of them can survive my flames, of course. The interface shifts, replacing the menu with rows upon rows of weaponry, arranged with what can only be described as enthusiastic disregard for any form of organization. Common iron daggers sit next to elaborate legendary spears. Warhammers share space with rapiers.

Something that looks like it was stolen from a decorative wall display is positioned directly beside an item that could probably level a building. Highly questionable curation. I scroll for a bit, mostly out of curiosity. Nothing above Legendary. Tragic. Pricing is… informative. Common weapons sit comfortably between fifty and one hundred fifty points, scaling steadily upward with rarity. Legendaries begin at around five hundred thousand, with some of the more ambitious designs pushing toward a full million.

Which means I could, technically, purchase multiple. A comforting thought. I continue scanning the list until I find the only sword of note so far, "Sword of the Waning Moon," priced at a respectable eight hundred thousand. A katana. I pause, briefly consider it, and then scroll past without hesitation. No. Objectively inefficient design. Overcommitted to aesthetics. Poor structural philosophy. That is a hill I will not only die on, but defend with considerable enthusiasm. I refuse to become an anime protagonist.

Which means it is time to use the filter. I tap the option in the corner and sort by most expensive to least expensive, because I am, at present, obscenely wealthy, and if there is ever a time to indulge in questionable financial decisions, it is now. The list refreshes. Legendaries flood the screen. Axes, spears, hammers, each more elaborate than the last. I ignore all of them. Because one entry does not belong. It sits at the very top, not just by placement, but by presence.

Its cost alone eclipses the second most expensive option by over double, which is already an encouraging sign of excessive quality. Naturally, I focus on it. The weapon is long—just about my height—with the proportions of an extended western longsword: slightly broader than an ordinary blade, yet narrow and light enough to remain elegant despite its reach. Straight and double-edged, it tapers to a keen point, its surface a deep, lightless black that refuses to reflect anything around it. Not matte or glossy. Just…

absent. Like light reaches it, evaluates the situation, and decides it would rather be somewhere else. The guard is minimal to the point of near nonexistence, little more than a subtle crosspiece, leaving the weapon visually uninterrupted from tip to pommel. The grip is extended for two hands, wrapped in smooth black material and set with small, dark gems that catch just enough light to remind me they exist. I study it for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Then arrive at a perfectly reasonable conclusion.

This is it. Still, standards must be maintained. I inspect it, even though I have already decided. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Astra Nocturne] [Soul Weapon] A blade of voidmetal, forged beyond conventional craft and bound to a singular existence. Created exclusively for the User Lyn, it recognizes no other wielder. Astra Nocturne grows alongside its wielder, evolving in form and function as her strength deepens. Tier I — Perfected Edge Applied force converts to severance with near-zero loss.

The blade will not dull or deform within the wielder's physical limits. Tier II — Resonant Edge Astral output aligns with motion. Efficiency and precision increase with controlled execution. Through grace, command the night; through motion, guide the stars. Price: 2, 500, 000 Tutorial Points ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ I buy it immediately. Naturally. There is no hesitation, no internal debate, no responsible financial analysis. The decision is made somewhere between reading the name and reaching the price.

Everything after that is simply the System catching up to my excellent judgment. The item vanishes from the list, the remaining options shifting upward as if nothing of importance was just removed. Then— I feel it. A new presence settles deep inside me, resting alongside my Pride. Not heavy or intrusive, but undeniable. Like something that has always belonged there finally remembered where it was supposed to be. I close the shop without a second thought. It can wait. More importantly— This cannot.

I dismiss my starlight blade with a casual flick, sending it dissolving into harmless motes. A neat trick I learned while playing around with my constructs during my free time. The blade's service has been appreciated. Its continued existence is no longer required. Then I extend my hand. The motion is instinctive. Effortless. Like reaching for something that has always been mine. Astra Nocturne appears. No flash. No dramatic burst of light.

It is simply there, resting perfectly in my grip as if it had never been anywhere else. I take a moment to study it properly. Up close, the blade is… wrong. Not in a flawed way. In a deliberate one. The black is deeper than it should be, but not empty. If I look closely, faint flickers of light move beneath the surface, tiny, distant stars appearing and vanishing in a slow, endless cycle. It reminds me of my own eyes. … Almost. There is a difference. A subtle one. Mine feel deeper.

Which is a mildly concerning observation that I will absolutely not be unpacking right now. Aesthetically? Ten out of ten. Obviously. Naturally, I test it. The nearest object is my makeshift stove—a relatively flat rock that has been subjected to repeated, highly professional cooking sessions. I raise the blade and bring it down in a clean vertical cut. There is no resistance. None. The stone parts as if it was never there, the blade passing through with the same ease as air. No friction. No pushback.

No satisfying grind of material being overcome. It simply— Separates. A knife through butter would imply that butter existed. This is more like the concept of stone politely stepping out of the way. The cut continues. And then— My starlight supports split apart. That gets my attention. There is resistance this time, but minimal. Far less than what should be required to damage something I personally made, something that has consistently demonstrated a deeply stubborn refusal to break.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I pull the blade back before I accidentally perform an unscheduled structural reorganization of my floor. Then I blink and nod once. Alright. Very important test incoming. I angle the blade slightly, which is mildly awkward given its length, then pull a small lock of my hair forward. This is, objectively, a terrible idea. I proceed anyway. The blade moves. The hair parts cleanly, a small section remaining in my hand.

I stare at it. Then at the blade. Conclusion: My hair is not, in fact, invincible. Highly disappointing. Also mildly painful. I ignore both of those facts immediately. Instead, my tail swishes in appreciation. Eleven out of ten. Easily. I am very much looking forward to my next moderately competent opponent. As for the hair— Pride will fix it. Probably. A thought occurs to me. Curious. Slightly experimental. I inspect the strands still in my hand. To my mild surprise, the System actually responds.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Starborn Filament (Legendary)] An exceptionally durable filament of Starborn thread, saturated with astral energy. Exhibits extreme energy conductivity. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ … Right. That tracks. If the dragon was composed entirely of valuable materials and highly questionable economics, it makes sense that I would be as well. I would wager my fur and eyes follow similar logic. Not that I intend to test that theory. Removing one of my eyes for academic purposes would be…

Excessive. Unnecessary. And, more importantly— Mildly inconvenient. One more test. For academic purposes, obviously. I channel Astral Energy into the blade, and Astra Nocturne answers immediately. Starfire motes bloom along its edge without hesitation, flaring to life with the same intensity and clarity as my starlight constructs. I watch it closely. No distortion. No instability. No melting. Good. The conductivity is identical.

Which means I now possess a permanent weapon that does not catastrophically fail the moment I decide to use it properly. A rare and valuable trait. Not only that— I dismiss it. Astra Nocturne vanishes without resistance, slipping back into whatever quiet space it occupies within me. One moment it exists, the next it does not, leaving behind only the cleanly bisected rock, the equally offended starlight supports, and a few strands of sparkly white hair that I choose to pretend never existed.

A weapon I do not need to carry. A weapon I cannot lose. A weapon that answers when called. My tail swishes in approval. As it should. I reopen the System and return to the Tutorial Shop, now significantly lighter in funds but still operating at what I would describe as a comfortably excessive level of wealth. Just below a million and a half points remain. Enough to be dangerous.

Unfortunately, this means I should probably stop making immediate, emotionally correct purchasing decisions and instead adopt a more measured, strategic approach. A tragic development. I will need to review the remaining categories properly—Armor, Accessories, Utility, Consumables, and Miscellaneous—before committing to anything else, like a responsible individual making well-informed decisions. I pause. Then nod. Yes. This is clearly the optimal approach.

I will proceed with the careful, methodical discipline of an overly cautious raccoon that has somehow acquired access to a credit card and intends to use it responsibly. … That specific analogy feels slightly questionable, but I stand by it. First up: armor. I apply the most expensive filter immediately this time, because I have learned from my previous success and will be repeating that success with confidence. The results are… disappointing.

A sea of heavy plate mail greets me first, all bulky silhouettes and aggressively unnecessary weight. Next comes a selection of medium armors that lean heavily into "grizzled mercenary who definitely has a tragic backstory," followed by a number of outfits that appear to have been designed exclusively for stealthy rooftop lurking. There is, unfortunately, also a ninja outfit. I scroll past it with the quiet dignity of someone refusing to acknowledge a deeply tempting but ultimately incorrect decision.

Then I notice something. A pattern. A design philosophy. … Belts. So many belts. Almost every set has at least one. Most have multiple. One particularly concerning specimen appears to be held together entirely by the concept of belts rather than any meaningful structural integrity. I narrow my eyes slightly. It's as if whoever designed these decided that the easiest way to make something look complex was to simply… keep adding straps until the problem went away. A bold strategy. A classic one. Eight out of ten.

Points deducted for mild impracticality and the possibility of becoming entangled in my own outfit during a high-speed spin. I inspect a few options at random, more out of obligation than genuine interest. And then I notice something important. These are not armor. Not really. Every single one of the higher-tier sets—Legendary, and even some Epic—are labeled as Armament Accessories.

Instead of physically wearing them at all times, they function as a kind of stored configuration, allowing the user to instantly swap from normal clothing into a full combat set. My ears perk slightly. Extremely convenient. Massively practical. And, most importantly, it allows me to maintain proper aesthetics outside of combat without sacrificing performance. A rare instance of both form and function aligning perfectly. Good design decision. I approve.

With renewed interest, I scroll more carefully this time, filtering out the aggressively over-armored, the unnecessarily edgy, and anything that looks like it would clash with my entirely reasonable sense of style. Eventually— I find it. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Armament Pendant: Dancer's War Dress (Epic)] A compact armament accessory containing a fully configured combat dress. Designed for fluid movement and immediate deployment, it prioritizes precision, balance, and unrestricted motion.

Allows seamless transition between casual attire and combat readiness. Elegant in form. Lethal in purpose. Four-Piece Set.

Dress Runic Patterns: • Moderate Balance Stabilization (20%) • Minor Momentum Preservation (15%) Boots Runic Patterns: • Moderate Burst Acceleration (20%) • Minor Movement Speed Up (15%) Gloves Runic Patterns: • Moderate Strike Precision (20%) • Minor Impact Enhancement (15%) Armbands Runic Patterns: • Moderate Impact Distribution (20%) • Minor Shock Dampening (15%) Price: 250, 000 Tutorial Points ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ It's a black, form-fitting sleeveless dress, cut for movement rather than modesty.

The fabric hugs cleanly through the torso before flowing into a plated half-skirt at the back, leaving a proper gap for my tail while the front remains open, a long slit exposing the left thigh. Underneath, a pair of black mobility shorts ensures the whole arrangement remains practical rather than… theatrically impractical. My thighs remain visible, which is, of course, an important design consideration. Function and aesthetics. Balanced.

A pair of long black combat boots accompanies it, rising past the knees to mid-thigh, fitted tightly enough to avoid interfering with movement. Armbands rest around the biceps, and long fingerless gloves extend up my forearms, completing the overall look. Miraculously, the dress itself only has two belts. Two. A reasonable number. They cross neatly at the waist, one of them holding a small utility belt at the hip. I do pause at that. I already have spatial storage.

What exactly am I supposed to store in a physical pouch? … Snacks, perhaps. Or dramatic props. The boots, unfortunately, do not share this restraint. They feature an aggressively unnecessary number of belts and buckles, all of which appear to serve no functional purpose whatsoever beyond looking good. Which, to be fair— They do. Very well. I nod once. The passives attached to it are acceptable, but let's be honest with ourselves for a moment. This was not a mechanical decision. This was an aesthetic one.

A highly important distinction. It is also relatively cheap compared to the rest of the category, and more importantly, it is the only option that meets my standards without requiring me to compromise my dignity. Therefore— I purchase it immediately. A small pendant appears in my hand, a simple silver chain with a dark gemstone set at its center. Clean. Minimal. Acceptable. I loop it around my neck without ceremony and activate it. There is no warning. No transformation sequence. No dramatic pause for effect.

One moment I am wearing my usual starlight construct clothing, and the next— I am not. The dress settles perfectly against my form as if it had always been there. My tail swishes in appreciation. No obstruction. Good. Very good. Very comfy. Nine out of ten. I run a few quick tests. Small hops, a spin, a shift in stance.

The half-skirt flares just enough to look dramatic without interfering, the sleeveless cut leaves my arms completely unrestricted, and even the boots, which I had initially judged with suspicion, feel more like an extension of my movement than a limitation. Efficient. Elegant. Correct. There is, however, one small issue. It isn't mine yet. I extend a hand, letting starlight gather into a small, clean motif. A star, simple and sharp.

I attach it to one of the crossing belts at my waist, just slightly offset, enough to be noticeable without disrupting the symmetry too much. There. Now it is complete. I nod in quiet approval. Yes. This is acceptable. Time for the rest. I return to the shop interface and begin sorting through the remaining categories with the composed, professional focus of someone who has just discovered that explosives are, in fact, reasonably priced and readily available. It is a very specific kind of discipline.

Accessories comes first. Naturally. I locate an epic spatial ring almost immediately and purchase it without hesitation. Twenty by twenty by twenty meters of storage space is a significant upgrade over my current arrangement, and while I had been managing just fine, "just fine" is not a standard I am willing to maintain when improvement is available. I transfer the contents over in a quick, efficient motion and make a mental note to forget my previous ring entirely.

While I am there, I flag a few more items—one legendary, two epics—that stand out as actually useful rather than merely decorative. They are added to a short list for later evaluation, which is a very responsible and not at all temporary holding pattern before I inevitably buy them anyway. Consumables is next. And immediately disappointing. Most of the section is filled with resource potions that I do not need and stat-boosting items that are, frankly, insulting.

The numbers are so low compared to my current pool that consuming them would feel less like growth and more like politely acknowledging effort. I do, however, pick up a few dozen pairs of teleportation talismans. Each pair consists of a parent and child piece, allowing the latter to return to the former on activation. Simple. Practical. Cheap enough to qualify as an automatic purchase. Useful for emergencies. Or dramatic exits. Or both. The rest is ignored on principle.

Utility proves more interesting than expected. There is a wide selection of general-purpose items. Camping equipment, environmental tools like breathing masks, and various survival-oriented supplies. I skim most of it, but one section stands out immediately. Cooking equipment. Naturally, I stock up. Pots, pans, utensils, and at least one spatula that looks mildly suspicious in both shape and intent are added to my storage without hesitation.

Proper preparation of dragon meat is a priority, and I will not be limited by a lack of tools. I also acquire a few tents and sleeping bags, just in case. Miscellaneous is exactly what it claims to be. A collection of things that do not belong anywhere else. I acquire a handful of normal outfits for variety, a set of casual boots, a pair of extremely comfortable-looking pajamas that I will absolutely use, and a generous amount of seasonings, because flavor is, as always, non-negotiable.

With that handled, I check my remaining points. Still a substantial amount. More than enough to comfortably purchase everything I had placed on my accessory shortlist. I pause for a fraction of a second. Then nod. A very brief and entirely symbolic moment of restraint. Followed immediately by decisive action. I purchase all three. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Nullband of Unwitnessed Sovereignty (Epic)] A matte-black band that absorbs light without reflection.

Its form is constant, yet difficult to recall, as though attention itself slips away from it. Runic Patterns: Skill: Unwitnessed State ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Veilring of Polished Truths (Epic)] A pristine silver ring set with a mirror-smooth gem that reflects not what is, but what is presented. Its surface remains flawless, regardless of what stands before it.

Runic Patterns: Skill: Polished Veil ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Anklet of Accumulated Horizons (Legendary)] A slender anklet of polished silver, its surface etched with fine, interwoven runic lines that subtly shift with motion. Each step carries weight unseen, as though the future gathers beneath it. Runic Patterns: Major Momentum Retention Skill: Horizon Release ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Both the Nullband and the Veilring do the same thing. Functionally identical.

Allowing me to alter what others see when they inspect me. Yes. Buying both was clearly the responsible decision. Redundancy is important. What if one breaks? What if I misplace it? What if I feel like using a ring instead of a band for aesthetic reasons? All deeply practical concerns.

I slip the Nullband on, feeling it settle into place with a subtle sense of absence rather than presence, then deposit the Veilring into my spatial storage, where it will remain in a carefully curated pile of "very important items I will definitely remember later." I will not. I open my menu, and a new option immediately presents itself. Edit. Naturally, I select it. My inspection result appears, and I take a moment to review it properly. As expected, Apex Predator's warning displays in full. Excellent.

Also deeply inconvenient. Having every passing adventurer, farmer, or unsuspecting street vendor receive a system-issued cautionary statement upon inspecting me is not ideal for casual interaction. Therefore— Adjustments are made. I switch the visible information to my class and race, trimming away anything that might inspire unnecessary concern. Race becomes simply "Foxkin," and my class is adjusted to "Prismatic Vine Dancer," which is both believable and aesthetically pleasing.

I keep the rarity, level, and tier intact. Honesty, but curated. A refined presentation. I look over the result. Yes. This will do. Now then. The Anklet. The actually interesting one. Momentum storage. Release on command. A simple concept with extremely promising applications. I deactivate my battle dress. Not out of necessity, but because I refuse to wrestle with a thigh-high boot that has more belts than structural justification. The anklet slips into place easily, and I reactivate the dress immediately after.

Much cleaner. Much more efficient. My remaining points are now… modest. A tragic fall from wealth. I spend what remains on a handful of rare stamina potions—useful, if only for emergencies—and a few additional outfits, because variety is important and I refuse to enter a new world with a single look. That would be unacceptable. Finally— I remove my old accessories. The Stalker Eye Ring and the Death Corruption Ring.

Both are tossed into storage without ceremony, joining the growing collection of things that were once useful and are now… not. I no longer need them. A simple truth. And with that— My spending is complete. I take a moment to review everything. Weapon. Outfit. Accessories. Storage. Utility. Everything is optimized. Complete. I nod once, satisfied. I am now fully equipped and ready to enter Asteria. Whether or not Asteria is ready for me— Remains to be seen. My tail flicks in quiet, smug satisfaction. My assessment?

No. It's not.