At the hardware store, I moved quickly and precisely.
I had a clear list in my head, born from the Intellect Potion and online guides.
PVC pipes of the right diameter for the crossbow and water cannon, elastic bungee cord, a compact pump, a couple of valves, nozzles.
Parting with another hundred dollars was unpleasant.
My wallet, which just yesterday had been satisfyingly thick in my pocket, was now depressingly thin again.
The final balance of a hundred bucks couldn’t help but make me nervous, making me feel vulnerable.
I mentally repeated the mantra: “Money isn’t a problem.
I have the wonder crate.” But knowing was one thing, and feeling was another.
Alright, I had a clearly defined goal in front of me, and I had to achieve it.
Let’s start crafting the PVC crossbow.
Crafting.
That word now evoked something akin to awe.
It wasn’t just an assembly process; it was an act of creation that the System itself recognized and rewarded.
So, where does the transformation of a plumbing pipe into a weapon begin?
With bending.
I picked up a 70 cm section of 25 mm diameter PVC pipe.
Over the heated stove burner, the white plastic began to slowly give way.
A characteristic acrid smell appeared, and the pipe became pliable as clay.
Carefully but firmly, I bent it into a perfect arc, measuring the curve roughly 25 centimeters from the center.
For the next five minutes, I just held it in that position, feeling the plastic cool and harden, forever memorizing its new shape.
The prod was ready.
Now the stock.
That was simpler.
The same pipe, but 50 cm long.
I carefully cut a slot at one end — a guide for the bolts.
Then, using hose clamps, I attached a wooden block — a simple but comfortable grip — to the middle.
Next, the easy part: connecting the prod to the stock with screws, stretching the elastic and durable bungee cord over the prod.
The bowstring snapped into place with a tight, promising twang.
The final touch — the trigger mechanism.
I cut a small lever-trigger from a wooden spoon and attached it to the stock.
A simple latch made from thick wire to hold the string, connected to the lever — and done.
The crossbow lay in my hands, quite functional and menacing looking.
But I mentally didn’t stop, and the System was silent.
Of course.
What kind of weapon was complete without ammunition?
The bolt was much simpler.
An ordinary 30 cm wooden dowel, sharpened at one end and with a notch for the bowstring at the other.
I drew the string, placed the improvised bolt in the guide.
Now — definitely done.
For form’s sake, I aimed the crossbow at one of the many cereal boxes and pulled the trigger.
A sharp, snapping sound rang out, and the bolt, whistling through the air, thudded dully into the cardboard and the plastic bag of cereal inside, piercing right through.
Penetration achieved.
And the System, fortunately, agreed.
[Simple weapon construct “PVC Crossbow” created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+50 CP gained!]
Great, +50 CP.
By analogy with the Potato Cannon, I’d get 40 for the next crossbow, and then diminishing returns.
But before putting production on a roll, I needed to test one hypothesis I’d jotted down during the Intellect Potion brainstorming session.
I picked up the just-assembled crossbow and methodically began to deconstruct my creation.
Taking it apart was easier than putting it together.
When I had a pile of components in front of me again, I replaced the wooden grip with another, almost identical block, and started reassembly.
Five minutes, and the crossbow was ready again.
No notification.
Silence.
Theory confirmed.
You couldn’t fool the System by constantly assembling and disassembling the same thing.
It rewarded the act of creation, that very “Spark” that breathed new life into a set of components, turning them into something whole.
The potential of the components within the scope of that creation was exhausted.
However, the same components could be used to create something else.
Verified with the wooden trigger I’d originally made from a spoon.
Logical.
Okay, next on the list — PVC water cannon.
And, honestly, after the Potato Cannon, after the Marx Generator, even after this simple crossbow, building it felt like assembling a kid’s building set.
Just four steps: creating a reservoir from a thicker pipe, installing a valve, adding a nozzle, and connecting the pump.
Filling the resulting contraption with water and opening the valve, I deliberately aimed the stream at the bathroom wall.
A powerful jet of water blasted the tile, splashing everything around.
Foolish, simple, and surprisingly fun.
And importantly, the System accepted this creation.
[Simple weapon construct “PVC Water Cannon” created.
Complexity: Minimal.
+50 CP gained!]
I made up the remaining 65 CP by building another crossbow and another water cannon, earning a total of 80 CP for them.
The balance of 415 CP was pleasing to the eye, and I briefly considered trying the gacha for 300 CP, but it was a fleeting second-long desire that I easily ignored, mentally calling up the system and pouring CP into unlocking the Magical Ore Crate.
The CP were immediately deducted from the balance, and without extra fanfare, notifications, or anything else, the crate appeared in my inventory.
It thankfully didn’t disappear from the technology tab, though the price for the next crate was now 500 CP.
It’d probably come in handy later, but for now, one would be enough, I hoped.
Looking around my studio, which over the past few days had become a center of seemingly chaotic disorder, I realized that materializing a 2x2x1 crate here wasn’t an option — not just because of space, since if necessary I could clear a spot, but because of the floors.
The building was old, and the weight of a crate packed to the brim with ores of varying densities and thus weight was hard to imagine, and I didn’t want to risk the floor collapsing, even if that risk was extremely slim.
So I needed to take a walk around the city looking for abandoned construction sites.
At this hour, Hell’s Kitchen was living its usual noisy life, and daylight made its streets relatively safe.
I pulled on inconspicuous street clothes and set out to find a temporary lair.
I needed an abandoned building — a place so unsightly that even the homeless would avoid it.
There were plenty in this area, but I was looking for a special kind: secluded, with minimal through-passages, and far from prying eyes.
After half an hour of searching, winding through alleys that reeked of urine and rotting garbage, I found what I needed.
A five-story unfinished brick monster with empty window-socket eyes, standing on a small vacant lot.
The walls were covered in ugly graffiti, and the ground around it was dug up and littered with construction debris.
Perfect.
But even in a place like this, I couldn’t let my guard down.
I ducked into a nearby convenience store and bought a pepper spray can for ten bucks.
A small thing, but it made me feel safer.
Clutching the can in my pocket, I slipped inside the building.
Inside, there was semi-darkness and the smell of damp concrete dust.
Every step echoed hollowly in the emptiness, making me flinch.
I moved cautiously, peeking into every room, until on the first floor I found what I was looking for — a small, windowless room with a single doorway, located deep inside the building.
Having confirmed I was alone, I held my breath and materialized the wonder crate from my inventory.
It appeared silently, massive and alien in this kingdom of decay.
The crate was packed to the brim with rough, unprocessed stones of all shapes and sizes.
— Well, it really is packed, — I muttered to the emptiness, and my whisper sounded deafeningly loud.
— And, at first glance, not the most valuable ore, as I thought…
I picked up a hefty, dark-gray piece with a metallic sheen and placed it in my inventory for analysis.
[Piece of unrefined Terran Lead Ore (galena).
Weight 1.4 kg.
Metal content 89%.
Rarity: Common.
Condition: 10/10]
Aha, lead.
With nearly 90% pure metal content!
This wasn’t just ore; it was almost a finished product.
I mentally tipped my hat to the unknown creators of the crate.
Curiosity pushed me on.
What else did we have?
I pulled out a reddish-brown stone.
[Piece of unrefined Terran Iron Ore (hematite).
Weight 1.7 kg.
Metal content 82%.
Rarity: Common.
Condition: 10/10]
It became clear that a full inventory was unavoidable.
But sorting through hundreds of kilos of ore right on the dirty floor wasn’t an option.
I desperately needed containers for sorting.
That meant I’d have to go back out into the city and spend my already meager money.
But looking at this treasure, I realized it would be a sin to complain.
Hiding the crate back in my inventory, I left my temporary shelter.
At the nearest hardware store, I bought a set of ten large cardboard moving boxes.
Another minus ten bucks.
The boxes were flimsy, but for inventory, their physical properties didn’t matter.
The main thing was that they were containers.
Returning to the same secluded room, I laid out ten boxes on the floor, creating a sort of sorting center.
Summoning the cheaty crate again, I began a monotonous but incredibly fascinating marathon of evaluating the treasure.
I picked up each piece of ore, sent it to my Inventory for a moment to scan, and when I had the information, I put it in the right box.
I started with the industrial metals.
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Copper Ore (chalcopyrite).
Weight 1.2 kg.
Metal content 84%…]
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Tin Ore (cassiterite).
Weight 2.1 kg.
Metal content 80%…]
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Aluminum Ore (bauxite).
Weight 1.3 kg.
Metal content 82%…]
Gradually, the boxes filled up.
But the real excitement started when I came across the first precious metal.
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Silver Ore (argentite).
Weight 1.1 kg.
Metal content 86%…]
My heart skipped a beat.
And then others followed.
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Gold Ore (nugget).
Weight 0.7 kg.
Metal content 88%…]
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Platinum Ore.
Weight 0.4 kg.
Metal content 82%…]
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Palladium Ore.
Weight 0.5 kg.
Metal content 87%…]
[Piece of unprocessed Terran Titanium Ore (ilmenite).
Weight 1.0 kg.
Metal content 89%…]
When the first wave of sorting was done, I had ten boxes in front of me, each labeled with its own metal.
Pretty…
sparse, when you think about it.
Where, for example, was the nickel for alloys?
Or the refractory tungsten for serious tools?
But complaining was stupid.
Gold, platinum, palladium — they weren’t just materials for crafting, they were my financial independence.
Especially with such an incredible purity of metal content!
I thought the surprises were over, but as I was clearing the remaining ore from the bottom of the crate, I stumbled onto something different.
There, among the ordinary stones, lay three pieces of ore that looked…
wrong.
One shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, another was coal-black but seemed to absorb light, and the third gave off a faint glow in the twilight of the room.
My Inventory confirmed my guess — these were something on a completely different level.
The crate had saved the rarest and most exotic options for dessert.
And each one, even by the System’s standards, was of enormous value.
The first of the three unusual pieces of ore shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow in the light.
I picked it up, feeling a strange, barely perceptible vibration, and sent it to my Inventory for scanning.
[Piece of unprocessed Vibranium Ore.
Weight 0.3 kg.
Metal content 96%.
Rarity: Rare.
Condition: 10/10]
I caught my breath.
Vibranium.
The metal Captain America’s shield was made of, and the Black Panther’s suit, and the Winter Soldier’s arm, and God knows what else.
The foundation of an entire hidden, high-tech nation’s technology.
I swallowed, carefully setting it aside as if it weren’t ore but a live grenade.
The second piece was coal-black, but so dense it seemed to absorb light itself.
It was deceptively heavy for its size.
[Piece of unprocessed Adamantium Ore.
Weight 0.4 kg.
Metal content 93%.
Rarity: Rare.
Condition: 10/10]
Adamantium.
The metal coating Wolverine’s skeleton.
A symbol of absolute, unthinkable durability.
Cold sweat broke out on me.
Having both of these metals in my hands at the same time — that wasn’t just luck anymore; it was some kind of taunt from fate itself.
And the third…
the third piece glowed dimly in the twilight of the room with its own, unearthly light, as if an ember brought from the gods’ own forge smoldered inside it.
[Piece of unprocessed Uru Ore.
Weight 0.5 kg.
Metal content 98%.
Rarity: Rare.
Condition: 10/10]
Vibranium, Adamantium, and goddamn Uru — the metal of the gods.
At that moment, I nearly laughed out loud from a mix of hysterical fear and delight.
I didn’t have the faintest idea what I was going to do with these Treasures.
But one thing I knew for sure: people in this world wouldn’t just kill for each of these nondescript-looking stones.
No…
People here would tear your soul right out of the afterlife just to make you tell them where you’d hidden more.
Flaunting valuables like this was the same as hanging a neon sign around my neck that read: “Kill me and become one of the most powerful beings on the planet.”
I gathered every last bit of those three ores, put them in a separate cardboard box, mentally noted their total weight, and immediately sent the box into my Inventory.
Let them not tempt reality.
Now that the most valuable things were safe, I needed to do a full inventory.
The next two hours turned into a monotonous but vital task.
The room filled with the dull thud of rocks, the rustle of dust, and my ragged breathing.
It was the work of a mover, an accountant, and an appraiser all rolled into one.
I moved hundreds of kilograms of ore from the wonder crate to the floor, weighed each batch by sending it to my Inventory to sum the weight, and sorted it into boxes.
When the dust settled, a complete picture of my newfound wealth lay before my mind’s eye:
Iron Ore: ~700 kgLead Ore: ~500 kgCopper Ore: ~250 kgTin Ore: ~200 kgAluminum Ore: ~150 kgTitanium Ore: ~80 kgSilver Ore: ~60 kgGold Ore: ~12 kgPlatinum Ore: ~10 kgPalladium Ore: ~6 kgVibranium: ~2 kgAdamantium: ~1.8 kgUru: 0.5 kg
About two tons of ore, two hundred kilos of which were impurities.
Not bad.
The System hadn’t lied: the more valuable the ore, the less of it there was.
The hierarchy was clear.
A plan formed in my head, clear and inevitable.
Step one: Isolation.
Gold, platinum, and palladium — the most monetarily valuable metals — needed to be separated from the industrial ones.
Step two: Optimization.
All this basic bulk (iron, lead, etc.) needed to be moved into a separate large container in my Inventory, so the wonder crate would stay empty and refill with new ore in a month.
Step three: Continuous Development.
Get back home before the streets were completely swallowed by darkness, and try to craft something to earn a few extra CP, despite all the hassle and business — I needed to earn at least 50 CP a day.
Step four: Legalization.
Plan tomorrow’s route to the pawn shops, not forgetting about smelting the gold I’d gotten.
I’d have to do a small comparative analysis of prices, but I wouldn’t even need to use an Intellect Potion for that.
Mentally agreeing with this sequence, I put the boxes and the crate of ore into my Inventory, folded the remaining empty boxes, and, taking them with me, headed home.
Dusk was already settling over Hell’s Kitchen, and the nightlife was starting to crawl out of the dark alleys.
Tomorrow would be Monday, and it wouldn’t be just another tough day.
It would be the first day of my new life.
The day I stopped being a poor orphan from Hell’s Kitchen, clinging to survival.
Tomorrow, I would begin building a kind of financial empire — even if for now, it was only my personal one.