Scavenging for Scrap

—Smack! A zombie slammed hard onto the ground, knocking over several farming tools. It twitched a couple of times before falling silent. Its spine was shattered; even if it wasn't completely dead, it couldn't move a damn thing.

"Easy there, Alexander—I'm looking for stuff," Veyl muttered as he dug through the piles of assorted junk. "There should be some good things in the blacksmith's shop."

Normally, forging weapons on your own is a capital offense, so what you find in a blacksmith's shop is mostly farming tools, horseshoes, and the like. Weapons and proper armor can only be made at the lord's behest. But these aren't the peaceful times of old—the old baron isn't going to enforce strict rules on his domain anymore. So the blacksmith's shop still holds a few interesting pieces.

"But there's no armor!" the big bald guy grumbled, pouting with disappointment. His massive frame made an ordinary person look like a tiny runt next to him, so even if Veyl's father's armor had survived, there's no way this giant could squeeze into it.

Veyl didn't pay him any mind. Armor wasn't even on his list—after all, after wandering the castle ruins earlier, he'd only managed to yank a suit of chainmail off a fallen knight. That chainmail had been torn a bit by zombies, and with all the blood it had soaked up, it was already starting to rust.Yet, even in its battered state, Veyl thought it wasn't half bad. For a scrappicker like him, a piece of iron was a treasure—at the very least, it could hold off a set of wolf fangs.

Back in the castle, after giving it a quick rinse, Veyl had managed to clamber into it. Though the chainmail weighed a dozen pounds or so, his strength was enough to manage it. Once he'd put it on, he checked his basic combat rating—it had gone up by one point, bringing his overall combat power to 3, with an extra +1 when fighting evil creatures…

He'd also found a heavy oak shield in the castle ruins. Veyl wasn't used to handling something so hefty—when he picked it up, he couldn't quite get a grip on its center of balance. The scroll's display confirmed that when he equipped it, it didn't add anything to his combat power. Yet Alexander seemed to handle it like a pro; when he swung it, it hit harder than Veyl's spiked hammer. Clearly, the big guy's contribution to combat wasn't just a measly one or two points. Apparently, the bonus from equipment depended not only on the gear's quality but also on the user's inherent strength.

Thinking about the chainmail and the oak shield spurred Veyl to search even more eagerly among the scrap piles. As he sifted through the debris, he mulled over the detailed data he'd seen on Alexander's character sheet earlier. It seemed that a hero's overall combat rating was summed up using letter grades. According to the scroll's explanation, heroes often pull off feats that let them beat enemies who'd otherwise be unbeatable. Their strength can only be roughly estimated, which is why ratings like D, C, B, A, S, and even SS are used. Some heroes even get an extra "R" (for rare), which indicates extraordinary growth potential.

A C-level combat rating was roughly equivalent to a level-3 unit in a training ground—like an elite ranger-knight. Veyl wasn't entirely sure how the sanctuary sorted its troops by strength, but he suspected that the guards in his father's old domain were, at best, level-1 units—or maybe even just poorly trained militia with combat ratings of 1 or 2.

"But why the hell is my combat power stuck at a pathetic 3? Am I really that weak—can't even be considered a D-level hero?" Veyl grumbled to himself, feeling a surge of gloom. No matter what he thought, he had been trained as a knight, yet it seemed like even some total nobodies could beat him up without breaking a sweat.

Just then, Veyl's hand brushed against an old oil bag among the junk. His heart jumped as he excitedly opened it up, only to discover a surprisingly fine dagger inside—a long, sharp dagger."Not bad… damn, it's really sharp," he nodded in approval. He flicked his cloak aside and hung the dagger on his belt. After securing it, he checked the scroll again and noticed that his combat power still hadn't changed—it was still stuck at 3."Guess it all reacts exactly to the real stats," he mused, nodding and then standing up to resume his search around the blacksmith's shop.

Before long, Veyl discovered two longbows, though their strings were shot and beyond repair with his skills. Near the bows, he found a bundle of arrows that Alexander could actually put to use."Not bad at all," Veyl remarked. Even though these were the only items he'd found, they brought him a small sense of satisfaction. He tossed the bundle of arrows over to Alexander and said, "Save 'em carefully. If the arrowheads break, neither of us is gonna be forging any new iron."

The iron used for those arrows wasn't great—basically, after a use or two, they'd break. Still, although Alexander's archery wasn't exceptional, the guy had enough strength to make a longbow behave like a shortbow in his hands. Within fifty or sixty paces, a zombie struck by one of his arrows would be pinned to the ground! So even though the iron wasn't top-notch, it didn't affect the arrows' piercing power.

The only downside was that the big bald guy's aim was a bit off—he rarely managed to hit a zombie's head. At best, he was only marginally better than Veyl himself, who was only skilled in hunting.

"Ah, too bad there isn't any proper armor or something," Veyl sighed, clapping his hands as he looked out the door. He noticed that the rain was nearly over.He glanced off into the distance at a few houses that had just been cleaned up. Their names, lit up in the dark, had driven the mist away—at least for a moment.Veyl studied the names for a bit, letting the bright letters fade from his mind…Then, as if the sanctuary itself had heard his silent plea, those house names immediately dimmed again, and the mist slowly began to roll back in.The whole back-and-forth was almost amusing—like he was some kind of wicked witch controlling fate with his heart's call.

"Looks like I can control it without even the scroll," Veyl mused. "The sanctuary really can hear the call of my heart."After a couple of experiments, however, Veyl lost interest. He stood at the doorway of the blacksmith's shop, gazing out at the wet, glistening ground, and his thoughts turned to food. He couldn't help but let out a long, heavy sigh as memories of meager rations returned.

When he left the tavern, Veyl made his way down to the cellar. Inside, everything was packed into huge oak barrels—bottles of wine and even some heads of cabbage that had rotted completely away. Now that the cottages had been thoroughly searched, there wasn't a scrap of edible food to be found. And just moments earlier, Alexander had nearly polished off all their food in one go.Aside from the few pieces of black bread that Veyl had hastily hidden away for defense, there was only half a black sausage left—a remnant that had already been discovered by that big moron and sneakily stashed in his own pants.

If they couldn't find more food before nightfall, it wouldn't just be the 67 monsters prowling outside; even that little runt—who claimed he could crush a man with one hand—might very well press Veyl into a pot and stew him alive.

"We've searched for over an hour now—the entire town has been combed through," Veyl observed, shaking his head. His face revealed nothing as he said flatly, "Warm-up's over. Let's head outside. And when we pass by the mill, remind me to take a look."

The granary inside the castle was nothing but ruins now, so his only hope rested with that big mill at the southern edge of his territory. It was called a "big mill," but in reality, it was more like a huge brewing workshop. The mill's massive storage area should, in theory, hold plenty of supplies.

Stepping out of the blacksmith's shop, Veyl glanced over at a nearby shed where a furnace was housed. Although he couldn't quite decipher everything after lifting the oil-stained tarp, the notes indicated it was usable. The ore piled next to it had already started to change color, leaving him wondering how much iron could still be smelted.

"There's also a pile of coal here, but damn, neither of us can operate the furnace. And even if we could, we're no good at blacksmithing…" he muttered, shaking his head. He glanced at the metal count on his scroll—which had increased after reclaiming the blacksmith's shop—and decided not to fuss any further.

After wading around a few small puddles, the distant outline of the big mill came into view. The post-rain road was a quagmire of mud, splattering Veyl's new boots and damp cloak with grime. This mill was the farthest building in his sanctuary, nestled among the fields and far removed from the crumbling earthen castle. As he drew closer, he could barely make out a few shadowy figures drifting in the mist.

And so, amid the mud, rain, and ever-encroaching gloom of his shattered world, Veyl continued his scavenging. Each clink of metal and rustle of discarded fabric served as a stark reminder: survival in these desperate times depended on every scrap of iron, every morsel of food, and every spark of hope he could cling to.