A Systemic Gift

Ren slept deeply that night.

The exhaustion from the physical work, the rain, and the steady drain of social effort left him barely conscious by the time he collapsed into his straw-filled mattress. He didn't remember closing his eyes. No dreams came—just darkness and stillness.

Then, sometime in the early hours before dawn, it returned.

A faint chime echoed through his skull. Cold light flickered behind his eyelids, and when he opened them, a familiar blue interface hung motionless in the air above him.

> You have slept. A new ability has been granted.

[Basic Plant Identification: Acquired]

He blinked at it, the text hovering with no fanfare. There was no dramatic glow, no surge of understanding—just a quiet certainty settling behind his eyes. Latin names, leaf shapes, root structures, uses in medicine, signs of toxicity. Not comprehensive, but practical. Focused.

Useful.

Ren sat up slowly, rubbing his hands through his hair. The system never explained itself, never hinted at purpose or origin. It just… gave. Always after sleep. Always practical. So far, it had never failed.

He closed the interface with a thought. It vanished instantly.

The window was invisible to everyone else. He had confirmed that carefully, indirectly, by now. He never spoke of it. In a world like this—medieval, magical, and wary of strange phenomena—keeping it secret was survival.

And it gave him an edge.

He stood, washed up at the basin, and took a quick bite of the leftover bread from yesterday. Then he grabbed his notebook and added the new skill to a fresh page.

He didn't call them "skills" anymore. That word implied too much control. This wasn't a menu he could manipulate. It wasn't a game.

It was a slow accumulation. A strange one. But undeniably his.

---

Later that morning, Ren found himself at the guild again.

The main hall buzzed with activity. Adventurers in mismatched gear leaned over tables, swapping stories and coins. A few posted job cards were already picked clean by early risers. Ren navigated through the press of bodies to reach the receptionist's desk.

She was different from the clerk from yesterday—older, sharper-eyed, and far more direct.

"New face," she said without looking up from her ledger.

"Ren," he offered. "Registered two days ago. Just reporting in."

She flipped to the logbook, ran a finger down the names, and nodded slightly. "North orchard job. Logged. Payment recorded. No complaints."

"Any more postings for field work?"

She looked up. "You're not going after beast bounties?"

"Not yet."

She studied him for a second longer, then gestured toward the side wall. "Board just refreshed. There's a timber hauling request—carriage repair out by the south slope. Three-man job, but one pulled out this morning."

Ren followed her direction. A few adventurers still hovered by the quest board, but most were focused on combat postings—monsters, wolves, highway bandits.

Ren scanned quickly for practical jobs. The timber hauling one caught his eye. Small merchant group, contracted a guild escort for a wood shipment. One cart wheel cracked near a forested slope two hours south. Needed reinforcement, help realigning the axle, and guidance through a small bridge detour.

He pulled the card free and returned to the desk.

"I'll take this one."

The woman glanced at the paper. "You'll meet the other two by the east gate at noon. If you're late, they leave without you."

"Understood."

---

He made use of the time before the departure.

Using the new plant knowledge, Ren moved through the market with fresh eyes. He paused at herb stalls he'd barely glanced at before. Now, he could name the dried stalks—goldenroot for fever, waterleaf for clotting, nethersprout for sleep.

A few plants were mislabeled. One, clearly an emetic, was being sold as a digestion aid.

He didn't correct the seller. Not yet. Better to wait until he had credibility.

By the time he reached the east gate, the sun had cleared the clouds, and the light drizzle had turned to warm humidity. Two figures waited near the posted departure board: a young man in cheap leather armor and a woman with braided hair and a solid carpenter's toolkit slung across her shoulder.

"You're the third?" she asked.

"Ren," he said. "Just pulled the card an hour ago."

"Good. I'm Talia. That's Brann."

Brann offered a half-wave. "You're not a fighter, are you?"

"Not unless I have to be," Ren said.

"Good," Talia replied. "Neither am I. This is a repair job, not a skirmish."

They set off down the south road shortly after noon, their supplies light and the path well-worn. Ren walked beside Talia, asking questions as they went. She was more open than Calen, less guarded, and far more informed when it came to wood.

"I trained under a framewright near Trenton," she said. "Before the last flood wiped the place out. Been drifting since."

"You've worked on transport wagons before?"

"Hundreds. If the wheel's cracked, we'll brace it. If the axle's shot, we make camp and cut a new one."

Brann chimed in from ahead. "The bridge route's what worries me. Last time I was through, the floodwater ate through one of the supports."

Ren pulled a stick of charcoal and a folded page from his pack, sketching the basic construction of a single-wheel support system. "Think we'll need to brace the front wheel too?"

Talia leaned over. "Smart. Let's keep that in mind."

They reached the stalled cart just after mid-afternoon. The merchant driver—a lanky man with broken sandals and a deep tan—was visibly relieved to see them.

"Thought the guild bailed again," he muttered.

The cart sat tilted along a sloped ridge, the right rear wheel half-splintered and the axle displaced. The front wheel, just as Ren guessed, wobbled under minimal pressure.

"Any tools?" Talia asked.

The merchant shrugged. "A mallet, rope, two wedges. That's it."

Talia sighed. "We'll make do."

Ren dropped his pack, pulled out his carpenter's square and level stick, and got to work beside her. Brann handled the scouting—watching the tree line and keeping their path clear.

It would take a few hours. But with this group, Ren realized, that might actually be enough.

Ren worked silently, matching Talia's pace. She moved with the practiced confidence of someone who'd been through dozens of field repairs like this. Every tool had its place. Every motion was efficient. The more he watched her, the more he understood just how inexperienced he still was.

But he wasn't helpless.

The knowledge from his previous sleep sessions stacked in quiet ways. When Talia examined the broken axle, Ren already understood the wood grain's fracture points. He could recognize moisture damage, pressure fatigue, and signs of poor maintenance. She didn't question him when he suggested cutting a wedge slightly thinner. She just adjusted her stroke.

The three of them managed to brace the damaged wheel with a reinforced timber limb sourced from a nearby fallen tree. It wasn't elegant, but it would hold for a few miles. Talia hammered the last wedge in with her mallet and stood back, brushing sweat from her brow.

"Solid work," she muttered. "Better than half the apprentices I've had."

Ren didn't respond. Praise made him wary. It wasn't arrogance—just caution. He hadn't earned anything yet. Not in this world.

Brann emerged from the trees with a handful of wild plums.

"No signs of anything dangerous," he said. "But we should move before dusk. This area's quiet, but wolves aren't picky."

"Bridge detour?" Talia asked.

"Dry enough to cross now. Water level's dropped."

They returned to the cart. The merchant clambered up with exaggerated care, eyeing their work suspiciously. But when he rolled the wheel forward and it didn't immediately collapse, his shoulders relaxed.

"Didn't think you'd pull it off," he said. "Guess the guild sent decent help for once."

"We're not done yet," Brann muttered.

The merchant clucked to the donkey and started forward.

---

They reached the bridge just before sunset.

It wasn't much—just two logs tied across a low ravine, wide enough for a single wheel at a time. The supports were shaky. A recent storm had washed away half the soil from the bank, leaving part of the platform dangling.

The donkey hesitated.

"Smart animal," Talia said.

Ren moved to the front, examining the underside. The logs were still firm, but the cross-brace had rotted through. He turned to the merchant. "Get your rope."

They looped a makeshift harness around the cart's front and rear axles, then tied it to nearby trees. If the support failed halfway through, the cart wouldn't crash completely.

"You'll have to guide it slowly," Ren told him. "Two wheels at a time. No sudden weight shifts."

"I know how to handle my own damn cart," the man snapped.

Ren didn't argue. He stepped back and watched carefully as the cart crept forward, the wheels groaning against the strain. When the rear axle crossed, the right wheel dipped slightly—wood cracked—but didn't give. They made it across.

Talia exhaled sharply. "Wouldn't do that twice."

"Let's not," Brann agreed.

---

They made camp on the far side of the ravine.

The merchant had a small tent, but Ren and the others made do with cloaks and fire. Talia set up a stone ring and passed around strips of dried meat and flatbread. Brann took first watch, leaning on his spear and gazing out into the dark.

Ren sat with his back to a tree, notebook in hand. He drew sketches of the repair: the bracing angle, the rope harness, the modified wedge size. Not because anyone asked him to. Just because that's how he remembered best.

Talia glanced over. "You some kind of scribe?"

"Not really."

"You always carry a book around?"

"When I can."

She watched him for a second. Then nodded.

"Smart. Most rookies come out here swinging swords they don't know how to hold. You fix things. Write things down. You'll last longer than most."

Ren didn't answer. She wasn't wrong, but she didn't know the half of it.

He still hadn't told anyone about the system.

Even now, as he flipped a fresh page and quietly tested his new plant knowledge against nearby roots and herbs, no one could tell the difference. To them, he was just quiet. Observant. Maybe a little strange.

To Ren, he was building something—step by step, skill by skill. The system didn't hand him miracles. It handed him tools. What he did with them was up to him.

---

The next morning, the merchant continued south with his cart.

Brann split off near the main road, heading toward a smaller village where his sister supposedly ran an inn. Talia and Ren returned together, following a different route through a valley path that would bring them back to the guild town by nightfall.

"I might stay a few more weeks," she said as they walked. "Plenty of construction jobs. And I like working with people who aren't complete idiots."

Ren looked at her. "Is that rare?"

"You have no idea."

She didn't press for conversation after that, and he appreciated it. They traveled in companionable silence, interrupted only by birdsong and the occasional crunch of twigs underfoot.

---

They reached the town's eastern checkpoint just before dusk.

The guards waved them through with barely a glance, and the familiar noise of the guild district drifted to Ren's ears—boots on stone, crates on carts, laughter from the open tavern.

He turned to Talia before they split.

"Thanks for the job," he said.

"You're good with your hands," she replied. "That'll take you far. Come find me if you ever want work on a real structure."

He nodded.

She disappeared into the western alley, heading toward the builder's lane. Ren watched her go, then turned and walked straight to the guild hall.

He had a job to log.

Ren stepped through the wooden archway of the guild hall, brushing road dust from his sleeves. The front desk was quieter than usual—just a bored clerk rearranging tokens and a pair of armored adventurers laughing near the notice board. The tavern crowd hadn't spilled over yet. Good. That meant fewer questions.

He approached the desk.

"Back from the field already?" the clerk asked, glancing up.

"Finished the escort. Merchant's cart had a wheel issue. We fixed it on-site."

"Name?"

"Ren Hoshikage."

The clerk jotted something on a slate and reached for a clay seal. "Talia and Brann gave you the nod. Said you weren't deadweight."

Ren didn't reply. He wasn't here for compliments.

The clerk handed him a token—dull bronze with a mark he didn't recognize. "Temporary clearance's been upgraded. You'll still need a guild test if you want to go beyond field assignments."

"What kind of test?"

"Basic skill check, resource handling, emergency response. They want to see if you panic when blood hits the floor."

Ren pocketed the token. "When's the next one?"

"Three days. Show up before noon. Bring your own gear."

He nodded and stepped away, ignoring the muttered guesses from the adventurers by the board.

---

Outside, the sun had dropped past the rooftops, and a light breeze carried the scent of roasted grains and garlic. Ren cut through a side street, bypassing the tavern crowd, and made his way toward the lower artisan quarter.

He found a half-burned torch outside the small inn he'd been staying at—a sign the owner had probably cooked dinner. Inside, the air was warm and the common room nearly empty.

"Back safe?" the innkeeper asked from behind the bar.

Ren nodded. "Any messages?"

"Just one." She handed him a folded scrap of parchment. "Some girl came by. Didn't leave a name."

Ren read the message twice before folding it into his pocket. It was a request. A quiet one. Someone had heard about his repair work. They needed help with a broken grain sieve up north, at the edge of a farming lane.

He didn't answer right away. Just went upstairs, rinsed the dust from his hands, and sat by the window for a long time.

---

That night, sleep came quickly.

And when it did, the system returned.

[Sleep Cycle Complete]

New Ability Acquired: Fluid Dynamics – Tier I

→ You gain an intuitive understanding of how water, oils, and similar fluids behave when under pressure, in containers, or through systems. Includes familiarity with flow rates, valve efficiency, filtration behavior, and common pipe structures.

Ren blinked at the glowing text in the darkness.

This wasn't magic.

It wasn't flashy.

It was useful.

He sat up slowly, pulling his notebook closer and scribbling the title at the top of a blank page: Fluid Behavior and Gravity Wells. Diagrams followed. Notes. Thoughts. Ideas.

He could build a basic irrigation system now.

A pressurized valve.

A sand-based water filter.

This ability wasn't flashy, but it was a gift—exactly the kind of knowledge that could change lives quietly.

He lay back down, mind racing not with fantasies, but blueprints.

---

By morning, his direction had shifted again.

He still planned to take the guild test. It was the fastest path to gaining legal access to outer routes and contracts. But now he had another project in mind: farming settlements.

If he could design something as simple as a self-cleaning water trough or a manual pump that didn't rely on magic stones, entire villages could benefit.

That was the difference between him and the others in the guild.

They chased coin. He chased systems.

And maybe, if he stayed careful—if he worked smart—he could build something lasting before anyone even realized what he was doing.

---

At midday, he found himself in the outer edge of the artisan ward again, seated across from a carpenter with weathered fingers and a skeptical look.

"You want to commission a wooden drum barrel with a rotating inner shaft, huh?" the man asked.

"And perforated walls on both sides," Ren said. "I can draw the exact pattern."

"For…?"

"Water filtration."

The carpenter rubbed his jaw. "You don't look like a lord's son. This some kind of test?"

Ren pulled out his sketches. "No. Just a repairman with too many ideas."

The man looked through the pages slowly. His frown didn't disappear, but it shifted.

"This could work. You'll need fine mesh to hold back silt."

"I'll source it."

"You'll need better bracing, too. Rope won't cut it when the shaft's full."

"I'll reinforce it with metal bands."

The carpenter gave him a long look. "You want this built quiet?"

"I want it built right."

A pause. Then a nod.

"Come back in three days."

---

As he walked away from the workshop, something finally settled in Ren's chest. He still didn't understand why the system had chosen him—why this world, or this strange, silent gift. But each time he woke, he had another piece of the puzzle.

Not flashy.

Not legendary.

Just useful.

And in a world full of swords and fireballs, maybe that was exactly what people needed most.