Time passed slowly.
The warmth of the bonfire spread steadily throughout the cave, no longer flickering or dying out.
Monica stood near it, arms crossed tightly around herself, her mind turning restlessly.
Around her, most people remained near the fire, quietly thawing.
Some huddled together, sharing body heat and small pieces of cloth.
Others sat with outstretched hands, palms facing the flames like they were reaching for salvation.
A faint smell of damp wool, smoke, and melting snow filled the air.
Monica's gaze drifted to the countdown timer now etched faintly in her mind's interface—glowing numbers ticking away quietly beneath the [Bonfire: lv7] label.
[Estimated time remaining: 587 minutes.]
"Ten hours," she murmured under her breath, lips barely moving.
It was enough to last them through the remainder of the daylight period—ironically, the deadliest time when the sun's pale light brought not warmth, but piercing, bitter cold.
Eight hours of unbearable, bone-cracking freeze that forced everyone underground.
And then would come the light night—an 8-hour window where temperatures rose just enough for basic movement, scavenging, hunting… and if lucky, surviving.
But after that... The dark night.
She didn't want to think about it.
No one really knew what lurked during dark night. Only that the few who tried to wander outside during it… didn't come back the same.
She swallowed hard, forcing her focus back on the now. There are still two more hours before the end of daylight, which gives her eight more hours to gather enough resources, or the bonfire will burn out and everyone inside the camp will freeze to death.
Ten hours. One chance.
With the others huddled close to the bonfire, regaining some strength, Monica used the moment of silence to do what she had to—prepare.
"But with my current quasi-awakener's physical strength," she murmured under her breath, "I doubt I can even swing an axe properly, let alone chop down a tree..."
Her fingers curled instinctively, as if testing her grip strength. She was stronger than before—there was no denying it—but nowhere near strong enough to brute-force her way through the wilderness.
That left one path: Upgrading.
She tore off a small corner of her already-tattered scarf, tied her hair back, and began moving around the cave.
Still chewing, she frowned, staring at the tools and scraps laid out beside her—things scavenged over the past few weeks.
She knelt down and began touching them one by one.
At first, she hoped everything could be upgraded.
But reality was crueler.
—An old kitchen knife, half-rusted.
Status: Too damaged. Not upgradable.
—A crude wooden spear, splintered at the tip.
Status: Improvised. Unstable. Not upgradable.
—An empty water canister with a broken cap.
Status: Scrap. Not upgradable.
A cracked hammerhead without a handle.
A torn satchel made of synthetic cloth.
"Appraisal... appraisal..." As she continued to use her appraisal skill, a simple list hovered beside her field of vision, slowly updating as she inspected objects.
[Ineligible for Upgrade: Durability too low.]
[Ineligible for Upgrade: Not a completed item.]
[Ineligible for Upgrade: Common debris.]
"None of these are eligible for upgrade," she muttered, frowning.
It was only after some time—and a bit of intuition—that she started to notice a pattern.
Items that were unfinished, broken beyond use, or made of mixed materials seemed to fail the system's criteria.
Only complete, functional tools could be upgraded—at least with her current awakening level.
That ruled out a lot of the cobbled-together junk around the cave.
Most of the survivors had been barely scraping by with whatever bits they could salvage—bent rods turned into hooks, stones tied to sticks as hammers are apparently unusable for her.
But…then her eyes landed on something else—an old hand axe, its blade dull but unbroken, tucked behind some sacks near the storage pile.
It was the one that her father once used for splitting firewood—because it became dull, he left it lying here.
Monica's heart skipped.
She crawled over and tugged it free, brushing away dust and ice.
When she picked up a chipped but intact hatchet—its wooden handle wrapped in thick cord, its blade dull but still solid—the interface blinked differently.
[Appraisal Complete.]
[Item: Iron Headed Axe (Worn, Lv0) ]
[Function: Tool used for cutting firewood and basic defense. Has seen long-term wear. Can be upgraded. Gains 10 points of upgrade experience with each tree cut down.]
[Status: Usable. Upgradeable.]
[Durability: 9/100]
[Material: Iron Blade / Oak Handle]
[Upgrade Experience: 230/10]
[Note: This Hand Axe can be bound to the host's personal equipment slot to share attributes and special skills. Once bound, others cannot use or modify it. If destroyed, the shared attributes will reset.]
Monica's breath caught as she stared at the transparent blue panel shimmering in her vision.
A flicker of triumph lit in her chest—small, but real. Finally, something.
Her fingers gripped the hand axe more tightly, feeling its weight, the slight give of the wrapped cord under her palms.
It was heavier than she imagined, thanks to the Iron head, it took her a lot of effort just to lift it, but not impossible to wield.
It had the balance of something that had once been cared for… and could be made whole again.
She might not be able to chop a lot of trees, considering the Axe's weight and her current strength, nonetheless, something is always better than dying.
She sat back on her heels, thinking.
[Experience: 230/10]
"This belonged to my dad after all," she whispered.
Perhaps because it was already old and well-used, so much experience had been accumulated, like the bonfire, and it did not her to invest further time during such a critical life-and-death moment.
She swiped her finger across the [Upgrade Available] icon that blinked in the corner of her interface. This time, she didn't forget to bind the Iron Handed Axe to her personal equipment slot.
"Unfortunately, with 230 points of experience, I can only upgrade the Axe to level 4, but that's enough for now." A soft pulse of light surged from the axe. not just once but four times in total.
It didn't glow dramatically, didn't shoot lightning or rumble with magical power, or didn't take one minute like the bonfire.
But the surface of the blade seemed to ripple faintly—just enough for Monica to see the dull metal grow smoother, cleaner, sharper.
The worn oak handle tightened slightly, cord wrapping shifting subtly as if being redone by unseen hands.
A continued soft chime sounded in her ears, one after another.
[Upgrade Complete.]
[Upgrade Complete.]
[Upgrade Complete.]
[Upgrade Complete.]
[Item: Iron Headed Axe (Lv4)]
[Function: Tool used for cutting firewood and basic defense. Has seen long-term wear. Can be upgraded. Gains 10 points of upgrade experience with each tree cut down.]
[Status: Upgradeable, Bound.]
[Equipment Slot Assigned: Main-hand Tool]
[Durability: 100/100]
[Material: Iron Blade / Oak Handle]
[Upgrade Experience: 60/120]
[Bound Item: Monica Varnhart]
[Special Trait: Frost-Resistant Edge Lv4 – cutting efficiency is slightly unaffected by extreme cold bark.
-Easy to use Lv1: Host is not affected by the item's own weight.]
[Attribute Sync: +2 Strength / +2 Stamina / +2 Dexterity (total physique +2) while equipped.]
Her eyes widened. "Attribute sync?" she whispered.
The system message faded, and her fingers closed around the handle of the upgraded axe again, and this time… it felt different.
Balanced. Lighter— almost weightless, but also because, she felt her strength increased, she became slightly stronger the moment she bound it.
The dull, chipped edges were now smooth and sharp, clean lines catching the dim glow of the bonfire.
The oak handle, once rough and fraying, felt solid, wrapped tight with leather-like cord that didn't exist before.
She exhaled slowly. She gave it a small swing, careful not to hit anything. The motion was smooth, unstrained. It didn't wobble in her grip.
The momentum carried through her shoulder without jarring her bones.
"So this is the power of binding…" she murmured, lifting it experimentally. The difference was astonishing. Despite its iron head, it no longer pulled her arm down with every movement.
It moved with her, like an extension of her body.
Somewhere behind her, one of the elder women coughed weakly, and the sound tugged Monica back to the present.
Her eyes turned toward the narrow cave entrance, now partially covered with a layer of frost.
A curtain of ragged tarp, weighted with stones, hung to keep out the piercing wind. Faint daylight filtered through its edges, casting thin lines across the cave floor.
Two hours left before the end of daylight.
Eight hours of light-night after that.