Chapter 1: The Rusty Nail and the Pervert's Predicament
The first thing Alaric registered wasn't the fantastical architecture, nor the heady scent of exotic spices that, according to every webnovel he'd ever binged, should have been assaulting his senses. No. It was the distinct, unsettling absence of his ergonomic gaming chair beneath his butt. And the crushing weight of existential dread that felt far heavier than his usual Monday morning malaise. This wasn't the familiar, comforting hum of his PC, nor the faint smell of stale energy drinks and unwashed laundry. This was… different. And dusty. Terribly, terribly dusty.
He blinked, his eyelids feeling oddly heavy, as if he'd been staring at a monitor for three days straight. A blue, translucent screen shimmered into existence directly in front of his face, glowing with an irritatingly cheerful luminescence. It looked like his own personal UI, a common sight for anyone in this world, but this one felt… new. Like a fresh character sheet, still waiting for him to pick his class.
System Notification: Reincarnation Complete. Welcome to the World of Aethelgard. Status: Human. Skill Granted: [Basic Material Refinement - D-Rank].
Alaric stared at the text, then blinked again, hard, hoping it was a pop-up ad he could close, or maybe a hallucination from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. It wasn't. The words remained, mocking him. "D-Rank?" he muttered, his voice surprisingly reedy and unfamiliar. It sounded like a teenager's voice, all cracks and uncertain pitches, definitely not the deep, resonant baritone of a seasoned gamer. "Are you kidding me? Everyone in Aethelgard gets some flashy combat skill or powerful magic, and after all those late-night grinding sessions on Earth, the universe rewards me with Basic Material Refinement? What, am I supposed to polish rocks for a living now? Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Because honestly, it's not very funny. It's barely even ironic. It's just… sad."
His cynical gamer brain, bless its over-caffeinated heart, immediately went into overdrive. This wasn't the instant cheat code he'd been promised by a thousand stories of otherworldly transmigration – not in the way he expected, anyway. No fireballs that incinerated mountains, no infinite mana pools, certainly no instant harem of adoring, impossibly busty heroines. Just… the ability to make things marginally less dirty. He sighed, running a hand through his unfamiliar, slightly too-long hair. It felt soft, almost silky, a stark contrast to the grease-laden mop he'd sported back on Earth. The room he was in was a cramped, dusty attic, barely furnished save for a rickety cot and a few cobweb-draped crates. Clearly, he hadn't reincarnated into a noble family. More like a forgotten NPC's forgotten storage space. His previous life, Alex, a twenty-something shut-in whose greatest achievement was reaching top 0.1% in 'Eternal Grind Online' by exploiting a glitch in the fishing mini-game, felt like a distant, slightly embarrassing dream.
He pushed himself up from the cot, his new body feeling surprisingly nimble, if a bit underdeveloped. He was skinny, maybe sixteen or seventeen. A quick glance at his reflection in a cracked piece of glass leaning against the wall confirmed it – a generic, unremarkable face, albeit one now contorted in a permanent scowl of disappointment. "Well, at least I'm not a slime," he mumbled, recalling some of the more bizarre reincarnation tropes. "Or a vending machine. Small mercies, I guess. Though, a vending machine might have better loot tables than this 'D-Rank' trash. At least it could dispense actual coffee. This world probably only has lukewarm ale."
His gaze fell upon a rusty nail, lying innocently amidst a scattering of dust bunnies that looked like they'd achieved sentience and were plotting world domination. "Fine," he grumbled, picking it up. The metal felt rough, corroded, a perfect example of a low-tier material. "Let's see what this 'D-Rank' garbage actually does." He extended his hand, palm flat against the cold, rough metal. He focused, trying to channel whatever mystical energy this new body possessed. A faint, almost ticklish warmth spread through his palm, a sensation akin to a mild static shock, or maybe just his hand falling asleep.
The nail, instead of just getting a bit shinier, began to vibrate. Not just vibrate, but purify. The rust didn't flake off; it shimmered, then dissolved into motes of golden light that swirled around his hand before vanishing into the stale air. The dull, pitted iron reformed, molecules shifting, impurities expelling themselves, twisting and reforming with impossible precision. It wasn't just clean; it was perfect. The nail was no longer iron, but a gleaming, perfectly formed, impossibly sharp, incredibly durable needle. It gleamed with a cold, almost impossible perfection, reflecting the dim attic light like a tiny, polished shard of moonlight.
System Notification: [Basic Material Refinement] activated. Material: Rusty Iron Nail. Result: Perfected Adamantine Needle (SSS-Tier Artifact).
Alaric stared at the needle, then back at the system notification. His jaw hung open, a single bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. "What... the actual... hell?"
This wasn't basic. This was broken. This wasn't just removing impurities; this was fundamental material transmutation and perfect form forging. He could take trash and turn it into treasure. Not just any treasure, but SSS-Tier artifacts. His gamer brain, which had been in a state of cynical despair, suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree plugged into a nuclear reactor. The possibilities. The exploits. The meta-breaking builds! This was like finding out your starting rusty sword was actually a legendary blade of infinite sharpness, just disguised as junk. The ultimate hidden OP.
He grinned, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face, a familiar glint in his eyes. "So, 'D-Rank,' huh? You just wait, Aethelgard. This 'basic' skill is about to break your entire damn meta. And maybe get me a few... perks along the way." His eyes flickered towards a particularly dusty, but intriguing, crack in the floorboards. Wonder what kind of 'refinement' that needs. Maybe it'll reveal a secret passage to a hidden treasure room. Or, better yet, a hidden bathhouse. With, you know, refinable towels. For optimum softness and absorbency, of course. His perverted thoughts, a constant companion from his previous life, were already making themselves comfortable in this new world, settling in like a particularly persistent slime.
His first real test came sooner than expected. A commotion erupted from below, shaking the rickety attic floorboards. Shouts, panicked screams, and the distinct, splintering sound of something heavy trying to break through wood. Alaric scrambled to the dusty attic window, peering through a grimy pane.
Below, the scene was pure fantasy cliché. A hulking, green-skinned Ogre, all muscle and surprisingly well-maintained (for an Ogre, anyway) loincloth, was trying to smash its way through the flimsy wooden gate of the small village he found himself in. Its club, a crude tree trunk, splintered against the worn timber. Villagers were scattering like startled chickens, their cries a chaotic symphony of terror. A few pathetic-looking guards, armed with rusty spears that looked like they'd snap if a stiff breeze hit them, were trying to hold it back. They looked less like defenders and more like a pre-buffed mob waiting to be farmed for XP.
Seriously? An Ogre? First encounter and it's a generic brute? Come on, Aethelgard, try to be a little original, Alaric thought, rolling his eyes. Where's the quirky, self-aware goblin? The sentient, philosophical slime? No, just a standard-issue, smash-happy Ogre. So disappointing. His gaze, however, quickly snapped to the gate. A massive, ancient lock, clearly rusted and barely holding on by a prayer and a few decades of neglect, was the only thing preventing the Ogre from turning this quaint little village into a very messy buffet. A normal adventurer would charge in, sword swinging, probably yelling some generic battle cry about justice or honor. A normal blacksmith would lament the poor craftsmanship of the gate and its lock, probably shaking their head about budget cuts and incompetent village elders.
Alaric, however, was not normal. He was a cynical gamer with a newly discovered SSS-tier "Basic Material Refinement" skill. And he had a perfectly optimal idea.
He scrambled down the rickety stairs, ignoring the shouts of the guards who were too busy trying not to get flattened. He burst out into the chaos, the screams and the Ogre's roars washing over him. The Ogre, a truly impressive specimen of brute force, slammed its fist against the wood again, making the gate groan in protest. Alaric ignored the monster entirely, his focus laser-sharp on the ancient, rusted lock. It was a mess of corrosion and bent metal, a true D-Rank material if he'd ever seen one. Perfect. An easy target for a quick power flex.
He extended a hand, palm flat against the cold, rough metal of the lock. He concentrated, channeling that strange, ticklish warmth. It felt like a tiny, focused electrical current, humming through his veins. The rust on the lock didn't just vanish; it dematerialized, shimmering into golden motes that swirled around his hand before disappearing. The dull, pitted iron reformed, molecules shifting, impurities expelling themselves, twisting and reforming with impossible precision. It wasn't just clean; it was perfect. The lock was no longer iron, but a gleaming, perfectly forged mechanism that hummed with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. It looked like it had just rolled off the forge of a master dwarven craftsman who'd spent centuries perfecting the art of perfect right angles and indestructible alloys, then been blessed by a god of structural integrity.
System Notification: [Basic Material Refinement] activated. Material: Rusted Iron Lock. Result: Perfected Adamantine Gate Lock (SSS-Tier Artifact). Condition: Unbreakable. Status: Locked.
The Ogre, mid-swing, its massive fist already descending, slammed into the gate. Instead of splintering, the gate reverberated with a deep, resonant thrum, like a perfectly struck gong. The Ogre's hand bounced off, sending a shockwave up its arm that made it howl in pain and stumble backward, shaking its head in confusion, its massive knuckles bruised and perhaps even slightly fractured. It looked genuinely bewildered, as if it had just punched a brick wall that suddenly turned into a trampoline. Heh, classic physics exploit. Good job, me, Alaric thought, a flicker of pride in his chest. Take that, you generic brute. Bet your System didn't prepare you for a D-Rank material refiner.
The villagers and guards, who had braced for impact, stared. Not at the retreating Ogre, but at Alaric, who was now meticulously wiping a non-existent smudge off the newly pristine lock. He even gave it a little polish with his thumb, just for good measure. Gotta maintain that SSS-Tier shine. First impressions are everything, even for a D-Rank skill user.
"Honestly," Alaric muttered, loud enough for a few nearby guards to hear, his voice still a bit reedy but now laced with a familiar, dry sarcasm, "the structural integrity of these village gates is appalling. A bit of basic refinement, and it's good as new. Though," his gaze drifted, lingering a moment too long on a rather shapely female guard whose leather armor was, in his professional opinion, far too restrictive around the chest, "I did notice a rather... interesting pattern in the wood grain. Very distracting. Perhaps some refinement could be applied elsewhere, for optimal... performance."
The female guard, a young woman with braided auburn hair and a surprisingly fierce expression that was now rapidly dissolving into mortification, spluttered, her face turning beet red. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to form words but failing. "Y-you... what... performance?!" she stammered, clutching her chest plate instinctively.
The male guards exchanged bewildered glances, a mixture of awe at the unbreakable gate and utter confusion at Alaric's bizarre comment warring on their faces. "Lad, what are you even talking about?" one burly guard asked, his brow furrowed.
"Just optimizing the aesthetics, you know?" Alaric said with a dismissive wave. "A well-maintained gate is one thing, but a well-maintained guard... that's peak efficiency. And trust me, that armor is not optimally designed for... flexibility." He winked, then immediately regretted it as the female guard looked like she was about to explode. Too much? Nah, it's fine. Wait, no, it's probably not fine. Gotta dial it back before I get arrested for 'material harassment' or 'lewd suggestions to public servants.' This world probably has rules for that. And I don't have the 'Jailbreak' skill yet.
The Ogre, still rubbing its sore fist and clearly deciding this village was too damn weird to bother with, let out a frustrated grunt and lumbered off into the forest, leaving behind a trail of confused footprints and a lingering scent of unwashed monster.
Alaric smirked internally. Phase 1: Establish dominance with a D-Rank skill. Complete. Phase 2: Accidentally save the day while being a pervert. Also complete. This is going to be a fun playthrough. Now, about that guard's armor... I wonder what kind of 'refinement' that needs to be truly 'optimal' for 'performance.' Perhaps a slight adjustment to the 'material properties' to enhance 'flexibility' in certain 'areas.' And maybe a 'transparency' setting for 'optimal visibility.' For, you know, scouting purposes. Definitely scouting.
A grizzled old guard, his beard streaked with grey, stepped forward, cautiously eyeing Alaric. He looked like he'd seen a lot in his years, but a teenager polishing a magically unbreakable lock while making lewd comments was clearly a new one. "Lad... what in the blazes did you just do to that lock? And what was that about... performance?"
Alaric shrugged, affecting an air of bored nonchalance. "Just, you know, basic material refinement. It was rusty. Had to fix it. Wouldn't want the village to be overrun by, uh, substandard materials, would we?" He gestured vaguely at the gleaming lock. "And the performance comment? Purely professional. Gotta ensure peak operational efficiency for all village assets. Including personnel." He gave the female guard another quick, assessing glance, making her blush even harder. Yep, definitely still got it. Even in a D-Rank body. My pervy instincts are SSS-tier, at least.
The old guard scratched his head, clearly not buying it. "Rusty nail to... that? And the Ogre just... bounced off? We've had master smiths try to reinforce that gate for decades! Said it was impossible without a small fortune in rare ores and a dozen high-tier enchantments."
"Amateurs," Alaric scoffed, turning to survey the chaos of the village. Houses looked like they needed some serious 'refinement.' The roads were uneven. The whole place was a mess of inefficient layouts and suboptimal material usage. So much potential for optimization. This whole world is basically a giant, broken sandbox game waiting for a proper player. And by 'proper player,' I mean me. With my D-Rank skill. Heh. His eyes landed on a particularly large, mud-caked cart wheel, one of its spokes splintered. D-Rank material, probably. Could probably turn that into a perfectly balanced, anti-gravity wheel. Or maybe a self-driving chariot. The possibilities are endless. And if I can refine the cart itself, maybe I can get a ride out of this dusty place. My feet are already starting to ache. This new body has terrible stamina stats.
A small child, no older than five, clutching a tattered wooden doll, toddled up to Alaric, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. The child's face was streaked with dirt, but her eyes held a spark of wonder. "Mister, are you a hero?" she asked, her voice soft.
Alaric blinked. A hero? Him? The guy who spent his life optimizing fictional character builds, exploiting game mechanics, and trying to peek at anime girls' panties? "Uh, no, kid. Not really. Just... a guy who knows how to fix things. Really, really well." He glanced at the doll. It was chipped, one of its wooden legs broken, its painted face faded. Prime D-Rank material. A perfect test subject for a more... personal refinement. Maybe I can make it glow in the dark. Or sing. Or, you know, do something actually useful for a pervert. Like, a miniature spy cam. For reconnaissance, obviously. He knelt, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Here, let me see that."
He took the doll gently, focusing his skill. The tattered wood shimmered, reforming, not just mending the broken leg, but transforming the doll into a miniature, perfectly articulated wooden figure that seemed to hum with a faint, playful energy. Its painted eyes seemed to sparkle, and its tiny wooden joints moved with surprising fluidity. It looked like a high-end collector's item, not a child's toy.
System Notification: [Basic Material Refinement] activated. Material: Tattered Wooden Doll. Result: Living Golemette (SSS-Tier Artifact). Condition: Sentient, Loyal to First Owner, Prone to Mischief.
The doll's eyes blinked. Then, it giggled, a tiny, tinkling sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the village square. It gave a small, perfect wave to the child. The child gasped, then shrieked with delight, hugging the doll tightly. "She moved! She moved, Mama!"
Alaric, however, felt a cold dread spread through his gut, chilling his pervy thoughts to a screeching halt. Sentient? Loyal? Prone to mischief? Oh, for the love of all that's holy, I just created a sentient, SSS-tier, mischievous wooden waifu. And I gave it to a kid. This is not how I wanted my harem to start. This is a liability. A very cute, very loyal, very mischievous liability that can probably tell me all my pervy thoughts. Or worse, tell everyone else. 'Alaric thinks your armor is too tight, ma'am!' No, no, no. This is a critical failure in my pervert optimization strategy. My reputation is going to be ruined before I even get to the capital. He imagined the doll, years from now, recounting his internal monologues to his future party members. The horror! The utter, unadulterated, public humiliation!
He stood up abruptly, dusting off his pants with unnecessary vigor. "Right! Well, my work here is done. This village is... sufficiently refined. Time to move on." He needed to find an Adventurer's Guild. Not for heroics, but for information. And more importantly, for trash. The world was clearly full of D-Rank materials just begging to be exploited. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to refine some of the more... interesting fabrics he might encounter. He glanced back at the female guard, who was still trying to process his earlier comment, her face a delightful shade of crimson. Yes, definitely some 'refinement' needed there. For optimal 'flexibility,' of course. And maybe a self-cleaning enchantment. For hygienic purposes, obviously. And maybe a 'see-through' option. Just for research. Very important research.
He strode out of the village, leaving behind a bewildered populace, a miraculously reinforced gate, and one very happy, very mischievous wooden doll that occasionally waved a tiny, perfectly articulated hand and seemed to be watching him with knowing, sparkling eyes. The world of Aethelgard had no idea what kind of 'D-Rank' chaos it had just welcomed. And Alaric, the cynical, perverted skill-optimizer, was just getting started on his SSS-tier journey.