Day 29
I have a problem. Not the "survive another paradox boss" kind. Not the "my tail just knocked over my only intact whiskey barrel" kind. No, we've moved beyond that. This is the "I have so much loot I'm becoming my own encumbrance penalty" kind.
I am, for all intents and purposes, a walking loot piñata. Three crowns, two barrels of dwarven whiskey, a backpack stuffed with manuscripts and plot items, a cloak full of knives, and a beard with at least one minor relic tangled in it. My claws don't help. My tail just makes everything more complicated.
Diary: Day 29. Inventory management is the real final boss. If I don't figure something out, I'm going to die buried under my own loot. Or trip on my own tail and break my neck on a crown. Either way, not a legendary ending.
Day 30
The dungeon has started testing me, not with monsters, but with logistics. I fought a floor made entirely of shifting platforms and gravity wells, all designed to punish anyone carrying more than a spare change of socks. The System chimed in, far too smug:
[Warning: Encumbrance Exceeded.
Speed, Agility, and Dignity penalized.]
I finally snapped during a miniboss fight against a swarm of mimic chests and paradox rats. I tried to swing my spear, but my own loot bag yanked me off balance. I landed tail-first in a pool of living ink. The rats laughed. The chests tried to eat my whiskey. Enough was enough.
Day 31
I sat amid the aftermath, surrounded by battered loot and a tail that twitched in frustration. "If this is a game, why can't I just have an inventory?" I growled. My Oni runes pulsed. Mana filled my veins, shadow and ember dancing at my fingertips. The System flickered with warning runes.
So I tried it. I focused on the concept of "inventory," poured my mana into the space around me, and bent the rules. Reality…did not like that.
[Skill Attempt: Spacial Manipulation (Unauthorized).
Warning: Dimensional Integrity Compromised.]
The world stuttered. Time looped. My loot began to flicker in and out of existence. A crown duplicated, then triplicated, then tried to eat itself. The whiskey barrels started singing dwarven war chants. Space twisted, and for a second, I glimpsed infinity, and it glared back.
Just as the dungeon began to unravel, a hand grabbed me by the collar (tail, beard, and all) and yanked me hard. The world snapped into focus.
Standing before me was the goddess. She looked less like a cosmic deity and more like a very, very annoyed wife who had just caught her husband trying to hotwire the universe.
Her hair shimmered with galaxies. Her eyes burned with equal parts exasperation and affection. "Really, Knox?" she said, voice echoing through every bone in my body. "You couldn't just ask the System like a normal transmigrant?"
I stammered. "I... I didn't think."
She pressed a finger to my lips. "You never do. That's why I like you. But next time you try to rewrite the fabric of existence, maybe ask first?"
She sighed, then smiled a lazy, dangerous, beautiful smile. "I'll help you this once. But remember: space is tricky. Don't store anything alive, anything you can't afford to lose, or anything you're emotionally attached to. The last guy who tried ended up with a bag of holding full of his own regrets."
She flicked my forehead, flooding me with golden light, shadow, and something like a System patch.
[System Update:
Skill Acquired: Personal Inventory (Space Forged, Divine Backed)
Capacity: [LEVEL + Intelligence] x 10 slots
Warning: Inventory is not a trash can. Abusing it may attract…attention.]
The goddess winked, leaned in, and whispered, "Don't break the universe, Knox. That's my job." Then she vanished, leaving the faintest scent of wildflowers and cosmic static behind.
Day 32
Diary: Day 32. I have a personal inventory. I am now the final loot goblin. I can store three barrels, four crowns, a cloak, half a library, and still have space for snacks. I may never be able to trust a backpack again.
Using the skill is easy: focus, will it open, and drop loot in. Everything vanishes into a pocket of shadow and ember. I can summon it with a thought. My tail approves. My beard is jealous.
The penalties are gone. I can move, fight, and loot with impunity. Monsters fear me. Mimics resent me. My dignity has (mostly) returned.
Day 33–34
The last floors before the heart are full of monsters, paradoxes, and system anomalies. I glide through them, claws flashing, tail sweeping, runes blazing. Every so often, the goddess whispers advice or scolds me for trying to store a paradox anomaly.
[Warning: Attempting to inventory the concept of "regret."
System: Denied. Goddess: Don't even think about it.]
Diary: Day 34. Inventory management is a joy. My loot is safe. My enemies are terrified. I am, for the first time, having fun.
Day 35
At the threshold of the dungeon's heart, I stand scars shining, claws itching, tail alive, Oni runes blazing, and inventory full.
The System pings:
[Week 5 Complete.
Status: Final Boss Awaits.
Title: Loot Goblin Ascendant.
New Skill: Personal Inventory (Space Forged).
Blessing: The Goddess Smiles (for now).]
Diary: Day 35. Ready or not, here I come. Hope the final boss likes whiskey and existential dread.
I grin, fangs flashing, tail flicking, hair wild and pink and glorious. I'm not just a survivor, not just a predator. I am Knox Ashford, loot goblin, system hacker, and the man who almost broke reality for a better backpack.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.