The Gear Slot is for Gear
The equipment slot is there to equip gear. Chapter 2.
But no matter how hard he tries, some things just aren't meant to be.
Despite desperately fleeing from those damn goblins, scrambling for any path to survival...
"Huff... huff... no, this can't be right. Fuck."
His breath rasps in his throat, and now he truly has no strength left to run.
And the sight before him? It's like something out of the early days when towers and dungeons first appeared. A wrecked armored vehicle from the special forces unit the government sent to investigate, scattered corpses of soldiers long dead, weapons dropped nearby.
And surrounding him on all sides—goblins closing in, having formed a perfect encirclement so he can't even dream of escape.
What the hell is he supposed to say at a moment like this?
He finally gets why characters in movies, comics, or novels, backed into a corner, spout lines like, "If I'm going down, I'll take at least one of you with me!"
And just as a random slideshow of denial-fueled memories starts playing in his mind without him realizing...
"Kikik!"
"Ki-hak!"
"Kieek!"
"Ow!"
One of the goblins cackling among themselves chucks a rock at the staggering him—and it nails him right in the head.
A flash of pain hits, followed by the warm trickle of blood.
That snaps him back to reality. He's still alive, not dead yet. If he just sits here, those goblin bastards will turn him into dinner, a toy... or worst case, a breeding stock, gender be damned—just like he read about online.
He steels himself.
And at the same time, his eyes lock on nearby weapons. They're beat-up, sure, but not completely smashed. Specifically, guns—modern firearms that barely scratch low-level monsters like goblins without mana. He grabs the bulkiest-looking one...
Tucks it into his waistband like in some old movie, slings the half-rusted ammo belt over his shoulder, and decides to go down fighting.
"Last stand," that is. Of course, he's heard that without proper maintenance, a rusty gun with corroded bullets? Best case, it doesn't fire. Worst case, it blows up in his face mid-shot.
But he's about to die anyway—who gives a shit?
"Argh, you fucking... draw! You green-skinned shits!"
He heaves up the ridiculously heavy machine gun, legs wobbling way worse than he expected, and shakily aims the barrel at them.
The goblins just smirk mockingly, inching closer but ready to dodge at any moment.
Even if by some miracle the bullets fire true, he'll be hacked to pieces by their weapons once they scatter. Tears well up involuntarily.
But is it luck in misfortune? Or some twisted "fate"?
Right as he's trembling, aiming at the creeping goblins...
System Detection!
Weapon usable by Mechanic Lord detected.
Current equipped gear: None
Mounting detected weapon as user's gear per system judgment!
"...Huh?"
The status window—useless until now—suddenly blazes with light, spewing messages.
Then it straight-up absorbs the rusty machine gun and ammo belt right out of his hands.
He's watching this live, and yeah, it doesn't help, but stealing his last weapon? Rage boils up from deep inside.
But right after that thought...
You can now use 'K-3A3 Machine Gun (Ammo: 100 rounds)'!
All ammo is special rounds effective against monsters.
Proceed?
"Yes, yes, yes, yes!!"
The message confirms he can use the now-named gun with full ammo. He nods frantically, screaming his intent.
The status window registers it instantly after his first "yes."
Click!
"...Oh."
No weight at all now. It feels like an extension of his body, brand new.
Not regular bullets—ineffective against monsters—but glowing green special rounds screaming "top-tier shit."
The goblins freeze, wary instead of charging, as the rusty junk turns shiny in his hands.
"Die, you motherfucking bastards!!!"
-Bratatatatatatata-
"Kiaaaak!"
"Kek!"
"Guk!"
"Pugirek!"
He unleashes full auto, riddling the encircling goblins.
They've seen guns before, and saw him stumble under the weight, so they scatter left and right, charging.
Too bad for them—the rusty version might've been an issue, but this system-upgraded beast has zero recoil, zero weight.
Like swinging a broom—or flicking a feather.
Moments later...
-Sssshhhiiik...
Click, click!
All monsters on Tower Floor 1 eliminated!
Returning to original location shortly.
Detailed rewards and guidance available outside the Tower.
Ranking calculation... Complete.
No preset nickname for climber, registering as ' ' (blank) on rankings.
"Huuuuh... I won!!!"
He dumps every last round. The goblins are shredded beyond recognition.
The last one? Out of ammo, he shoves the red-hot barrel down its throat.
The clear message pops up, promising exit.
A cheerful portal home appears. He steps through, already itching to check rewards and details.
But the second he hits the bed at home...
Was he really surviving on stats? Or just dopamine and adrenaline?
Sleep and fatigue crash over him like a truck. Eyelids droop like lead.
Yeah, tomorrow's gonna be full-body soreness for sure.
With that trivial thought, he passes out.
The problem? Next morning when he wakes...
"Yawwwn... Huh? Not sore?"
No crippling muscle pain like he feared. He feels refreshed, mood soaring.
But only briefly.
"Oh yeah, I'm an EX-grade trait owner now."
Recalling yesterday, his internet ghost urges him on. He fires up his PC and dives online.
"Uh, um."
Hunter forums and public opinion ablaze about him. He's stunned.