Faith in the Stars and the Chamber Pot Weapon

"As the old ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠saying goes, faith is..."

We decided to take on the Dplrus Forest search request. Before heading into the woods, Po'runga suggested stocking up on gear and consumables fit for an adventurer. With my entire fortune at around 300 GP and 30 SP, I had plenty of funds to work with.

Po'runga grumbled that it would've been better to outfit ourselves in the Trust Union rather than Cocos. "I didn't expect the requests to chain like this. Big cities have way better gear anyway."

"So, what do we do?"

"Buy from the Adventurer's Guild, duh?"

Amazing—the Adventurer's Guild! They buy monster byproducts, sell what you bring in, hand out requests, and even deal in gear and consumables? Po'runga said the quality was solid—not top-tier, but reliable. Makes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sense; if adventurers bought from the guild and got junk, it'd tank their reputation.

"Human, you really need a proper weapon. Daggers and knives are just backups."

"Got it."

She recommended a shortsword and buckler as basics. A blade about the length of my forearm and a round shield straight out of a fantasy flick. It wasn't too heavy to swing, but my form was clumsy as hell. I could strap the shield to my arm, sure, but after ten swings, my arm ached and I had to drop the sword.

"Better than nothing... right?"

She didn't mock my puny, pathetic stamina. Humans were the weakest race out there, so no surprise. That's why elves hunted them so easily, huh...

"If the gods grant a skill, even a five-year-old girl can bash a bear. Humans have the wildest individual variance, don't you think?"

"I'm seriously jealous..."

"Infinite fried chicken, booze, and water isn't more broken?"

Yesterday, when I told her about getting [Create Water] from the goddess, she looked like she'd seen every injustice in the world. Gods don't hand out skills that easily, she said. She was baffled, wondering if I was some hero reborn or something. Teased me for being the goddess's favorite. In reality, I am a hero, but admitting it would just get me laughed off as a goblin-losing loser.

"This belt's perfect."

Po'runga buckled on a utility belt loaded with pouches. I could attach my trusty attache case to the hip spot for stability. Sheaths for the sword and knife on the side, plus emergency consumables.

"Basic campfire kit, bug repellent, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠antidote just in case. Ointment for wounds. What else...?"

"No potions or throwables? Like smoke bombs?"

"Potions are alchemy guild exclusive—no stock in Cocos. Smoke bombs? Nah, not recommending. You'd blind yourself too."

Fair point. Into my case went the antidote, ointment, bug spray, map, campfire kit, steel sharpener, and more.

"Steel sharpener?"

"For honing blades."

"What about a whetstone?"

"Too primitive, don't you think?"

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world was trendier than expected... Blade oil, lamp oil for emergencies, three bottles of spirits, towels, handkerchiefs. Just for a simple perimeter sweep, and the load was this heavy?

"So heavy..."

My waist felt like it might snap. The case was so hefty, I was tipping backward. At this rate, the case itself could be a weapon...

Spending was steeper than anticipated—about 780 SP. Weapons ate the budget, especially after those slime-broken glasses. They were magic-coated to auto-adjust prescription!

"...Fantasy world's wild."

Any other handy magic tools? Staffs need mana, but... I spotted a book tucked in the corner. Leather cover, pentagram emblem—pricey-looking. But only five pages inside, structured for swapping sheets.

"That's a Memorize Spellbook. Mages use 'em to etch spells for instant casting. You know magic, human?"

"Kinda... So up to five spells?"

"Pages are enchanted. The book sucks in ambient mana. Depends on page quality, but once cast, that page's dry till it recharges."

High-quality pages for strong spells. Post-cast, no reuse till mana refill. Specific spells per page, and you had to open to the right one.

'Can't etch Maou skills here, huh...?'

Who'd make paper tough enough anyway? Only five pages, but the book's enchantments made it pricey—even mages rarely bought 'em. No wonder it was buried. I decided to splurge and checked the price.

"200 GP."

"...Mages rake it in, but they burn through it too."

Still, absurd. Hesitated, but skimping on life-saving gear? No thanks. One spirits bottle daily nets 30 SP—67 bottles for this. 2,000 SP... yeah, math checks out. Missed calculators.

"Want a calculator?"

They had those? Felt prepared now. Confirmed [Fireball] stored as magic, inwardly cheered, and left the shop.

Big spend, but an attack skill made it worth it.

"No dawdling—let's roll! You handle infinite food and water, right?"

"Yup."

We left Cocos straightaway, heading for Dplrus Forest. It was massive; even the outskirts would take a week, Po'runga said. City the size of a finger, forest like a fist—fair.

"Alright! Couldn't show off against the slimes, but check out this C-grade senior in action!"

She shadowboxed confidently. The slime flop still bugged her.

Adventurers already scouted the perimeter. Need XP anyway—let's dip in a bit, she said, striding ahead.

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Nah, trust your big sis!"

Her eyes screamed desperation to prove herself. Couldn't say no.

"Whoa..."

Inside felt like a fantasy movie. Trees taller than skyscrapers blotted the sky. Dense foliage, mystery plants everywhere. Knee-high grass hid my feet—snakes or monsters? Easy to miss. Dim, narrow sightlines made scouting tough. Sunbeams through branches painted an artificial masterpiece, but reality was savage survival documentary.

She thrust her palm out—halt. Then the inn hand signals: enemies nearby, draw weapons.

Nothing heard, nothing seen. Where?

Tense, holding breath—goblin burst from grass!

Crude stone knife, chipped from rock. Some with blowpipes in mouths.

Dart deflected, but eyes locked—camouflaged goblins rose from woven grass. One with a edged sword, maybe looted from adventurers.

Parried its swing; my shortsword bounced weakly. Lost the strength contest! Its casual one-arm slash nearly snapped my wrist. Mistake one: can't wield properly. Mistake two: no stance, pure reflex.

As I raised the buckler—shadow blocked, pulverizing the goblin's head. Kick bisected one, tail impaled another's skull.

In my two-second scrap, Po'runga massacred nine.

"Nice block, human. Know what poison goblins use?"

"Uh... no?"

"Smashed bugs or filthy muck. Deynous shrug it off with immunity, but you? Nah."

"H-how bad?"

"We regrow limbs."

"No way!" Lizards couldn't even do that... Elves powdered Deynous bones for meds, apparently. Random serious drift?

Goddess's tips were brutal. Invincible toddler horde? Hate that...

Blowpipes, camouflage, gang-ups—goblins this cunning?

Praying for attack skill, I tore the ticket.

"??????"

Chamber pot summon? For real? Chases if not emptied?

Panicking, checked skill menu.

".......?" Why would my own skill eat me?! Constellation, why this crap?

Testing anyway—summoned in hand.

"...."

A hefty silver potty materialized, gleaming with inner space. Real as hell, no denying.

"Goblins, human!!"

Po'runga yelled as I zoned on the pot, chasing. She noticed I missed signals. Why the potty?!

I was baffled too.

"Kieeeek!!"

Buckler in one hand, no room for sword—potty in the other!

Flash of insight: "metal" mimic. Perfect grip, flat base.

"Head!!"

Clang—!! Empty pot rang clear; goblin skull caved. No mere potty—constellation-grade tough! Barely dented despite lightness. Lighter than my shortsword?

"[Create Water]!"

Water filled it. Splashed rushing goblin's face—stunned by cold shock, perfect for overhead potty smash. Clang, neck gone, goblin slumped.

"Thanks, constellations! Real attack skill!"

Cheers to you, Metal Mimic (Chamber Pot)! Looks lame, punches hard!!