The Trash King's System

The Useless Skill

Chapter 1: The Useless Skill

The heavy iron doors of the Assessment Hall groaned as they slammed shut behind Deyvok, muffling the roar of laughter that followed him like a physical blow. The midday sun was blinding, but it did nothing to chase away the chill that had settled deep into his marrow.

"Did you see his face? 'Recycle.' What a complete joke," a voice boomed from the threshold.

Deyvok didn't turn around, though his knuckles whitened as he gripped the straps of his worn satchel. He knew that voice—Oskar Veynd, the golden boy of the district, whose skill was a Rare-tier ‘Flame Burst.’

"Hey, Rhamelis! Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Oskar shouted, his cronies cackling in sync. "Maybe if you dig through enough trash, you’ll find a skill that’s actually useful. Oh wait, you already have one for that, right?"

"Leave it alone, Oskar," Deyvok muttered, his voice cracking.

"What was that? Speak up, scrap-boy," Oskar sneered, stepping closer. "Are you going to recycle my words? Or maybe you're planning to turn my boots into scrap metal?"

"I said, leave it alone," Deyvok repeated, his pace quickening toward the edge of the city.

"Pathetic," Oskar spat, turning back to his admirers. "The Guild will never look at a guy like that. He’s a walking waste of space."

Deyvok broke into a run, not stopping until the polished white stone of the city’s upper district gave way to the jagged, grey sprawl of the Scrapyard. Here, the air tasted of ozone and oxidized iron. It was where the city discarded its failures, and today, it felt like the only place that would have him.

He collapsed against a pile of rusted corrugated sheets, his lungs burning. The silence of the dump was heavy, broken only by the distant clatter of automated sorting machines.

"System," Deyvok whispered, his throat raw. "Show me the status."

A translucent blue panel flickered into existence before his tired eyes.

[Status: Deyvok Rhamelis]

[Class: None]

[Skill: Recycle (Level 1)]

[Description: The ability to break down and reconstitute base materials. Current efficiency: 0.01%.]

"Zero point zero one," he choked out, leaning his head back against the cold, jagged metal. "I’m a laughingstock. Even the System thinks I’m garbage."

He hadn't eaten since the previous night. His stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting pain that reminded him of his insignificance. If he couldn't prove this skill meant something, he’d be kicked out of the residence hall by the end of the week.

"Come on," he hissed, reaching out to touch a mangled, rusted pipe embedded in the dirt. "Just work. Give me something. Anything."

The interface flickered, turning a sickly, unstable amber.

[Target Identified: Degraded Iron Pipe.]

[Initiate Recycle? (High Stamina Cost Required)]

"Yes," Deyvok gasped, his hand trembling as he pressed his palm flat against the corroded surface. "Just do it."

"Hey, you! What are you doing over there?"

Deyvok flinched, his focus shattering. A scavenger—a tall, wiry man in a patched leather duster—was picking his way through the rubble a hundred yards away, his eyes narrowed.

"Is that you, Rhamelis?" the scavenger shouted, squinting. "Did you lose your mind or just your way, kid?"

"I'm just… I'm just working," Deyvok called back, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Working? In the dead zone? You’re wasting your time. There’s nothing left in that sector but rust and rot. Even the rats don't bother with that section."

"Just stay back!" Deyvok barked, turning his attention away from the man and back to the pipe.

"Whatever, kid. Starve out there for all I care," the scavenger muttered, turning away.

Deyvok squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a sudden, violent tug in his gut, like a hook pulling at his soul. The cold iron beneath his palm began to pulse. It wasn't the dull heat of a forge; it was a rhythmic, humming vibration that sent tremors up his arm.

"System, pull everything you have into this," Deyvok groaned, his vision blurring.

The rust flaked away in violent, glowing showers of sparks. The brown, pitted surface of the pipe began to liquefy, swirling like molten silver beneath his hand. He felt his energy draining—not just his stamina, but his very will to stand—pouring into the object.

"What... what is happening?" he whispered, his body swaying.

The pipe wasn't just being cleaned. It was being transformed. The jagged edges smoothed, the dull grey took on a translucent, crystalline luster, and the weight of the item seemed to shift, becoming denser, more refined.

[Recycle Successful.]

[Conversion: Degraded Iron Pipe -> Mithril Shard (Grade: Superior)]

Deyvok’s knees hit the dirt. His breath came in ragged, shallow hitches. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and his mind was clouded with a crushing fatigue. But as his hand slid away, his eyes widened.

The piece of iron was gone. In its place sat a jagged, glowing shard of pure mithril. It pulsed with a soft, dangerous violet hum that seemed to cut through the oppressive atmosphere of the dump. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

"I did it," he breathed, his hand hovering inches above the glowing material. "I actually did it."

The hum of the mithril grew louder, vibrating against the scrap metal around it. It was no longer a quiet, discarded object; it was a beacon, singing out into the stillness of the yard.

From behind a mound of discarded gears, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"Wait a second," the scavenger shouted, his voice closer now, fueled by sudden, manic greed. "What the hell is that light? Rhamelis! What did you find?"

Deyvok scrambled to cover the shard with his tattered jacket, but the violet glow seeped through the fabric, casting long, frantic shadows against the junk piles. His exhaustion was absolute, his legs refusing to obey his commands.

"Stay back!" Deyvok yelled, his voice thin and desperate.

"Is that... is that Mana-forged?" the scavenger gasped, his footsteps quickening, the heavy crunch of his boots on gravel sounding like a death knell. "You better drop it, kid! You’ve got no idea what you’re holding!"

Deyvok looked at the shard, then at the shadow looming over the mound of scrap. He had gained something of immense value, and in doing so, he had invited the very danger he had spent his life trying to avoid.

"I'm not letting you take it," Deyvok whispered, though he didn't know if he was talking to the scavenger, the System, or his own dying resolve.

The shard hummed again, louder this time, a sound like a heartbeat made of starlight. The scavenger broke through the pile of scrap, his eyes wide, his hand reaching for the rusted short-sword at his hip.

Deyvok realized then

that the Recycle skill hadn't just given him a treasure; it had just placed a target on his back.