In the system’s storage space two identical drones hovered silently, each accompanied by its own control stick and a VR headset.

“Even the VR glasses are included,” Chen Yun said, waving his hand. On the coffee table before him appeared a silver gray drone, a matching controller, and a VR headset, all the same sleek matte finish.

The drone was a streamlined, matte silver craft a little larger than a typical lightweight UAV—about sixty centimeters tall. Its frame was compact and precise, the four rotors thick and edged with tiny serrations. Tiny one centimeter cameras sat at the nose and tail, and two small hardpoints were mounted on the belly.

The controller shared the same matte silver shell. It resembled a gamepad but felt heavier and more solid in the hand, with a buttery smooth grip. Buttons, dials, and joysticks crowded its surface, and a small high brightness LED touchscreen sat in the center, displaying flight data, a thumbnail of the video feed, and the drone’s status. The VR headset was a single piece unit that covered both eyes comfortably.

“Nice toys,” Chen Yun muttered, trying to keep his excitement in check. He lifted the controller; it felt substantial and well crafted as a piece of equipment.

After scanning the on screen manual and jotting down the basic controls, he pressed the power button on the controller.

Buzz—

The tiny LED screen lit up with a clean startup screen, then read, “Searching for devices… Connected: Drone 001.”

Almost simultaneously, the silver gray drone emitted a faint hum; its indicator lights glowed a soft blue, and the rotors began to spin almost silently.

Chen Yun slipped the VR headset over his eyes. Darkness washed over his vision for a split second, then a crisp, clear image snapped into place.

He saw himself sitting on the couch, holding the silver controller, the headset perched a little heavily on his head. In the upper left corner of the view, live telemetry scrolled: altitude, speed, battery level, coordinates, and distance.

“This is the live feed from the drone’s front camera, along with its data,” the system announced.

He nudged the left joystick. The view shifted smoothly to the left, the motion buttery fluid with zero lag. Even in the dim indoor lighting, the image stayed bright and sharp.

He tapped the camera mode button. Instantly, the world turned a vivid green monochrome; shadows in the corner of the room and the grain of the wooden table were crystal clear, as if it were high noon. Press the button again, and the display shifted to a thermal style palette: his own silhouette glowed orange red, the walls a deep blue, temperature differences starkly outlined.

“This is a real scouting tool,” he whispered, a thrill rising in his chest. “I could use it to survey terrain, track enemies, locate supplies, or set up night time alerts… I just hope it can survive the cold. In a post apocalypse, would it stand up to blizzards and sub zero temps?”

He piloted the drone toward the front door, which was ajar. The UAV slipped out noiselessly. It was deep night, but the view remained crystal clear. The drone rose, cleared the roof of his house, and the entire village of Ping Le stretched out beneath him.

Hovering a few dozen meters above the yard, Chen Yun felt a wave of reassurance.

“With this, I can keep tabs on a radius of dozens of kilometers,” he thought, the memory of a night time ambush from his previous life fading.

According to the system specs, the drone could reach 4,000 m altitude, a range of 80 km, and a top speed of 120 km/h. It could recharge normally or draw on survival points for a boost. He spent about half an hour testing the various flight modes and functions, then guided the drone back home.

The matte silver UAV slipped through the front door, hovered over the coffee table, its rotors slowing to a stop and the blue indicator lights dimming out.

“If I’d known about this reward, I wouldn’t have wasted time scouting the area myself a few days ago,” Chen Yun said, shaking his head. “Still, the environmental scan that day gave me 50 points, so it wasn’t a total loss.”

He waved his hand, pulling a second identical drone from the storage space. Two perfect copies now sat side by side on the table.

He paused, thinking out loud.

“The two drones are exactly the same—maybe that’s overkill. What if I split the duties? Drone 001 handles scouting and reconnaissance; Drone 002 focuses on armed combat.”

He added, “I’ll boost 001 for detection, and reinforce 002 to carry weapons—guns, explosives, whatever. Tomorrow I’ll start fabricating the gear we need for those upgrades.”

He glanced at the clock—3 :30 PM. “First, get some rest,” he muttered, heading toward his bedroom.

________________________________________

The Next Morning

Chen Yun woke early and headed to the yard. In a corner he found a long, uncut wooden stake stacked among the firewood.

He fetched his axe, saw, and other tools, then began hacking at the stake. After a few swings, a crooked, rifle stock shaped piece of wood emerged in his hands.

He reached into the storage space and pulled out a high draw composite bow he’d bought from a sporting goods shop.

Placing the two items together, he whispered to the system, “Special reinforcement—merge!”

A prompt flashed:

“Reinforce current items—Composite bow, low grade wooden stock?”

“Reinforcement type: Fusion upgrade.”

“Cost: 30 survival points.”

Chen Yun nodded, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

“Confirm reinforcement. Consuming 30 survival points.”

Under his gaze, the wooden stock and the bow blurred, then reshaped in an instant. Before him stood a matte black, hefty, mechanically elegant crossbow.

Its frame was angular and compact, ex uding a brutal, utilitarian beauty. A taut black string and a gleaming bolt channel hinted at lethal power.

He lifted the cold stock; it felt solid, a bit heavier than the original bow, but perfectly balanced. Pulling the assist lever, he heard a crisp “click” as the string snapped into the trigger hook.

He retrieved a carbon fiber bolt, slid it into the channel, and felt it lock into place.

“Let’s test this thing,” he said, heading back to the underground lounge. He set a half inch thick steel plate upright against the wall, stepped back twenty meters, shouldered the crossbow, and took aim.

He held his breath, squeezed the trigger…

Bang—

Clang!

A deep, resonant twang reverberated through the crossbow, followed by a metallic clang as the bolt struck the steel plate, sending sparks flying.

Rushing forward, Chen Yun saw the bolt’s tip pierced the plate, the shaft lodged firmly in the center. He gripped the bolt’s tail and wiggled it free, pulling the projectile out.

The steel plate bore a clean, bullet sized hole; the bolt’s head was flattened and its shaft cracked, while a faint white speck appeared on the adjacent wall.

He stared at the spent bolt, then at the puncture. “That’s… terrifyingly powerful,” he breathed, a chill running down his spine.

This reinforced crossbow packed firepower on par with military grade weapons, yet it was virtually silent—an ideal tool for home defense, guerrilla raids, or any situation that calls for a compact, deadly projectile.

“For now, I’ll call you ‘Crossbow 001,’” he said, running a gloved hand over the cold metal. A spark of excitement lit his eyes as he imagined the bolt flying straight into an enemy’s chest.

He let out a long sigh, steadied his racing thoughts, and stored the crossbow back into the system, returning it to the yard.

Glancing at the pile of axes, saws, and other tools, a new idea struck him. “What about building other kinetic weapons—maybe something that can store energy for a big shot?”

Just then his phone vibrated in his pocket.