Chapter Two: The Dumpster Culture of Broken Steel – An Experience Not to Be Missed

Once again traversing through time and space, Selris felt utterly bewildered. He could hardly comprehend why he had arrived here. In his memory, to commemorate the one-year anniversary of his arrival in the World of Shattered Iron, he had been using a certain peculiar object’s psychological invisibility to cling to a wall built by the Amber King, attempting to pry off some gems. Then, for reasons unknown, his vision went black, and suddenly he found himself on this bustling street crowded with voices.

Where is this place? (in the tone of Patrick Star)

He had a strong premonition that he had come to a region quite distant from the star domain under the Amber King’s protection. Looking inward, he realized he had made a tremendous leap on the path of “Pioneering.” Over the past year, he had been a nameless wanderer, traveled many places, and even, on a few whims, ventured beyond the walls into areas untouched even by the Star God of Pioneering. Yet, until now, he had never ventured this far along the path of “Pioneering.”

Unlike in games, in reality, Pathwalkers are not confined to a single path. Human nature is complex, often harboring diverse and ever-changing views of the world.

One may wield “Intellect” to enact “Destruction,” like the “Scholar of Extinction.” Another, like the “Silent Hunter,” may execute “Patrol” fueled by “Memory.” Therefore, when calling a Pathwalker “a Pathwalker of such and such,” it is not about which path they have taken, but rather how far they have traveled on that path or how they choose to identify themselves.

This often results in the “Tavern” sometimes being empty of even a single joyful Pathwalker.

At this moment, the foul stench—an unpleasant mixture of garbage and horse manure—wafted into Selris’s nostrils, causing him to frown. He lightly tapped his collar, and instantly an invisible bubble formed around his head, enveloping it. The air he inhaled became crystal clear. Though items sold by the Interstellar Peace Company were expensive, the knowledge society under its purview truly produced remarkably useful inventions.

Then Selris pulled from his pocket a palm-sized silver cylindrical container resembling a trash can with a flip-top lid. Beyond its container form, it had muscular, sinewy limbs, its arms folded across its chest, exuding a strong sense of power.

The silver barrel’s vertical grooves accentuated its slender figure, akin to a dancer gracefully captivating onlookers. Its elegant frame, adorned with gray-black spots and rust, revealed a refined aura. This was the composure and confidence of an elder artist’s work—a classical beauty difficult for modern eyes to fathom.

Suddenly, a cloud of white appeared before him, bearing a strange narration.

Ignoring the inexplicable narration, three days ago, this thing bore the label: “Ciallo～(∠・ω”

Yuzu’s kitchen steamed goose heart.

It first called itself Little Haha; Selris nicknamed it Erha.

A gentle breeze stirred dust upon it, as graceful as a startled swan, as fluid as a wandering dragon. One could not help but marvel: such a barrel should only exist in the heavens, rarely seen in the mortal realm.

If placed by the roadside, it would be a magnificent treasure chest—this is the meaning of pioneering.

Alas, it was no ordinary treasure chest anyone could casually open. This was a portable spatial folding suitcase developed by the Erudite Society, which Selris named “Prison Barrel Lad.”

Of course, the appearance was customized by Selris himself. Such avant-garde artistry was rarely understood by others, often leaving him somewhat troubled.

To put it plainly, it was the rebellious phase manifesting through nonconformity to assert one’s uniqueness.

Selris shrugged indifferently. After all, he had a like-minded comrade—none other than the famed Galactic Bat Hero.

He had formed a good acquaintance with the Galactic Bat Hero aboard the Starbound Train; they were affectionately called General Big Barrel and Sergeant Little Barrel.

With a light tap on the lid, Prison Barrel Lad obediently loosened its crossed arms and opened the lid with one hand. As Selris reached in, a visual distortion warped his hand, shrinking as it approached the opening until it vanished entirely inside, like an abstract image seen through a funhouse mirror.

Walking aimlessly amidst the crowd, Selris retrieved a pair of deep blue sunglasses from inside Prison Barrel Lad and put them on. The lenses were not smooth; they appeared to be assembled from many small mirrors, each reflecting a different scene as if time itself had been fragmented.

The world before him was split into dozens of shards; people and objects alike appeared broken and chaotic yet interconnected under this peculiar filter.

Memories of people, memories of objects—the world reflected everything it had recorded, disorderly yet orderly.

This was the perspective of “Memory.”

Looking at a gentleman beside him wearing a semi-tall silk top hat, some common knowledge seeped into Selris’s mind through these glasses, products of the Flowing Light Memory Court.

This was Tingen City in Ahhwa County, northern territory of the Rune Kingdom. A year typically had 365 days divided into twelve months, each about thirty days. Today was June 27th. The nation’s currency comprised pennies, sules, and gold pounds. The Runese mainly worshipped the Night Goddess, the Lord of Storms, and the God of Steam and Machinery. The moon in this world was red. Emperor Rossel was the greatest historical figure: a politician, military strategist, writer, inventor, and adventurer...

As these facts entered his mind, Selris felt a strange familiarity with these settings, and the names of these gods seemed especially recognizable. When Emperor Rossel’s name surfaced in his thoughts, Selris abruptly halted.

He understood the source of this familiarity: these settings were from a novel he had read before—“The Lord of the Mysteries.”

Hmm? Why is there water on my hand? Has it started raining?

No, it was not water—it was sweat.

So that was it; he was already drenched in perspiration.

Ah, this suffocating feeling, like a constricting serpent.

He even suspected that Haha was playing a trick on him.

“I’m telling you! I want to see this! That Outer God beating Selris to the ground must want to recruit him for stellar efforts!”

Unlike most novels, where a person who knows the plot beforehand gains many advantages when transported into the story world, this novel was somewhat different. Or rather, some of its settings were quite unfriendly to those who crossed over—because here, knowledge was poison.

Like a trash can filled with rotten eggs, even the self-proclaimed King of Trash, the Galactic Bat Hero, knew better than to rummage through it.