<blockquote>


    It’s been four days since I came to this world.


    It’s been a wild ride so far, and things don’t seem to be getting easier. But I have been getting stronger.


    With more practice, I’m starting to see hope at the end of a very, very long, dark tunnel.


    Man, it really does look like a long tunnel…


    </blockquote>


    So far, mana seemed similar to stamina. By pacing himself and taking time to rest, he found that he could sustain it for longer periods. And here was the genius part of his training:


    <blockquote>


    If I need firewood, I first manipulate the wood to drain it of moisture — that gives me water to drink, and it makes the wood super dry, so it burns better!


    Then I reshape it again for more EXP. Double win!


    </blockquote>


    Over time, his [Matter Manipulation] had climbed to Level 3. He proudly held up one of his creations — a small dirt cup.


    <blockquote>


    Well, it somewhat resembles a cup... if you squint long enough.


    </blockquote>


    An audible sigh escaped him. A dim glow came from his phone screen:


    Battery: 50%


    “Halfway gone, huh? I guess keeping this diary on my phone won’t last for very long, eh, Pointius Maximus?” he said, tilting his head toward his almost-pointy stick. He’d become oddly attached to it since using it to slay the mighty blue slime.


    “Well, I guess I should get started with the day. Breakfast was barely edible, which is way better than my last few meals of ‘burnt to a crisp.’ So that’s progress!”


    He stood up and surveyed his makeshift camp — surprisingly functional after four days. A leaning frame of logs draped with large leaves formed his shelter. A small fire pit was surrounded by stones to retain heat. A one-foot-high dirt wall stood nearby.


    <blockquote>


    Any tiny invaders would take at least a few seconds longer to climb over that.


    </blockquote>


    “Alright, let’s review mana regeneration,” he said, talking to the stick, which now stayed holstered through a loop on his belt.


    “Eating roasted berries gives me 2 mana per big handful. Napping gives me 1 mana per hour. Overexerting myself gives me a temporary exhaustion debuff that slows recovery. Conclusion: mana regen = eat → sleep → repeat.”


    After a short walk, he arrived at the river. He knelt down and drank deeply, then began to strip.


    “We’ve got to stay clean, Pointius Maximus! It’s important not to smell like a hobo in case we meet someone. I mean, if I saw a hobo in the wild, I’d run the other way!”


    He stepped into the cold water slowly. “Oh man, this is cold! Maybe I should’ve asked for the power to heat large bodies of water. Then I could’ve made a hot spring… and it would attract all the beautiful ladies… and…”


    He paused, wincing.


    “Okay! You’ve been alone for four days. That’s all. Get a hold of yourself, man!”


    He had designated training zones now — piles of sticks, stones, and leaves arranged for repeated practice. First, he dried the wood, then reshaped it into different forms: pointy sticks, sticks with holes, bent sticks — none of it impressive, but the effort mattered.


    He even worked with rocks. His magic wasn’t strong enough to do much with them, but little by little, he could chip away at them — creating real rock dust.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    This went on for several more days.


    Nights were the hardest.


    Even with the fire lit, his mana regenerating, and a full belly, the silence always crept in. He’d lie beneath his leaf shelter and stare at the sky.


    <blockquote>


    I used to dream about this, you know. Escaping my jobless life. Waking up in a fantasy world. Getting powers. Becoming someone important…


    But I didn’t think it would be this… lonely.


    </blockquote>


    Then it happened.


    [Mana]: Lvl 3 – Remaining: [18/30][Matter Manipulation]: Lvl 5 – EXP: [5/160]


    “Let’s go! Level 5 in Matter Manipulation! It’s taken a ton of hard work, but we finally did it, my brave stick friend! And as promised… it’s time to upgrade you.”


    He approached the pile of sticks — his personal armory. Pointius Maximus sat proudly on top.


    “Here we go. By combining several sticks, there should be enough matter to…”


    He placed both palms on the pile. A warm glow spread as the sticks began to merge, intertwining and reshaping themselves into something new.


    When it was done, he held a short wooden sword — clearly defined, cleanly pointed, and — dare he say it — majestic.


    “We did it! We actually did it!”


    The sword glowed on its own. Text floated above it:


    [Pointius Maximus]


    Wooden Sword


    ATK: 5 DEF: 1 SPD: 0.5


    “Wait… are those attributes? Did I just make something this world recognizes as a real weapon!?”


    He pumped his fist. “HELL YEAH!”


    His celebration, however, was short-lived. A low growl echoed through the trees.


    “…Oh crap. I think I pissed off the wolves.”


    A single wolf emerged from the underbrush — head low, eyes locked. He raised the sword and braced for impact.


    The wolf lunged — fast, too fast. In a blur, it passed by him.


    But… he wasn’t hit.


    He spun around, heart racing — and saw the wolf, standing behind him with a deer’s throat in its jaws. It had tackled a buck mid-pounce and was now dragging the fresh kill toward him.


    “…Oh. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”


    The wolf’s tail wagged.


    “You want me to cook this? Are you hungry, boy?” The wolf dropped the deer and panted excitedly.


    He dragged the carcass back to camp and lit a small fire. Then, grabbing a log, he reshaped it into a crude wooden knife.


    “Okay, boy. I’ve got zero experience here. Let’s see if I can get something edible without ruining all of it.”


    It took hours, but he managed to remove the hide and skewer a few chunks of meat over the fire.


    Soon… black smoke.


    “OH CRAP! Burnt it again!”


    The wolf huffed in disappointment, tail slowing to a thump. Then, without hesitation, it trotted to the rest of the carcass and began eating raw.


    “Wait! I can do better! Just let me try one more—”


    But it was too late.


    He sat with the last skewer of charcoal deer, watching the wolf lie content next to a fully stripped skeleton.


    “I guess that’s fair. You did hunt it after all.”


    He took a bite of his burnt meal.


    “Still… It''s nice to finally have meat again. Even if it is burnt to a crisp.”


    He lay down under his shelter, the warmth of the fire crackling beside him. The wolf curled up nearby, its breathing slow and steady.


    He smiled. Genuinely.


    <blockquote>


    Maybe… just maybe… things are about to get a little bit better.


    </blockquote>