Goodie was tired.

He had gone to bed in the early afternoon the day before, waking up sometime in the A.M. because of it. Roughly around two A.M. by his best guess. Thankfully, he had that little lantern of his to give him enough light to see by, otherwise, he would have had to spend all that time just lying in bed with nothing but his own thoughts for company. A living hell as far as he was concerned.

Instead, he chose to spend the night…or morning rather, trying to find uses for his abilities. Not for the ‘big picture’ plan that he had been trying to stick to these past few days, but for a more personal use.

His run-in with Mr. Mayor and his goons had made him realise that in a combat situation, the cards he could play were both few in number and limited in their capabilities. Something he should have learnt when he had to deal with that noble fop back in the city.

But what would you expect from someone with only ‘5’ points in intelligence, he had thought at the time.

While engineering, production, and all that, did have potential combat applications, they were more suitable for addressing his larger concerns. No, he had to rely on a different plan. Not a new one, thank fuck. He knew he was getting obsessive with plan making, wasting time on what he should be doing instead of actually doing it. No, the plan he needed had already been thought out by millions of RPG geeks and DnD freaks back on earth, Gods bless them.

First, he needed to think about what class he needed pick. Technically, he had already picked his class, but the classes he had been thinking about were not the ones that you would normally find in fantasy games, but the ones often used by minimalists, metas, and min/maxers. By this, he meant Snipers, crowd controllers, Supporters, tanks, and so on….

He could, of course, have become an all-rounder, but he had neither the time nor ability to do so, and he was concerned that if he overloaded himself with techniques, he would just end confusing himself when it came time to fight. What he had read over the years all agreed that those who focused in a particular area could still excel even without talent, and that those who practised everything would master nothing.

As for his actual class, though it severely limited him, there was still room for him to grow, to expand his repertoire, and further define his build.

The obvious choice, given his class, abilities and cowardly nature, was to become a sniper. In a game, he would rely on summoning a wall of minions to protect him while he picked his enemies off from the back. A strategy that would not be possible as he only had one summonable creature th…no, he thought, he had two. Or at least that ability to summon two creatures. He had nearly forgotten that he had yet to get himself a second summon.

But what would he be able to get around here?

This time, barring an opportunity to get a creature that could heal people or possessed some other special ability, he wanted to pick something large. Even if it was not powerful, it’s size alone would have been enough of a deterrent in most cases, he thought, and if it was big enough, he could have had it pulling his truck-waggon instead of having to rely on that one summoner’s beetle all the time.

Unfortunately, with the years of overhunting that had led to both the severe depletion of the local wildlife and the extreme laws concerning environmental protection, the choice he would have would still be limited to rats, dogs, and common insects. Not exactly ideal. No, he would have to wait until the waggon train exited the territory and hope for an opportunity to present itself to him.

No, he thought again. Eric said he could not in the other territories either.

What if he ran across a creature that had already died? Would they come after him for that? Yes, yes, they would. The royal pricks would screw a foreigner over anything.

And…his summon would start out at level zero like Her Majesty had. With no attributes, it would just be a glorified illusion. Not entirely useless, but not what he needed.

He had sworn to himself after that. Not some grand oath, just some words that should never be repeated in polite company. Then he returned to his original train of thought. He had been thinking of classes…gone over sniping…so, it would be tanking next. A class that specialised in being able to taking as much damage as possible. The ideal tank being an unstoppable immortal.

Something he wanted very much, but as his physical attributes were well below average, he doubted he would be able to go down that road.

As for the attacks themselves. While he had an extremely long-ranged attack, it relied on his shadow stuff, which at the moment was only capable of momentarily blinding a person, or when used on a surface, cause them to slip.

As for bomb attacks, he had no explosive powers, nor did he know how to make anything that would go bang. Of course he ‘knew’ how to make gunpowder. Any geek who had read isekai would know the basic recipe; sulphur, charcoal, and saltpetre. But if someone actually presented him with those substances, he would have no clue as to what to do with them. What the hell does saltpetre look like anyway?

Area of effect attack; he could summon his shadow stuff out of the palm of his hand with enough force that it would spray over a distance of three metres…or was that a shotgun attack? He could not remember. Anyway, it still had the problem of only being able to blind people, or causing them to slip.

Then there were also traps. Something he could set-up in strategic locations to deal with anyone who triggered them, he would not even need to be in the area for them to work, but despite having an actual skill for it, he lacked the mind and patience to properly implement it.

His attacks were too limited; he needed more ways to hurt others, he thought.

It was a desire that would have had him locked up on earth, or at the very least medicated up to his eyeballs. But here, in this world? It was the equivalent of thinking about what groceries you needed to buy from the market.

Not being able to think of anything more on the subject, or at least anything of actual value, he then turned his focus to health. To all the ways that someone could damage him. There were far too many.

There was a bit of crossover with the ‘health’ from the thirteen areas of management games, but not enough that he could just skip thinking about it.

He started with the head. It was the most vulnerable part of the body, no matter what others may say. A zombie might not fall, but a single headshot would have a human drop like a rock.

He would have to start wearing his armour, not just for his noggin, but for the rest of his body as well. The suit of leather armour that had been made from the skin of a gator-dog had been left in his closet with the rest of his equipment. Foolish perhaps, but they had proven to be of little use in this village, so he had opted to save himself from the effort of lugging it around. That would have to change.

His eyes would be his most pressing concern after that. He again worried about whether or not his shadow stuff was toxic or not. So, thinking that it would be better to sacrifice one rather than both, he summoned a thin layer of it over his left eye. Surprisingly, there was no irritation at all. He then went on to adjust its translucency. It turned out that he could change the level of if anything, he would have a convenient set of sunglasses at least.

Problem was he would not be able to use them without knowing in advance or having at least some warning of what was to come.

His ears were a similar situation in that he could block them easily enough, but again, only after he knew that he had to.

His nose? Also blockable, but he would still need to breathe. Also, how would he detect poison gas? Same problem with the mouth.

Then came his skin, his body. Aside from wearing better armour, the only thing he could think of was to try and increase his resistance, but he was not going to become a masochist just so he would not feel it when he stubbed his toe.

For a long while, he just lay there thinking.

He could not level his skills by killing anymore, so he had to resort to simply using them as much as possible. But even after activating all his little methods of protection, it hardly made a dent in the rate of his mana regen.

He started summoning shadow stuff, matching the amount being created with his regen rate. The effort feeling like he was holding his stomach in, not super difficult, but every time he lost concentration, it would slip out of control. As his hand filled with the substance, ink-black in this form, it began to drip on the floor. He watched for a second, before realising that the sound of dripping would give him away if he was trying to hide. Plus, it was annoying…and people would have a problem with him staining their floors. The stuff would degrade, but they would not know that.

Changing its form was a simple exercise; the stuff turning more solid, a fine powder cascaded of his hand onto the floor below. Still messy, and it was tickling his skin for some reason.

If not a liquid or a solid, then gas would have to do.

He watched as the contents of his hand turned to vapour, then disappear as it dispersed into the ether.

It was too visible with it being concentrated within his palm. So he spread the generation of it over his entire body. Minute amounts being created all across his skin.

Like magical body odour.

Gods, he thought, his insecurities were going to jump all over that.

With that sorted, he had run out of ideas. He spent a moment to think of more, but eventually gave up as nothing had come.

Not wanting to fall asleep, he took a walk outside.

Despite it still being dark, he could feel the heat rising.

It was going to be a long day.