While Arthur was dancing through the Gray Marsh of Patrain like a golden phantom, bathed in the loyal glow of Alfia's magic and Meteria's spirits, another "Legend" was currently engaged in a very different struggle.
In fact, if Arthur's journey was an epic poem written in ink of gold, then the journey of Shin Youngwoo—known to the world of Satisfy as Grid—was a slapstick comedy written in crayon and tears.
In the desolate, northern reaches of the Eternal Kingdom, far from the warmth of Ozuna's Inn and the aromatic scent of roasted mutton, Grid was currently face-down in a pile of gray, ash-like dirt.
The Bone Valley was a place of eternal autumn, where the wind whistled through the ribcages of dead drakes like a funeral dirge.
Grid was chewing on a piece of bread so moldy it looked like it was growing its own ecosystem. It was "Stale Rye Bread," the cheapest consumable in the game, providing a pathetic +1 to stamina regeneration at the cost of a "Nausea" debuff that turned the user's vision a sickly shade of green.
"Unfair... it's just so damn unfair," Grid mumbled, his voice muffled by the grit in his teeth and the soggy texture of the mold. "Those bastards at the S.A. Group... they're targeting me. I know it. Lim Cheolho probably has a giant screen in his office—a 100-inch 8K monitor—just to watch me suffer. Why is the drop rate for 'Wolf's Sinew' lower for me than anyone else? Why does the wind always blow against my face? Does the air have an AI script to spite me?"
High above him, perched on a jagged obsidian crag that overlooked the valley floor, a shadow shifted. This was Koren, a high-level Stealth Assassin and a loyal subordinate of the Great Magician Ashur. His mission was simple but tedious: observe the "vessel" tasked with retrieving Pagma's Rare Book and relay every detail of his progress.
Koren pulled out a magical recording crystal, his hand trembling—not from the biting northern wind, but from the Herculean effort required to keep from laughing out loud and revealing his position.
It had been one month since Grid began the quest for Earl Ashur. In that time, his "progress" had become the primary source of entertainment for the elite assassins of the Ashur household. When the shadow-guards gathered for drinks in the city, they no longer talked about their kills; they talked about "The Grid Chronicles."
Grid had reached the fourth hurdle of the quest, but the cost was staggering. His level, which had boosted to a respectable 89 after an unexpected windfall, had plummeted to Level 82. Most people gained levels during epic quests; Grid was the only person Koren had ever seen who seemed to be leveling in reverse.
"Look at him," Koren whispered into the recording crystal, his voice thick with suppressed mirth. "He's trying to use 'Stealth' again. He doesn't know the basics of stealth, yet he persists."
Below, Grid stood up and pulled his ragged hood over his face. He began to move toward a pack of Level 100 Skeletal Warriors guarding the path ahead. His version of stealth involved walking in an exaggerated, wide-legged crouch that looked like he was trying to pass a kidney stone.
He was holding his breath until his face turned a vibrant shade of purple, and occasionally, he made "whooshing" noises with his mouth—apparently under the delusion that vocalizing the sound of the wind would magically bend light around his frame.
CRACK.
Grid stepped on a dry, calcified femur that stood out from the dirt like a landmine. In the silence of the Bone Valley, the sound was equivalent to a gunshot.
The Skeletal Warriors turned in unison, their vertebrae clicking like castanets. Their hollow eye sockets suddenly flared with intense blue balefire, locking onto the purple-faced man crouched in the middle of the path.
"DAMN DEVELOPERS!" Grid shrieked, instantly breaking his "stealth" to sprint in the opposite direction. "WHY IS THE GROUND SO LOUD? FIX THE PHYSICS ENGINE! MY SHOES ARE TOO HEAVY!"
He spent the next twenty minutes being chased through the canyon, screaming about class balance and "privileged players" who probably had quieter boots or better RNG on where they stepped.
Koren recorded it all, noting that Grid's running form was surprisingly efficient—likely because he had practiced running away more than any other skill in life.
After losing the skeletons by squeezing into a narrow crevice that nearly claimed his life via a "Suffocation" prompt, Grid eventually found himself overlooking the heart of the Bone Valley.
It was a graveyard of ancient drakes, where the gargantuan ribs of prehistoric monsters formed a canopy of white needles against the leaden sky.
In the center of the valley, perched atop a pedestal made of fossilized dragon dung, sat the Shimmering Fire Drake Core. It was a Rare-tier quest item, glowing with a faint, enticing orange light that promised progress and, more importantly, gold.
"Finally," Grid panted, wiping a mixture of sweat, dirt, and moldy bread crumbs from his forehead. "If I get that core, I can sell it for some gold. I can finally buy a decent meal. I can buy a beer that doesn't taste like horse piss. I can pay off my intrest of my debt... no, wait, I need to repair my boots first."
Koren watched from above with genuine curiosity. The descent into the Bone Valley was treacherous—a steep 80-degree incline of slippery, calcified bone shards that were as sharp as razors.
Most people would use a climbing kit, a levitation scroll, or at the very least, a length of sturdy rope. But Grid had a piece of common string and a dream.
"He's actually going for it," Koren muttered, leaning so far over the ledge he nearly fell. "Wait... what is he doing with his boots?"
Grid was currently spitting on the soles of his boots, rubbing the thick saliva into the leather with a frantic, desperate energy.
"The friction," Grid muttered to himself, his eyes bloodshot with greed. "Water creates a vacuum... or surface tension... or something. I saw it on a science documentary once while I was eating instant ramen. This is high-level physics. Pro gamer moves. The S.A. Group thinks they can stop me, but they didn't account for my IQ."
Grid stepped onto the bone slope. For exactly three seconds, he looked like a professional mountaineer, his feet finding purchase on the slick surface. On the fourth second, the "physics" of his spit-and-leather theory failed him spectacularly.
"WHOOOOOAAAA!"
Grid's feet didn't just slip; they flew out from under him as if he had stepped on a banana peel made of liquid nitrogen. He didn't slide gracefully; he tumbled. He became a human pinball, bouncing off the massive, curved ribs of a Fire Drake.
THUD. CRACK. SLAM.
Koren's eyes went wide, the recording crystal nearly slipping from his fingers. "He's... he's actually gaining speed. He's a projectile now."
Grid was hurtling toward a particularly sharp, upright spinal column that jutted out of the ground like a spear. In mid-air, spinning like a panicked windmill, Grid realized his trajectory was terminal.
Most people would have tried to shield their vitals or close their eyes. Grid, however, saw the Shimmering Fire Drake Core as he flew past it at forty miles per hour.
"IF I'M GOING TO DIE, I'M DYING WITH THE LOOT!" Grid screamed, reaching out an arm with the desperate, grasping hunger of a man who had nothing left to lose.
His fingers brushed the core, snatching it into his hand just as his body hit the sharp bone spire.
SHLUCK.
The bone pierced Grid's skull through the temple and exited through the opposite side of his chest. It was a 100% Critical Instant-Death, a masterpiece of architectural gore.
[You have died.]
[Experience has decreased by 10%.]
[Thief's gloves have dropped upon death.]
[Your level has dropped to 81.]
Koren stared down at the corpse dangling from the bone spire. The Fire Drake Core rolled out of Grid's dead hand—since he had technically died before the item could be fully "registered" in his inventory during the split-second transition to the gray death screen—and fell into a deep, unreachable crack in the valley floor.
"He... he killed himself to loot the item, only for the item to drop back out because he died while holding it," Koren whispered, his voice trembling with a sudden, violent emotion.
He finally lost it.
The elite assassin, trained in the cold arts of death, buried his face in his cloak and began to howl with laughter, tears of pure joy streaming down his face. "This is art! This isn't a player; this is a tragic comedy written by the gods to punish arrogance!"
Back in the capital city of the Eternal Kingdom, Earl Ashur sat in his private study, surrounded by ancient scrolls, bubbling alchemical vials, and the oppressive silence of a man who held the fate of a kingdom in his hands.
The door opened, and Koren stepped in, still looking slightly out of breath, his face flushed.
"Report," Ashur commanded, his voice cold and sharp. "Has the fool retrieved the book? Is he nearing the tomb? My patience is not infinite."
Koren hesitated, trying to regain the professional, stoic demeanor required of a high-level subordinate. "My Lord... the subject is... consistent. He has completed the fourth hurdle, albeit through a series of events that defy logical explanation. However, his death count has reached thirty-seven. He is currently Level 81."
Ashur's brow furrowed. "He is losing levels? I gave him a simple quest, and he is becoming weaker?"
"He claims the gods of this world, I assume—are conspiring against him, sir," Koren said, his lips twitching. "He spent three hours today yelling at a rock because it tripped him. He threatened to sue the mountain. And... he recently attempted to use 'Suicide Looting' in the Bone Valley. It resulted in a total loss of the objective and a cranial impalement."
Ashur rubbed his temples, feeling a sudden, sharp headache. "Is he a genius hiding behind a mask of incompetence? Or is he truly just a madman?"
"He is... Grid, sir," Koren replied. "There is no other word for it. But he is persistent. I'll give him that. He is currently eating moldy bread in a ditch near the respawn point and swearing that he will make the world pay once he becomes a 'Ranker'."
Ashur sighed, waving a hand to dismiss his scout. "Continue the observation. If he dies three more times, I want a full psychological profile. I need to know if I've sent a mentally unstable man to retrieve the key of my vengeance."
While Grid was respawning at a respawn anchor nearby, sobbing about the lost items and the unfairness of the universe, Arthur was standing in the Gray Marsh of Patrain.
Arthur's twin blades were clean, reflecting the fading sunlight. His level was rising like a rocket, his stats were perfectly optimized, and he was surrounded by beautiful women who looked at him with adoration and respect.
He was the [Prince of the Eternal Sun], a man who had manipulated the very logic of the world to claim his throne. He was the ideal Player—the one the system was designed to reward.
But in a dark, muddy corner of the North, a man with no talent, no luck, and a bottomless pit of spite was picking himself up out of the dirt yet again. Grid wiped the grime from his face, his eyes burning with a petty, dangerous fire.
"Just you wait," Grid hissed, shaking his fist at the indifferent sky. "One day... one day I'll be the one laughing. I'll buy a sword so big it'll cut the moon in half! I'll buy the S.A. Group and fire everyone who worked on the Bone Valley mechanics! And I'll charge the Developers for the repairs to my boots!"
The two 'Legends'—the Prince and the Fool—were on a collision course, though neither knew it yet. One moved with the grace of a king; the other tumbled with the persistence of a cockroach.