The Frostlight Orc Base was not a single fortress, but a sprawling complex of ice-carved caverns and obsidian caves nestled within the treacherous "Frost Valley."
It was a place where the wind didn't just blow; it screamed, a high-pitched keening that could shatter brittle iron and freeze the lungs of the unprepared.
But for seven days, this theater of natural extremity was transformed into a slaughterhouse of systematic perfection.
The sun never truly rose over the permafrost, remaining a pale, bruised violet smudge on the horizon. Yet, the valley was never dark.
Arthur's party acted as a localized star, burning through the Level 120 and 130 zones with the cold, relentless efficiency of a diamond-tipped drill.
Arthur, Alfia, and Meteria moved as a single organism, a triad of destruction that turned the environment into an ally.
Their Giant Bear Unique Sets were the key; while the Frostlight Orcs relied on the biting cold of the area to inflict "Frostbite" and "Slow" debuffs on intruders, Arthur's party moved with a fluidity that bordered on the supernatural. To them, the blizzard was merely a scenic backdrop.
On the front lines, Nana and Cecil were a study in contrasting lethality.
Nana, her Sun Sword glowing with a heat that caused the very air around her to shimmer, was a whirlwind of precision. At Level 120, she had moved past the basic forms of swordsmanship.
She moved through the Orc ranks like a hot wire through ice. Every strike was a "Clean Kill"—a surgical decapitation or a heart-pierce that left the Orc's valuable hide untouched.
"Step aside, filth," Nana hissed, her blade describing a perfect horizontal arc. Three Orc warriors, their iron-studded clubs raised to strike, froze in place.
A thin line of steam erupted from their necks before their heads slid off in unison, cauterized by the Sun Sword's heat.
Beside her, Cecil was the embodiment of the "Blacksmith-Berserker." She wielded her twin spears not just as weapons, but as tools of structural demolition.
While Nana focused on finesse, Cecil focused on the "Softening." She would drive a spear through an Orc's knee, shattering the bone, then use the second spear to puncture the skull's temple.
"Their armor is garbage!" Cecil shouted over the roar of the wind, her face smudged with green Orc blood that froze into crystals the moment it hit her cheeks. "Arthur! The iron in their bucklers is low-grade! Should I even bother?"
"Take it all, Cecil!" Arthur's voice rang out, clear and commanding despite the gale. "Slag can be refined! Every scrap is a brick in our fortress!"
By the dawn of the seventh day, the atmosphere in the valley changed. The constant chimes of the system—the "ping" of loot and the "thrum" of experience—had become a steady rhythm, a heartbeat of progression. They had cleared the outer bastions, the inner sanctums, and the subterranean ice-pits.
Finally, as Arthur brought his blade down through the skull of the Frostlight Chieftain, a blinding flash of golden light erupted across all five of their status windows. It was a synchronized ascension.
[System: Congratulations! You have reached Level 150!]
[Followers Alfia, Meteria, Nana, and Cecil have reached Level 150!]
Arthur exhaled, a cloud of steam erupting from his lips. His stats had stabilized at a level 150 but his constant blacksmithing pushed his stats passes what should be a level 200 player.
Now his dignity stay is so high that it made the surrounding air feel heavy, almost regal. At Level 150, he had officially crossed the threshold of a "Ranker" in terms of raw stats.
In the eyes of the S.A. Group monitoring him, he was now a Tier-2 player, just below Tier-1. A threat to the game's projected timeline. To the world, however, he was still just the "Unknown Blacksmith"—a ghost who sold masterpieces and vanished.
The base was littered with the remnants of the Frostlight tribe. Unlike the Giant Bears, the Orcs were a civilized monster race, meaning their loot tables were far more diverse and structured.
Arthur spent the afternoon cataloging the mountain of riches they had extracted from the frozen earth.
* Enhancement Stones (Normal & Blessed): They had collected over four hundred. In the current market, these were the lifeblood of the high-level gear economy. Players were desperate to push their gear past the +6 and +9 safety limits; Arthur now held enough "Blessed" stones to create a +10 set for his entire party.
* Frostlight Orc Leather: Thousands of rolls. This leather possessed a natural "Thermal Inversion" property. While the Fire Bear hide provided cold resistance, this this bluish frostlight Orc leather was a perfect insulator against heat. It was the primary ingredient for High-Tier Fire Resistance armor—the exact gear needed to raid the volcanic regions of the south.
* The Crown Jewel: 127 Sylphide Scales: These translucent, shimmering scales were harvested from the Frostlight orcs. They were weightless, feeling like frozen wind in the palm of the hand.
"This is enough to arm an elite battalion," Alfia noted, leaning on her staff. Her mana pool had expanded to a point where she could maintain high-tier spells for hours without fatigue.
She looked at the shimmering scales but doubt Arthur's plan. "But Arthur, why are you hoarding the Sylphide scales? With your current 'Aspiring Blacksmith's creation skill', you could forge the legendary Invisibility Cloaks yourself. Why wait?"
Arthur looked at the shimmering scales, his eyes reflecting the pale violet light of the valley.
"I have the skill, Alfia, but I don't have the slots," Arthur replied, his voice carrying the weight of calculated foresight.
As a [Pagma's Apprentice (Unique)], Arthur was a master of his craft, but he was bound by the logical limitations of his current class tier. He had only one slot for creating a "Craftsman Original" blueprint.
To use it now on a standard Invisibility Cloak would be a waste of his potential. He needed that slot for something that would change the world.
Arthur knew the "Protagonist" of this world's destiny was about to stumble into a much more versatile class.
'Grid,' Arthur thought, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. 'He's currently face-down in the dirt of the Bone Valley, cursing the gods because his boots are too loud. But eventually, he'll find the Legendary Class. A Legendary Blacksmith gets three slots for original designs.'
Arthur had a plan that would make a veteran Wall Street broker weep with envy. He wouldn't waste his precious development slot. Instead, he would wait for Grid to obtain the Pagma's Successor class.
When Grid eventually designed the revolutionary Hooded Zip-Up—a piece of gear that combined high-tier defense with the casual utility of modern clothing—Arthur would be there.
"I'll give him twenty Sylphide scales," Arthur murmured to himself, ignoring the confused looks from Nana and Cecil. "In exchange, I'll take the blueprint for the Zip-Up. He gets the materials for a cloak he can't yet afford, and I save my craftsman slot while gaining a superior, modern design. It's a win-win... mostly for me."
To commemorate their Level 150 milestone, Arthur stood in the center of the Chieftain's throne room. The walls were lined with ice-statues of Orc ancestors.
"Nana, Cecil, watch closely," Arthur said.
He didn't draw both blades. He used only the Prodigy Sword. His movement was not a swing, but a vibration of reality.
"[100,000 Army, Massacre sword!]"
His blade moved in a blur that was invisible to the naked eye. The air in the room shattered with the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking at once.
A dozen Frostlight Orc statues surrounding the throne weren't just cut; they were reduced to fine powder instantly. The pressure wave was so precise that it didn't even singe the fur on Arthur's own cloak.
Nana's jaw dropped. Cecil's eyes turned into saucers. Even Alfia and Meteria, who had seen his growth from the beginning, felt a shiver of true awe. This wasn't just "high-level" combat. This was the technique of a monster.
But it wasn't without any drawbacks, his 20,000 mana vanished in the air along with that sword technique. Making his reseeves literally dry.
[Warning!]
[MP: 3,190 / 35,682]
It was low but not low enough to drink a mana potion.
"It's time to go back," Arthur said, sheathing his sword as the dust of the statues settled.
'Winston has been quiet for too long. And I believe our neighbor, Mr. Shin Youngwoo, is about to make a very big mistake that will require our... intervention.'
Arthur began the process of packing. Thousands of leather rolls, the scales, the enhancement stones—all vanished into his Infinite Inventory.
To any observer, the Frostlight Orc Base would now look like a ghost town. The inhabitants were gone, the treasures were gone, and the only thing remaining was the whistling wind.
As they stepped out of the valley, Arthur looked back at the obsidian caves. He was Level 150. He had millions in gold, a war-chest of rare materials, and a party that could challenge a mid-sized guild on their own.
"Cecil," Arthur said as they were walking down the mountains, "When we get back, we are just blacksmiths. As for Khan's problem it will be handled eventually."
Nana asked being confused, "But Arthur, why aren't we moving against them? Now that we have power."
"It's not that simple, if we do the work what should the people of Winston should be doing then they will dependent on us. They need to realize that it's their problem not ours. And we aren't there for wiping their mess." Arthur said firmly.
"But Khan..." Meteria was about to say something but then Arthur cut her out and said, "If worse come to worst, I'll just buy khan's smithy with the 13 million Gold I have. I believe Valmont would agree a 2000 Gold smithy in exchange of 13 million Gold."
"What if he didn't agree with your proposal?" Alfia asked, but the answer she got send her chills.
"Then there would be no Winston, No Mero company and no Baron Lowe. The calculations are that simple. I'll take khan and leave the Winston burning. If Eral Steim isn't able to clean his filth, I'll just have to burn it so he can see it clearly this time." Arthur said. For him the people who once sold their shops lands houses out of greed to Mero company aren't any better. They are the people cut out of same cloth.