The collapse of the Yatan Temple was not the end of a conflict, but the violent beginning of a legend.
As the dust settled in the ruined basement, coating the jagged stones in a fine, grey powder, Doran and Lady Irene stood huddled together near the entrance of a secret escape tunnel.
The air was still thick with the ozone of spent magic and the metallic tang of blood. Through the haze, they are waiting for the silhouette of the silver-haired youth, Arthur.
To them, the truth was fundamentally clear: Arthur was a 'Player.' He was one of the immortal souls who had descended upon their world from a different dimension.
They understood the mechanics of his existence—that even if the ceiling had crushed his bones or the Blood Witch's crimson fire had pierced his heart, he would simply coalesce elsewhere in the world, unburdened by the permanence of death.
But that knowledge only served to make his actions more profound in their eyes.
Arthur didn't wait for the dust to clear to claim his prize. He didn't check to see if they were watching with eyes full of gratitude. After ensuring the path to the tunnel was clear and the remaining black magicians were too broken to pursue, he did something that defied every logic the denizens of Satisfy held regarding players. He simply turned his back.
There was no demand for gold. There was no lingering for a "thank you" that he could parlay into a quest reward. He didn't even ask for a formal introduction to the Earl. He simply vanished into the shadows of the upper corridors, his presence flickering out like a guttering candle in a vast, dark cathedral.
By the time Doran reached the exit, Arthur was gone. He hadn't logged out; he had simply walked away from the greatest fortune a player could dream of—the gratitude of an Earl.
Three days later, the atmosphere in the grand hall of the Steim Estate was suffocating. The air was thick with a heavy, respectful silence that felt more like a religious vigil than a military briefing. Earl Steim, the stern Guardian of the North, sat upon his throne, his face a mask of iron as he listened to Doran's report.
Doran stood in the center of the hall, his missing arm bandaged, his voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and raw awe.
"He knew he was immortal, My Lord," Doran said, bowing his head. "He knew he could have died a thousand times and returned. That's why he secured the retreat for me and the lady. He knows that he can die a 1000 times and come back but that's not the same case for us. And when the task was done... he didn't even look back. He gave us his service, his protection, and his life's effort—then he vanished into the night without asking for a single copper."
Lady Irene sat by her father's side, her delicate hands trembling as she clutched a scrap of cloth Arthur had dropped—a simple, blood-stained bandage. To her, it was more precious than a silken banner.
"He treats his immortality not as a license for greed, but as a duty to the weak," Irene whispered, her eyes shining with tears. "To provide such a service and disappear into the mist... is he even human, Father? Or is he a saint sent to remind us of what true nobility looks like?"
Earl Steim stood, his heavy armor clanking. His eyes blazed with a cold, righteous fire that sent a shiver through every knight in the hall. In the world of Satisfy, players were often viewed as loud, greedy mercenaries who would sell their own honor for a handful of silver. Arthur's quiet exit had shattered that stereotype, replacing it with a myth.
"A hero who asks for nothing cannot be repaid with gold," Steim declared, his voice booming through the rafters. "If he seeks no reward, then I shall offer him the only thing a warrior values: Justice. The Yatan Church believed they could strike at my blood and go unpunished. They were wrong. They have awakened a dragon they cannot put back to sleep."
Suddenly, across the entire continent, a series of gold-bordered windows erupted into the vision of every player.
[Regional Announcement: Earl Steim has declared a 'Crusade of Vengeance'. All Northern gates are open for war!]
Arthur's Private notifications also started to blink.
[Hidden Quest Result: 'The Silent Benefactor' achieved.]
[Reputation with the North: +60,000 (Holy Reverence)]
[Your Virtue stat was increased by +500 points!]
[Title Acquired: The Shadow of the North]
Arthur sat in a dimly lit, nondescript tavern in Patrian, staring blankly at the system messages scrolling across his vision like an endless waterfall of gold.
[The 'Earl Steim' has dedicated the first conquest of the war to 'The Nameless Hero'.]
"I just wanted to avoid them for now," Arthur groaned, his forehead hitting the sticky wooden table with a dull thud. "I thought if I disappeared mysteriously, I'd avoid the butterfly effect of meeting them too early. I didn't think they'd interpret it as some grand, selfless philosophy!"
«Kukuku!» Madra's laughter echoed in Arthur's mind until the ghost's mental form flickered with mirth.
«You sought to avoid the 'small' rewards of a common mercenary,» Emperor Haicyen said, analizing the situation, «While doing so, you've become a 'Great' symbol. They don't just admire you now, boy—they worship you. The Earl is mobilizing ten thousands of troops and spending millions of gold because he's 'inspired' by your lack of greed. You've accidentally started a crusade!»
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's better if the Yatan servants are thinned out. They are troublemakers anyway. Yatan is the God of demons... why the hell are humans worshipping him?"
«The thing called the human heart is mysterious, boy. Do not seek logic in the desperate. Don't mind it; focus on your training. Piaro will chew you out if he sees you slacking, and your 'Legendary' status won't save you from his drills.» Madra said reminding Arthur.
While Arthur was accidentally ascending to sainthood in the North, the world's internal gears were turning to correct another anomaly.
Arthur had tried to guide Shin Youngwoo (Grid) toward Winston, hoping to pair him with the legendary blacksmith Khan early on to smooth his path. But the world possessed a certain inertia—a "Fate Correction".
Grid did not go to Winston.
Driven by a sudden, inexplicable urge to "step out of Arthur's shadow" and find his own fortune, Grid had boarded a carriage for the city of Bairan. He believed that if he followed Arthur's advice too closely, he would never be more than a sidekick.
"I am a Legend!" Grid told himself, standing in a dirty alleyway in Bairan. "I don't need that pretty boy's charity. I'll make a weapon so incredible the world will tremble!"
He opened his production interface and activated the [Legendary Blacksmith's Creation] skill. His mind, clouded by a mix of shonen anime tropes and a desperate need to look "cool," went to work.
He didn't design a practical sword. He designed a monstrosity. It was a massive greatsword shaped like a Great White Shark, its "teeth" serrated to tear flesh, its hilt a literal dorsal fin. It was flashy, it was absurd, and it was utterly fantasy.
[Item Created: Failure (Greatsword)]
[Rating: Epic~Legendary]
[Usage Condition: Level 300 or higher. Strength 5,000 or higher.]
Grid stared at the screen, his jaw hitting the cobblestones. Level 300? The current highest ranker in the world wasn't even Level 300. Strength 2,000? He was Level -1.
He had spent his precious limited creation skill slot on a weapon that literally no one on the planet could wield for the next three years.
"Why..." Grid whimpered, falling to his knees in the mud of the alley. "Why is this happening to me?! I'm a Legend! I'm supposed to be rich!"
The local NPCs and passing female players glanced into the alleyway. They saw a half-naked man (he still hadn't bought a shirt to save money) crying over holding his head.
"Don't look, dear," an NPC mother told her daughter, pulling her away. "That's just a 'Broken Soul.' They're common among the immortal travelers."
A group of high-level female players walked by, whispering. "Is he a pervert? Why is he crying in his underwear?"
"Probably a failed gambler. Stay away, he looks like he'll ask for copper."
Grid's wails echoed through Bairan, a stark contrast to the heroic crusade being fought in Arthur's name in the North.
The world had returned to its natural order: Arthur was an accidental icon of virtue, and Grid was once again the most unfortunate "Legend" in history, trapped in an alleyway with a shark he couldn't swing.