The evening air in Winston was cooling, the forge's roar reduced to a rhythmic, orange heartbeat.
Arthur's group had just returned from the Direwolf Forest, the scent of pine and monster musk still clinging to their cloaks. Grid, encased in his cobalt armor, was preening like a peacock, his mind occupied by the intoxicating tally of his new levels.
Then, the heavy oak door of the smithy creaked open.
A man stepped into the light of the dying embers. He was slim, dressed in a sharp, understated tunic that spoke of wealth without the vulgarity of gold chains.
He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with a delicate finger, his eyes—cool and analytical—sweeping the room.
Behind him, the iron-shod boots of two soldiers from the Baron's guard regiment rang out against the stone floor, a stark reminder of the legal weight he carried.
He turned toward Khan, offering a polite, practiced bow.
"Are you Khan? It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I am Rabbit, an employee of the Mero Company."
The visual was a jarring contradiction. For a man representing the predatory corporation that had hired outlaws to harass an old man, he looked remarkably gentle.
His face was a mask of civility, but to Arthur, the facade was as thin as parchment. This wasn't a businessman; it was a viper in a silk vest, his true venom hidden behind a mild expression.
Arthur watched from the shadows of a cooling anvil, his eyes narrowed. Beside him, Khan grew rigid, his hands trembling slightly as he faced the architect of his misery.
"You owe six hundred gold to the Mero Company," Rabbit began, his voice smooth and devoid of malice, as if he were discussing the weather.
"But according to our records and the reports I have received, you lack the liquidity to pay off your debt. A tragedy, truly."
"Rabbit, was it?" Arthur interjected, stepping into the light. He leaned against a support beam, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp enough to draw blood.
"How about I pay the Mero Company back ten times the amount Khan owes? We can settle this right now, in cash." Arthur proposed as he wanted to see the crack in the mask.
Rabbit's head tilted slightly. He didn't look surprised; he looked amused. "That won't do, I'm afraid. The contract specifies that the debt belongs to Khan, and he—and he alone—must satisfy it from his own earnings. If he attempts to leverage a loan from a 'third party' or an external source, he violates the integrity of our agreement. In such an event, the Mero Company retains the full right to seize the collateral immediately. And the collateral, as you know, is this smithy."
The gleam in Rabbit's eyes revealed the trap. The contract hadn't been a loan; it was a slow-motion execution.
"As expected," Arthur said, a cold smile touching his lips. "The Mero Company doesn't want the gold. You want the land. You want the smithy. So, what's the catch? You didn't come here just to recite a contract we already know is rigged."
Rabbit smiled, a thin, bloodless curve of the lips. "I want to give you an opportunity because I have a high opinion of the talent housed within these walls."
"Opportunity?" Khan spat the word like it was ash.
"Yes. Your blacksmithing skills, Khan, are top tier in this region. I wish to purchase those skills. The Mero Company will take formal ownership of the smithy to settle the debt, but we will transfer the operating rights back to you. We will provide the materials, the marketing, and a very handsome salary. You keep your hammer; we simply keep the deed."
It was a gilded cage. The Mero Company would own the soul of the forge, while Khan became a well-paid slave.
"In other words," Khan growled, his face reddening, "the Mero Company will be the dog sitting on my head?"
"Haha, you speak such rough words," Rabbit chuckled, though his eyes remained frozen.
"And if I refuse?" Khan probed.
Rabbit's expression shifted to one of genuine confusion, as if the concept of 'no' was a foreign language. "You refuse? Why? The alternative is total bankruptcy and homelessness. These conditions are far superior to your current trajectory."
"I'm not afraid of losing a job!" Khan roared, slamming a fist onto a workbench. "I won't hand over this smithy. It has been in my family for generations. I won't let it become a factory for your greed!"
"Hrmm... Indeed." Rabbit touched his chin, looking at the ceiling. He began to speak his thoughts aloud, a peculiar habit of a man who viewed the world as a series of logic puzzles.
"Then should I use armed force? No, it is a shame to use such a savage method so soon after the outlaw incident. Can I sue the blacksmith for breach of contract? No, the courts are sluggish. Khan is stubborn... what is the most efficient way to break his resolve?"
"Rabbit," Arthur cut in, his voice dropping an octave. "Are you really not afraid of Earl Steim? What do you think will happen when the Earl finds out the Mero Company is strangling the local craftsmen and manipulating the Baron's guard?"
Rabbit turned his gaze to Arthur, the calculation simple and cold. "Mr. Valmont has purchased exclusive market management rights from Baron Lowe. We paid our taxes in full, and ahead of schedule—unlike the village folks who often skip theirs for years. Who do you think the Baron would favor? The productive engine of the Mero Company, or a sentimental old man who can't pay his bills?"
He adjusted his glasses again. An idea had formed.
"Khan, I would like to see if you truly qualify to keep this smithy. How about a wager? A competition. Compete against a blacksmith the Mero Company will provide. If you produce an item superior to ours, I will admit you are the rightful owner. I will even erase your debt as a gesture of goodwill. But if you lose... you must admit you are obsolete and hand the deed to us without further fuss. How about it?"
It was the classic "Item Production Game." In the original flow of the world, this was the moment Grid would take center stage.
Arthur caught Khan's eye and gave a subtle, sharp nod. Trusting the young man who had saved him, Khan squared his shoulders. "I understand! I accept!"
"Ohh, a wise choice," Rabbit purred, seeing the old man walking into the spider's web.
"However," Arthur interjected, stepping forward to block Rabbit's view of Khan. "Khan hasn't been at the forge consistently. His health is recovering, and his hands aren't as steady as they once were. As his benefactor, I insist that his successor participate in the game instead."
Rabbit's expression stiffened for the first time. He looked past Arthur toward Cecil, who was still smoldering with rage. "Khan's successor? Was it you, or the girl hammering in the back?"
"You are misinformed," Arthur said, his hand sweeping toward the corner where a man in cobalt armor was currently trying to pick a piece of dried wolf meat out of his teeth. "Over there. He is Khan's successor."
He pointed directly at Grid.
Rabbit stared. Grid, still soot-stained and looking like a bewildered beggar, froze. As a Blacksmith, Grid looked every bit the incompetent fool Rabbit expected.
"Hoh... I see?" Rabbit's voice was laced with a hint of mockery. "He looks... remarkably unrefined. You want him to represent the honor of this forge? Are you certain?"
"Do I look like a man who jokes about his interests?" Arthur asked, his ruby eyes glowing with a terrifying certainty.
"Well, it is fine with me. In fact, I am grateful," Rabbit said, his eyes gleaming behind his lenses. He wouldn't even need a master from the capital. A regional journey-man could wipe the floor with a novice who looked that clumsy.
Inside Grid's head, the world was spinning. 'What is he doing? Why is he pointing at me? I was just enjoying my levels!'
Suddenly, a system chime rang in his ears, and a golden window bloomed in his field of vision.
[The quest 'Item Production Game with the Mero Company!' has been created.]
"...What is this?" Grid's eyes were the size of saucers. 'Arthur must be insane! He didn't ask me! He just signed my life away to a glasses-wearing snake!'
"No, hey, Arthur—" Grid started to protest, his face turning a panicked shade of red.
"Shh! Keep it down," Arthur hissed, leaning in close. "Do you want to power level or not? Do you want to keep that Unique rank Guardian armor?"
The mention of his levels and gear acted like a physical muzzle. Grid went silent, his mouth hanging open.
"Why me?" Grid whispered frantically. "There's you! There's Cecil! She's a genius! Why would you pick the guy who just hit Level 30?"
"Because you are a newbie," Arthur whispered back, a devious glint in his eye. "Rabbit is a calculator. He sees a Level 30 novice in a soot-stained rag. He won't waste money hiring a Grandmaster from Saharan Empire. He'll hire a regional master, someone 'just good enough' to win cheaply. But you... you are the Successor to Pagma. Your 'low level' is a lie. You will crush whatever mid-tier smith he brings."
Grid's eyes darted back to the quest window.
[Item Production Game with the Mero Company!]
Difficulty: A
Clear Conditions: Win the game.
Clear Rewards: +500 Reputation in Winston. Massive Affinity increase with residents. Ownership of Khan's Smithy (eventual). Title: Khan's Successor.
Failure Penalty: Minimum Reputation. Loss of the Smithy.
'The rewards...' Grid's greed, always his strongest trait, surged. 'If I win, this shop... this massive property in a growing town... it becomes mine when the old man retires. I'll be a landlord! A legendary landlord!'
The failure penalty was steep, but the reward was a life of luxury. Grid's fear evaporated, replaced by the predatory hunger of a man who smelled a jackpot.
"Why would I refuse? I accept the quest!" Grid shouted, standing as tall as his rags contradict with his expression.
[The quest has been accepted.]
Rabbit looked surprised. "Hoh? The successor is not avoiding the challenge? He is surprisingly confident for someone who looks so... green."
"What's so surprising?" Grid barked, crossing his soot stained arms. "Look at my face. I'm the picture of confidence! I'll out-forge anyone you bring!"
"Huhut, confidence can be a potent medicine or a deadly poison," Rabbit said, turning toward the door. "Very well. The competition will take place in the town square in exactly two weeks. Prepare yourselves. Farewell until that day."
As the door clicked shut behind the Mero Company, the tension in the room snapped.
Alfia stepped forward, her eyes narrowed at Arthur. "You are playing a very dangerous game, Arthur. What happens if the idiot loses? We lose our base of operations. We lose everything we've built here."
Arthur didn't look worried. He looked at Grid, who was already muttering to himself about how much he could sell the smithy for in the future.
"Don't worry," Arthur said, his voice smooth and absolute. "I have a Plan B ready if Grid somehow fails to be himself. A cornered rat with a legendary hammer is a dangerous thing."
He turned toward the kitchen, the fire of the forge reflecting in his eyes. "Now, let's prepare dinner. We have a Legend to train, and two weeks is a long time for a man who knows how to cheat the system."