The city of Winston was no longer a place of stifled whispers and shifting shadows. It has been a week and under the swift, compassionate governance of the new Lord of Winston, Lady Irene, the streets had been scrubbed of the Mero Company's oily influence, replaced by the frantic, thrumming energy of a frontier hub.
But while the politics of the city had stabilized into a new era of peace, the local economy was about to experience a localized earthquake—one measured not in tectonic shifts, but in the clinking of gold.
The source of the tremor was a small, soot-stained building that had stood as a silent, defiant sentinel for decades: Khan's Smithy.
For years, the forge had been cold, and the shelves had gathered nothing but the grey dust of despair. Today, the massive oak doors were flung wide, and the rhythmic, guttural roar of the bellows sounded like the awakened heartbeat of a giant.
In the center of Winston's main square, where players gathered to haggle for carriage rides or argue over the minutiae of hidden quests, a man stood atop a weathered wooden crate. He didn't wear the plate armor or anything. As an Orator, his voice carried a sonic weight that made the bustling crowd freeze in their tracks.
Huroi, his skeletal frame filled out by a few days of proper meals, took a deep breath. "Citizens! Travelers! Seekers of the ultimate power!" Huroi shouted, his voice amplified by the [Orator's Resonance] skill. The skill vibrated through the air, bypassing the chatter of the market and striking directly at the listeners' ears.
"Have you ever felt the bitter bite of a blade that refused to dull against the hide of a monster? Have you ever trusted your life to armor forged not by a mindless machine, but by a soul fueled by pure, unadulterated skill?"
The players began to drift toward him like iron filings to a magnet, drawn by the sheer, magnetic charisma of his delivery.
"At Khan's Smithy, the Hero blacksmith has finished his trials! A grand inventory purge of over five hundred master-crafted implements is occurring at this very moment! Normal-grade items with hidden stats that rival the Rare-grade trash of the capital! Rare-grade items that will make you the undisputed king of your party! Move now, or remain mediocre forever! The forge is hot, and the market is hungry!"
The effect was instantaneous. Like a school of piranhas sensing a drop of blood in the water, the players turned as one and surged toward the smithy in a chaotic, clattering wave of leather and steel.
Inside the shop, the atmosphere was a volatile mix of a high-end luxury boutique and a medieval battlefield. Khan stood behind the main counter, his eyes misty with a joy he hadn't felt in years.
After being bullied and marginalized by the Mero Company, seeing his smithy alive with the scent of hot iron and the sound of customers was the best medicine he could ask for.
But the real power lay in the "staff" Arthur had assembled.
Arthur, Alfia, and Meteria stood at different sections of the long wooden display tables, and wall racks which were literally groaning under the weight of hundreds of newly forged items.
"The balance on this claymore is mathematically perfect," Alfia explained to a Level 85 Warrior, her voice calm, authoritative, and impossibly sharp. "The weight distribution allows for a 3% faster recovery speed after a missed swing. It is a Normal-rank item by the standards, but I assure you, you won't find better treated item in the entire Eternal Kingdom."
Nearby, Meteria was assisting a group of elite Archers, her keen, hawk-like eyes pointing out the micro-fletching and the aerodynamic curve on a batch of Jaffa-arrows, a rare ranked 'failed' batch of Grid. "These won't just hit the target; they will hunt it," she said simply, and the archers scrambled to open their purses.
Arthur stood near the heavy weapons section, his towering presence and silver-white hair acting as a natural deterrent to anyone thinking of getting too rowdy in the crowded space.
Beside him, Cecil was guiding mid-level players through a selection of Rare-rated items she and Arthur had contributed to the stock.
"This spear has an increased crit rate of 4%," Cecil noted, her voice steady. "It was forged in the same heat as the weapons that liberated this city."
Further down the line, Nana was demonstrating a one-handed sword's capabilities on a reinforced wooden dummy. With a blur of motion, she executed a perfect horizontal slash, the blade passing through the target with a whistle. "Inspection passed," she chirped, and the crowd erupted in bids.
And then there was the security. Piaro sat on a high stool in the darkest corner, his straw hat tilted low over his eyes. He looked like a simple, weary farmer, but his aura was that of a mountain hawk.
Every time a player's hand lingered a second too long near a high-value dagger, or a "stealth" class tried to slip an item into their inventory under the cover of the crowd, Piaro's gaze would lock onto them.
The sheer, suffocating pressure of his killing intent was enough to make players break out in a cold sweat, their hands trembling as they dropped the items and backed away.
At the center of this hurricane of commerce sat Grid. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't being "welcoming" or "customer-friendly." He sat behind the primary ledger with a face like a mask of iron-clad greed, his eyes darting between the gold coins and the inventory list.
A Level 110 Knight player approached the counter, holding a sturdy pair of reinforced gauntlets. "Hey, these are great, but 45 gold is a bit steep for a Normal rank, don't you think? How about we call it 40? I'm a regular in Winston, and I'll tell my whole guild about this place. Think of the marketing!"
Grid didn't even look up from his ledger. "Forty-five gold. Take it or leave it."
"Come on, man! It's just five gold! In the capital, I can get—"
"The price just went up to forty-six for wasting my time," Grid snapped, his eyes flashing with a dark, petty, and legendary light. "Do you see the line behind you? There are twenty people waiting for those exact gauntlets. If you can't afford it, get out of the way. I'm not running a charity for the poor or a soup kitchen for the under-leveled. This is master-crafted steel, you beggar! Move!"
The Knight player spluttered, looked at the growing crowd of eager buyers breathing down his neck, and frantically slammed 46 gold coins onto the counter before someone else could snatch the armor.
"Next!" Grid shouted, his fingers flying with the speed of a professional dealer as he counted the coins. 'Taxes? Tax-free! Lord Eral said no levies! Every single coin is mine! Hahaha! I can almost smell the fried chicken in the real world already!'
As the sale reached its peak, the players began to share the stats of the items they had managed to snag on the local forums and city chat. The "Normal" rank items coming out of Grid's hammer were consistently at the absolute upper limits of the system's possibilities, often outclassing Rare items from NPC shops.
[Sturdy Iron Breastplate]
Rating: Normal (Well-crafted)
Requirement: Level 80, 180 Strength.
Defense: 142
Durability: 120/120
Attribute: Weight reduction 5%.
Description: A breastplate that focuses on the basics. Because it was forged with legendary focus, it is slightly lighter than standard issues.
Price: 280 Gold.
[Heavy Steel Mace]
Rating: Normal
Requirement: Level 100, 250 Strength.
Attack Power: 188~205
Durability: 200/200
Attribute: 10% chance to ignore 5% of the target's armor.
Description: A brutal weapon made for crushing. Its density is remarkably high for a standard forge.
Price: 150 Gold.
[Balanced Steel Longsword]
Rating: Rare
Requirement: Level 100, 200 Strength.
Attack Power: 215~238
Durability: 180/180
Attribute: Attack Speed +5%. Critical Hit Rate +3%.
Description: A masterpiece produced by a blacksmith who has begun to understand the flow of metal. Its balance is impeccable.
Price: 450 Gold.
By sunset, the smithy looked like it had been hit by a localized cyclone. The long display tables were bare, the display racks were empty, and the air smelled of sweat, frantic trade, and the metallic tang of thousands of copper and gold coins.
Grid slumped back in his worn chair, his hands cramped into claws from hours of counting gold and scratching the ledger. The total was staggering. 574 items—the result of his "training" and his desperate race to clear his debt—had been cleared in a single afternoon.
Because of the tax-free status and the use of Khan's old stockpiles, the profit margins were astronomical.
"21,450 gold..." Grid whispered as he counted his share. His voice trembling as he stared at the final number. He began converting it into Korean Won in his head. 'That's... that's enough to pay off a massive chunk of the debt. I can eat meat every day!
Khan walked over, his face glowing with a pride that eclipsed the sunset outside. He placed a heavy, warm hand on Grid's shoulder. "You did it, my boy. You've brought the soul back to this place. Pagma would be proud to see the people clamoring for his successor's work."
Arthur stood by the door, watching the last of the players linger outside in the twilight. He looked at Grid, who was currently hugging a massive sack of gold coins and weeping tears of pure, unadulterated joy.
Arthur and Cecil's own sales were equally impressive. Because they had sold higher-level, high-durability Rare items, their combined share was almost 50,000 gold. Thanks to Grid's "no discount, no mercy" policy, they hadn't lost a single copper in haggling.
"He's a Legend who cares more about a single copper than the fate of a kingdom," Arthur noted, shaking his head with a smirk. "But I suppose that's what makes him Grid. He's the only man who can turn a liberation into a liquidation sale."
Alfia and Meteria began to tidy the shop, their movements efficient and silent. Piaro stood up, stretching his back until it popped. The "farmer" looked at the empty shop and then at the rising moon.
"The production is good," Piaro murmured, his eyes reflecting the forge's dying embers. "But tomorrow, we must train. Gold doesn't sharpen the mind, and wealth doesn't protect the neck. Only the experience of combat does that."
Grid didn't hear him. He was too busy recounting the 21,450 gold for the sixth time, making sure not a single penny had vanished into thin air.
Winston was now officially the City of the people, and the legend of the "Grumpy Blacksmith" was spreading across the Eternal Kingdom like wildfire.