The air in Khan's smithy was no longer filled with the warm, rhythmic scent of toasted iron. It was thick, heavy, and scorched.
For six days, the forge had been a theater of desperation. Grid had become a ghost of himself—his eyes bloodshot, his hair matted with soot, and his movements driven by a frantic, jagged energy that bordered on madness.
He had started with 16,710 gold. It was a fortune he had painstakingly "sheared" from the knights of Winston and his earlier flash sale.
Each Level 160 [Durable Longsword] cost 950 gold in high-grade Black Iron, specialized quenching oil, and high carbon anthracite coal.
Grid had calculated he could afford seventeen attempts. He had hummed a tune during the first twenty hours, convinced that his legendary status would carry him.
[Durable Longsword]
Rating: Normal
Durability: 250/250
Attack Power: 200
* Description: A sword made by a craftsman with great skill and potential but lacking in experience and reputation.
* It won't be easily damaged after being tempered for a long time.
* User Restriction: Level 160 or higher. More than 950 strength. Intermediate Sword Mastery.
* Weight: 600
One attempt flew away. Grid felt like he want to curse the system. However, the value of the materials couldn't be returned. He barely moved his legs that were trembling from anger and approached Khan.
"How much will this sell for?"
Khan looked at the sword for a long time before replying cautiously. "It is around 800 gold."
"WHAT! A Loss..." Grid screamed, staring at the notification. "I spent 950 gold to make an 800-gold piece of junk?!"
A level 160 item would have a better basic performance than a level 120 item. Normal rated items had no options, while rare items had a small option attached. Depending on how the options were set up, a level 120 rare item often outperformed a normal level 160 item. Therefore, the prices of the two items didn't vary greatly.
People with money were more likely to buy the level 120 rare item than the level 160 normal item.
"In other words, get rid of the normal items…"
Khan tried to comfort Grid. "But your equipment is good even with a low rating, so you won't see a big loss. Please be comforted by that."
'Comfort… Hah, this is really messed up.' Grid was mourning for his 150 gold loss.
By the third day, Grid's "Tears of Salt" had returned in full force. The probability was a cruel mistress. He had poured his heart into the second sword, only for it to emerge as another Normal. The third? Normal. The fourth? Rare.
Khan had tried to comfort him with tea and wise words about "trial of gods," but Grid had simply screamed at the ceiling, accusing the game operators of manipulating the drop rates to ruin his life.
In the real world, Shin Youngwoo sat at the dinner table like a statue of defeat. He didn't even have the energy to argue with his sister, Sehee.
He stared at a braised short rib for five minutes, his mind trapped in the furnace of Satisfy. He took the bones and started to lick it.
"Oppa? Why are you sucking that bone?" Seehe asked him seeing sucking a bone for five minutes.
"A pathetic person like me isn't qualified to eat meat..." he mumbled.
"What's new?" Sehee asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft as she placed a rib on his rice bowl.
"Oppa, you've always been pathetic. Why start acting weak now? The only good thing about you is that you don't know how to give up. In 6th grade, you memorized the names of every student in the school just because someone dared you. Don't be frustrated. You'll overcome it."
Youngwoo looked at her, his eyes wide. "Sehee... did you eat something bad? Is this beef from a cow with mad cow disease?"
"It's pork, you idiot!" Sehee snapped, her momentary kindness evaporating as she snatched the rib back and threw it at his face.
The stinging pain of the rib sliding down his cheek was the wake-up call he needed. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a god. He was a man who survived on spite. And right now, he had plenty of it.
Back in the game, the clock was a guillotine. Six days had passed. Grid had produced twelve Normals, two Rares, and two Epics. He needed one more Epic to complete the Administrator's quest.
If he failed, the 16,000 gold was gone. The quest was gone. His reputation was gone.
He looked over at Arthur.
Arthur wasn't hammering. He wasn't sweating. He was calmly polishing a single blade, his red eyes reflecting the fire. When Grid had asked him about his progress, Arthur had simply said, "I have most of the stock ready from my previous experiments. I only need to make one more to finish my set."
"UNFAIR!" Grid's inner voice screamed.
"Everything is unfair! Arthur is unfair! The world is unfair! Why do I have to hammer seventeen pieces just to get three measly Epics while he sits there looking like a prince?!"
Grid gripped his hammer. His knuckles were white. His resentment toward the game, toward the operators, and especially toward the calm, lucky Arthur began to boil over. It wasn't just heat in his hands anymore; it was a dark, pulsing malice.
Ttang!
He struck the final ingot. The sound wasn't a chime; it was a dull, heavy thud.
Ttang! Ttang! Ttang!
With every strike, Grid channeled his jealousy. He thought about the 2,000 gold he "gave" to Steng. He thought about the "Good Luck" stat Arthur had shown him. He thought about the braised rib Sehee had taken back.
The silvery shine of the iron began to change. Under the weight of Grid's concentrated hatred, the metal didn't just glow; it seemed to absorb the light of the forge.
A smoky, obsidian tint began to creep into the blade. The system began to hum, a low-frequency vibration that rattled the tools on the walls.
[The item is responding to the creator's emotions...]
[Skill: Legendary Blacksmith's Breath activated!]
Grid didn't care about notifications. He was lost in the rhythm of his own grudge. He hammered until his stamina was zero, then forced his body to move on sheer willpower. He wasn't making a sword for the Administrator anymore; he was making a monument to his own suffering.
As the sun began to rise on the seventh day, Grid plunged the blade into the cooling oil. The hiss was deafening, a scream of steam that filled the entire smithy.
Khan, Steng, and the twins gathered around, their faces illuminated by a strange, flickering violet light emanating from the vat.
Grid pulled the weapon out. It wasn't the brilliant silver of the other Durable Longswords.
It was a dark, matte grey, with veins of deep crimson running along the fuller. The edge was so sharp it seemed to cut the very air around it.
[Sword of Burning Resentment]
Rating: Unique
Attack Power: 330 ~ 371 | Attack Speed: +8 | Durability: 310/310
Description: A masterpiece created by a craftsman who has begun to understand the weight of human emotions. Because it was made with high-quality minerals and refined through thousands of hammer strikes fueled by malice, it possesses exceptional balance.
Special Effects:
* When held, the user may feel a surge of Resentment that sharpens focus while slowly draining mental stamina.
* Skill: [Burning Grudge] - Every time you hit the same target, damage increases by 2% (stacks up to 20%).
User Restriction: Level 165+, 600 Strength, 450 Dexterity, Intermediate Sword Mastery Level 2.
Grid stared at the screen. The silence in the smithy was absolute.
"Unique..." Grid whispered. Then, his voice rose into a cracked, hysterical cheer. "A UNIQUE! HAHAHA! TAKE THAT, YOU OPERATOR BASTARDS! I SAVED THE GOLD! I SAVED THE QUEST!"
He swung the sword wildly in the air, the dark blade leaving trails of violet light. "Look at this, Arthur! Malice is better than luck! My hatred is a tier-one material!"
Arthur looked at the sword, a genuine look of surprise crossing his face. He saw the dark energy clinging to the steel—a physical manifestation of Grid's "Legendary" potential. Grid hadn't just used his hands; he had used his soul, however warped it might be.
"A fine blade, Grid," Arthur said, his voice quiet. "A weapon that remembers the pain of its creator. The Administrator will be... enlightened."
Grid stood amidst the piles of Normal-rank "trash," clutching his Unique sword like a holy relic. He was broke, exhausted, and probably needed a week of sleep, but he had survived.