"Really… Enough already! Can't I just enjoy forging in peace?! Why is there always some damn idiot coming to bother me?"
A furious roar erupted from the forge, shaking the iron door as the rough voice of a dwarf reverberated through the workshop. The force of his shout sent dust trickling from the eaves, and the metal door itself groaned under the impact of his frustration.
The cause of Bahanger's rage?
Another interruption.
Just when he had been focused on forging a fine piece of mithril—when the molten silver-blue metal was at its most critical stage—he sensed the unmistakable presence of a formal-rank powerhouse waiting outside his door.
The day before yesterday, it had been some dimwitted noble.
Yesterday, a talkative ranger.
And today?
A mysterious mage.
Did they think his home was some NPC hut where anyone could waltz in and trigger a side quest?
His patience, already worn thin, was on the verge of snapping. His battle aura had even begun to coat the hammer in his grip, but just as he prepared to let his temper explode, a sharp instinct halted him.
The person outside…
felt dangerous.
Bahanger's instincts had never failed him before. Gritting his teeth, he forcefully suppressed his frustration and threw open the heavy iron door with a resounding bang.
A gust of wind stirred the dust as the door slammed against the stone wall.
There, standing in the dimming light, was a young man clad in a black robe lined with crimson patterns, his hood concealing much of his face. He held an emerald-green staff, its polished surface gleaming faintly.
Behind him loomed a towering figure wrapped in rough linen, exuding an eerie, chilling aura.
There was no mistaking it—
this was no ordinary visitor.
It was Punk.
Punk, in turn, was slightly surprised by Bahanger's reaction.
Given the disaster unfolding in Dolazi City, the guardian of the city should have been besieged by people seeking aid. Yet not only was this dwarf highly impatient, but he also seemed utterly indifferent to the suffering around him.
A lawful good dwarf?
No.
This one was cut from a different cloth.
Despite Dolazi teetering on the edge of ruin, Bahanger had chosen to ignore it all, focusing solely on his forge.
That alone told Punk everything he needed to know—appealing to justice or morality would be useless.
There was no point in bringing up the plight of the city.
Instead, Punk got straight to the point, his voice calm and matter-of-fact:
"Bahanger, are you interested in exploring a highly valuable secret treasure? You'll take any battle-related rewards, while I'll take anything related to magic. Since I'm providing the information, the wealth will be split sixty-forty in my favor."
Punk's words were blunt—no unnecessary flattery, no appeals to nobility.
He understood neutral professionals all too well.
They didn't despise morality, nor did they outright reject it.
They simply found no value in it.
The only thing that mattered to neutrals was profit.
Hearing Punk's straightforward offer, Bahanger's scowl faded slightly.
His interest piqued, he grunted:
"What kind of treasure are we talking about?"
Punk wasted no time.
"You're aware of the recent plague in Dolazi, aren't you? My investigation has revealed that the mastermind behind it is an official-level professional named Tishachar—"
"Wait a minute."
Bahanger interrupted, his thick brows furrowing.
"Tishachar? The god? She's established a church, hasn't she? How the hell is she only at the official level?"
Punk merely sighed, his tone carrying a trace of exasperation.
"That's precisely what makes this secret worth exploring. Unraveling this mystery could lead to immense rewards, not to mention the wealth of a fourteenth-level professional. Don't tell me you're not interested."
Punk carefully crafted his words, dangling just enough intrigue to hook the dwarf.
The less Bahanger knew, the more willing he would be to charge ahead without hesitation.
As Punk's words sank in, Bahanger fell into deep thought.
While he had ignored the plague itself, he wasn't oblivious to everything happening in the city. He had heard rumors, and deep down, he knew Punk's claims were likely true.
Though he couldn't yet fathom how Tishachar was absorbing faith without divine power, one thing was clear—
it had to be immensely valuable.
Greed stirred within him.
The thought of uncovering such a secret, of claiming treasures beyond imagination, made his battle-hardened heart race with anticipation.
For a moment—
Bahanger was on the verge of agreeing.
But then…
he sighed.
"…I won't lie. I want to see this so-called treasure for myself."
His voice was laced with frustration, his fingers tightening around his hammer.
"But I swore to protect the Hyde family. The Hammer Clan values its oaths above all else. With Dolazi in chaos, I can't leave."
With that, he turned away, his broad back seeming weighed down by unseen burdens.
He returned to his forge, staring blankly at the molten mithril before him, his adventurous spirit shackled by duty.
Punk narrowed his eyes slightly.
So it's true.
Bahanger wasn't lying.
He was a neutral warrior, but unlike the self-serving type, he leaned toward the lawful neutral camp—one of those professionals bound by rigid personal codes.
For such individuals, loyalty was absolute.
Even if offered a legendary artifact, they wouldn't break their oaths.
Many lawful professionals had their own "obsessions."
And these obsessions were far more powerful than mere greed.
Convincing Bahanger with profit alone was impossible.
Punk knew there was no point in wasting more breath.
He cast a final glance at the stubborn dwarf before turning away, his expression unreadable.
This outcome was expected.
On his way to Dolazi, his prophetic spells had already hinted at this obstacle.
That's why he had prepared another plan—
a contingency, already set in motion.
If Bahanger refused to move, then the other piece would be activated.
Leaving the dim forge behind, Punk stepped into the city streets.
The setting sun bathed the roads in a golden glow, but the atmosphere was anything but warm.
Since the resurgence of Tishachar's followers, Dolazi had imposed a strict curfew.
People moved in hushed, hurried groups, their anxious whispers filling the air. Both commoners and lower nobles alike had grown wary of anyone bearing the mark of the spider goddess.
Yet, amidst the restless crowd, one figure stood out.
Punk.
Unlike the others, he walked alone—calm, deliberate, and utterly unbothered.
His lone presence was conspicuous.
"Now then… if someone intends to approach me for a deal, they should be making their move soon."
Silently, he released another prophetic spell.
This time, the revelations were clearer.
The key ingredient he needed for his next Activation Potion…
would fall into the hands of a certain noble seeking him out.
Punk smirked faintly.
"Let's see if they have the nerve to meet me here… and let's find out whether the Hyde family's intelligence network is as useless as I suspect."
It was not the Hyde family who approached him first.
Instead—
it was…