Moon Wolf left. Whether Gunther’s words had reached her heart was unknown. Whether she would notice the warning or ultimately ignore it—that choice now lay entirely with her.
—Fuuuh.
Gunther clenched his trembling hands tightly. It was the first time he had interfered with the established storyline with clear intent. ...The tragedy that countless players had called one of the most horrifying in <Forgotten God>. He had made that choice believing he might be able to halt that nightmarish current of events.
The butterfly effect was, of course, unsettling. But the canonical story had already been distorted beyond recognition. It was more rational to hope for the advantages this small intervention might bring.
After organizing his thoughts, Gunther headed straight for Nest. Upon arrival, following Moon Wolf’s words, he sought out the blacksmith named Dramcrow. The moment he said he had come for the item Moon Wolf left behind, Dramcrow’s face twisted ominously.
—You... what the hell did you do?
—...What?
Nearly two meters tall. A steel prosthetic in place of his severed right arm. His face was covered in burn scars, his left eye clouded over in a milky haze. The smell of iron, sweat, and oil clung to him. He looked less like a man and more like a malicious spirit torn from an ancient smelter.
The resident blacksmith of Night Raven, possessing a truly intimidating appearance. Dramcrow stared at Gunther in bewilderment.
—What in the world did you do for that block of wood to suddenly hand something like this to a rookie?
—......?
—Either you pissed her off badly... or the opposite.
Gunther frowned slightly at the muttering blacksmith.
—Show me the item first. Then we can discuss it.
—...Fine. I’ll bring it. If you can’t appreciate it, I’ll just toss it into the forge.
With that rough remark, Dramcrow barked toward the back of the smithy.
—Dorian! Bring it here!
—Y-Yes!
A scrawny boy hurried deeper into the workshop. Gunther’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the boy’s back.
“That kid...”
Dramcrow’s voice cut in sharply again.
—You. Get over here.
At the commanding tone, Gunther tensed for a moment before relaxing. Dramcrow held a measuring tape.
—...Well-trained body.
He pulled the tape taut, measuring Gunther’s shoulders and back. He shoved and tugged him around, checking balance and center of gravity. When his gaze fell on the Black Needle Pauldrons, the cloudy eye cleared slightly.
—Hm... decent piece. No need to craft pauldrons.
At that, Gunther’s irritation immediately subsided. Though the man’s personality was foul, he took his craft seriously.
“His setting really is cool.”
Dramcrow hailed from the Luthien Theocracy and had once been an armorer of a knightly order. Upon learning the Theocracy’s true nature, he stole key technologies and fled, becoming a wanted criminal. The right arm severed during his escape—and the mechanical prosthetic replacing it—were his trademarks.
—My hand slipped. So what?
The character had become a popular meme in the community for his lines when enhancement attempts failed. The charm was that, grumbling, he would offer a discount on the next visit. And among early-game blacksmiths, he was the most skilled.
“...He’s not the type to speak lightly.”
Just what kind of item was this, for Dramcrow to react so strongly? As Gunther refocused—
—Dorian! How long are you going to take?!
—I-I’m coming, Master!
Clang—!
Hearing the heavy metallic sound, Gunther instinctively turned.
...And saw it.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats lets out a quiet, admiring sigh]
A thick, bluish-black blade. Along the roughly forged steel ran an elegant blue pattern like a spine. The width of the blade nearly required two palms to grasp, and its length almost exceeded Gunther’s height. It was even larger than the greatsword the King had wielded in life.
—Kh-h-h-h.
The young apprentice strained, dragging the enormous weapon.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats says this greatsword is rare and to his liking]
A design that made a man’s heart race. Gunther rushed forward and took the two-handed sword from the boy’s hands.
Vwoom—
With a deep hum that seemed to split the air, a tooltip surfaced before his eyes.
[Straight Line of Despair]
“Straighter. Even straighter.”
—Rank: Epic
—Type: Two-Handed Sword (Equipment)
—Description: Heavy armament created specifically for battles against otherworldly beings. Its form is direct and simple, symbolizing an unyielding will that advances only forward.
—Effects:
Blood Flash: With each strike, micro-vibrations and mana accumulate within the blade. After 100 strikes, the blade can no longer contain the compressed energy and releases an explosive sword energy in a straight line ahead.
(Destructive power proportional to Mana stat)
(Applies terrain destruction and knockback)
(Hit counter resets if the character is out of combat for a certain duration)
Crusher: Damage to Large/Giant enemies +30%. Armor and barrier penetration +50%.
※ Due to unmet conditions, one hidden function remains locked.
...Gunther was momentarily stunned for several reasons.
“No, seriously, Epic rank? On the very first supply?”
This was still Act 1. At this stage, the highest rank obtainable in Nest was Rare. Yet for some reason, his weapon was two ranks higher—Epic.
“...But what are these effects?”
Crusher was magnificent, of course. But Blood Flash was peculiar. Sword energy triggered only after accumulating 100 strikes. Since stacks reset outside of combat, that meant landing a hundred hits within a single battle.
“Will that even be practical?”
Would there be an enemy that required being struck a hundred times with this massive blade? Perhaps in the very late game. But by then, one would be wielding Legendary or Mythic gear, not Epic. And there was still one locked effect.
In such cases, there were only two possibilities: either it was genuinely just an experimental weapon... or it possessed tremendous hidden potential.
“I hope it’s the latter, but...”
Realistically, unlikely. Weapons that awakened like that were extremely rare in the entire game. He would have to be satisfied with simply obtaining a strong weapon for the near future. Honestly, even that was more than enough at this stage—true overpowered territory.
Just as Gunther finished assessing his new acquisition—
—That weapon belonged to a deceased man who stood on the frontlines.
An unexpected addition followed.
—Deceased...?
But there was no chance to ask further. Dramcrow had already returned heavily to the bellows. His massive hand gripped the hammer.
—Standard armor won’t suit your platoon’s missions. I’ll make you a custom set. Come back in a week.
—Thank you...
—I’ll deduct 500 merit points. Fair price. Take it and get out.
—...What? 500?!
Gunther was shoved out the door.
.
.
.
Ding—!
[Side Scenario “Warm Support” Updated]
✔ Met the blacksmith “Dramcrow”
✖ Alchemist “Sharin Vega” not yet met
Objective: Find Sharin Vega and receive support.
[Remaining Merit Points: 311]
Gunther stared thoughtfully at his merit points, now reduced by more than half. What kind of armor was he planning to make, to deduct a full 500 points? He glanced back at the forge, spewing sparks and noise.
“...Even if I ask, he won’t answer.”
Letting it go, Gunther moved on. One more objective remained. The alchemist Sharin Vega. She was no less important than Dramcrow. ...In terms of stat growth, perhaps even more important. For now, she merely supplied quality potions and materials, but in the future—if affinity was raised and the relevant scenario unlocked—she could grant nothing less than a “Legendary-rank item.”
“I should start building rapport gradually.”
Her personality was quite particular, so it would take time—but the investment would be worth it.
...And just as that thought crossed his mind—
Tap-tap.
Hurried footsteps sounded behind him.
—W-Wait!
And a child’s voice.
—You’re Teacher, right?!
Teacher. At that unfamiliar address, Gunther stopped.
***
—Teacher! Long time no see!
Gunther froze, staring at the freckled face of the young apprentice.
—You...
—I-It’s me. From that warehouse!
...Yes, he was starting to recognize him.
—How have you been?
—Y-Yes! As you can see!
No wonder he hadn’t recognized him at first. Back then the boy had been skin and bones. Now there was visible muscle on his shoulders and arms. He seemed to have grown taller, too. Above all, his expression was bright. For changes over just two months, it was remarkable.
Yet the deep scars across the boy’s body stirred memories. The brother who had endured brutal torture by holy paladins while shielding his mute sister. Gunther’s smile widened.
—...I didn’t expect to see you here.
—Hehe, I’ve been waiting for the day I’d meet you here.
Remaining as a worker within the organization was one of the options for those rescued by Night Raven. For an orphan with no support, it was not a bad choice.
—By the way... how did you recognize me? I wore a different mask back then.
The boy, Dorian, grinned widely and pointed to Ladenbach’s Tenacity at Gunther’s waist.
—That sword. You saved us while fighting with that sword.
—...Hm, observant. You’ll make an excellent blacksmith.
—Huh? Haha... if Master hears that, he’ll laugh for a long time. He scolds me every day.
As Dorian chattered away, Gunther met eyes with Dramcrow, who was watching from the smithy doorway. His face twisted threateningly, thick lips moving.
—Four hundred.
—......?
—Won’t lower it further.
With ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) that, he turned and disappeared into the forge without another word.
[Remaining Merit Points: 411]
Gunther couldn’t help but smirk.
“Giant tsundere old man...”
No wonder the character had cult popularity in the community.
In any case, this reunion was joyful not only for the boy. Gunther was relieved to confirm they were safe—but there was something he absolutely needed to ask the siblings.
“The glass marble his sister gave me... I need to find out its origin.”
The very toy marble given as payment for the fortune-telling ◇.
—And your sister? Is she living here too?
—Yes! Sis is learning writing and math from Uncle Merchant and the pretty nuna! She should be waking up soon...
—Uncle Merchant?.. Pretty sister?
The familiar composition tugged unexpectedly at his heartstrings.
And just as Gunther tilted his head in confusion—
Grab.
Someone practically launched herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Bluish-black hair cascaded down, blocking his view.
—...Daughter.
A middle-aged man stood a short distance away, firmly holding a little girl’s hand, looking at Gunther in bewilderment.
—It’s not proper to behave like that in front of your father.
—Ha, says the dad who’s clutching another little girl’s hand.
—You won’t give me your hand...
After the grumbling exchange, the man finally looked at Gunther. A genuine, delighted smile spread across his face. At that moment, Gunther, too, was able to cast aside complicated thoughts and smile back.
—Kalian. Long time no see.
—Gunther. Long time no see. How have you been?
It was a reunion with comrades with whom he had fought through Chapter 1 of Act 1, side by side, across dozens of deaths.
