Second World Online

I stood in front of the sturdy wooden door at the back of my shop. The Gargoyle’s Visage mask was already perfectly fitted over half of my face, hiding my identity and turning my silver hair jet black thanks to the Chameleon’s Wind effect. On my back, the quiver containing a dozen Zephyr’s Judgment Arrows rested calmly.

My plan was simple: sneak out through the back alley, head to the outskirts of the city, and find new prey to test my absolute weapon.

I stretched out my hand, turned the doorknob, and pulled it open just a little.

However, instead of the silence of the narrow alley that greeted me, it was the buzzing of dozens of people chatting. Through the door gap that was only three fingers wide, I peeked outside. My heart immediately sank.

Along the narrow alley that was usually only passed by wild cat NPCs and sewer rats, a dozen high-level players were crowded. Their armor clinked, their weapons reflected the morning sunlight. Some of them appeared to be pressing their ears against the wooden wall of my shop, trying to eavesdrop.

"Hey! The door is moving!" shouted a player with a nimble appearance whose eyes were extremely sharp.

"The bomb maker is inside! He’s trying to escape through the back!" cried another, instantly triggering a commotion. A dozen pairs of eyes immediately turned toward the door gap I was holding.

I cursed softly, immediately slamming the door shut and sliding the iron bolt closed quickly.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound of pounding immediately came from outside. "Oi! Open the door! We’ve brought gold! We want to buy bombs!" someone shouted from behind the wood.

I stepped back a few paces, massaging the bridge of my nose from behind the gargoyle stone mask. Last night’s forum posts truly had a terrifying effect. These players, regardless of which Guild they came from, were already like a pack of starving zombies that had smelled fresh meat. Opening a shop in a remote village like Silvergrass was apparently not enough to hide from the overly determined forum detectives.

I exhaled a long and heavy breath. My plan for a peaceful hunt this morning was officially ruined.

"Alright. If you all truly want to throw away your money, who am I to refuse it?" I muttered cynically.

Instead of fleeing, I turned around and walked toward the front room of my shop. My glass display case was still completely empty. I opened the inventory interface and began taking out the remaining stock of mud bombs that I had not yet sold or used. The quantity was not large.

I arranged them on the display table with casual movements. After everything was neat, I walked toward the main front door of the "Waterwheel" shop. From behind the window, I could see that the village square was also filled with waiting players.

Creak. I turned the key, then pushed the front door wide open.

Instantly, the crowd outside fell silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at me. Thanks to the Gargoyle’s Visage mask, the name ’Syl’ and my information were completely hidden from their vision systems. In the eyes of those players, I was merely a mysterious figure in a gray cloak, black-haired, with a half-face stone mask that radiated a cold and intimidating aura.

"That’s him... what’s his name? My Identify system is blocked!" whispered a magic-using player in a robe at the front of the line.

"Doesn’t matter who he is! Hey, Sir! Are you the owner of this shop? Are you the one who made the mud bombs that destroyed that boss?!" shouted a fighter in full plate armor who parted the crowd and stepped forward. The golden axe emblem on his chest showed that he came from a major Guild.

I did not answer their questions directly. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, and looked at them with a flat gaze from behind the eye holes of my mask.

"The merchandise is inside. Anyone who damages my shop’s property will be permanently blacklisted," I said in a voice that I deliberately lowered, sounding heavy and slightly distorted due to the resonance of the stone mask.

Hearing the permission to enter, the players immediately poured into my narrow shop, elbowing each other like housewives at a flash sale market. The usually quiet "Waterwheel" shop was now noisy with the sound of boots and the clinking of armor.

They immediately crowded around the glass display case. Their eyes widened seeing the sulfur-smelling mud clumps arranged there.

"This is it! This is the stuff! Exactly as described by SwordKing on the forum!" someone exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Sir, I’ll take everything! How much does it cost?!"

I walked behind the display table, looking at the sea of faces filled with greed and desperation to conquer the Dungeon.

"Today’s stock is extremely limited," I announced, cutting through all their noise. My cold voice immediately made the room a little quieter. I pointed toward the pile of bombs. "There are only twenty small ones, ten medium ones, and five large ones. And given the high demand... yesterday’s prices no longer apply."

"Whatever the price, my Guild will pay it!" shouted a man with a magic staff from the back.

I smiled thinly behind the mask. Basic economic law: when demand skyrockets and supply thins, the seller is the absolute king. And today, I planned to be a very cruel king. I immediately performed a brutal mark-up, changing the price labels in my shop system.

[Lesser Mud Bomb] (Small): 1 Gold Coin each. (Increased 10x from 10 silver).

[Standard Mud Bomb] (Medium): 5 Gold Coins each. (Increased 10x from 50 silver).

[Greater Mud Bomb] (Large): 20 Gold Coins each. (Increased 10x from 2 gold).

The moment those new numbers appeared floating above the display case, a brief silence blanketed the shop, before finally exploding into mass protest.

"One gold for a small bomb?! Are you crazy?! This is outright robbery!" shouted a player gripping dual daggers.

"Twenty gold for the large one?! Do you think we print money ourselves inside this game?!" added another, his face red with anger.

"You’re taking advantage of the situation! This price is unreasonable for a consumable item!"

I only propped my chin with one hand, staring at them without blinking. There was not the slightest bit of guilt in my heart. Making these bombs required traveling across a poisonous swamp, harvesting peat, and refining gunpowder. The risk of explosion during production was also extremely high.

"This is an alchemy masterpiece, not wheat bread that you can buy from an NPC," I replied in a bored tone. "You’re angry because it’s expensive? Feel free to leave. The Elite Boss on Dungeon floor 15 won’t care about the contents of your wallets. Go ahead and attack that boss with your swords, and let’s see how many gold coins you’ll spend on equipment repair costs and healing potions after you die repeatedly."

My words struck precisely at their weakest point. These Guild representatives knew exactly that being stuck on one Dungeon floor for days would cost far more than the price of these bombs.

"Damn it. He’s right," the fighter with the golden axe emblem grumbled. He gritted his teeth, then slammed the display case. "I’ll take all the large ones! Fifty gold coins, right?!"

"Wait a minute! The White Dragon Guild is willing to pay more! We’ll take everything!" shouted another player, unwilling to lose.

"Don’t joke around! We’ve been lining up since last night!"

Instantly, my small shop transformed into a brutal auction arena. They no longer protested the prices, but instead elbowed each other and shouted to compete in buying the goods. Transaction notifications from my system began ringing nonstop like a broken cash register.

Ding! Transaction successful. 20 Gold Coins received.

Ding! Transaction successful. 5 Gold Coins received.

Ding! Transaction successful. 20 Gold Coins received.

In less than three minutes, my display table was wiped clean. Even the mud dust seemed to have been bought along with it. Dozens of players who did not get any looked frustrated, staring at the empty table with blank gazes.

"Sold out? How could it sell out this fast?!"

"Hey, Sir! Make more right now! We’ll wait!" demanded a player in a coercive tone.

I stood upright, straightening my cloak. The money pouch in my system now felt very, very heavy.

"Today’s stock is completely sold out," I said loudly, shooing them away with a hand gesture. "Making these goods is not as easy as flipping a palm. I need rest. Come back later when the shop is open. Please leave."

Several players tried to negotiate for advance orders, but I ignored them completely. With a little force and a sharp gaze from behind the Gargoyle mask, I successfully herded them all out of the shop.

Bang! Click.

I locked the front door, then turned off the "Open" sign in the shop system. I closed the window curtains tightly, isolating myself from the disappointed shouts of the players outside.

I walked back to the rear room, dragging my steps that suddenly felt tired from the overly intense social interaction. I threw my body onto the wooden chair in front of my work table.

"Facing greedy humans turns out to be far more exhausting than facing a Griffin boss," I complained while removing the stone mask from my face and placing it on the table. The cool air of the room immediately caressed my Elf face.

However, a smile of satisfaction slowly bloomed on my lips as I opened the inventory panel and checked my current wealth.

Twenty small bombs at 1 gold each = 20 Gold Coins.

Ten medium bombs at 5 gold each = 50 Gold Coins.

Five large bombs at 20 gold each = 100 Gold Coins.

Total gross income today: 170 Gold Coins.

Added to my previous remaining money, I now possessed more than 200 Gold Coins. For a first-wave player who had only just touched the mid-level phase, this amount was absolute wealth. I had literally become one of the richest players in StoneBrook.

"I have to make more bombs," I muttered, my eyes sparkling at the sight of this business opportunity. "This is a never-ending gold mine."

But when I opened my storage chest, reality immediately struck me. The stock of raw peat soil that I had harvested from Murkwater Swamp was completely gone. The sulfur and Saltpeter that I had bought from NPCs had also thinned out.

I propped my chin. "I have to return to that swamp to harvest peat. But outside there are definitely still many Guild spies watching me. Going out now will only lure them to follow me and steal the secret of my raw material locations."

It was better to delay bomb production. I could use some of my gold coins to bulk-buy basic alchemy materials at the Auction House later tonight when the situation had quieted down.

While thinking about what I should do with my remaining playtime, my gaze fell on a metal object in the corner of the room. It was a small forging hearth complete with a mini anvil and a simple iron hammer. This was a built-in facility when I rented this wooden shop.

My eyes shifted to my character status panel.

STR: 17.5

Blacksmith Lv 1

My thoughts immediately returned to my early days in this game. Back then, I had taken the Blacksmith profession along with Carpenter and Alchemy. However, that blacksmith profession had been left neglected at Level 1. The reason was very pitiful: my Strength status at that time was cut by the Albinism penalty, making me unable to even lift a standard forging hammer without receiving a system load-limit warning.

But now everything was different. Thanks to the sacrifice of other accessories and the purchase of the Ogre’s Bone Earring a few days ago, my Strength multiplier value had already surpassed the crucial number of 10 points. I was no longer a sufferer of virtual muscle dystonia. I now possessed enough strength to strike steel.

"Why don’t I just try it now?" I muttered, curiosity beginning to surge.

My Carpenter ability had given birth to the Titan. My Alchemy had produced bombs that shattered the market economy. If I could master forging, I would no longer need to buy metal casings or backup daggers from others like the loli Vivi. I could create hybrid weapons that combined wood, metal, explosives, and magic into one absolute unity.

I stood from the chair and walked closer to the forging corner.

I opened the Auction House interface from my shop terminal. With my new wealth, I did not need to bother mining raw iron ore in caves. I immediately bulk-bought one hundred stacks of [Iron Ore] and one hundred stacks of [Coal]. The price was extremely cheap because these were basic materials. Spending less than 2 Gold Coins, the goods were immediately delivered to my shop’s mailbox through the instant delivery system.

I took a flint stone, placed it on the pile of coal inside the hearth, and lit it. Yellowish-red flames immediately licked upward. Hot air instantly filled the corner of the room, making my cloak feel a little uncomfortable. I removed my gray cloak, leaving a sleeveless white linen shirt that revealed my pale Elf arms which now felt more energetic.

I reached into the storage box and pulled out a [Novice Blacksmith Hammer].

Its wooden handle felt rough, and its iron head reflected the light of the hearth fire. When I gripped it, the system no longer issued a red warning. The weight of the hammer now felt right in my hand steady and demanding to be swung.

"Let’s start from the basics," I said, my eyes reflecting the glow of the fire.

I put several chunks of iron ore into the melting vessel, allowing them to be heated by the high temperature of the coal until they turned into glowing molten metal. Using long tongs, I poured that liquid metal into a simple plate mold, then cooled it briefly before clamping the glowing iron bar and moving it onto the anvil.

Ting!

The sound of the hammer striking hot metal rang out sharply. Orange sparks scattered into the air, illuminating my pale face.

Striking iron turned out to give a sensation far different from carving wood. Carving wood demanded patience, gentleness, and the instinct to follow the direction of the grain so it would not break. Forging metal was the opposite. This was the art of domination. Forcing a hard element to submit to the will of the craftsman through heat and brutal pressure.

Ting! Clang! Ting! Clang!

The rhythm of my strikes began to find its form. Every impact of my hammer made the glowing metal slowly flatten and lengthen. Virtual sweat began dripping from my temples, a haptic sensation from the capsule that simulated physical fatigue. Yet strangely, this sensation of fatigue felt extremely satisfying. In the real world, I even struggled to hold a full glass of water without trembling hands. Here, I was reshaping steel with my own hands.

After being struck and reheated dozens of times, I dipped the iron chunk that had now taken a rough shape into a bucket of cooling oil.

Ssssshhhhh!

Thick white smoke billowed into the air. I pulled it out. A crude and uneven iron dagger had been created.

[System: Crafting successful. You have created [Crude Iron Dagger] (Common).]

[System: Blacksmith Profession Level increased! Current: Level 2]

I tossed that cheap dagger into the corner of the table. I did not care about its quality. My main goal right now was to raise the skill level.

I clamped a new iron bar again, put it into the hearth, and raised my hammer. The ringing of metal once more echoed through the back room of the "Waterwheel" shop. I would spend the rest of my day in front of this hearth, turning hundreds of iron ores into experience, preparing the foundation for my next destroyer weapon project.