The village of Barian was a dust-mote on the map of the Eternal Kingdom, a quiet settlement that seemed to exhale a sigh of stagnant peace. For Arthur, however, it was a tactical waypoint.
In the original epic of Overgeared, this was where the threads of the Tzedakah Guild first began to intertwine with the destiny of the Pagma's Successor.
Arthur adjusted the collar of his traveling cloak as he stepped into the village's singular smithy.
The air inside was a thick soup of charcoal smoke and the rhythmic clink-hiss of glowing metal meeting water.
[The effect of mastering 'Blacksmith's Craftsmanship Skill' is activated.]
['Pagma's Apprentice' class effect is activated.]
Arthur felt a surge of confidence. These passive prompts usually acted as a golden ticket, turning grumpy NPCs into weeping devotees.
He looked at the man sweating over the hearth—a barrel-chested fellow with soot-stained skin—and offered a brilliant, practiced smile.
"I want to learn how to make items like the Jaffa Arrow," Arthur said, his voice ringing with the clarity of a man who knew he was about to be worshipped. "Please, give me your advice."
The blacksmith stopped mid-swing. He didn't drop his hammer in awe. He didn't bow. Instead, he wiped a glob of grease from his forehead and squinted at Arthur with eyes as cold as unworked pig iron.
"Bah! A brat like you wants to learn Jaffa Arrows? Get out, kid. I don't have time to waste on daydreamers."
Arthur's smile didn't just falter; it evaporated. "…Excuse me?"
He stood frozen for a moment. 'Is my reputation too low? Did the system glitch?' He was the Disciple of the Undefeated King, a man who had stared down a Goblin Lord and plundered the secrets of a Legend. Yet, to this NPC, he was just another "brat."
Then, the realization hit him like a physical blow.
Ah. This is a Beginner Blacksmith.
The class effects of 'Pagma's Apprentice' were tier-sensitive. An intermediate or advanced smith would have sensed the aura of craftsman radiating from Arthur's soul.
But this man—Smith—was a low-level NPC. He was like a colorblind man standing before a sunset; he literally lacked the "software" to perceive Arthur's status.
Because of royal edicts designed to prevent local lords from amassing private armories, every village can have only one Smithy.
This was the only forge for leagues. If Arthur wanted the Jaffa Arrow blueprints—the gateway to the Tzedakah Guild—he had to endure the indignity of being treated like a peasant.
Arthur swallowed his pride, shifting his posture into one of deep, subservient respect. "Forgive me, Master Smith. Your passion for the hearth is so intense I fear I disturbed your concentration."
Smith snorted, though his expression softened by a fraction. "Huh. At least you've got a tongue that knows its place. You want to learn Jaffa Arrows? Don't make me laugh. A child starts with firewood. No—not even. If you sincerely want to learn from me, go to the backyard and prep the forge-wood. Be thankful I'm letting you touch the axe."
[Quest Triggered: Chop Firewood]
[Difficulty: E]
[Clear Condition: 500 pieces of firewood.]
[Reward: Affinity +10, Exp +10, 20 Bronze.]
Arthur looked at the quest window with a wry twist of his lips. It was a "Normal" quest—the kind of trash a Level 1 player would grind for bread money.
But Arthur saw the hidden potential. In the original story, the protagonist had unlocked the Persistence stat here by working until his body collapsed.
'For me, it'll be harder', Arthur thought, taking the rusted axe Smith tossed at him. 'My stamina is that of a monster. I won't collapse. I'll just have to out-work the system itself.'
In the backyard, Arthur stood before a mountain of logs. He looked at the tool in his hand. It was ancient, the wooden handle gray with age, the head notched and dull.
"Appraisal," Arthur whispered.
[Smith's Old Axe]
Rating: Normal
Durability: 6/6
[No hidden functions exist.]
[You have grasped the materials and production method...]
[Your understanding of Smith's Old Axe is now at 100%.]
[You have learned how to make an axe.]
Arthur felt the "Perfect Understanding" click into place. Suddenly, the axe didn't feel like a clumsy piece of rusted iron. He knew exactly where the center of gravity lay; he knew the tension of the wood in the handle.
He set the first log on the chopping block. He raised the axe, intending to split it with raw Strength.
Wait.
As he hovered the blade over the wood, a solid black line—sharp and undeniable—manifested across the grain of the log.
"A guideline?"
He pulled back, and the line vanished. He raised the axe again, and the line reappeared. It was the visual representation of his 100% item understanding. The game was telling him exactly where the "soul" of the wood would yield.
Testing his theory, Arthur purposefully ignored the line and struck the edge of the log with his massive 190 Strength.
Beeok!
The log shattered, but a notification popped up: [Durability -1].
The shock of the improper hit had traveled back into the tool.
"Right. Precision over power," Arthur muttered.
This time, he aligned the axe head perfectly with the black guideline. He let the axe fall, using only the weight of the tool.
Ttaak!
The sound was musical. The log split into two perfect, symmetrical halves with zero resistance. It felt as effortless as cutting through water.
[You have Acquired Basic Woodcutting Mastery Level 1.]
"This is it," Arthur's eyes shone. "This is what it means to handle an item perfectly."
In his previous life as a corporate researcher, he had spent years perfecting the efficiency of virtual systems. Now, that same obsession took over. He wasn't just chopping wood; he was optimizing a process.
Clang. Ttaak. Clang. Ttaak.
Two hours passed.
A normal player would have been gasping for air, their stamina bar flashing red. But Arthur was a high Level anomaly.
His breathing was steady, his heartbeat a calm, rhythmic thrum. By the 1,500th piece of wood, the backyard was a sea of perfectly split timber.
The thrill of the "Perfect Cut" began to fade into a numbing boredom. His mind began to wander.
'Should I rest? I've already tripled the quest requirement.'
"No," Arthur growled, his grip tightening on the axe.
He remembered his previous life. He remembered the cold fluorescent lights of the lab, the years he spent as a "Corporate Slave," where his superior had stolen his research and claimed the credit for his heart and soul.
He remembered the feeling of being a ghost in his own life—someone who worked for the glory of others.
I am not that person anymore, he told himself.
He thought of Yura. He thought of the "Black haired Beauty" of the South Korea, the woman he intended to marry.
In this world, fame and power were the only currencies that mattered. To stand by her side, he couldn't just be "good." He had to be absolute.
"Haaaah!! Hat! Hat! Hap!"
The axe became a blur.
Ttaak! Ttaak! Ttaak! Ttadadak~!
Arthur's concentration sharpened until the world narrowed down to the black line on the wood and the weight of the iron in his hand.
He wasn't just looking for the Persistence stat anymore; he was purging the ghost of his past life with every stroke.
He forgot the quest. He forgot the bronze rewards.
Three thousand pieces. Four thousand.
His muscles finally began to burn, a dull ache starting in his shoulders—a sensation he welcomed. It was the "Stamina Depletion" penalty finally catching up to his absurd stats.
"Not enough," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Give me the stat. Give me the proof that I can endure anything this world throws at me."
Smith, the blacksmith, walked into the backyard to check on the "brat." He stopped in his tracks, his pipe falling from his mouth.
The backyard was gone. In its place was a fortress of firewood. Thousands upon thousands of logs, split so cleanly they looked like they had been machined.
And in the center of it all was Arthur, his eyes glowing with a manic, golden light, the old axe moving with the terrifying speed of a piston.
"Boy… stop!" Smith shouted. "You'll kill yourself!"
Arthur didn't hear him. He was listening to a different sound—the sound of his own limits shattering.
Suddenly, a golden notification flooded his vision, brighter than any he had seen before.
[A feat achieved through pure, unadulterated stubbornness!]
[The hidden stat 'Persistence' has been opened!]
[Persistence has reached 10 points.]
[All stats increase by +2 due to the awakening of a new hidden power!]
Arthur let the axe fall. It didn't break; it simply rested against the chopping block. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his body steamng in the cool air of Barian.
He turned to the stunned blacksmith, a tired but triumphant grin on his face. "Is that enough firewood, Master Smith?"
Smith looked at the mountain of wood, then at the young man who looked like he could take on an army with nothing but a rusted axe. He didn't see a "brat" anymore. He saw something he couldn't quite name—a shadow of greatness.
"Aye," Smith whispered, his voice trembling. "Aye, lad. I reckon that'll do for a start."