The mist behind the Loran Waterfalls didn't just carry the bone-deep chill of the mountain springs; it carried the suffocating weight of history. Arthur stood in the center of the hidden grotto, his chest heaving in a rhythmic, controlled cadence.
The red energy that had turned his irises into rubies slowly receded, bleeding back into the deep, deceptive ruby of his "commoner" disguise.
The sword dance was no longer just a series of carvings on a wall; it was etched into his muscle memory, vibrating alongside the brutal, world-shaking efficiency of the Undefeated King's Swordsmanship and the refined, aristocratic lethality of the Imperial style.
He was no longer just a player or a blacksmith; he was a walking library of forbidden martial arts, a vessel containing the peak of human combat logic.
[Warning: A high-level entity has bypassed the outer veil.]
[Detection: Level impossible to gauge. Hostility: Neutral/Unstable.]
Arthur turned his head slowly. The roaring curtain of the waterfall, which usually required a massive expenditure of mana to part, suddenly split. It didn't break with the brute force of a high-tier spell; it parted with a rhythmic, almost unnatural precision, as if the water itself were being split.
A man stepped through. He was drenched, but his posture was as unyielding as the granite walls of the canyon. He wore a tattered straw hat that obscured the upper half of his face, and a simple, worn longsword hung at his hip. Behind him, the waterfall crashed back into place, but the man didn't flinch.
Alfia and Meteria immediately raised their staves, the ambient mana in the cave turning static and sharp. Nana's hand blurred to her hilt, a low growl vibrating in her throat, while Cecil stepped forward, planting her heavy spears into the cavern floor to form a physical barrier.
"Lower your weapons," Arthur commanded. His voice didn't waver; it rang with a natural authority that even surprised the twins. "He isn't an enemy. At least, not yet."
The man—Piaro—lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with the lingering, jagged madness of a man who had seen his comrades slaughtered and his honor dragged through the mud of the Saharan Empire. He didn't see a "Player" Level 160. He didn't even see a blacksmith. He saw a vessel. A sharp, perfectly tempered blade waiting for a hand to wield it.
"You," Piaro's voice was like grinding stones, heavy and hollow. "You performed the dance. Not perfectly... no one can mimic perfectly... but you did it with the heart of one who understands that a sword is just an extension of the soul's fire."
"I am Arthur," He replied, meeting Piaro's terrifying gaze without flinching. "A blacksmith who prefers a sharp edge to a dull life."
Piaro stepped closer. With every footfall, the pressure radiating from him caused the damp stone floor to spiderweb with cracks.
"Arthur... I am a man who has lost everything to a snake named Asmophel. He was my brother-in-arms, the Vice-Captain of the Red Knights, the man I trusted with my back. He turned the Empire against me. He branded me a traitor while he wore my glory."
Piaro reached out a calloused hand, his fingers twitching. "Seek him out. Travel to the heart of the Empire. Kill Asmophel. Take my revenge, and I will give you everything I have left—my techniques, my secrets, my very life."
[A Legendary Quest has been offered!]
[Quest: Piaro's Agent of Revenge]
Rating: SS+
* Target: Asmophel, Vice-Captain of the Red Knights.
* Reward: Piaro's Recognition, Level +10, Piaro's masterpiece Skill: 'Fated to Perish Swordsmanship'.
* Penalty for Failure: Piaro's absolute hostility.
Arthur looked at the flickering quest window. To any other player in Satisfy, this was the Holy Grail. It was a shortcut to the top 0.01% of the world. But Arthur wasn't a player looking for a quick fix; he was a Prince playing a game of centuries.
"No," Arthur said firmly.
The silence that followed was deafening. Piaro's aura flared, a sudden, violent gust of wind nearly throwing Alfia and Meteria back against the cave wall. Nana bared her teeth, her sword inching out of its scabbard.
"You refuse?" Piaro's voice dropped into a dangerous, guttural register. "You have the talent to reach the peak, yet you lack the courage to face a traitor? Are you a coward wrapped in fine silk?"
"It isn't a lack of courage, Piaro. It's a lack of stupidity," Arthur countered, his Dignity stat clashing against Piaro's madness like a shield against a storm.
"Look at me. I am Level 160. Asmophel is a monster among monsters, a master of the Imperial style, backed by the entire Red Knight division. If I go to the Empire now, I won't be a seeker of revenge; I'll be a corpse decorating the capital gates."
Arthur's eyes darkened, a genuine flicker of cold rage crossing his face. "Besides, I have my own ghosts. A tribe of Half-Draconians chased me through the night, hunting me like an animal while the Empire watched. My first destination in the Empire will be their extinction. Your revenge can wait until I am strong enough to survive the aftermath of the deed."
Piaro slumped slightly, the madness in his eyes flickering toward a hollow disappointment. He looked at Arthur's companions—the fierce loyalty in Nana's eyes, the protective stance of Cecil.
"Then go. Find your half-draconians. Feed your own hunger. If you survive, come find me in the peaks. I will be waiting for the day a real swordsman appears."
Arthur watched Piaro turn to leave. He couldn't let him go. Piaro was more than a quest-giver; he was the greatest combat instructor in the history of the game. To let him rot in a canyon while he went back to Winston would be a waste of a legendary resource.
"Wait," Arthur called out.
Piaro paused, his silhouette half-hidden by the spray of the falls.
"You're strong, Piaro. Stronger than any man I've met," Arthur said, his mind working at overclocked speeds. "But your revenge is stagnant. You're hiding in a canyon, waiting for a miracle to walk through that waterfall. If you come with me to Winston—to Khan's Smithy—you can train me. You can train us."
Arthur gestured to Nana and Cecil. "Nana has already begun to grasp the dance. Cecil has the strength of a titan but needs the refinement of a master. If we grow stronger faster under your tutelage, I can take your quest years earlier than I could alone. Why wait for a miracle when you can forge one yourself in the heat of a smithy?"
Piaro turned back, his straw hat tilting upward. He looked at Arthur's hands—the hands of a smith—and then at the four women standing loyally at his side. He saw a man who wasn't just gaining strength, but building a dynasty.
"A smithy?" Piaro muttered, a hint of his former lucidity returning. "I have spent too long in the mist and the cold. Perhaps the heat of a forge is what I need to burn away the rot in my mind."
He looked at Arthur and gave a short, sharp nod. "I will follow. But do not think I will be a gentle master. I will push you until your bones scream. And I am no man's subordinate. If you falter, if you show the heart of a weakling, I will leave."
Internally, Arthur was roaring with triumph.
'Secured!' He had just managed to recruit the strongest swordsman of the era as a personal instructor. With Khan at the forge and Piaro in the yard, his foundation was becoming an impenetrable fortress.
The journey back to Winston was silent but heavy with potential. As they walked through the Keysan Canyon, Arthur checked his updated status.
[New Companion (Hidden): Piaro]
* Status: Instructor / Guard (Disguised).
* Note: His presence increases the experience gain of 'Swordsmanship' skills by 200% for the party.
As they approached the gates of Winston, Arthur looked at the group he had assembled.
* Alfia: A Level 168 High Magician with catastrophic area-of-effect potential.
* Meteria: A Level 167 Spirit Summoner who could manipulate the battlefield itself.
* Nana: A Level 165 swift-blade specialist who had just tasted Legendary techniques.
* Cecil: A Level 166 Advanced Blacksmith and Berserker with unrivaled physical durability.
* Piaro: A Legendary Great Swordsman acting as their shadow.
* Himself: The Prince of the Eternal Sun, holding the keys to the greatest legacies of the past.
"Winston is about to get very crowded," Arthur whispered to himself.
They reached Khan's Smithy just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the town in shades of bruised orange and long shadows.
Khan was outside, stubbornly sweeping the soot from the doorstep. When he saw Arthur, his weathered face lit up, but when his eyes landed on the tall, ragged man in the straw hat standing behind the girls, his broom froze in mid-air.
"Arthur... you're back," Khan said, his voice lowering as he sensed the latent, terrifying power radiating from the "beggar." "But who is this? He feels like... like a storm wrapped in old cloth."
"A new guard and instructor for our smithy," Arthur said with a faint, sharp smirk. "He's a man of the earth, Khan. He's very good at looking into people's nature, but even better with a blade. Khan, meet Piaro. He'll be staying with us in the smithy from now on."
In the distance, the bells of the Mero Company's central tower tolled, a reminder of the corporate cancer eating at the town. Arthur ignored them. He had a Great Swordsman to train with, a smithy to run, and a legacy to reclaim.