The interior of Khan's smithy was a sanctuary of shadows and cooling iron, but just outside the heavy oak doors, the world had begun to burn.
Shin Youngwoo, known in the digital realm as Grid, didn't care about the heat. He didn't care about the silent, heavy atmosphere of the forge or the blood pooling around the grey-dusted remains of the Winston outlaws.
While Arthur had been a whirlwind of dark iron and silver hair, performing a dance of death that defied the laws of physics, Grid had been crouched behind a stack of charcoal crates outside.
He wasn't hiding out of fear—though fear was a constant companion. He was working.
In his trembling hands, he held a Recording Crystal, a high-grade magical tool that pulsed with a faint blue light. He had captured every millisecond: the way Arthur's rags fluttered as he bypassed the thugs' defense, the precise, terrifying arc of Dainsleif, and the moment of
"Golden Flash" that had turned the smithy into a cathedral of light.
Grid didn't see a hero. He didn't see a friend protecting an old man. He saw a windfall.
Thirty minutes later, the real world was greeted by the smell of cheap, greasy fried rice.
Shin Youngwoo sat in his cramped, dimly lit apartment, his face illuminated by the flickering glow of his monitor. He was shoveling rice into his mouth with a plastic spoon, grinning so widely that a few grains escaped his lips.
"Hehe… sucker," he muttered, his voice raspy from disuse.
On his screen, a private trade notification was blinking.
[Trade Confirmed: 5,000 Gold has been transferred.]
"Five thousand… plus the thousand he gave me earlier for the 'misunderstanding'… plus the gear," Young-woo counted on his fingers, his eyes bloodshot. "That's six thousand gold. Over six million won."
He felt a surge of intoxicating superiority. To the rest of the world, Arthur was a top-tier player. To Grid, Arthur was a "loser" who gave away Level 60 epic gear and thousands of gold just because he felt guilty.
"Debate his 'soul' all you want, you idiots," Youngwoo laughed, leaning back in his creaking chair. "While the world is busy worshipping his swordsmanship, I'm the one who's going to pay off the Mother's Heart is Happy debt collectors. I'm the one who's winning."
He didn't realize that in his greed to clear his debt, he had just sold the one thing Arthur had fought to keep: his anonymity. He had placed a global bullseye on Winston, and he had done it for the price of a mid-sized sedan.
The footage didn't stay private for long. Within an hour of the sale, the BBC Global Gaming Network—the digital hearth of the gaming world—had secured the rights.
In a sleek studio in Seoul, three of the industry's most respected analysts sat in a state of electrified debate. Behind them, the video of the "Smithy Massacre" played on a loop, slowed down to 0.25x speed to capture the sheer impossibility of the movements.
"Look at the economy of motion!" shouted Park Min-ho, a veteran commentator, his laser pointer dancing over Arthur's silver-haired avatar.
"For three years, we have called Kraugel the 'Peak of swordsmanship' because of his ethereal elegance. We thought he was the ceiling of human control. But look at this youth, Arthur. He isn't wearing the plate armor of a High Ranker; he's in the soot-stained rags of a beggar. And yet, every strike is a conclusion. There is no wasted breath."
Sarah Jenkins, a strategic analyst from London, leaned forward, her spectacles reflecting the "Golden Flash" on the screen.
"The comparison to Kraugel is unavoidable, but the 'flavor' is entirely different. Kraugel is a flowing river—beautiful and fluid. This Arthur? He is like a mountain falling. It is precise, heavy, and inevitable. He isn't fighting those outlaws; he is erasing them."
The anchors' voices rose. To the elite rankers, the rags were a gimmick, an insult to those who spent millions on gear. But to the general public, it was the birth of an icon.
Across the globe, "Silver Swordsman" began to trend. The world was captivated by a man who looked like a king while covered in coal dust.
At the highest level of Satisfy, the reaction was not admiration, but cold, calculating wariness.
In a quiet cave in the Kingdom of Melen, Kraugel—"The peak of Satisfy"—watched the video once. He didn't rewind. He didn't analyze. He simply turned off his HUD. His eyes, usually as calm as a mountain lake, flickered with a rare, dangerous spark of interest. He recognized a kindred spirit—not in the style of the sword, but in the intent.
"Winston," Kraugel whispered to the silence.
Meanwhile, in the Yatan Sanctuary, Yura watched the footage with clinical intensity.
She had been searching for this "White-Haired" guy ever since the temple incident. Her fingers traced the screen where Arthur's face was partially obscured by shadow.
The Snake Guild, the Tzedakah Guild, and Zibal's forces were all having the same emergency meetings. They didn't care about the "beauty" of the swordsmanship; they saw the Dainsleif.
They saw a Hidden ranker player wielding a weapon that required 1,800 Strength. To them, Arthur wasn't a hero—he was a glitch, a treasure chest, or a threat that needed to be neutralized.
Back in the back room of the Winston smithy, the man at the center of the storm knew nothing of his fame. He took Khan from the clinic and lay him in his cot.
Arthur sat on a wooden bench, his chest heaving. He looked at the blood on the floor of smithy—a mixture of the outlaws.
He didn't know that his "friend" Grid had backstabbed him for a pile of gold. He didn't know that millions of people were currently debating the curve of his sword-arc.
He only knew that in the next room, an old man was dying.
Khan lay on a cot, his breathing shallow. The "cured alcoholism" notification had popped up, but the years of abuse and the recent stress of the Mero Company had pushed the old NPC to his limit.
Arthur stood up, his legs shaking. He reached into his bag and pulled out a high-grade potion given to him by the clinic.
"Khan," Arthur whispered, kneeling by the cot. "Stay with me. The smithy is yours again. Don't you dare leave it to me now."
Outside, the first scouts of the Great Guilds were already beginning their journey toward Winston. The "Notorious Legend" and the "Sky's Rival" were about to meet the world. And Grid, sitting in his room finishing his fried rice, had no idea that he had just started a war that would eventually swallow him whole.
Arthur is focused on saving Khan, oblivious to the fact that he's the world's most famous player! As the first wave of Rankers and Guild scouts arrives in Winston, Arthur will have to choose between his privacy and the life of his friend.