The square outside Khan's smithy had long ceased to be a place of mundane trade. It had transformed into a pressure cooker of civil unrest, a theater of human desperation and opportunistic greed.
As the tournament loomed, the local residents—former friends and acquaintances of Khan—began to flock to the forge. They spoke of the "old times," loudly badmouthing Valmont and the Mero Company with a ferocity that bordered on religious zeal.
Yet, Arthur, leaning against the soot-stained doorframe, watched them with a gaze of frigid detachment. He saw through the performance.
These were the same people who had practically shoved each other out of the way to sign their deeds over to the Mero Company when they were offered double the market price.
Now, blinded by a new kind of greed, they rallied around Khan. They didn't want justice; they wanted a reset button. They saw a hope to reclaim land that was now worth ten times what they had sold it for.
Human greed was being laid bare, painting Khan as a martyr and the company as a demon, but Arthur felt only a stinging disdain for the hypocrisy. Whether the villagers reclaimed their gold or not, held no interest for a man walking the path of a Saint.
At the center of this burgeoning storm, a man appeared who seemed fundamentally at odds with the dirt and tension of Winston. He wore the vibrant, clean traveling clothes of a high-ranked player, and his presence possessed a peculiar weight.
This was Huroi, the number one Orator in Satisfy. Huroi hadn't come for the smithy; he had been hired by the Mero Company for a princely sum to perform a "Social Engineering" miracle. His task was simple: convince the people of Winston that surrender was synonymous with prosperity.
"Excuse me."
Huroi held up a hand. The air around him seemed to hum with a magical resonance—a job-specific passive that demanded attention.
The villagers, mid-jeer, found their throats tightening. They fell silent, staring at the white name hovering above his head. He was a 'Normal' user, untainted by the red aura of a murderer, radiating an aura of perceived integrity.
Khan stepped to the threshold, his eyes narrowing. "Young man, you aren't from Winston, are you?"
"That is correct. My name is Huroi," the Orator said. His voice was like oiled silk, smooth and impossible to ignore.
"I am a visitor. And I have a question for you all. Were you truly forced to sell your land at swordpoint? Or were you simply blinded by the glint of gold in your palms, only to feel the sting of regret when the market shifted? Is it the company's lack of scruples you hate... or is it the reflection of your own ignorance in their ledgers?"
The silence broke into a riot of sound. "Crony!" "Mero dog!" "Traitor!"
Huroi didn't flinch. He began to weave a verbal web of "Coexistence." He spoke of the inevitability of progress, the necessity of corporate capital to revitalize a dying village, and the "wisdom" of a graceful surrender.
Slowly, the fire in the villagers' eyes began to dim. The power of a Master Orator was terrifying; he wasn't just changing their minds; he was systematically deconstructing their hope.
Arthur, watching from the shadows of the grinding wheel, felt a surge of clinical interest. Beside him, Grid was fuming, his knuckles white as he gripped his hammer.
"That silver-tongued bastard," Grid hissed, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and awe. "He's getting paid just to talk them into slavery. Why didn't I get a quest that easy? I have to hit hot iron until my ears ring, and he just opens his mouth?"
But the Orator had underestimated the old lion. Khan stepped forward, his back straighter than it had been in years.
"You speak of coexistence, young man," Khan said, his voice resonant with the authority of seven generations of blacksmiths. "And if Winston were a lawless wasteland, we might listen. But Winston belongs to Earl Steim. And the Earl has a mandate: The 'Rights of the People.'"
Khan began to recite the northern statute. In Steim's territory, residents possessed a legal priority to be informed of development before any external sale.
By hoarding that information and bribing the local Lord to bypass the residents, the Mero Company hadn't just been aggressive—they had committed treason against the Earl's administrative will.
Huroi froze. As an Orator, he lived by the internal logic and "Truth" of the world. Suddenly, the "Prosperity" he was preaching felt like a noose tightened by his own words.
He looked at the hollow cheeks of the mothers in the crowd, then at the smug Mero guards who were already laughing at the villagers' plight.
A golden system window materialized in Huroi's vision, so brilliant it seemed to sear the air.
[Hidden Quest: For the People of Winston]
Difficulty: A
Description: You have recognized the corruption behind your employers. Betray the Mero Company to save the residents.
Quest Reward: Second Class: 'Apostle of Justice's Partner.' All stats +10. Skill: [Unbreakable Justice].
Huroi's heart thundered. The magical resonance in his throat shifted. It lost its deceptive, honeyed hum and gained the roar of a mountain storm.
"I have spoken of prosperity!" Huroi's voice cracked like a whip. "But I was blind! The 'prosperity' offered by the Mero Company is a golden shackle! I have seen the truth! They have not come to build Winston; they have come to harvest your souls!"
The crowd gasped in a singular, unified breath. Huroi turned to Khan, his eyes burning with a sudden, holy fervor. "The evil deeds of Winston's lord and the Mero Company must be reported to Earl Steim! But you are under the lord's supervision and can't raise an appeal with Earl Steim. Leave it to me! I will do my duty and inform Earl Steim of the happenings in Winston! For Winston! For you! For the honor of Earl Steim, I will accuse Winston's lord!"
"Thank You," Khan thanked Huroi as his voice heavy with solemnity. "We will believe in you and wait."
With a final, resolute nod, Huroi vanished into the winding alleyways, his silhouette a blur of speed as he headed for the gates. He was no longer a paid mouth; he was a messenger of fate.
Grid stood in the corner of the smithy, his face turning a sickly, bruised shade of purple. He had watched it all: the dramatic reversal, the golden light of the hidden quest, and the epic departure of a hero.
"How?" Grid whispered, his voice cracking. "How did he get a quest just by talking? I've been laboring until my back breaks! I've been covered in soot and wolf blood! And all I got was meager earnings and a successor title to a dusty shop!"
Unable to contain his agony, Grid bolted. He ran out of the smithy, chasing Huroi down the alley before the Orator could clear the city limits.
Arthur followed at a distance, moving with the silent grace of a predator, a faint, amused smile on his face.
"Hey! You! Stop!" Grid caught up to Huroi, doubled over and wheezing. "How did you do it? How did you trigger that quest? What's the secret? Give me the scoop to exploit!"
Huroi stopped and looked back. He saw a man wearing what appeared to wearing blacksmithing rags, yet the man inside it looked like a beggar who had just lost his last copper.
"Weren't you the folding screen in the corner of the shop?" Huroi asked, his voice laced with the casual disdain of a top-tier player. "What do you want? I am busy. I have a long journey, and I have a village to save. I don't have time for low level stragglers."
"Tell me!" Grid demanded, his eyes bloodshot with envy. "I've played this game since the beta! I've suffered more than anyone! Why do the gods love you? You were paid to lie, and now you're a hero? It makes no sense!"
Huroi sighed, realizing this maniac wouldn't let him pass. "Are you new to the genre? It's the basics of world interaction. Talk to NPCs. Listen to their stories. Ask about their difficulties. I didn't 'exploit' anything; I reacted to the truth of the environment."
Huroi, perhaps out of a shred of pity, shared the quest information window with Grid and Arthur.
[Quest: For the People of Winston]
Reward: Second Class - Apostle of Justices' partner
All Stats +10
Skill: [Unbreakable Justice]
Grid stared at the screen. The sheer, unadulterated unfairness of it hit him like a physical blow to the stomach.
Grid had spent months struggling with debt, losing levels to basic mobs, and sweating over a furnace.
Huroi had walked in, performed a few minutes of public speaking, and was now on the path to gaining a Second Class—a feat so rare it was considered mythic.
"I... I..." Grid's eyes filled with hot tears of pure envy. "This game is trash! It's biased! It's a garbage simulator!"
Grid let out a primal scream of shame, turned on his heel, and ran back toward the smithy at full speed, while sobbing as the game is unfair.
Arthur watched him go, then turned his gaze back to Huroi. The Orator looked genuinely confused by the outburst.
"Don't mind him," Arthur said, offering a respectful nod. "He's currently carrying a very 'heavy' burden of his own making. Safe travels to the Northern Frontier, Huroi. But be careful; the Mero Company has eyes everywhere. They won't let a messenger reach the Earl easily."
"Don't worry, Folding Screen No. 2," Huroi tagged Arthur as another folding screen in the background as he regaining his composure. "They still think I'm on their payroll. I'll be halfway to the Frontier before they realize the script has changed."
With a final wave, the Orator vanished toward the horizon.
Arthur stood in the alleyway, the sun setting behind the jagged rooflines of Winston. The pieces were moving.
The Orator was racing toward the Earl, and the "Overgeared" Blacksmith was currently face-down in a pile of coal, weeping over the injustice of the universe.
The Winston Tournament was only a few days away. Arthur knew that Grid's explosion of envy wasn't just a temper tantrum; it was the final bit of "salt" needed to cure his resolve.
Grid would return to the anvil tonight not with hope, but with a desperate, scorched-earth desire to prove he was worth something.
"Apostle of Justice and the Successor of Pagma," Arthur mused, walking back toward the forge. "A strange pair of pillars for the future."
The world was beginning to notice this small, dusty village. And Arthur knew that once the dust of the tournament settled, the names of Huroi and Grid would be etched into the history of Satisfy—one as a beacon of righteousness, and the other as a storm of iron and spite.