Chương 375: Chapter 361 - Interlude 36.1

1 Oliver was not happy. The entire situation unfolding around Roserun meant he was completely out of luck. He had finally managed to arrange a stretch of free time to enjoy the game without reality intruding every few hours with messages, deadlines, or work-related nonsense, and he had planned to spend it doing something relaxing for once – browsing the markets, maybe upgrading his gear, perhaps even finding a rare skill book to finally smooth out the rough edges of his build.

His halberd build was actually coming together surprisingly well. Halberds were not exactly popular weapons, mostly because of the absurd learning curve attached to them. Most players preferred swords, axes, or spears – weapons that were simpler, faster, and came with far more readily available support and theory builders. But Oliver had loved halberds ever since he was a child staring at oversized fantasy weapons in old video games, fascinated by the sheer spectacle of them.

Paradoxically, using such an unpopular weapon made progression both easier and harder at the same time. On one hand, fewer people competed for halberd-specific drops, skill books, and equipment, which meant there were opportunities to snatch up valuable items without fighting half the player base for them. On the other hand, hardly anyone actually farmed halberd-related content in the first place, meaning the supply was miserable.

Most blacksmiths did not even bother crafting halberds above mid-tier quality unless commissioned in advance. Skill books were worse. Entire weeks could pass without a single worthwhile listing appearing on the Auction House. Most of his current skills had come from obscure quest chains, hidden trainers, or painfully expensive player trades. One skill required him to escort an NPC caravan through three separate ambush events.

Another had been obtained from a retired mercenary trainer hidden inside a swamp village most players skipped entirely. And one particularly important stance technique had cost him almost every coin he had at the time because another player – who was not using halberds – had started a bidding war against him at the last second just for the fun of it. Still, the effort had paid off.

He had reach-control skills, two decent mobility techniques, and a surprisingly nasty counterattack ability that punished aggressive opponents. All he needed now was one or two higher-tier offensive skills and maybe a better weapon head to carry him for the foreseeable future. Which was exactly why the timing of this entire mess infuriated him so much. Now the entire city had transformed into a kicked ant hill. He had a few leads lined up for new skill books at prices he could hopefully afford.

As Oliver walked through Roserun's crowded market district, weaving between shouting merchants, hurried players, and nervous NPC porters dragging crates toward the docks, he could practically see prices climbing in real time. The atmosphere was almost feverish. Players crowded around stalls, arguing over consumables. Guild representatives moved in groups, buying entire inventories at once. Crafters yelled over one another, trying to secure materials before prices rose again within the hour.

Every merchant suddenly acted like their mediocre junk had become legendary treasure overnight. He had already spent the morning tracking several promising leads for skill books that might finally push his class into something genuinely dangerous. Now all of them were probably gone. Or worse – still available, but suddenly triple the price.

"Stupid war…" he growled under his breath. He already knew what would happen when he contacted his suppliers. They would claim the instability made goods harder to acquire. Even if they had been sitting on those items for weeks. Even if the books were already safely tucked away in storage. One merchant in particular would probably start talking about 'risk premiums' again while pretending that transporting goods through Roserun had suddenly become impossible.

"I suppose this is what I get for trying to shop in Roserun…" he muttered. Leaning against the wall of a narrow alleyway with his arms crossed, he watched the chaos around him with mounting irritation. A group of armored players rushed past him toward the western gate while nearby merchants immediately began shouting after them, advertising potions, repair kits, and emergency supplies at inflated prices. Still, it was not really his fault that he had ended up here.

He had simply approached a beautiful woman and tried to flirt a little. How exactly was he supposed to know her brother – or cousin, or boyfriend, or whatever the hell he was – turned out to be some absurdly influential player who took personal offense to someone talking to her? The entire thing had escalated ridiculously fast afterward. Besides, if she did not want attention, maybe she should not have dressed like that in the first place. It was hardly unreasonable for someone to approach her.

Instead, he ended up with a bounty plastered across most southern cities, city guards attacking him on sight badly enough that he had been forced to relocate northward to somewhere lawless enough not to care. Somewhere like Roserun. Originally, he had intended to settle in Ironwood and maybe even angle for a position with Chrysalis eventually, but Roserun had grown on him over time. The city had a certain energy to it.

Unlike the more polished northern cities, Roserun did not suffocate independent players with guild politics. Independent players like him. As long as you paid your fees, did not interfere with major operations, and avoided angering the wrong people, the city mostly left you alone. The Blood Army presence helped, too. Their constant military operations ensured a steady stream of quests, escort missions, supply runs, monster exterminations, and battlefield scavenging jobs even for unattached players.

Normally, it suited him perfectly. Right now, though, as he watched players panic-buy supplies while merchants practically salivated at the opportunity to gouge prices, Oliver could only feel a headache forming. He somehow needed to secure the items his build required without draining every coin he had spent months grinding for. Not everybody could be like Solar, whose income probably exceeded that of smaller guild alliances. Hours later, Oliver was even grumpier.

Half the city was panicking thanks to the explosions rocking the crafting district of Roserun, while the other half treated the looming battle like a festival. The streets had only grown more crowded as time passed. Mercenaries hurried toward the walls carrying crates of ammunition and bundles of spears. Guild groups marched through the city in matching equipment while recruiters shouted promises of emergency pay and battlefield loot.

Everywhere people talked over one another, voices blending into a constant roar that echoed through the narrow streets. Naturally, a smaller group had already decided to flee entirely. Some feared dying. Others feared losing their stashed items, businesses, workshops, or precious investments if the city descended into chaos. Honestly, Oliver could not even blame them. He himself had seriously considered leaving.

Sitting safely in his inventory was one of those random teleportation gizmos he had gotten from an event quest months ago – a single-use emergency item that would throw him somewhere within a few hundred kilometers. Unpredictable. But still preferable to getting caught in a city-wide massacre. Several times already, he had almost pulled it out. But every single time, greed stopped him. This chaos represented opportunity. A desperate city meant desperate sellers. People dumped valuable equipment for liquid gold.

Rare items surfaced from hidden inventories. Collectors panicked. Hoarders made mistakes. And somewhere in Roserun were still the weapon upgrades and skill books he had been chasing for weeks. So instead of fleeing, Oliver wandered the open market with growing irritation. One hand balanced the massive halberd resting across his shoulder while the other hovered near his belt pouch, always ready to pull out one of the revolting speed potions he carried for emergencies.

Everywhere he looked, merchants screamed over one another trying to profit before the fighting began. Alchemists advertised miracle potions in voices so loud they bordered on hysterical. Weapon dealers waved around rust-polished trash while claiming it had been looted from legendary dungeons. Some bastard was literally trying to sell 'anti-explosion charms' made from painted horseshoes. There was no way he would fall for something so stupid.

As ridiculous as most of it was, he knew better than to dismiss markets like this outright. He had played long enough to understand that chaos attracted strange things. People told stories all the time. A wandering NPC appearing during wartime to sell cursed relics. A hidden merchant only visible during emergencies. A random beggar carrying some absurd item because he looted a corpse he should never have been able to touch.

Oliver still remembered hearing about some idiot who purchased a cracked ring for five silver from a random swamp trader, only to discover it evolved into a legendary item after absorbing enough monster souls. Another player reportedly bought a "broken" spear that permanently ignored armor. And Oliver desperately wanted it to be his turn. As he drifted through the crowded market, his imagination slowly took over. Maybe he would find some hidden artifact that multiplied all his stats.

Or a unique halberd skill nobody else possessed. Or one of those terrifying true-damage abilities people whispered about on forums before moderators deleted the posts. He imagined himself cleaving through enemy players in a single strike while people stared in shock. Facing Solar and defeating him with one mighty slash. The fantasy became so vivid that he barely noticed where he was walking. Then movement caught the edge of his vision.

Freezing mid-step, Oliver turned his head only slightly, careful not to make the movement too obvious or give away that he had noticed something important. Because in Roserun, where desperation, greed, and opportunism mixed together in equal measure, even the smallest reaction could draw the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of people.

At first glance, the alleyway appeared completely unremarkable, just another narrow crack between buildings overflowing with refuse and shadow, the kind of place most players avoided unless they were looking to buy contraband or get stabbed.

And there, sitting against the wall amidst the filth as though he had always belonged there, was a hobo wrapped in layer after layer of ragged cloth and mismatched blankets, his body so swallowed by shadow that Oliver could barely make out his face beneath the hood hanging low over it. But while the darkness concealed most of the man himself, it failed to hide the blanket spread out before him. And the moment Oliver truly saw what rested on it, his thoughts came to a complete stop.

Weapons, belts, rings, armor pieces, necklaces, trinkets, and strange objects whose purpose Oliver could not immediately identify were scattered across the filthy blanket in such absurd quantities that it looked less like a merchant's inventory and more like someone had upended several players' storage chests directly onto the ground before kicking dirt over everything for good measure. His pulse immediately quickened. Because he recognized some of those items.

Not top-tier endgame equipment that entire guilds would go to war over, but undeniably valuable pieces nonetheless, the sort of items players stalked the Auction House for weeks trying to obtain cheaply before reselling them at massive markups. And the worst part – the truly horrifying part – was the way the hobo treated them.

Several pieces had dried mud caked into the crevices, one ring sat beside what looked like a mold-covered chunk of bread, and the dagger Oliver recognized had enough dirt packed into the handle grooves that he physically twitched seeing it. No merchant would ever handle valuable gear like that. No collector would leave magical equipment piled together in the dirt. Hell, even complete beginners treated rare drops with more care than this. Which meant one thing. The hobo had absolutely no idea what he possessed.

The realization struck Oliver so hard he nearly lost control of his expression. Forcing himself to stay calm, he deliberately kept walking past the alleyway without slowing down, refusing to even glance toward the blanket again despite every instinct screaming at him to stop immediately and start grabbing items before somebody else noticed them. Because if he noticed this treasure trove, then someone else eventually would too.

Instead, Oliver continued down the street for another dozen steps before suddenly slapping his forehead theatrically hard enough to produce an audible sound.

"Oh, damn it…" He immediately began patting down his pockets in exaggerated frustration while muttering curses beneath his breath, imitating someone who had just realized they forgot something important. Then, after glancing around with feigned annoyance, he quickly turned around and hurried back the way he came.

Only when he reached the alley again did he slow his pace, trying desperately to contain the excitement building inside him as his heart hammered hard enough that he could practically feel it in his throat. Carefully, he stepped closer to the blanket and finally allowed himself a proper look. And the closer he got, the more insane it became.

'That's a dagger from the AFK Shop line,' Oliver realized instantly, his eyes locking onto the familiar weapon shape with growing disbelief as excitement surged through him so intensely he had to consciously stop himself from grinning.

'I recognize the guard and the hilt pattern. No way. No fucking way.' A weapon strong enough to hold at least three enchantments. Some even claiming to be able to affix four to them. Sold by AFK to VIP members of their shopping malls. At least ten thousand in the Auction House – if it even showed up. And it was sitting there on a dirty blanket beside rusty spoons, cracked bottles, and random garbage like it belonged in a scrap heap.

Oliver swallowed slowly, his eyes darting across the rest of the items with rapidly growing greed.

'Where the hell did this guy even get all this stuff?' he wondered, momentarily suspicious. For a brief second, the thought crossed Oliver's mind that something about the entire situation felt deeply wrong. Then greed crushed the concern flat beneath its heel. Because in the end, he did not care.

He was just excited about the opportunity suddenly laid out before him, so overwhelmingly excited that for a moment he could barely hear the noise of the market behind him anymore, his entire focus narrowing onto the filthy blanket and the priceless-looking junk piled across it like treasure hidden beneath garbage.

As Oliver approached, the hobo slowly lifted his head beneath the ragged hood, obscuring most of his face, revealing only fragments of deeply wrinkled skin covered in dirt and a pair of watery eyes that looked as though they struggled to focus on anything properly anymore. Then the old man grinned. Or at least attempted to. The expression revealed perhaps half a dozen yellowed teeth scattered unevenly through inflamed gums, while the smell rolling off him nearly made Oliver recoil on instinct.

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"Eh, me lordy, how 'bout some-some for cheap?" the hobo croaked in what sounded like an attempt at a charming merchant's voice. Oliver had to physically suppress the disgust threatening to show on his face. The stench alone was horrific. But he had played enough games – and more importantly, heard enough stories – to know better than to underestimate strange NPCs. Especially hidden ones.

For all he knew, this disgusting old beggar was actually some legendary disguised merchant, one of those secret encounter NPCs forums endlessly speculated about but could never consistently locate. So instead of reacting honestly, Oliver forced a pleasant smile onto his face.

"Hello, hello! No need to call me lord," he said with a light laugh, trying to sound casual despite the excitement hammering through his chest.

"I'm just here to see what you're selling." The hobo's grin widened slightly.

"Well, well… polite arentcha?" he chuckled, though the laugh quickly dissolved into a nasty coughing fit that sounded deep enough to tear something inside his lungs apart. Oliver instinctively took half a step backward. After several painful seconds, the old man finally recovered enough to breathe properly again before flashing another awful toothless grin.

"Seein' you're mah first cust-o-mer foh de day…" he rasped happily.

"How abut some-some shiny?" Oliver's eyes lit up so quickly he almost gave himself away. Finally. Finally, it was happening. This was exactly how those stories always started. A hidden merchant. A strange encounter. An item everyone else overlooked. His opportunity had finally arrived.

"W-which is?" Oliver asked, unable to completely hide the breathless anticipation in his voice. The hobo let out another wheezing laugh before gesturing lazily toward the blanket spread before him.

"This is mah trash heap," he declared proudly, waving toward the mountains of filthy treasure scattered around.

"But thar is one lidle tre-a-sure for yah…" One dirty hand slowly reached forward, pushing aside the dagger Oliver had been staring at alongside some cracked potion tankard coated in grime. Beneath them rested something much simpler than he expected. A metal band. The band was made from some dark metal he did not immediately recognize, worn smooth in places yet covered elsewhere in tiny scratches and strange etched markings that looked almost deliberate.

Set into the center sat a dull obsidian gem that appeared completely lifeless, absorbing light rather than reflecting it.

"What da ya thin'?" the hobo asked proudly, clearly convinced he had presented something extraordinary. Oliver barely restrained himself from immediately grabbing it. He knew this setup. This was classic hidden-item encounter design. Worthless-looking object. Suspicious NPC. Enormous payoff later. Probably one of those scaling artifacts that awakened after meeting hidden conditions. Or maybe a sealed legendary item disguised as junk. The game loved doing things like that.

And after everything that had happened to him lately, this had to be the system compensating him. There was no other explanation.

"H-how much?" Oliver asked quickly. The hobo's cloudy eyes suddenly brightened with unmistakable greed before he slowly raised three filthy fingers into the air. Oliver did not even hesitate. Immediately, he reached into his inventory, pulled out three hundred gold coins, and practically threw them onto the blanket before snatching up the metal band with almost frantic speed. He did not even spare the other valuable-looking items another glance.

The moment the band touched his hand, he turned and hurried out of the alleyway as calmly as he could manage without outright sprinting. Only once he had created some distance between himself and the hobo did he allow his pace to quicken. The item vanished into his inventory as he moved, and excitement surged hotter and hotter inside his chest with every passing second. Then, after several more hurried steps, Oliver glanced back toward the alleyway one final time. The alley was empty.

Only dirty cobblestones and scattered trash remained, as though nobody had ever been there at all. Hope immediately swelled inside Oliver so intensely he almost laughed out loud right there in the middle of the street. That settled it. One more sign that he had been right all along. This was not a random chance. This was his opportunity.

Ten minutes later, Oliver had barricaded himself inside a small rented inn room near the eastern side of the market district, far away from the noise of the streets and, more importantly, far away from curious eyes that might notice him examining something valuable. His entire attention was fixed on the metal band resting on the table before him.

The item had already been carefully cleaned using water from the cracked wash basin and half a cloth he tore from an old undershirt, and now that the dirt and grime had finally been removed, Oliver could properly see the object for the first time. And the longer he stared at it, the more convinced he became that he had struck gold. The scratches covering the surface were not random damage like he originally thought.

Tiny intricately etched symbols wrapped around the band in impossibly precise patterns, intertwining into several concentric circles that spiraled around the dark obsidian gem embedded at the center. It was clearly a masterwork. The lines were so fine and tightly packed together that they almost appeared chaotic at first glance, yet the more Oliver looked, the more obvious the deliberate structure became.

Each ring of runes connected seamlessly into the next as though the entire band had been carved from a single uninterrupted thought. The gem remained strangely dull. It seemed to absorb the light around it, becoming darker the longer he looked directly at it. His fingers twitched slightly against the edge of the table. Up until now, he had deliberately avoided checking the item description. Because excitement and fear had been warring inside him ever since he left the alleyway.

Part of him felt absolutely certain he had stumbled into one of those hidden encounters players dreamed about. The other part feared he had just spent three hundred gold on worthless roleplay junk sold by a homeless NPC. If the item turned out to be decorative garbage, he was going to lose his mind. But now that he could see the intricate details, he was sure. There was no way this thing was trash. Then, with visible hesitation, he focused on the band and mentally triggered identification.

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. A cold wave of dread immediately spread through his chest. His mind instantly began spiraling toward the worst possible conclusion. Then the system interface suddenly flickered into existence across his vision. And Oliver nearly stopped breathing. [Runic??? Band, Rarity: Unique, Activation: Blood, Effects:???,???,???,???] His Identifying skill was not particularly high, but that hardly bothered him anymore, because after spending enough time in Roserun he had learned very quickly that only complete idiots relied on the city's official identification shops. Those places existed almost exclusively to prey on newcomers, tourists, or overly trusting players who still believed the city operated according to rules instead of greed.

At best, the merchants running those establishments charged outrageous fees to reveal information that a player could eventually uncover themselves through experimentation and skill progression. No, the only true way to figure out the item was to put it on and see how it functions. At worst… Players entering with mysterious artifacts only to emerge with subtly swapped replicas.

Identification experts deliberately withholding important information so they could later buy priceless items for a fraction of their actual value. And sometimes people simply killed after showing off something too valuable in the wrong district. No, experienced players understood there was only one truly reliable method of identifying suspicious equipment.

"Four effects?" Oliver whispered again, his voice trembling slightly with excitement as he stared at the floating system screen hanging before his vision.

"FOUR?" Even saying it aloud felt absurd. His best piece of equipment – a rare combat harness specifically tailored for halberd users that he had spent almost two months grinding and trading to obtain – only possessed two effects, and one of those was mediocre enough that he fully intended to replace it eventually. Three-effect items alone already sold for ridiculous amounts of gold unless their bonuses were complete garbage. But four hidden effects? On a Unique item? His heart hammered violently against his ribs.

"And unique…" he added more quietly this time, almost in awe. Unique did not simply mean rare. It meant singular. If a Unique item entered the world, then that specific object became the only one of its kind. No duplicate copies could exist. No hidden boss farmed replacements. No guild stockpiled extras. And now one sat directly in front of him on a crooked wooden table inside a disgusting inn room barely worth sleeping in. His. Only his. Then his eyes drifted lower toward the activation requirement.

Oliver immediately relaxed. Honestly, that barely even registered as unusual anymore. After spending enough time around Roserun and the Blood Army, he had become thoroughly accustomed to blood-activated equipment, rituals, consumables, and abilities. So without much hesitation, Oliver reached into his inventory and retrieved a small utility knife he regularly used for exactly this sort of task.

Trying to steady his breathing despite the adrenaline flooding through him, he carefully nicked the tip of one trembling finger. Slowly, Oliver tilted his hand over the obsidian gemstone embedded at the center of the band and allowed three drops of blood to fall onto its dull black surface. The blood merely spread slowly across the gemstone like liquid crawling over polished stone. Oliver's stomach tightened slightly.

Then, immediately after the third drop touched the obsidian, the gem suddenly flashed with deep reddish-black light so dark it almost looked wrong to the eye, absorbing the blood. When it faded, the gemstone had changed completely. The dull, lifeless obsidian was gone. In its place rested something that no longer looked entirely like stone. The gem now appeared impossibly deep, absorbing light around it rather than reflecting it, like a tiny hole carved into reality itself. And within that darkness…

Tiny pinpricks of lights. Oliver leaned closer unconsciously, his excitement momentarily overtaken by fascination.

'Five? No…' His eyes narrowed.

'Seven lights…' The pinpricks shimmered faintly deep inside the gemstone with golden light, like distant stars suspended within an endless void, appearing and disappearing as the angle shifted ever so slightly. The item suddenly felt far more real than before. Slowly, unable to fully suppress the grin spreading across his face now, Oliver reached toward the band resting on the table. His hand hesitated only briefly before his fingers closed around the cool metal.

Picking up the band, he moved it closer to his left wrist, then took a deep breath and put it on. It felt oddly warm beneath his fingertips, almost alive in some subtle, impossible way. Swallowing once, Oliver lifted it carefully and brought it toward his left wrist. Then he took a deep breath. And slid the band into place.

The moment the metal touched his skin, the entire band suddenly softened and shifted like molten putty, causing Oliver to jerk violently in alarm as the supposedly rigid material flowed around his wrist with unnerving smoothness. The runic circles rearranged themselves continuously across the surface while the metal tightened and reshaped itself into a perfectly fitted form that somehow felt more comfortable than any piece of equipment he had ever worn. Then the obsidian gem pulsed once.

And instantly, another system screen exploded into existence before his eyes. [Congratulations! You gained a unique item called Runic Detonator Band through chance alone!] [You gain +1 LUCK!] [Runic Detonator Band, Rarity: Unique, Activation: Blood, Effects: Bound to the wearer, cannot be lost,???,???,???] Oliver's eyes widened so much they almost hurt. For several seconds, he simply stared at the floating notifications hanging before him while his brain struggled to catch up with what he was reading.

Then a grin spread slowly across his face.

"A LUCK stat point?" he whispered incredulously.

"Seriously?" His excitement immediately intensified. Luck was one of those infamous stats most players barely interacted with because increasing it through normal means was practically impossible. And he had just received one simply for obtaining the item.

"This really is my lucky day…" Oliver muttered with growing disbelief. The system itself had practically confirmed it. He knew it. All those stories about hidden encounters and mysterious merchants had been real after all. Then his excitement paused slightly as he reread the item name.

"Runic… Detonator Band?" he repeated slowly, confusion creeping into his voice.

"What exactly does that even mean?" The first revealed effect did not surprise him much. Bound to the wearer. Cannot be lost. That was relatively common among higher-rarity Blood Army equipment, especially gear involving blood activation or strange rituals. He even owned a pair of boots that permanently bound themselves after first use so nobody else could steal them from his corpse after death. Still, the name bothered him slightly. Detonator. That sounded… Dangerous. Potentially explosive.

Which honestly only made the item cooler in his eyes. Eager to uncover the hidden effects immediately, Oliver began experimenting. First, he carefully channeled mana into the band. Nothing happened. Then he tried focusing mentally on activating it. Still nothing. After that, he tried a few keywords, hoping that would work.

"Activate." Silence.

"Runic Detonator." Nothing.

"Band?" Still nothing. He even tried gripping the obsidian gem directly while feeding mana into it more aggressively, but aside from the gemstone faintly darkening for a moment, absolutely no visible effect occurred. After several increasingly awkward minutes spent alone in the miserable inn room, essentially talking to his own wrist, Oliver finally leaned back in frustration.

"Probably needs active combat," he concluded eventually. Honestly, that would make sense. A lot of stronger equipment only revealed abilities during battle conditions or while exposed to danger. And considering the item literally contained the word detonator in its name, there was a decent chance it needed enemies nearby before doing anything interesting. That thought immediately improved his mood again. If the hidden effects were combat-oriented, then he wanted to discover them as soon as possible.

Quickly grabbing his halberd from where it rested beside the bed, Oliver slung the massive weapon over his shoulder and headed for the door with renewed energy in his steps. There was a small, low-level fracture not far from the warehouse district, one usually ignored by experienced players because the monsters inside were weak and the rewards mediocre. Mostly beginners used it for practice. Or veterans tested new equipment there before risking anything valuable in proper combat zones.

With the war currently unfolding outside the city walls, Oliver doubted many people would bother with a low-level fracture right now. Perfect conditions for experimentation. Excitement buzzed inside him as he descended the inn stairs and stepped back into the streets of Roserun. The city somehow felt even more chaotic than before. Armed players rushed past constantly, merchants screamed over one another trying to unload supplies, and groups of Blood Army guards moved through the streets with visible urgency.

Just as one particularly large patrol thundered past the inn entrance, Oliver suddenly felt something unusual. A faint wave of mana brushed across his body. Oliver instinctively glanced down toward the dark metal wrapped around his wrist. The obsidian gem seemed unchanged. No notification appeared. He frowned slightly. Then shrugged.

"Probably just waking up after sitting in garbage for who knows how long," he muttered dismissively. Honestly, the thing was probably recalibrating or syncing itself after activation. Magical items occasionally behaved strangely after long periods of inactivity. At least, that was what he assumed.

Completely unconcerned, Oliver adjusted the halberd resting across his shoulder and continued toward the small fracture near the warehouse district, his mind already racing with possibilities about what kind of absurd hidden abilities his new Unique item might reveal once combat started. He barely took two steps before the sound cut through Roserun like a thrown blade.

"SOLAR!" Oliver's head snapped around instantly, every instinct screaming at him to locate what was apparently the most infamous name in the entire game, the number one enemy of the Blood Army and a walking disaster wherever they appeared. The problem was that there was no one obvious standing there shouting it, only clusters of players staring past him with pale, shocked expressions as though they had just witnessed something that did not make sense.

His mind accelerated immediately, trying to piece together why a figure like that would be in Roserun, why now, why here, and what it meant for him specifically, because nothing good ever happened when world-tier players showed up unexpectedly in a city already on edge. Then he turned back, toward the voice. And saw them.

Several players wearing the Blood Army sigil in prominent, unmistakable positions, sprinting directly toward him with murder in their eyes, their formations tight and deliberate in a way that suggested they weren't playing jokes.

Weapons were already raised high above their heads, blades and spears crackling with dense blood-red mana that distorted the air around them, while behind the frontline several mages had already begun their casting rotations, forming overlapping circles of unstable energy that hummed with imminent release. Oliver's thoughts tried to catch up. He could see individual spell matrices forming. He could see the tension in the muscles as the melee fighters committed to their charges.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, he looked down. And noticed his body had changed. Instead of his familiar worn armor and halberd harness, he was suddenly clad in a high-grade suit of equipment he had never seen in-person before, composed of deep shadow-black material reinforced with angular metal plating across the chest and shoulders, shaped in a stylized motif that resembled a snarling wolf's head.

In his hand, instead of his halberd, rested a sword he absolutely recognized from forum discussions and guild war footage. A weapon infamous enough that even seeing it in someone else's hands usually meant death followed shortly after. His brain stalled. This was not his gear. He tried to speak, but the words did not form quickly enough.

The incoming attacks filled his vision now, magical projectiles and physical strikes overlapping in a dense wall of lethal intent, all converging on his position with absolute certainty. And in the final fraction of a second before impact, a few thoughts surfaced in his mind with horrifying clarity. The grinning visage of the hobo, and two simple words.

"Oh shit!" Then everything went black. [You have died!] The room filled with wall-to-wall screens and humming server banks felt less like an office and more like a living organism, a hive of activity where information never stopped flowing.

One entire segment of the display wall was dedicated to a single player's movement through Roserun, showing him walking openly through crowded streets in broad daylight without any stealth skills or even basic caution, as though the concept of being hunted simply did not apply to him. Another cluster of monitors tracked a volatile mana event forming in the same city, numbers and projections updating rapidly as analysts attempted to predict the end results.

A few more screens displayed ongoing conflicts scattered across the world of Magic Unbound, including a small elite team of infiltrators moving with surgical precision through a fracture, cutting through shifting terrain and unstable monster spawns, while elsewhere a large armored formation advanced steadily across open plains in what looked like a coordinated military operation rather than a typical player encounter.

The rest of the room was filled with dense streams of data, cascading text logs, probability models, combat simulations, and system alerts that flashed too quickly for any single person to fully follow without specialized tools or years of training.

Every person seated at a workstation was either typing rapidly with tense precision or speaking into headsets in clipped, urgent bursts of communication, their faces illuminated by screen light and marked by visible fatigue, concentration, and the kind of stress that came from managing systems that refused to ever pause or slow down.

Despite the intensity, there was still a strange contrast at the back of the room, where a small group of analysts huddled around a whiteboard filled with scribbled notes, arrows, and increasingly chaotic betting odds, occasionally laughing or shaking their heads as they adjusted numbers and passed around folded bills like it was an ordinary day.

Every so often, someone would stand up from a terminal, walk over to that group to exchange money or a quiet remark, then return to their station as if nothing unusual had happened, while new personnel periodically entered through the heavy doors, glanced anxiously toward the center of the room, and repeated the same routine before leaving again just as quickly. At the very center of the entire operation stood two figures. One human. One artificial intelligence.

The man was seated on the edge of a cluttered desk, wearing a stained lab coat over an equally stained shirt, holding a large coffee mug that had clearly been reheated more times than anyone cared to admit, while his scruffy beard and exhausted eyes suggested he had not properly slept in days. Opposite him, projected in a soft holographic overlay, stood Selene, her expression calm, composed, and faintly amused in a way that somehow made the man more irritated the longer he looked at her.

"I still think we should stop him," the man said again, taking a long sip of lukewarm coffee as if it might somehow strengthen his argument through sheer caffeine force alone, while his eyes flicked briefly toward one of the main screens showing the unfolding situation. Selene responded with what was unmistakably a simulated sigh.

"We have already discussed this extensively," she said patiently, her tone smooth and infuriatingly reasonable, "and unless you intend to violate multiple foundational rules of system integrity and openly demonstrate direct interference in player agency, you must allow the event to proceed as designed."

"But… he is going to…" the man began, cutting himself off as he gestured helplessly toward the screen again, as though the visuals themselves should be enough to justify immediate intervention.

"Yes," Selene interrupted, her tone unchanged, "and everything remains within acceptable parameters. We have reviewed the crafting process, the component interactions, and the rune structure itself. All systems are functioning as intended."

"For the fifth time," she added, just softly enough to sting. The man groaned and rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

"But the precedent…" he tried again, stubbornly clinging to the last thread of objection he had left.

"According to the psychological profile of the player designated as 'The Fucker,'" Selene continued in an overly formal tone that somehow made it worse, "our analysts had assessed with high confidence that they fully understand the potential consequences of their actions."

"So?"

"As previously established, internal development teams have reviewed all artifacts currently in production within their private workshop," Selene continued smoothly, "and have already prepared to release associated crafting blueprints the moment the devices are publicly discovered or reverse-engineered."

"And?"

"The Fucker is not planning to destroy the game. Just to shake things up." Selene stated with a grin on her projected face. The man exhaled slowly through his nose.

"And the leadership is okay with this?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already regretted asking.

"Predictive models indicate a temporary increase in user complaints, a minor wave of forum discussion spikes, and a small number of organized protests," Selene replied calmly, "but overall engagement metrics show a significant positive reaction due to expanded gameplay possibilities." The man stared at the main screen again, watching as the player in question continued moving through the world he had helped create, and doing his very best to drive him into an early grave.

He looked away from the cheerful AI and watched as The Fucker carved another one of his accursed circles in the ground.

"At least he didn't recreate an atomic bomb…" he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else, taking another sip of coffee as if that might stabilize reality. Selene chose to shatter that relief with unnerving cheerfulness.

"They did consider it," she said, "but ultimately decided against it." The room collectively reacted in various forms of disbelief, including several groans from the betting group in the back, a few abrupt marker scratches across the whiteboard, and at least one person silently putting their head in their hands. The man, however, bravely chose to ignore all of it.

"So the system stability remains unaffected," he said slowly, "but what about my mental stability?" Selene did not respond to that question at all. Instead, she continued as if it had never been spoken.

"Comparatively speaking, this is not fundamentally different from existing high-impact systems such as Blood Army warfare protocols, large-scale poison deployment mechanics, or regional extermination events already present in the game ecosystem," she stated, as if reciting something written for PR purposes. The man raised a finger weakly.

"Well, yes, but those are – those are established mechanics. This is… different." Selene just hummed.

"Sure, sure." He sighed again, louder this time, and turned back toward the screens.

"Can you at least ensure that if it happens again, it requires significantly more effort?" he asked after a pause, gesturing vaguely with his coffee mug.

"Maybe destabilize the mana environment or introduce some kind of resistance threshold so repeating it isn't trivial?" Selene's expression brightened slightly, as if she had been waiting for exactly that kind of input. Processing indicators flickered briefly across her projection. Then she chimed pleasantly. Though he found the sound irritating at the moment.

"Congratulations! Your recommendations were accepted and implemented!" she declared, throwing up digital confetti into the air. The man nodded, a small, satisfied exhale escaping him.

"At least someone up there has their brain in the right place." For a moment, the room felt marginally calmer. Then one of the analysts at a nearby terminal abruptly stood up.

"Sir!" he called out sharply, voice cutting through the controlled chaos.

"He just gave away the detonator!" The man froze mid-sip.

"What?" Without hesitation, the analyst pointed at the main screen. The footage updated instantly. There, he saw the replay of The Fucker, shamelessly using one of the oldest tricks in the book – so simple it was almost insulting – to manipulate another player into taking the detonator in his place while he began his escape from the city. The man's grip on the coffee mug tightened so suddenly that the porcelain creaked. His knuckles went white. His eyes slowly narrowed at the screen.

"The fucker…"