This Counts as a Most Welcome Guest

Seven days since the World Boss appeared. Talikal had transformed, quite literally, into a holy land. Forces from every corner had converged on the kingdom, and Lethes County was as crowded as a mercenary guild hall, packed wall to wall with players. The lord of the territory, desperate to see the dragon on the snowy mountain slain, spared no expense in supporting them — and of course, players hoping to line their own pockets came pouring in alongside everyone else.

The kingdom and its mercenaries had a clear, singular goal: take down the dragon of the snowy mountain. The players, on the other hand, had a slightly different agenda. Their objectives broke down into roughly four categories.

The first was accumulating a stake in an impossible dragon hunt. When a World Boss was defeated, rewards were distributed according to each contributor's share of the takedown, and the more stake you piled up, the greater the value of your compensation. And stake here didn't only mean dealing critical wounds or playing some decisive role in the kill.

Something utterly trivial.

In other words, no matter how impregnable a Level 135 monster might be, every single buff granted to the raid and every scratch landed on the boss raised your share. So the entrance of the snowy mountain was thick with hangers-on hovering around the raid parties, angling to farm contribution through "attack support."

"Level 50 priest here~ I can buff attack and defense~"

"Level 41 elementalist! I'll carry you to the summit behind a Wall of Fire!"

"Guardian buffs can get you to the peak with zero stamina drain. Level 47 guardian."

Then there were the "supply support" types, who pitched tents or threw up makeshift shacks like open-air shops, settled in, and provisioned the raiders.

"That'll be one advanced instant recovery potion and… thirty mana potions. Correct?"

"You're short on gear. Here, use this."

"Anything else you need?"

Mostly it was production-class players who had nothing to do with hunting in the first place — but supply support counted toward stake too, and it paid out rewards all the same.

The second goal was the most outward-facing one: the raid party itself. Rankers and elite players had gathered in force to bring down Sgaredo the Frozen Bitter Cold, and it was on the backs of all that "support" that they launched their raids. Which meant very little, in practice.

"This is insane. Genuinely."

"…A full wipe?"

"Ugh, there goes my XP again…"

A World Boss with overwhelming power. No amount of preparation or ability was enough to deal it meaningful damage. On a good run, you'd manage a shallow gash. The scales of the Frozen Bitter Cold refused to take critical damage from any attack, and its breath simply erased everything on the snowy mountain. So most raid parties had given up on an actual kill and focused entirely on grinding out as much stake as they could.

Not like anyone but the single-digit rankers will be the one to land it.

All of that — the support economy, the doomed raids — was the familiar shape every World Boss raid had taken until now. From the third goal on, though, things started to look a little different.

"Rrrrumble…"

"Wait, killing that thing counts as a World Boss kill?"

"Yes! How many times do I have to say it! We have to take it down before Lily gets back!"

The player who had sealed Sgaredo on the snowy mountain. Unofficial Rank 2. A popular streamer with hundreds of thousands of live viewers. A lancer who wielded a spear, a warrior who swung a hammer, a mage who cast spells, an assassin who handled daggers…

"But if she shows up, aren't we totally screwed?"

"Exactly. So we kill it before she gets back."

The duo of masked assassins crept into the mansion where Lily was staying. Lily spent most of her broadcasts in Talikal and rarely left the kingdom unless something extraordinary came up. But right now she was away at the capital. With the hatchling left behind, this was their chance to finish the job without interference.

The third goal was hunting the hatchling. A "weak" creature that the system classified identically to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a World Boss. Taking out a flimsy little World Boss held by a player was far more profitable than tangling with that absurd monster on the snowy mountain. Of course, if you got caught, you were as good as dead…

But dying's not exactly a downgrade from the alternative.

"I heard the hatchling's actually pretty strong, though."

"Dude. It's a Level 50 scrub at best."

By contrast, they were Level 70 assassins — fully geared, third-tier class advancement complete. A terrified little Level 50 hatchling would fold the moment they used their ultimate—

"Kyaaang!"

"Ugh!"

Piiiik!

The hatchling's ambush came without warning, and blood burst from the assassin's forearm. The left arm froze solid in seconds.

"You little—!"

The assassin behind him swept his dagger through the air, and a pitch-black gleaming arc carved toward the hatchling.

"Ooo!"

It almost connected. Flap! The hatchling shot skyward, spun a full rotation midair, and hinged its jaws wide open. Mana condensed at the back of that tiny throat. A breath.

"A hatchling's breath? You're kidding me—"

KWAAAAM!

Blinding-white mana swallowed the assassin whole, and he dissolved into a scatter of blue particles. FWOOOOOOM! And the breath didn't stop there — it kept going, blasting straight through the mansion's warded wall.

The hatchling froze as it took in the devastation it had caused. I wasn't supposed to break that.

"Huuurk."

"…What the hell!"

The surviving assassin, clutching his completely frozen left arm, scrambled for the gap in the shattered wall—

Vmmm…

"Faaah!!!"

KWAAAANG!

—right up until Sgaredo fired a breath of her own.

"Fuuuu… faaah…"

With the job done, Sgaredo gathered the debris in her tiny hands and mouth and pressed the pieces back onto the wall. The result was about as sturdy as a toddler's slapdash craft project. But she nodded to herself in evident satisfaction, then flopped back onto her plush bed and drifted off to sleep.

Watching it all from a distance, I smiled.

The man seated across from me was staring at me with doubtful eyes.

"Is something the matter?"

"We seem to have had some guests over."

Well. That certainly counts as a most welcome guest.

History of Talikal. Guardian deity of Talikal. Great hero of Talikal. The epithets went on and on, but only one of them truly captured the man.

The Great Blacksmith.

Whenever crisis descended upon Talikal, he would take up his hammer, and when the hour came, the "Chosen Wielder" would arrive to receive arms forged to match them. Those weapons would be used to hold back annihilation, and in time — when their wielders passed from the world — the Masterpieces would either revert to Talikal or scatter to distant lands.

And as befits weapons made only under such extraordinary circumstances, an old legend persisted in Talikal:

Bring all the Masterpieces together, and you may obtain a weapon that approaches the divine.

Seven arms forged around the chosen wielders of each era. And I, holding three of them, was looking at a quest window.

What I held was the Blue Guardian and the Red Guide — and the Green Hermit. A ring, a gauntlet, and a dagger; the remaining four Masterpieces were all divided among other players.

"First of all, what I have on me is this Black Destroyer. As you can see, a weapon forged for me and me alone."

In the guest chamber of the royal palace in Thali, capital of Talikal, Vlack presented his beloved weapon: the Black Destroyer. An enormous black greatsword that conjured the image of a crescent moon. The greatsword had no particular connection to me — but if I wanted to clear the quest, I needed it.

Sensing my gaze, Vlack gave an awkward cough and slid the greatsword back into his subspace.

"…Everything else is in the hands of rankers in the top hundred. They're Mythic-grade items, so no ordinary player could ever get their hands on one."

"So they're all spread out among different people?"

"That's right. Realistically, gathering them is impossible. They're not exactly the type to sell out for money."

Rankers were already magnates with fortunes in the hundreds of billions of won. Nobody hands over an item of near-impossible acquisition difficulty for pocket change, and nobody's selling it in the first place.

"But you did give up the Blue Guardian, Vlack."

"That's because I judged the Mock Siege to be worth exactly that much."

Vlack said it with a wry grin. From what I'd heard, the buzz and influence of this Mock Siege had paid handsome dividends in both Deoen and the real world. Even parting with a Mythic-grade item had been a fair trade, then.

"And the greatsword?"

"That one's… a bit more complicated."

Vlack's eyes darted, entirely on reflex, toward the subspace where he'd stowed it. Unlike the Blue Guardian, the Black Destroyer was his primary weapon — was that the problem? I wasn't going to get it today, clearly.

Not unless I collect all six of the others first.

"If there's a way, there are two. One is to rob them through PK and hope luck's on your side — which is effectively impossible. They're not the kind of people who'd get robbed, and frankly, you're not the kind of person who'd do it, Miss Lily."

"……"

"Miss Lily?"

"Right, of course."

"You seem a little slow to respond about that."

"Don't be silly."

I do not plunder. If I ever did plunder something, it would be strictly a transaction — payment rendered for services due.

"So if not PK, then in the end it comes down to persuasion. Even if it means offering something enormous in return."

"Hmm… Well, you do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know why I called you here, don't you? With the raid preparations, I'm swamped as it is."

"I do."

"How did you come to meet Drak?"