The Amplification Necklace

"Whoa. They make things like this?"

Haven was stuffed with every kind of item imaginable, and the Amplification Necklace was one of them. High risk, high return — options that lived up to the name.

"The penalties on those options are pretty heavy, right? There's a bit of a story... The dungeon we went into was a mine. Like the description says, it's a mine full of amplification stone, and the job was to take the stone from the dwarves guarding it. I didn't even know a quest like that existed, but when we cleared it, they handed us this necklace."

"A theme quest?"

"You got one not long ago, didn't you? When you cleared a five-star. We got one too. Only ours just gave us this item as the reward."

"Whoa..."

Theme items. Gear whose options simply outclassed ordinary equipment. This one, though, was strange. The lines that actually helped the wearer came to exactly two. Five lines in all, special options included. Was this even five-star? And yet the options themselves were vicious enough to slap a full five lines across the face and follow through with a flying kick. You'd be hard-pressed to find any halfway decent item that inflated damage by a flat hundred percent. Even the Lich King's Soul Pouch I'd bought only carried +15% magic skill damage, and that as a special option. Here, a hundred percent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was stamped right onto a base line, with no penalty attached to it. The other two options, of course, were laced with penalties in its place.

They say there's no power without a price. But if the price isn't reasonable, then no matter how strong that power is, you can't help but hesitate. Every skill grew twice as strong, and the mana to cast it tripled — a penalty that didn't feel like an upside in the slightest. Classes like mages might actually come out ahead. One spell, then another. Push the magic hard enough and a single high-damage cast could skip a boss's patterns, or leap straight over them. Triple mana, though, was a different conversation. For a mage, mana is part of your damage. The deeper the pool, the more spells you can throw, and the more spells ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you throw, the easier a crowd becomes.

"Hmm... the conditions are pretty brutal."

"Right... It's fussy as anything. Unless you're a class that stacked magic power, you can't even use your skills properly with this on. Mages and healers can't make real use of it either, not with the mana burden... Plenty of people tried to lowball me for it, but it was my first five-star. I didn't want to just hand it off, so I've been holding on."

"Ah."

"Someone like you, Siwoo — I figured you might actually be able to use this necklace. What do you think?"

"..."

The options were a burden for me, too. They were also attractive for exactly that reason: because I was me. I even had a skill that could drive this particular option to its absolute limit.

"If skill damage goes up a hundred percent, then the sparks off Fireball and the ice shards off Ice Arrow get a hundred percent more damage too, right?"

The numbers started turning over in my head. What if the option applied to those sparks all on their own? Call a skill 100 damage before the necklace, and it climbed to 200 with the thing on. Kill a monster with that and a spark carrying ten percent — 20 damage — flew off. And if the necklace's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠option kicked in a second time and turned that 20 into 40? That was four times the old spark damage of 10, from before I'd ever put it on.

I'd have to confirm exactly how the damage was applied before I could be sure. But if it really worked that way, spending three times the mana might be worth it and then some. Not that I was certain.

"The mana, though..."

One cycle currently ran me about twenty-eight to thirty mana. Triple that and I was looking at roughly ninety. My pool sat at 430, plus fifty percent — 640.

"About seven cycles. If it refills fifteen percent a minute, that's one cycle back."

The moment I followed the thought that far, my mind was made up.

"How much are you selling it for? Mana at that level should be fine. I can just recover with mana potions."

The problem came next. The price. Figuring out what to pay for an item that was a pure white elephant mattered — especially to me, after the whole sucker fiasco. I was happy to buy anything I actually needed, however much it cost, but I'd learned last time to be careful about overpaying for something that wouldn't sell at a fair price even if you listed it. Nobody was watching at the moment, of course. The stream was paused, and that was probably why the seller had never said it was fine to keep broadcasting. It would've put them on the spot.

"Just say it straight. If I were still on the fence, maybe — but I've already decided to buy it. The price doesn't matter."

"No... I'm not looking to sell it high. I only asked whether you really needed it. I'm attached to the thing. I just hope it gets used well somewhere, that's all..."

The seller thought for a moment, then went on.

"The lowest offer I've had was 1.5 billion. I'll let you have it for that."

"What? For this?"

"Yeah. Honestly, I went back and forth a lot about just selling it off. I just didn't like the thought of people who didn't even need it walking away with it, so I kept hauling the thing around. It doesn't have to be your gear for life. If you'd just show me this level 11 piece getting used properly..."

"Wow... thank you."

However brutal the conditions, it was still a level 11 five-star accessory. In Haven as it stood, the words five-star accessory alone were enough to start you at five billion. And all that talk about the options being unusable was only true next to other five-stars. Penalties or not, there were plenty of players who would get real use out of it at the right moment.

"I'll transfer the money right now."

"I'm a real fan. If this precious item of mine can help draw a line through history..."

"...Thank you."

I took the necklace and put it on at once. I'd gotten it cheap — so why did everyone I traded with insist they were a fan? It had to mean that many people were watching the stream. The seller left, and I opened the broadcast back up.

The viewers were asking. I didn't answer. Face set, I stood.

"I'll start on the level 11 dungeons from three-star."

One-star and two-star wouldn't satisfy me. It would take at least three-star before the monsters had any chance of withstanding power like mine. I went looking on purpose for a dungeon with a health special option, and stepped in.

It was an anthill — one of those dungeons infamous for how many monsters they packed in. All the better. I hurled a Fireball into the ants boiling toward me.

Ants that had been rushing in by the dozens burned to nothing in a single breath. From the viewers' side, it had to look insane. Everyone already knew I was strong. They also knew I'd still hunt without trouble in a level 11 dungeon. But a level 1 dungeon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and a level 11 dungeon are not the same thing. Monster health climbs, and this was three-star on top of that. Health in a level 11 dungeon is scaled with Badge options in mind, so under any ordinary circumstances the things are not easy to kill. Fine. Grant the Fireballs.

However strong seven Fireballs might be, they couldn't kill dozens of ants — not even with a second blast. There had been enough of them to choke the passage, and every last one was dead. Ants caught by the sparks that burst outward died, and the sparks that burst from those killed the next, and the next. A hell of fire breeding without end.

I smiled. I still couldn't tell whether the sparks had actually quadrupled, the way I'd worked it out. This wasn't a world where damage floated over a monster's head in neat little numbers the way some games did it. But damage like this meant my reasoning was at least mostly right.

"Rolling now: the all-five-star, endgame-spec Dragon Words Mage anthill cleanup mad movie."

Clearing a single dungeon didn't take long. If I were writing the review off live combat, the mana cost was real — and even then, at this level, it was cute. Pop a mana potion now and then and the problem solved itself. I cleared the place and showed them the item.

People reacted about the same way I had. Who the hell would use this — and yet it fit me like it had been made to.

I lifted a finger to my lips.

"Secret. The seller practically gave it to me."

"Ahem. Don't compare them to that person."

Five-star, in every slot. Complete.