Marketplace Upgrade Gallery (Part 1)

Spirytus stood as the final frontier of potable alcohol.

Naturally, it was never intended to be chugged straight from the bottle; treating it as a raw industrial ingredient was far closer to the truth.

In my past life, the only people who touched it were doing challenge videos, taking a reckless sip or two before gagging on camera.

Nobody in their right mind would actually drink it.

Well... no human, at least.

Dwarves were simply built from different clay.

They were a species fundamentally, irredeemably intoxicated with the concept of alcohol itself.

Just as WholesomeModest had predicted, the ninety-six-percent Spirytus had become the ultimate sleep aid for the dwarven kingdoms.

And so, as an unexpected side effect, it had also become Geonjogi's primary food source.

Truth be told, dwarves hadn't always harbored this maniacal obsession with alcohol by volume. In centuries past, they had cared deeply about nuance, body, and aroma; in fact, they had violently rejected anything that was merely high-proof for the sake of being strong.

You can see it plain as day just by digging up posts from six years back.

Back before the forum had "Destruction" appended to its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name.

Then came the Great War, shattering their civilization and changing their physiology forever.

Generations of chronic deprivation had carved an unfillable void into their culture; an agonizing, biological thirst for spirits had settled into their bones. Over decades of trauma, their dwarven constitutions had mutated into terrifying engines that demanded ever-higher concentrations of ethanol just to register a flicker of satisfaction.

The real catastrophe, however, struck the other species who dared touch the stuff out of sheer, unbridled curiosity.

The forum began to resemble an emergency incident dispatch center as casualty reports erupted across the boards. Users passing out cold mid-sentence while drafting their reviews was commonplace, while others suffered total sensory blackout, their ruined palates chugging the lethal fluid like plain water as their brains cooked from the inside out.

Yet life always found a way; and as usual, humans were the quickest species to adapt to sheer absurdity.

"Well, as long as everyone's finding a practical use for it, I suppose."

While the forum descended into glorious madness, I leaned back in my bunker chair, browsing through the endless barrage of trending posts with sheer amusement.

Dropping cheeky replies on the occasional question, I mindlessly tossed Mana Dumplings into my mouth like peanuts.

Eat Mana Dumplings, browse the boards. Browse the boards, eat Mana Dumplings.

As I maintained that blissful, repetitive routine, the notification I had been eagerly awaiting finally flashed before my eyes.

It had finally arrived: a full system level-up.

The initial level-up had been a breeze.

The real issue was everything that followed.

"When the hell is this thing actually going to pop?" I grumbled, staring at the ceiling. Even after shoveling down dozens of times the previous requirement, the system progress bar had refused to budge so much as an inch.

Just as my patience was wearing paper-thin, a new prompt flickered onto the terminal.

Did it even need to ask?

"Hell yeah, you bet your ass I do!"

"Oh?"

The newly unveiled capability was a full-fledged peer-to-peer exchange platform. Previously, my manual approval and involvement were strictly required for any trade, which crippled the overall volume of commerce across the realm; now, users could list and exchange goods completely on their own.

And that wasn't the only benefit.

Every single transaction fee went straight into my pockets.

In short, my growth trajectory was about to enter an entirely different stratosphere. A constant, passive stream of Mana Dumplings would flow in without me lifting a finger, eliminating any lingering worry about operational deficits.

"Honestly, handling all those barter requests by hand was turning into an absolute nightmare anyway."

The backlog of pending direct barter tickets waiting for my personal sign-off had breached 99,999+ ages ago. Lately, I had only been dipping into the queue to see if anything rare caught my eye. This update was nothing short of a godsend.

Without a second thought, I slammed my finger onto the [YES] button, leaning back to watch the flood of celebratory notifications roll in—

Except... that wasn't what rolled in.

Instead of celebration, the gallery violently convulsed as sheer, unadulterated panic swept through every board like a tsunami.

Within mere hours, the gallery had transformed into an anarchic wasteland.

Wild conspiracy theories, apocalyptic doomposting, and tremulous despair saturated the threads. Some users were genuinely convinced I had severed their dimensional lifeline, while predatory opportunists immediately began scalping basic supplies on external boards at a staggering fifty-five-fold markup.

Before mass hysteria could completely break their fragile sanity, I hurried to pin an official community announcement.

"I assumed it would just snap into place with a ding like usual," I muttered, shaking my head.

I hadn't anticipated the system going into a full week-long maintenance lockout either. Of course, my personal administrative pantry remained entirely unaffected, meaning I could feast on whatever supplies I pleased—but for the regular users across the continent, this was pure, distilled terror.

And with each passing day, the collective insanity only deepened.

A week that felt like an eternity crawled by.

Yet even the slowest time inevitably runs its course.

On the fateful morning when the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠users' skulls had metaphorically—and in some cases, literally—cracked for the seventh consecutive time, the long-awaited golden banner unfurled across the system terminal.

And seizing the glorious honor of the very first listing was none other than the dwarven smiths.

At that moment, not a single soul foresaw the truth.

Nobody realized that this single, innocent-looking craft listing would plunge the Otherworld Destruction Gallery into a brand-new abyss of madness far more terrifying than anything that had come before.