Chapter 1: The Supremacy of Item Power
A tremendous boom echoed as a colossal being with scales redder than blood and brighter than flames materialized in the sky. Though clichéd, there was only one entity in the world that could bear the purest color beyond any mortal hue: a dragon. The pinnacle of all life forms—complete and perfect in solitude. Though their numbers were few, they could effortlessly annihilate an entire kingdom in a single night if they so desired. This awe-inspiring creature lowered its posture.
It bowed its head toward a young man with resplendent golden hair that gleamed like threads of light drawn from the sun itself.
"My Lord, Karishas has just returned to mana’s embrace at the hands of humans."
The reason was simple: the one before it was the leader of all dragons, the Dragon Lord.
The most powerful and wisest among them all, the Dragon Lord commanded such respect that even arrogance melted away in a bow of the head.
"Bullshit. Just say it croaked. What’s this ‘mana’s embrace’ crap?"
But the response to that respectful report was brutally coarse.
Far from anger, the Red Dragon couldn’t even bristle.
"Ahem, my Lord. Perhaps you could phrase it with a touch more dignity…"
"You wanna get smacked with dignity?"
"……."
He was of the Red clan, infamous even among dragons for their foul tempers, but his counterpart held the most insufferable personality of them all. That was one reason dragons feared the current Dragon Lord, the gold dragon Onyx.
"Karishas—that was the Green clan’s little runt, right?"
"Yes. Still young, but it had undergone its adulthood rite about a century ago."
"Deserved to die, then."
"But my Lord, humans’ arrogance grows bolder by the day. They’ve been causing havoc near other dragons’ lairs, oblivious to their place."
"So what? You want me to avenge that dumbass weakling Green?"
"Not exactly, but…"
Onyx scowled and snapped at the Red Dragon, who raised his voice as if he had more to say. Dragons didn’t seek revenge unless an unhatched hatchling was harmed—annoyance was one thing, but petty grudges were beneath them.
"The weak get crushed. That’s nature. Unless they touched a hatchling, leave it be."
"……Understood."
In the end, the Red Dragon swallowed his words. He knew arguing would only stoke Onyx’s ire.
"Still, it’s intriguing. The Demon King Durian fell to humans about five hundred years ago, right? Their heroes’ bloodlines should be diluted to hell by now."
"Indeed. These seem unrelated to those ancient heroes."
The emergence of new human champions—Dragon Slayers unlinked to the heroes of five centuries past—drew a grave look from the Red Dragon and a sly smile from Onyx.
"Isn’t it fun? Among the most inferior races, humans always produce heroes and Dragon Slayers. Rare as they are—once every few centuries—their feats are undeniably astonishing. How do they pull it off?"
Contrary to his initial dismissal, Onyx wasn’t entirely uninterested. He cared little for the new Dragon Slayers themselves, but for humanity at large. The frailest beings, yet they commanded the continent’s mightiest forces, achieved the impossible during crises like demon king descents that no other race could, and occasionally even felled his own kind. That resilience had long fascinated him.
Punks who killed Karishas? He could wipe them out in seconds. But the fact that such "inferiors" managed it? Utterly captivating.
"Their heroes’ existence, perhaps?"
"Nah. Heroes and Dragon Slayers have unique power, sure, but not on our or a demon king’s level."
The Red Dragon ventured cautiously, only to get rebuffed.
Heroes were mighty, born once every few centuries, but never absolute.
"……Teamwork, then? They always swarm in groups."
"A bunch of rabbits don’t take down an ogre."
Party play? The real achievers were hero parties, not solos? Onyx shot it down.
"Their numbers must factor in."
"Orcs and goblins breed faster."
"Their tradition of passing knowledge to posterity…"
"Elves do that too, dipshit."
"……Their learning ability is impressive. They achieve so much in under a century."
"Sigh. You admitting you’re dumber than humans?"
"……Then what do you think it is, my Lord?"
Needled relentlessly, the Red Dragon finally snapped back timidly. Enough negating—give an answer.
Kyrreeeong!!!
Stars exploded before his eyes.
Onyx was in human form—small and cute—but that single blow dazed him utterly.
"Why’re your eyes so bugged out?"
"Grk! It’s not—"
"This."
"Pardon?"
The Red Dragon flinched at Onyx’s glare, shrinking back as the cryptic words hung in the air.
What Onyx held was a tiny smith’s hammer—something for blacksmiths, infused with magic but nothing special by draconic standards.
"Item power."
"?!"
"You think those punks beat demon kings or dragons on raw talent? No way. Every time they triumphed, it was thanks to freakish items. Legendary gear that pulped invincible flesh and severed souls—that’s their common thread."
Onyx beamed, proud of his revelation.
The Red Dragon wanted to argue but couldn’t—it rang true. Those mythic armaments held powers to wound anything. Dragon scales shrugged off most magic and aura blades, after all. Without gear to channel and amplify their strength, heroes couldn’t even scratch them.
"Sigh. Stuck passing the Lord seat to a moron like you. Dragons might go extinct at this rate. Anyway, I’ve decided."
"Decided what? What insanity now—wait, passing the Lord seat?!"
"You be Dragon Lord. You’re Ancient-grade now—qualified enough. My lifespan’s toast anyway. I’ll goof off, finish my research. Leaving now, so don’t bug me. Explain to the others."
Without consent, the authority and power of the Dragon Lord transferred from Onyx to him.
"Why the hell—?!"
"Sounds fun as shit, right? If trash gear from humans, elves, dwarves slays demon kings and dragons, imagine what I could do with ultimate item power."
"No! By Dragon Lord’s command, I forbid your whims!!"
The new Lord snapped to his senses at Onyx’s giddy grin, invoking his fresh authority to block him. Who knew what chaos this bastard would unleash on the continent?
Item power? Crafting? His infused gear could butcher real dragons like weeds. This lunatic was capable of it—millennia proved it.
"Yeah, fuck off."
Onyx flipped him the bird.
The authority barely fazed the former Lord; their power gap shattered the feeble restraint.
"Pissed? Come at me."
"……."
"I’m out. Follow me, and you’ll spawn a Dragon Lord Slayer. Got it?"
With that, Onyx vanished through space, leaving a threat to a full Dragon Lord: pursue, and die.
Knowing it wasn’t bluff, the new Lord stood frozen, staring at empty air. All he could do was summon every dragon for an emergency briefing.
About a century later, rumors spread of an ultimate blacksmith forging legendary armaments that upended the continent’s power balance.
With them, dragons who occasionally showed themselves vanished into deep, secret lairs, unseen for ages.
The "Age of Divine Swords," spanning centuries, drew to a close. Then a massive wave crashed over the continent: immortals who revived endlessly after death, calling themselves users.
Clang! Clang! Clang! In a tunnel lit faintly by torches, monotonous pickaxe strikes reverberated dully.
"Sigh, stamina’s already tapped. Still profited over entry fee, so calling it here."
"Damn. Thought a new mine meant jackpots, but just iron ore? Should’ve paid extra for somewhere else. What a hassle…"
"Soon as I cover travel, I’m outta here."
Veteran miners’ gripes—new mine over crowded old ones, lured by promise. Decent iron, but they craved more: mithril, orichalcum, or at least Rare-grade ores. Even skilled miners found nothing else. Barely scratched the depths, yields pathetic.
"Whoa, how long’s that guy been at it? Not tired?"
"Stamina should’ve bottomed out. Means he’s pushing through Exhaustion debuff?"
"I can’t twitch a finger under that. Insane."
"Tough bastard. I’ve mined ages, never seen that grit."
Gazes turned to the deepest tunnel—narrow for one, uncomfortable, no veins spotted, untouched.
Pitch black, but ceaseless clangs betrayed a presence.
Iron Ore acquired.
Dexterity has increased by 1.
‘Iron ore: 130… Not bad for undeveloped. Monthly living covered.’
Vulcan ignored the chatter, mechanically swinging. Only ore counts mattered—his livelihood hung on each chunk.
Once swinging swords from the top, now fixated on iron? Shocking, but routine now. He hadn’t abandoned soaring again.
‘Soon snag a Rare-grade weapon.’
Post-‘that incident,’ twisted reality forced gathering skills to max: miner, logger, hunter, herbalist—everything. Hoarding scraps for proper gear, dreaming of flight.
But now? Leveling Dexterity via odd jobs, not levels. His hit 500+—surpassing production-class mains. It rose fast with volume, but crafters specialized slowly.
Minor combat/ gathering boost, but his real edge: unyielding focus via Willpower, even in crushing Exhaustion.
Clang! Clang!
Crackle?
"Hm?"
Unconsciously swung pickaxe met odd feedback. Solid rock crumbled, revealing void.
"Gah!"
Not just that—contact triggered suction, yanking pickaxe—and Vulcan—with it.
Normally, he’d drop it. But too fast. Exhausted, no counter.
"What the—?!"
Entry conditions satisfied.
Hidden Dungeon: Onyx's Treasure Warehouse entered.
Whoosh! Vulcan vanished with his pickaxe into somewhere.
Golden radiance flashed where he’d been, then winked out. Dungeon mouth collapsed too—no trace left.
"Wh-what?!"
Rumble—
Moments later, violent tremors shook the mine.
It collapsed.
"Cave-in! Run!!"
Buried meant death. Users bolted, clutching ores, forgetting Vulcan amid chaos.