Why Is Tiran Here?

Vulcan froze for a split second in surprise at Tiran's sudden appearance, but on second thought, it wasn't all that strange.

She had set off to find Sharon, her friend turned heretic, but as one of Roona Temple's High Temple Knights—a position of considerable importance across the entire order—and someone who had experienced the incident firsthand, it was entirely predictable that she'd be summoned to this meeting.

Whether she'd left again afterward or was still hanging around, Vulcan couldn't say, but the message made it clear she was either sharing something she'd uncovered while wandering in search of Sharon or leveraging inside info to lend him a hand.

Come to think of it, I still have that one bus ride left with her.

That jogged Vulcan's memory of his promise with Tiran, which he'd momentarily forgotten. The mood back then had felt a bit off, but he'd still scored a chance to borrow her power once.

If I time it right, I could blow past level 300 in no time.

Of course, she'd need to wrap up her Sharon business first, per their deal, but he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could probably sync the timing to some extent. Or ride the bus while helping her with that goal.

Her level was over 380, after all. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enemies she'd face had to be insanely high-level too. If he played that smart, hitting 300 was doable.

Once I hit 300... that's when my world really begins.

At level 300, he'd have nothing left to fear. Craftsmen could make items up to their level plus 100, meaning 400-level gear. Even if he only cranked out Epics—or hell, just Uniques—he'd match top rankers.

And if I slap on some option skills, mass-produce mana batteries...? Heh heh heh heh!

But Vulcan's real strength went beyond raw attack or defense stats. He could pack in options, enchant with magic, add extras via magical crafting, swap support gear on the fly. Once he hit 300 and ranked up his skills a bit, he could take on more than one-on-one—even outnumbered.

But first, gotta grind to 200.

Sure, 200, then 250. Level 180 was still a stretch right now, making it all feel like a pipe dream, but Vulcan believed. That day was coming soon.

—You going?

"Gotta. Doesn't feel like a trap, and it's got that riddle vibe like they were in a rush. Investigating should turn up something. Plus, we've got this."

With his resolve reforged, Vulcan locked in his next stop. He'd planned to head to another city linked to Sarucha, hunt, level up normally—but with a main scenario quest hint dropped, no reason to dawdle.

The Right Wall Tiran named was rated for late 190s to 210s, but with his specs, he could make waves. The hints were vague, but Dragon Eye would fill the gaps.

"To the Right Wall."

Back in Sarucha, Vulcan hopped straight into the teleport magic circle. He'd squeezed everything out of this place, and relic gear repairs could happen anywhere—no hesitation needed.

He shelled out a hefty sum for the teleport despite just arriving, but once he hit 200, he'd dive into crafting, pump out 300-level gear to sell, and rake it in. Time was money—no skimping now.

Land route would've taken forever anyway.

The Right Wall lay far from Sarucha, at the kingdom's southeast edge. Skimp on teleport fees and risk missing opportunities to others? He'd waste all that time and cash. No way.

Taking in the towering wall—like China's Great Wall—Vulcan scanned his surroundings.

"Been a while."

First, the soldiers bustling in combat prep.

Battlefield opening soon, but not yet. Lucky break.

The Great Battlefield was this place's sole purpose, the source of all its rewards. That massive wall? Simple: block invaders.

But each stretch faced different foes. Here at the Right Wall, it was humanoid reptiles: lizardmen. Agile with swift blades, but monstrous strength made them hell for melee users. Plus goblin-like shamans casting spells, possession rites to empower warriors, buffs galore—some players trained here for that.

Shamanism so like goblins', you wonder if they interbred. Maybe that's part of why they target 'em?

—Not wrong. In ancient times, goblins and lizardmen were tight. Allies, even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crossbred mutants.

"...For real?"

A throwaway guess hit truth, but nothing changed. He'd slaughter them regardless. First, qualify for the battlefield.

"War support officer should be around here somewhere."

Priority one: the war support officer. Declare intent, get squad assignment. But assignments were class/level-based—full squad or underleveled? Denied. Better hustle.

"Over there."

Not hard to spot. Vital role, first stop for everyone—players swarmed him. Extra XP buffs, fat contribution points per deed drew grinders, often overleveled.

Vulcan wasn't worried.

Always spots open here.

Low level, but craftsman class. NPCs favored combos over raw levels; rare classes like his stayed open. Same for "noble" healers/priests—NPC priest numbers were thin. And support crafters. Battlefields lasted days; supplies/rebuilds were constant needs.

"I'd like to join the Great Battlefield."

"You?"

Vulcan approached confidently, but the officer scoffed, eyeing him arrogantly, waving dismissively.

"No good. Not a battlefield you can handle. Might have a trick or two, but war ain't child's play. You'd just be baggage at your level."

This prick?

Firm rejection. Vulcan boasted higher DPS and combat sense than anyone here, yet treated like a noob, barely glanced at.

Gotta be the level.

Right Wall recommended 190+. Sub-180? No dice. Sure, 180 vs. 190 was just stat/skill diff, but rules were rules.

He seethed, but couldn't attack an NPC.

—What now?

...Thinking.

Options existed. Leverage Honorary Baron's status for pressure? Maybe snag a spot. But he knew pushing "generals" backfired. Warp the support officer, sure—but alert Dorian, Right Wall commander? Probe goes south.

He was here for levels/contribution, sure, but mainly to investigate for the main scenario quest.

Better jump the wall than bribe that ass.

Bribe the officer? Key NPC, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grease the wheels for a slot. Common tactic. But Vulcan hated feeding cash to scum.

"Maybe the logistics officer."

Another way: logistics supply officer NPC. Limited spots, but viable. Oversaw all supplies for battlefield/wall—power-wise, above support officer. Armies starve without logistics. He declared battle-ready too.

Vulcan pinned hopes there. Busy/powerful, tough to approach—but Legend Incarnate title worked on soldier NPCs; they bowed, cleared paths.

"You want to help?"

"Yes. Lend an arm against those filthy reptiles."

"Hmm. Green adventurer, but a craftsman—might help. Fine. Task for you. Weapons breaking faster lately with fiercer fights. Lend a hand."

Jackpot.

The logistics officer sized him up like the support guy, but issued the quest. Job favored producers over fighters.

Simple quest: craft 10 longswords or repair 100 gear pieces. Either worked, but better results meant more favor.

Then max it for extra rewards.

Normally, he'd cap at battlefield entry favor. But for main scenario—soul vanishings—he needed intel. Logistics guy tracked supplies, troop numbers, oddities.

Overkill completion was best.

"Leave it to me. I'll deliver something special."

"Expect it. But time it right. Anytime works, but too long and I'm off to the battlefield."

Time limit too. Battlefields pulled him in; delay meant waiting post-battle or next round.

Vulcan bolted, starting work. No forge? Construction for a portable one.

"Supply pace says 2-3 days till next battle... Tight, but doable. Damn, still got shop stock to craft."

Time short? Quality over quantity.

Longswords first. Uncommon soldier blades requested, but Vulcan aimed higher. Pride, and to wow the officer.

Selected materials, lizardman-optimized length/thickness, hammered away.

Might as well practice, toss in some goodwill.

Fun idea hit. No pay? Mix in new tricks?

Materials pricey, but... here, on the house!

He even enchanted, crafting overkill special weapons for grunts—uncaring of fallout.