Goblin Annihilation and the Lord's Summons

It took Vulcan barely five minutes to wipe out around a hundred goblins and five goblin shamans.

Every swing of his sword felled at least one goblin—whether from the blade in his left hand or his right. The phrase "one touch, one kill" fit perfectly. Even with their varying attack powers, his weapons had more than enough edge to shred the goblins' meager health pools.

The shamans had prolonged the fight by using their underlings as shields in a desperate escape attempt. Without the chase, it would've ended even faster.

Thanks to that, Vulcan wrapped up everything the quest required before the reinforcements arrived. The intent had probably been to team up with them and handle at least part of it—but who cared? Good was good.

"But this guy's a separate deal, huh."

The Pain Eater farm wasn't as massive as expected. Hundreds of the larvae, cloaked in rotten corpses like armor, evoked real-world mealworms.

Since it wasn't listed in the quest conditions, Vulcan gathered scattered wood scraps, fashioned a box, and scooped them in.

He'd worried about bites, but they only burrowed into soft flesh after prolonged gnawing—handling them was no issue. He left just a few behind and greeted the timely reinforcements.

"No way—you did this all by yourself?"

The guard captain approached Vulcan, who stood alone amid the goblin village ruins, his face etched with disbelief. Even he couldn't have handled this many solo.

"Any suspicious items from them? Weird movements like they were trying to destroy something...?"

His concern wasn't just the spectacle. What if Vulcan's solo glory hunt had erased key evidence?

"Right here."

"This is...!"

Vulcan calmly produced every quest item, all accounted for. The captain's eyes widened, then he snapped to attention.

"Outstanding. You've done a tremendous deed. We'll handle cleanup. Take that to the village chief right away."

He could've claimed credit by confiscating it, but this upright man ordered Vulcan to deliver it personally. No reason to refuse.

Vulcan stowed them in his inventory and headed back to Regon Village, ignoring the wary guards scanning the area.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

He bolted straight to the chief's house.

"As expected, the recent oddities were all the goblins' doing. To think they'd conspire to control human minds using demon realm entities... You probably guessed, but this is no small matter. Not something mere goblin shamans or champions could pull off alone. There might be a colluding force."

The chief's reaction to the evidence was grave. Even worthless larvae like Pain Eaters weren't easily obtained or bred. With the continent's history of near-extinction during the Demon King War 500 years ago, anything demon-related was banned by continental law. If lowly goblins farmed them, accomplices were likely—be it other goblins or another race.

"I must alert the lord at once. Could you handle that? Your contributions are huge, and pulling troops from here now is tough. I'll write a letter for an audience."

"Of course."

The chief moved fast; real threats could endanger the village. They might dismiss it as minor and erase evidence. Better to request aid first.

"Leave it to me. I'll deliver it ASAP."

"Thanks. This is all I can give, but the lord will reward you handsomely."

As expected, the main scenario quest chained on. Vulcan accepted, reclaiming all evidence, plus the chief's letter and recommendation.

An audience with the lord? That's gotta be a first.

The implications were huge. Beginner villages fell under local lords' oversight, but no one Vulcan knew had met one solo yet. Later, high levels and fame unlocked noble quests, but starting from a beginner village? Unheard of.

And nobles are big spenders. Heh heh heh!

Even low-rank nobles with territory raked in taxes, so their quests paid fat. Why players scrambled to become nobles themselves.

Meeting the lord? Direct rewards? Vulcan was thrilled.

He left the chief's house and hopped on a carriage without hesitation, ready to leave Regon Village's beginner zone for open fields.

"It's a long ride—get some rest. You'll wake up there."

Not a chance.

The coachman tempted as Vulcan boarded, but he knew better than to log out or nap. The trip to the next village took two hours; no disembarking mid-way. Early players logged off to rest, characters safe in the carriage, arriving on relogin.

But one player staying online discovered something, changing everything.

Meditation's basically a national skill now.

Endure two hours without logging or pseudo-sleep to learn Meditation. It rapidly regenerated mana during downtime, scaling with mental stats—gold for casters, essential for others too. Health pots were cheap and varied; mana pots scarce and pricey. Unless swimming in cash or pure control-hunting, everyone needed it. Vulcan had no plans to disconnect.

Time to review my skills.

What to do for two hours? Most zoned out, but Vulcan had priorities: skill checks. He'd followed Tud's guidance, building basics, but unknowns abounded. Maybe devs intended self-reflection before fields—useful for planning.

...Gonna get fat at this rate.

Before opening his skill window, Vulcan glanced at Tud, chomping chocolate bars like a fiend. How many was that? Shaking his head at the pile, he refocused.

He reviewed his four Legendary class skills.

First up, Legendary Blacksmithing...

The skill was simple yet brimming with potential—the one powering his most-used Item Master sub-skill. But it hid others he hadn't fully checked.

Naming sense is... something.

Embarrassing names, but intuitive. Other blacksmith classes had them too, but "legendary" meant worlds apart.

Staring, Vulcan sensed something off. Crafters needed crafting recipes most—and they were missing.

"...No crafting recipes?"

There should've been a recipes tab, but nothing. He'd never learned any, but shouldn't the goblin champion longsword recipe be there at least? All production classes needed recipes to craft specifics. No recipe meant no remaking that sword.

Tud's with me, but still...

Tud could guide him, but it felt iffy. Relying solely on Tud forever? Unsettling.

—Don't you already have all the recipes?

"Huh?"

—Sigh. Even an orc would get it by now. Pull out desired materials, think of what you want to make.

"?!"

Vulcan opened his inventory, gripped lowest-grade iron ore, visualized the goblin champion longsword.

"Whoa."

Dragon Eye at work? A crafting recipe materialized like item info.

Then this?

Grasping the implication, he swapped ores, visualized again.

"No reaction means..."

Nothing. Not broken, so obvious: this ore couldn't make the champion longsword. Shape maybe, but it held ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠special power—needing iron ore to infuse properly. Higher ores might boost attack/durability but lose options, becoming a different sword.

What if...?

An idea struck. Focusing on the ore:

"Gah."

Shrrrr—

Something unfurled in his mind. His vision flooded with recipes.

He'd flipped it: not "can this ore make X?", but "what can this ore make?" Countless recipes poured out—familiar shapes, alien gear, twisted variants of known items.

—Get it now? Who chose you.

"..."

No chocolate smears, and it'd hit harder. But undeniable. Dragon Eye wasn't "vision skill"—an archive of knowledge. He'd catalog useful ones later, shifting to remaining skills.

The rest are solid too.

Legendary Item Repair: straight repair, higher success on top-tiers, rare performance boosts.

Legendary Item Reinforcement: boosted odds melting reinforcement stones (special ores) to upgrade grade/performance.

Legendary Item Creation: ignored recipes, birthed nonexistent items. Insight into methods, concept-matching materials yielded new types. Useless now, but later? Custom solutions for crises. Noted.

"Phew. Not much time to spare."

Still an hour-plus to the village, but only one skill down. He skimmed the rest fast—simulating scenarios, new uses, quest/level fits. Time might run short.

Legendary Blacksmithing alone justified the class via superior items, but the rest? Jaw-dropping. Vulcan gaped at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their unimaginable depths.