No Way, That's a Lie....

"No way. That's a lie......"

"Shut up. Stop yapping!"

Inside the carriage heading to Smell, Vulcan muttered to himself as if he'd just received a massive shock. Just moments ago, he'd been grinning ear to ear while listening to the origin story of the artisans' city Smell. But after hearing what came next, his entire mood had flipped.

"......If they're guarding it that tightly, doesn't that mean no one can get anything out of it? And they want me to take first place in the monthly contest......?"

The birth of Smell revolved around a workshop where Tud had briefly stayed during his days of playful wandering. Because of that, they treated the place with utmost reverence, almost like a holy site. It made sense—Tud's skills were extraordinary, and he'd accomplished so much there. They had every reason to take pride in it. But on the flip side, something so precious was bound to be under ironclad security.

Unlike the hidden workshop in the Schunel region, this one wasn't concealed. They'd preserved it like a great man's birthplace, turning it into an isolated zone off-limits to the public. Access was granted only to a tiny handful of permitted individuals or the artisan who claimed first place in the monthly contest.

In other words, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for Vulcan to even get close, he'd have to compete against other artisans and snag the top spot in the monthly contest.

"Even if I do win first, I only get one crafting session? Isn't that too stingy?"

And even if he won and gained entry, he could craft and take out just one item. They did allow use of Tud's old tools from back in the day, but taking those out was strictly forbidden.

Did that even make it worthwhile? The monthly artisan contest in Smell had a level cap of 200 or below, so first place was within reach. But borrowing tools for a single session felt like meager compensation. No matter how amazing those tools were, unless they produced something Epic grade or higher, it wouldn't balance the effort.

- Hmph. No matter how briefly I stayed, it's still a place touched by this great one's presence. Far better than you hammering away at scrap metal for a hundred years.

He'd been on the verge of bowing in gratitude, hoping for some hidden secret, when...

"......Of course, I was just saying it was way too generous. A space once used by the mighty Tud? No way some lowbie contest winner gets access. Right? Shouldn't it take, like, four or five wins to even unlock it?"

But at Tud's sharp rebuke, Vulcan swiftly switched tactics.

Hidden functions? If Tud had concealed something there, it had to be extraordinary. Winning first in the monthly contest wasn't guaranteed, but for Vulcan—who grabbed every opportunity—he had no reason to pass it up.

- Win first place first, you greenhorn, then we'll talk.

"Tch. Yeah, yeah. Even with the level cap, if luck doesn't hold, it'll be tough."

But the immediate hurdle was claiming first in the monthly artisan contest. Only artisans up to level 199 could participate in Smell, so higher-level masters competed at the grander Hughes Forge. On paper, his odds ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked good. He had a Legendary class and skills as huge advantages, but he couldn't assume automatic victory.

- Luck? What nonsense is that?

"Prelims maybe, but finals? No luck, and you're out."

The monthly contest split into prelims and finals. Prelims were straightforward: submit a piece matching the theme. Finals required crafting on-site without leaving the arena. Time-limited submissions meant multiple attempts, but with caps on tries—and bad rolls yielding Common or Uncommon trash—even skilled artisans could flop.

- That's an excuse for the incompetent. Need luck to craft good gear? What idiocy. Then why bother with skill at all? Relying on luck alone can never make a true master artisan.

It wasn't wrong, but it riled Tud up. Item grades involved luck, sure, but only as a variable atop solid skill. Luck wasn't everything. The words insulted every artisan's hard work and drive, so Tud was angrier than usual.

"......Sorry."

Vulcan realized his slip and apologized immediately. But that alone wouldn't soothe Tud.

- No. You're spouting that drivel because you've been leaning on half-baked talent and luck. Time to show you what a true artisan is.

"Wait, hold on. No need for—!"

Tud's sudden shift sent a chill through Vulcan. He waved his hands frantically, but too late—a quest window popped up before his eyes.

"Crazy......!"

Sure enough, a job quest had appeared. He'd suspected one might pop at level 150 for new skills, but Tud had advanced it outright.

"Thank you! I'll give it everything I've got!!"

But Vulcan wasn't despairing or screaming. He bowed deeply to Tud, offering sincere thanks. The quest looked tough given Tud's irritation, but the rewards were rock-solid.

Jackpot. Total jackpot.

First, +1 level. At 149, he was still in the dreaded 'hell level' slog. His gear power made it tolerable, but hitting 150 would still be a grind compared to others—boring and arduous. No wonder players called it the hell level zone; the final stretch was brutal.

Skipping it entirely? He'd welcome it with open arms.

And not just that—every Legendary blacksmithing skill ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rank-up?

Crafting, repair, creation—plus reinforcement and Item Master, which hadn't leveled yet. Reinforcement guzzled gold per use, and Item Master was already C-rank. Since it shared ranks across mastery skills, this was a massive power spike.

No, hell—this guy might be the real protagonist......

And finally, the [Symbol] skill. On its own, nothing special: magically imprint your personal mark without separate engraving. Most used it for branding, signatures, or stamps to build their rep.

It added value to items and proved mid-to-high artisan status—validation as a craftsman. But Vulcan saw beyond branding.

What if I embed enchantments or magical engraving instead?

Skip the personal emblem. Slot in Enchantment or Magical Engraving effects? One use could grant new powers to an item. A loophole, but feasible. Symbol slots were limited, but higher ranks allowed more.

"So, what's this 'song of the anvil' mean?"

- Figure it out yourself from now on. No hints this time—bump your head against it and learn.

"Ugh......"

- But once you hear it, sweeping a beginner contest like that will be a breeze.

Vulcan briefly smirked in satisfaction before snapping back to reality. Rewards were great, but "song of the anvil" was too vague—no clue. He sought Tud's advice, only to get the cold shoulder. Clearly still pissed about his earlier blunder.

"Got it. I'll make it work somehow."

Maybe time would cool Tud off. For now, Vulcan scratched his head and stepped out of the carriage.

The artisans' city Smell. True to its rank as a fifth-tier metropolis, the moment Vulcan disembarked, towering, majestic structures loomed over him. Nothing like a modern skyline. Towering heights aside, the ornate medieval flair was enough to intimidate even worldly travelers like him.

"Hmm. Where do I sign up for the monthly artisan contest?"

Of course, it didn't faze Vulcan. This was the artisans' haven, teeming with masters of every craft. With luck, you might snag an undiscovered talent—player or NPC.

As a major city, it boasted teleport gates linking to others, drawing level 200 to early 300s users willing to invest time and gold. For custom gear or perfect fits. Production classes could craft up to 100 levels above their own, and while the contest capped at 199, higher artisans existed aplenty.

"That way, I think."

He'd visited before as a warrior seeking gear, so contest registration was new. Asking NPCs along the way, he finally reached the desk at the Meister Network guild hall—the overseers of this artisan hub.

"......A week from now?"

Vulcan ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠frowned at the posted contest details. Monthly event, sure, but dates varied. Next one: next week.

"Tight, but...... doable?"

Prelim sign-ups ran through next week. Artisans submitted theme-fitting items; Vulcan included. But completing Tud's quest in time? That was the rub. Even without the anvil song, a lucky Unique might win—but missing first meant waiting a month. For growth-hungry Vulcan, agony. He steeled himself to hear that song beforehand, signed the form, and took the blacksmith category theme sheet.