No Variables

Vulcan, armed to the teeth with the mighty Epic-grade items from the Artisan Hall, unleashed his full power without restraint. He flaunted the true essence of item power, and there were no curveballs like homunculus reinforcements or shadowy forces crashing the party.

The gloomy emotional energy had stopped flowing thanks to Vulcan's dominance. Folks elsewhere in the city might still be cowering in fear, but with the Artisan Hall opening up, most of the homunculi had swarmed this way. Beyond a certain distance, the energy absorption seemed to cut off, leaving the bastards unable to recover or split anymore.

The result? Total annihilation. Vulcan showed everyone what it meant to crush foes with sheer overwhelming strength, inspiring the crowd. The artisans vowed to craft gear like his one day, while combat-class players burned with ambition to become powerhouses who could pull off feats like that.

'No other movements?'

Bathed in their awestruck stares, Vulcan took to the skies once more. Sweeping the entire city with his Dragon Eye, he scanned alleys for lurking homunculi and any signs of hidden puppet masters—unusual movements or bursts of power.

- Doesn't look like they planned to devour the whole place from the start.

No reactions. No follow-up assaults, no sneaky maneuvers lurking in the frozen city. So what did they want? If Tud was right and the goal was toppling Smell, they'd have made a move by now. Or at least tried breaching Tud's workshop or something to steal gear. Items crafted by artisans would be the prime target here, so Tud's hideout or the Artisan Hall should've been hit. But nothing—thanks to Vulcan's arrival, maybe.

'Or maybe someone already inside?'

That sparked suspicion: what if an infiltrator had slipped into the Hall beforehand? No odd movements or demonic aura detected, though, making it tough to pinpoint.

- Hmm. Could be the target wasn't items at all.

'What? You saying it was pure coincidence?'

- As if. If the Fake Sage's Stone hadn't turned up, maybe. But it did—someone's pulling strings for sure.

'Then really backing that alchemist? Recruiting him? Ugh, should we track down who?'

That's when Tud tossed out another theory. Maybe their goal wasn't items or overthrowing Smell, but something else entirely. Still shady as hell, full of questions, but Tud offered a new hypothesis.

- Worth checking. While you're at it, look into all the missing artisans.

"Missing... artisans?"

Vulcan blinked at that. His face shifted to shock as realization dawned, whipping around to stare at Tud.

"No way...?"

Touching down, Vulcan quickly scoured the spots where the homunculi had vanished—not their traces, but those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the people they'd devoured.

'Gone. Clean as a whistle.'

The victims hadn't even left corpses behind. Did that mean true erasure? Homunculi packed special powers, sure, but that much? Nah, didn't add up. Killing made sense, but total vanishing? Different story.

- Wrong spot. Look up higher.

"...?"

No other clues jumped out. They'd vanished like magic—no bodies, no clothes. Frowning in frustration, Vulcan felt Tud nudge him toward something else.

"Spatial transfer?"

It was tiny and dim—barely visible even with focused Dragon Eye. Tiny cracks in space, like sesame seeds scattered here and there. Proof of spatial magic.

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

"Kidnapping?"

- Looks that way.

Now it clicked for Vulcan. The homunculi weren't random—they were deliberate summons for a clear purpose: snatching Smell's artisans and hauling them off somewhere.

"Then where to...?"

- No clue. Not far, but the traces are too faint. Backtracking won't be easy.

"All done? Time to return the gear?"

"Ah, yeah. Got it."

Gremori Hatoon approached Vulcan then, requesting the return of the Hall's armaments. No reason to stall—Vulcan had gotten what he wanted. Squeezing out his last mana for telekinesis, he sent the items back to their displays.

Despite the heavy losses, peace returned to Smell in that moment.

"Got time for a chat?"

Cleanup wasn't Vulcan's job. Guards stepped up, NPCs bustled to repair damage, and searches for the missing kicked off. With nothing else to do, Vulcan followed Gremori to his office. The artisan contest awards ceremony had mentioned a private word anyway—might as well wrap up the meeting.

"Kidnapping? Not dead—taken?"

"Yeah, that's my take. Spatial mages should spot the traces if they check."

Vulcan laid out everything he'd uncovered. Artisan deaths—or abductions—were huge for Smell. Rosters and headcounts first, then figuring motives, perpetrators. Rescue if possible.

"If true, big trouble. They're not masters yet, but their potential... could mass-produce nasty gear in the wrong hands."

Gremori bought it hook, line, and sinker—Vulcan's influence shone through. He summoned staff to investigate, then turned back to Vulcan.

"Reason I called you here? This."

"...?"

Straight to business amid the chaos, Gremori handed over a small box from his robes.

"What's this?"

"Long ago, our family founder owed a great debt to someone. A brief lesson, but it propelled him to royal master smith."

Sounded like bragging at first, but Vulcan knew exactly who: Tud, smugly wagging his tail overhead.

But what did that have to do with him? Had Gremori figured Vulcan was Tud's incarnation? No obvious ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠link...

Shooting a puzzled look, Vulcan watched Gremori slide the box closer.

"He left a will: if a special artisan who masters all weapons ever appears, give this to them."

"That...?"

"Just a handed-down tale for ages, meaningless till I saw you. Even at our first meeting, something special about you made me test you. Now I'm sure—you're the one he meant."

Honoring the will of his ancestor—the artisan Tud knew—by passing a relic to Vulcan, Tud's incarnation.

'What's this?'

- Beats me. Never gave the guy an item.

A big shot's parting gift? No ordinary trinket. But Vulcan felt a twinge of unease—knowing Tud's prickly nature, maybe a cursed revenge bauble? Unlikely, but seeing Tud sprawled indifferently... not impossible.

"How can you be sure it's me?"

"Maybe not. But I believe it. He said you'd know, feel it—and I trust my eyes. If wrong, my judgment's off. You recognizing me factors in, but I won't pry. No other favors asked—if you don't want it, fine. But I'd be glad if you took it."

"If you put it that way..."

A bit wary, but no reason to refuse such sincerity. Free loot was always right. Vulcan pulled the box close and cracked it open carefully.

"...?"

Inside: a pair of small wing-shaped ornaments. Too big for earrings—brooches? Checking the info, Vulcan's eyes bulged like saucers.

"As you know, House Gremori rose on reinforcement mastery. This is our finest ancestor's final masterpiece."

"Reinforcer...!"

Vulcan hadn't known jack about it, but Gremori's words rang bells. Rare items that enhanced other gear instead of standalone power—pricey rarities even peak Vulcan had never handled. Dismissed 'em as meh before, but yeah, he'd heard of them.

"He worried you might not need it—said if his hunch was right, you'd have power beyond such aids. But he left it anyway, in case growth hit a snag. Shorten that phase, and he'd rejoice from the grave. Looks like it'll help you now. Will you take it?"

"Of course! Can't refuse good intentions. Heh heh heh!"

Whatever Gremori knew of Tud, he'd nailed the incarnation showing up. Unknown power, no level limit, reusable attach/detach? Score. Epic grade to boot. Bound sucked a tad, but better to use personally if potent. From a late-career legend? Usable to 300 easy. Nah—attachable forever.

"Thanks. He'll be thrilled. Personally, try boots—boosts speed, easier bellows, stronger forging. Gloves good too, but control's tricky at first."

"Appreciate the tip."

Vulcan's grin stretched ear to ear. Free Epic? Ecstasy.

"Normally, reinforcement patches flaws or refines—like sharpening longswords. This? Just attach for change. Huge value—I hope it serves you well."

'Hold up...?'

Then it hit: forgotten reinforcement items sparked a core doubt.

Reinforcement usually meant post-200 levels, ore-based upgrades. Vulcan thought the same. But didn't he have a Reinforcement skill? Rare for smiths, he'd pegged it as a luck booster. What if it wasn't that Reinforcement? What if, like Gremori's line, it enhanced other items?

'... Jackpot?'

Not mere upgrades—full enhancements. Ore boosts possible too. Enchantments or whetstones fetched bank—attachables like Wings? Business goldmine, format be damned.

'How much to charge? Heh heh heh!'

Process unknown, but Vulcan already felt rich. Min-maxers would drop stacks for tiny buffs.

- Tsk. Knew I shouldn't have told you.

Tud scowled, but unavoidable. His gift, Vulcan's greed—funds mattered for artisans sans dragon hoards. Growth demanded capital.

- Whatever. You'll burn through it fast.

- Massive inflows mean massive outflows ahead. Hoard all you want—few failed crafts bankrupt you.

- Enjoy it while it lasts. Won't be laughing soon. Heh heh heh!

Tud muttered cryptically at Vulcan, lost in greedy giggles.