These Coordinates...?

x- and y-axis coordinates were actually an area unfamiliar to most casual players. But veterans of Gloria Saga with any real experience knew how to read them at least roughly. The developers had tossed players into the world with only the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠barest minimum of info at the start, claiming it let them truly savor the thrill of adventure.

Players had to find the next city or hunting ground on their own. Only once their numbers hit a certain threshold did they unlock cart travel. Those racing to the front had no choice but to learn coordinates, gritting their teeth through the tears.

Sure, you could mark coordinates using the sextant, but you had to know how to interpret them to quickly reach allies or spots others had scouted.

"Couldn't have gone too far, huh."

Naturally, Vulcan, who had led that vanguard pack, was pretty accurate at gauging positions from coordinates. That's why he knew right away that these matched his expectations pretty closely.

The homunculus's power wasn't that overwhelming, so it couldn't teleport multiple people very far. The destination couldn't be too distant from Smell—and sure enough, it was right near the entrance.

"Means there were guys waiting there."

It also confirmed the homunculus's creation was deliberate. If people had been teleported there and the missing artisans hadn't shown up, it meant ambushers had snatched them. Maybe even a mole among the artisans.

Couldn't tell if they'd used force or mind-control spells, but the artisans would've resisted all the same.

"Guess we'll know when we get there."

Details would come from on-site traces, so Vulcan tidied the forge and headed to the coordinates. Perfect timing too—the Dark Hound Set reinforcement had just finished.

"Everyone, back off!"

"You can't come this way!"

The scene was already chaos. Artisans in the midst of repairs, guards swarming ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in—curious onlookers drawn by the commotion. But they weren't much help here, so they were being held back. Vulcan nearly got the same treatment, but luckily Gremori Hatoon must've given prior word; he passed without issue.

"Ah, Vulcan. Feel free to investigate, but please take care not to disturb the scene."

"Got it."

True to its artisan city rep, guards were using tools to hunt traces of the vanished craftsmen. A prime example: the phase detector confirming their arrival here.

An upper-tier artisan craft, treated like treasure—but this was Smell, artisan central. They could mobilize one on demand, enabling swift pursuit. Of course, without Gremori's resolve or Vulcan's quick grasp, it'd have been too late. The culprits surely hadn't anticipated that.

"Looks like they mounted up right here and rode off."

"Horses? What kind?"

"Probably skeleton horses. Hoofprints are thin and shallow. Judging by the number... at least a dozen or more."

"A dozen? That many?"

Inside the perimeter, early arrivals pored over traces, piecing it together. The hoofprints suggested they'd loaded the kidnapped artisans and fled beyond the city. They'd even inferred mount type and count.

Chilling to think that many dark entities had infiltrated the city, but the key was their direction. Where had they galloped? Could they track via prints?

Time was critical. Skeleton horses were lighter than regulars, left fainter traces. A late start or bad weather could erase them. Sure, their weakness made them slower—especially laden with captives—but a head start would make pursuit tough.

"Mount up, everyone! Pursuit starts now!!"

The guard captain decided without delay, assembling a chase squad.

The quest dropped to nearby players too: join the pursuit, rescue the artisans. Riding skill required, but 30 gold plus extras? Solid payout.

Should I go? But...

Vulcan hesitated despite the urge. Not just the separate quest—he'd spotted something off in the traces.

No way skeleton horses loaded with artisans leave prints this shallow.

Sure, skeleton horses were light—but that was the horse itself. Add weight, and the ground sinks deeper. Even split among them, dozens of artisans meant 2-3 per mount. Yet the prints matched unloaded skeleton horse norms? Suspicious.

The horses might be a decoy.

"Let's move!"

The guard captain rolled out with his squad. Vulcan could've warned of a trap, but what if wrong? Lightweight spells existed. If he delayed them and they failed... consequences too heavy.

Better send them, investigate solo. If mistaken, he'd miss rewards—but he trusted his gut.

He let them go, scrutinizing traces closer.

- Hmph. Thought you'd blindly follow?

He ignored Tud's half-taunt. Like them with hooves, he had his own criteria.

Staged an escape outside? Then really, they'd head inward. Darkest under the lamp, right?

Hard to confirm. Dragon Eye caught nothing. Maybe they'd escaped clean—but he pressed on.

"Hound's Sense."

The Dark Hound Set. Time to test the reinforced gear.

The set focused on thriving in darkness. Reinforcement options suggested boosting base stats or main agility. But Vulcan picked neither—specs were plenty for his level. No need to pump defense further.

He eyed the final utility option: hound-themed extras for hunting prowess.

Like this Hound's Sense: amplifies senses, even unlocks intuition. Activating it reshaped his world. Senses sharpened; Dragon Eye aside, new details emerged.

Metal dust.

Tiny ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠specks on the ground. Inseparable from smiths—like fairy dust they trailed. Smiths emerged from work caked black, hence "blacksmith." Washes off? Hardly.

In Smell, artisans carried it constantly. Vulcan zeroed in: direction, scent, spread. Then triggered another new skill.

"Track Prey."

Designate a target via direct contact or their possession—activates navigation to hunt them. He marked the dust's owner.

Smell teemed with artisans, risk of wrong target—but he was confident. Busy folk here didn't loiter at entrances. They rushed via carts to save time; few walked idly.

A personal arrow appeared, guiding him. Vulcan bolted after it.

'Here...?'

- Even grubs roll when needed. Nailed it.

The arrow led to a shady alley. Suspicious already—but arriving solidified it.

A public forge. "No Entry" sign suggested rented, normal at a glance. But Vulcan's eyes saw different.

Shady alley, BZ-257? Well prepped. Since when?

Smell had tons of public forges, but no BZ-257. He'd once scoured the city hunting a smith mid-work on his weapon—learned numbering then. Plus, Dragon Eye didn't register it as a forge.

"Dungeon disguised as a forge. No wonder they couldn't find it."

It was a dungeon. Entrance mimicked a forge, but beyond the door swirled the white vortex icon.

He considered charging in—but played dumb, passing by. Only he knew; blundering might alert them.

He slipped past, rushed to the Artisan Hall, reported to Gremori, requested backup.

"For real? This is trouble. Guard captain took elites outside. I can scrape some bodies, but not sure they'd overpower. And escalating might tip them off to flee or prepare..."

Response was negative. Combat-ready manpower short. Top forces gone; city left with lowbies for basic defense. Players too—skilled, willing ones followed the chase. Teleport array down, no outside aid. Risky timing.

"Can't reopen the Artisan ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hall? I'll make do."

"Sorry, no. That was already exceptional, and without city-wide crisis proof, regs bar checking out gear. Understand my position."

He'd expected denial. Couldn't casually open the vault on suspicion alone. Unknown foes inside—300+ levels? Gear grabbed, then stolen?

"...Understood. I'll handle it. Just station max guards around."

"Will do. I'll push hard."

Vulcan had firmly resolved to take on the challenge entirely solo, reasoning that the absolute worst-case scenario would simply result in his death and a subsequent respawn. If others chose to label his actions as Monopolizing (Dúshí) the rewards for himself, then so be it—that was a trade-off he was more than willing to accept. Carrying the cold assurance that even if he somehow botched the entire operation, no one could truly place the blame on his shoulders, he turned his back on the group and headed into the danger alone.

"Whew. It'll work out."

- Don't sweat. Nothing mid-tier can touch you.

"...Thanks for the faith."

- Faith in you? Your gear. Honestly, quicker to drown in logout fluid than croak with that item power.

- "Tch."

Tud's brutal truth whooped him pre-dungeon, but eased tension. No unbeatable foe would pop; if so, not meant to catch.

'Koreans farm those anyway.'

No room for fancy bow shots inside, so he readied Arrow of Denial at his belt. Vulcan smashed the lock, flung open the public forge door.