Isn't He an Eul-Grade Artisan?

The Jade Court.

It was the traditional meeting place where the elders of the Suzaku family gathered for council.

Inside the spacious traditional estate, separated by a garden lush with jade-green trees, the faint scent of ink and the bitter aroma of tea drifted through the air.

Retainers sat in a circle, leisurely sipping their tea.

Among the four great noble families, the Suzaku family was particularly renowned for their mastery of painting, calligraphy, and talismans.

Perhaps because of this, the core executives gathered here were mostly spell painters and talisman masters—people who held brushes for a living.

"...Have you heard?" one of the elders cautiously opened the conversation.

Instead of answering, the old man sitting in the seat of honor simply wiped the leaves of an orchid in his hand with a silk cloth, doing so with meticulous care.

He was the one who occupied the highest seat in the Jade Court.

Yoo Cheong-wol, a grand painter and the head of the Suzaku family's Elder Council.

Though he was nearing eighty, his eyes remained as pitch-black and deep as freshly ground ink.

"...Tsk. I heard," another elder sitting beside Yoo Cheong-wol broke the silence.

"You mean the story about that brat, the so-called Artisan Do of the Cheonsan Sect?"

"Yes. I heard Yoo Seon-woo suffered quite a humiliating ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠defeat during the vault incident recently."

The stories that had come out of Yoo Seon-woo's mouth when he returned to report his results a few days ago were hard to believe.

To think someone who could read the circuits of a painting had appeared.

At first, they had dismissed it as nonsense.

However, looking at Yoo Seon-woo's pale, terrified face as he delivered the report, it was impossible to take it as a lie.

...To read the circuits of a painting. And to do it on the spot, with the naked eye.

Yoo Cheong-wol unconsciously clicked his tongue.

"...Tsk, tsk."

To see through the circuits of a painting.

That was a realm that anyone walking the path of a spell painter yearned for their entire life, yet ultimately failed to reach.

Even among the elderly grand painters sitting in this very room, how many could trace even a fraction of the flow in a circuit drawn by someone else?

And yet, a mere novice had been born with such a heavenly talent.

"...How can someone with such a precious talent," Yoo Cheong-wol sighed, a lament escaping his lips, "be doing nothing but hammering iron?"

It wasn't that he looked down on blacksmithing.

Rather, it was a sigh of regret that such a rare gift was being locked away in such a narrow well.

If someone with that level of insight were to hold a brush, what heights could they reach?

Just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thinking about it made his mouth water.

"Furthermore, from what I hear," another elder sitting nearby chimed in quietly, "he is a green youth who has barely reached adulthood."

"...Oh?"

At those words, a murmur rippled through the gathering.

To possess such insight at such a young age?

Since they said he was from the Cheonsan Sect, had he inherited some secret art from a reclusive master?

As various speculations flew back and forth, one of the elders spoke up with a grim expression.

"...Can we really just stand by and watch?" He set his cup down with a thud.

"If someone who doesn't belong to any family starts throwing around that kind of talent, the balance of power will be disrupted in an instant. We must take action as soon as possible."

To take action.

Who in this room didn't know what those words implied?

Since directly touching the Cheonsan Sect was too risky, they would disguise it as an accident to break his legs or wrists and ruin him. That was the long-standing law of this underworld.

However...

"...No," Yoo Cheong-wol shook his head quietly from the seat of honor. "Actually, I am thinking of bringing him into our fold."

"...What do you mean by that?"

The elders' gazes shifted to the head seat in unison.

To bring him in, when they were just talking about nipping him in the bud?

"From what I hear," Yoo Cheong-wol said, setting down the orchid he had been wiping and curling his lips into a slight smile, "he doesn't seem to belong entirely to them."

Although he was said to be affiliated with the Cheonsan Sect, his Korean was as fluent as a native's, prompting Yoo Cheong-wol to deploy people to investigate him from various angles.

The rumors that came back suggested his mother was Korean.

Of course, this was merely a cover identity that Seo Ji-an had secretly leaked.

...We just need to coax him properly.

He might be wearing the cumbersome shield of the Cheonsan Sect, but he was half-Korean, wasn't he?

Calculations ran rapidly through Yoo Cheong-wol's mind.

The younger they are, the more susceptible they are to emotional appeals. Had he not come here because he missed his mother's homeland anyway?

He must have wandered around without a family to lean on.

If they fed him a warm meal, offered him a good position, and gently coaxed him with plausible pretexts, they could make him walk into their arms on his own two feet without ever touching the Cheonsan Sect directly.

...Heh.

A faint smile spread across Yoo Cheong-wol's face.

He was far too precious a talent to rot away as a blacksmith.

If they could get him to stop that foolish hammering, put a brush in his hand, and gradually pass down the family's secret arts, they might be able to raise him into an unprecedented grand master whose name would be etched in the history of art forever.

And the name engraved right next to his as his master would be none other than Yoo Cheong-wol's own.

Just the thought of it made him salivate.

It was right when the old man was chewing on this vain greed.

In a corner of the meeting room, a secretary silently approached a young retainer from behind.

With trembling hands, the secretary slid a screen displaying something in front of his eyes.

As the retainer read it, his pupils began to shake violently.

"...E-Elder," the retainer spoke in a trembling voice.

"I think you need to see this first."

"...What on earth is it that you are making such a fuss?"

Yoo Cheong-wol reluctantly took the device. The moment his gaze landed on the screen—

Clatter!

The celadon teacup in his hand fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

"...What did you saaaaaaaay?!"

The old painter's roar echoed so loudly it seemed to shake the Jade Court.

"He created an Eul-grade?!"

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The iron sang.

The heat of the forge scorched his skin.

Sweat poured down his back.

A heavy resonance traveled up his arm muscles.

Beneath the calluses on his palm, the thrilling vibration of the hammer was felt.

It felt good.

If someone asked what was so good about it, he couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really explain it. It had always been that way.

When he said he was going to be a blacksmith in the game, everyone laughed at him.

They told him that if he was going to spend all day hammering in front of a furnace hot enough to kill him, he might as well do manual labor in real life.

Why pay money to do cyber labor?

Of course, at first, there were others who entered the profession out of curiosity, wanting to try a class no one else played, just like him.

But they, too, grew tired of the endless boredom and repetition, leaving one by one.

They became barbarians, mages.

Seeking cold draft beer and adrenaline-pumping adventures.

Yet, he did not leave.

Because it was fun.

Across the vast continent, there were hidden NPC craftsmen.

Eccentric artisans who kept their special secrets tightly locked away.

The cold forging method he learned from a dwarf in the northern snowy mountains.

The mana alloy secret he obtained by chasing a wandering engineer in the eastern desert.

The lava stone refining technique taught by a reclusive master in the southern volcanic region.

Every single one of them was incredibly picky.

One would only open his mouth if you brought him rare alcohol every day to butter him up.

Another would only teach you if you offered a gift made of legendary-grade materials.

And another suddenly challenged him to a duel.

A duel for a blacksmith? It made no sense.

But once he learned one thing, he realized there was something even deeper beyond it.

The further he went, the more his thirst grew.

He was parched.

After chasing, learning, and hammering like a madman, he had eventually reached the very peak.

He knew there were still techniques he hadn't reached.

But by then, the game's service shutdown was already looming before his eyes.

There are still realms I haven't reached...!

Swallowing his regret, he focused on hitting the maximum level.

And just like that, his ten years of gaming came to an end.

...Or so he thought.

It wasn't the end.

Clang.

He set down the hammer.

Lifting the red-hot lump of iron with his tongs, he inspected it.

It was beautiful.

The flow of spiritual power he had envisioned was perfectly infused between the particles of the iron, settling beautifully into place.

This real-world supernatural society.

Here, a new world he had never trodden before stretched out endlessly.

This was only the beginning.

Strength naturally flooded the hand holding the tongs.

His heart fluttered.

This damn heart of his was pounding like crazy again, just from looking at a lump of iron.

"Oh? Mr. Dohyun, did something good happen?"

...He must have been smiling to himself again without realizing it.

It was a habit left over from working alone for so long.

Looking up, he saw Seo Ji-an walking in, shaking a black plastic bag.

Behind her, Yu-ha followed hesitantly.

"Yu-ha happened to stop by for a commission, so we came together," Ji-an said.

"...Hello, Master Blacksmith," Yu-ha bowed her head, cradling her katana protectively in her arms.

"Here, both of you have one of these."

Ji-an pulled cold canned drinks from the bag and handed them out.

Dohyun ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠set down his hammer and sat on a stool in front of the workbench.

Psst.

He popped the tab and gulped it down in one go.

Having poured out buckets of sweat, the carbonation sliding down his throat felt electrifying.

"Hehe. Well, you have every reason to be happy," Ji-an, sitting opposite him, smiled meaningfully.

"...Why?"

"Ta-da!"

She pulled a tablet from her bag, tapped the screen, and turned it toward them.

It was a specialized supernatural magazine that was quite well-known in the industry.

And below it was a large interview photo.

"...!"

Seeing it, Yu-ha froze.

"W-Wait a minute!"

She hurriedly reached out to cover the screen, but it was already too late.

In the photo, Yu-ha was leaning slightly to one side, puffing out her cheeks with a bright smile in her eyes, flashing a peace sign with two fingers.

Her usual serious and taciturn demeanor was nowhere to be found; she looked incredibly bubbly and cheerful.

"..."

Dohyun looked back and forth between the real Yu-ha and the photo.

"...Oh, it came out well."

"...!"

Yu-ha's face instantly flushed bright red.

"D-Don't look! That's...! The photographer told me to do that...!"

She ended up covering her face with both hands.

"Oh, come on. You look cute," Ji-an giggled and swiped the screen.

Yu-ha had become a celebrity before they knew it.

The granddaughter of the Sword Demon, who had sliced through that massive illusion all by herself.

Not much time had passed since he repaired her sword, but she had already emerged as a rising star drawing the attention of the entire Korean supernatural society.

Moreover, thanks to her successfully wrapping up various commissions, the profits flowing into their pockets were growing handsomely.

But it wasn't just her spiritualist rank that had gone up.

"Look. She's absolutely exploding in popularity," Ji-an swiped the screen to the side.

The screen displayed the ranking page of a supernatural magazine.

"Yu-ha! You went up again! At this rate, you'll easily break into the top five soon!"

This was, literally, a spiritualist 'popularity' ranking.

Even though the supernatural society was a hidden world unknown to ordinary people, it seemed a certain level of fame still existed within it.

Getting one's name on the ranking translated directly into prestige, bringing in offers for advertisements that circulated only within the community, and even generating a fan base without them realizing it.

It was slightly different from the spiritualist rankings, which were based purely on combat strength.

"I told you so. I knew she'd be popular," Ji-an muttered, resting her chin on her hand with a pleased expression.

"Not to mention her skills, she has a tragic backstory, a pretty face, and even that figure... Ahem."

"M-Ms. Ji-an!" Yu-ha, who had finally taken her hands off her face, flared up again.

"What? It's the truth. Don't you think so, Mr. Dohyun?"

"...I wouldn't know," Dohyun merely sipped his drink.

Ji-an giggled and swiped the screen again.

"Anyway, it's not just her popularity that rose."

On the banner of the ranking site, a news headline caught his eye.

With her rising to fame like that, it was only natural for people's attention to shift to her weapon.

"Thanks to that, commissions and interview requests are piling up like mountains for us lately," Ji-an added with a proud face.

"Oh, right. You look at Dokkaebibul these days too, don't you, Mr. Dohyun? It's literally all about us right now."

Dohyun sipped his drink and scrolled through the screen with his finger.

Sure enough, the forum was flooded with posts about him.

Some said he was the descendant of a reclusive master who had descended from a deep mountain.

Others claimed he was a hidden trump card kept secret by the Cheonsan Sect.

Rumors bred more rumors, and words spun into more words, creating a whole set of unofficial lore about him before he knew it.

Just like that, he was being called "Emperor Do" among people who had never even seen his face.

However, as he scrolled down, a post with an unusual title caught his eye.

"..."

It was a column written by the chief artisan of a famous workshop that was quite well-known in the industry.

In short, it argued that they could not recognize him as an Eul-grade artisan, so everyone should stop making a fuss.

And that wasn't the only post of its kind.

As if they had made a pact, similar defensive posts were popping up one after another from various prestigious families and workshops.

Yet, despite their efforts to suppress the hype, the comments below were burning even hotter than the articles trying to tear him down.

"Hmm..." Ji-an, who was looking at the screen beside him, smacked her lips.

"As expected, the debate over whether it's right to call you an Eul-grade artisan just for repairing an Eul-grade item is the loudest."

Then, she slowly curled the corners of her mouth upward.

"Well, to be honest, that was exactly the noise marketing I was aiming for. Hehe."

Controversy meant attention.

And attention meant money.

Ji-an seemed absolutely thrilled.

"This is how you get a fire properly lit. In just a little bit, everyone is going to lose their minds."

She checked the time and spoke again.

"Ah! It should be going up any minute now."

"...What is?" Yu-ha, who had no idea what was going on, asked back.

Ji-an grinned widely.

"The news that three Eul-grade spiritual tools created by our superstar Artisan Do..."

"..."

"...are going up for auction at the same time."

"What?!"