Tokan, the Fire Hammer (Part 1)

Sanghyuk's explanation ran long, but it could hardly be helped. The weapon he envisioned was not something that could be summarized in a single sentence.

"...And that covers everything. That is what I want."

As Sanghyuk finished speaking, Tokan nodded, wearing an expression of intense fascination.

"Oho, intriguing. What do you call this contraption?"

"I call it a bone whip—or a segmented whip."

"Carving the Ten Thousand Year Golden Bone into more than four hundred interlocking fragments and linking them together piece by piece to forge a whip, eh? Highly unorthodox... but there is an undeniable logic to it."

Of course you find it interesting. You have no choice but to love it, Sanghyuk thought, stifling a grin as he watched the legendary dwarf repeatedly nod in contemplation.

To be perfectly blunt, Sanghyuk was cheating. The weapon he had just pitched was the very design destined to win first prize in the Golden Anvil's Prototype Showcase, a massive player-driven contest held much later down the timeline. Back in his past life, Sanghyuk remembered hearing that Tokan the Red Hammer had heaped immense praise upon the bone whip. Following that triumph, it was inducted into the Golden Anvil's official product line, becoming an iconic weapon available to all users.

The contestant who originally submitted the bone whip blueprint had been a player endowed with production-oriented Ancient Knowledge. That victory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had catapulted him straight into stardom and absurd wealth. Thanks to that person's success, Sanghyuk had purchased and wielded a Golden Anvil-forged bone whip himself, and he had been thoroughly impressed by its performance.

Weighing every factor, Sanghyuk concluded that the absolute best use for the Ten Thousand Year Golden Bone was to craft it into a bone whip. So he laid out the specifications for Tokan—and precisely as anticipated, the master smith swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

Stealing someone else's idea might typically warrant a twinge of guilt, but the original designer happened to be one of the treacherous scoundrels who had stabbed Sanghyuk in the back during his previous life. Sanghyuk had dredged up this blueprint specifically to screw that bastard out of his future windfall while simultaneously winning Tokan's absolute favor. It was a masterstroke that killed two birds with one stone.

In his past life, Sanghyuk had never treated the bone whip as a primary weapon. By the time it appeared, his muscle memory was already firmly attuned to other armaments, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leaving little incentive to master such an eccentric piece of gear from scratch. Even so, hearing endless rumors of its excellence had prompted him to take it for a spin, and he had liked it enough to keep it as his fifth sidearm.

"Aye, precisely," Tokan muttered to himself, lost in reverie. "Depending on how one tempers the Ten Thousand Year Golden Bone, it can be made remarkably supple. Breaking it down into minute segments and weaving them together... Aye, that would forge a truly terrifying weapon."

Tokan continued to pace, mumbling in awestruck wonder. Every time he marveled aloud, a gentle ping chimed in Sanghyuk's ear, signaling yet another tick of affinity.

"Splendid! I shall forge this bone whip for you. And mark my words, I'll make it far grander and more flawless than anything you've described, so you had best look forward to it!" His deliberation complete, Tokan beamed with a flushed, excited grin.

Yet Sanghyuk still held one last card up his sleeve.

"Wait... I have one more proposition for you."

"Hm? A proposition?"

"Yes. One that will prove immensely profitable for you and everyone under the Golden Anvil's roof."

"Ho... is that so? Let's hear it, then."

Had his affinity been low, Sanghyuk wouldn't have dared utter a single word about business. But circumstances were different now. Having maximized Tokan's goodwill in advance, the dwarven king gave him his undivided attention.

"What if the Golden Anvil secured exclusive manufacturing rights for this bone whip? In return for providing the design, I ask for a modest seven percent royalty on all sales."

In his past life, the user who submitted the design had negotiated a ten percent royalty. However, that rate had been won after grueling negotiations backed by the prestige of winning the official showcase. Sanghyuk had no desire to drag things out, so he voluntarily trimmed the cut to close the deal cleanly. This was the final shot he had saved in the chamber.

"Hmph. Five percent."

Even with their high affinity, Tokan remained a shrewd merchant who would not yield ground so easily.

"Six percent."

Sanghyuk had no intention of engaging in an exhaustive haggle, so he immediately shaved off another point.

"Done! We have a deal!"

The agreement was struck in the blink of an eye. With this, Sanghyuk secured a six percent cut on every single bone whip forged and sold by the Golden Anvil. It might have seemed trivial at first glance, but once the weapon's reputation spread and every adventurer and their dog scrambled to buy one, it would rake in astronomical profits. While current players lacked the capital to afford luxury weapons—even standard bone whips forged from ordinary materials were high-end items—the moment the player base matured and recognized their lethal utility, the design was guaranteed to become a runaway bestseller.

It worked!

Sanghyuk's face lit up with undisguised joy. He had successfully formed the coveted Bond of Fate with Tokan, and clearing the sudden quest on top of that was more than enough reason to celebrate. Forging a bond with Tokan, the monarch of the Earth Clan—known among players simply as the dwarves—was an achievement far rarer and vastly more valuable than procuring almost any legendary item.

Of course, establishing a Bond of Fate did not mean his affinity grind was over. Quite the contrary: in EL, veterans often said the true affinity grind only began once a Bond of Fate was established, such was the intricate depth of the game's relationship system.

The Four Cardinal Guardian Seats... and the Center Seat... Can I really claim that pinnacle? Right now, I'm merely testing the waters, but this marks the true beginning.

Sanghyuk's ultimate goal was audacious enough to leave anyone slack-jawed. Countless hurdles remained before he could reach it, but tying this knot with Tokan had successfully planted his feet on the path forward.

Skimming through the two notifications, Sanghyuk smiled with deep satisfaction. Both were utility-oriented titles, but their perks aligned perfectly with his future ambitions.

"Kwahahaha! What a magnificent day this is! Come now, put aside that stiff face and share a cold mug of Hinte Beer with me!"

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

Tokan roared with laughter and clapped Sanghyuk on the shoulder. His offer of 'Hinte Beer' was no mistake; EL was notorious for its aggressive, borderline shameless inclusion of real-world product placements. Hinte Beer was one of them, perfectly mimicking the crisp, carbonated bite of its real-world counterpart. Setting up a notoriously booze-loving dwarf to chug mass-produced commercial lager felt rather immersion-breaking, but every player had signed the user agreement consenting to product placements before stepping into the world. Complaining was pointless.

Sanghyuk was only able to slip out of the Golden Anvil after splitting two full kegs with Tokan. Because he had configured his personal settings to cap intoxication, he remained completely sober. His satiety gauge, however, shot past one hundred percent and hovered near one hundred and thirty, saddling him with a comical debuff.

It was hardly a real impediment—just a negligible penalty meant as a lighthearted mechanical touch.

After logging out of EL, Sanghyuk checked the footage he had recorded inside the Haunted Castle. He had no intention of releasing the video immediately, but he intended to rough out a quick edit.

Yet the second he opened the file, he realized no amount of editing could salvage it.

"Damn it all... Even to my own eyes, this is excruciatingly dull. Was my combat style always this dry?"

Watching his own battle from a third-person perspective, Sanghyuk could only grimace. To a seasoned expert, the precision might have seemed admirable, but to an ordinary viewer, it was a one-way ticket to dreamland.

Phew. Guess I'll have to shelve the idea of battle videos for the time being.

Fast-forwarding through the rest of the recordings confirmed his suspicion: in this current era, these combat clips would never capture the public's imagination. Pulling off solo clears in a hunting ground meant for full parties was inherently impressive, but the combat itself was ruthlessly mechanical. Worse, chopping out every key secret to prevent vital information from leaking left virtually nothing of substance on screen.

I need to rethink the streaming strategy.

No matter how tempting the streaming market looked, countless priorities outweighed it. Postponing his broadcasting debut was the smarter move.

Sleep first. I'll figure it out later.

Having spent nearly seventeen hours logged in without a break—from clearing the Haunted Castle to negotiating at the Golden Anvil—Sanghyuk was thoroughly exhausted. He collapsed onto the floor mattress and fell dead asleep in less than a minute. Given how lucrative the day had been, he felt he had earned at least five hours of deep, uninterrupted rest.

Perhaps cumulative fatigue had caught up with him. Sanghyuk woke up to find he had slept for seven hours instead of five. The moment he rose, he stepped into the shower, followed by a thorough stretching routine to limber up his muscles. He had overslept by two hours, but he didn't panic or rush. Flailing about in a panicked scramble to log back in was not his style.

Oversleeping was just oversleeping. Regardless of the clock, Sanghyuk completed every routine on his daily checklist: light physical conditioning to loosen his joints, followed by a hearty, nutritious meal. Since he typically ate only once or twice a day, every meal had to count. Only after everything was cleanly wrapped up did he climb back into the capsule.

Upon reconnecting to EL, Sanghyuk bypassed the Golden Anvil and headed straight for the consignment shop. Given that the merchandise he had listed was top-tier for this stage of the game, every single item had sold out. He settled the transaction fees, pocketed the gold, and checked the time.

The bone whip will take a few days to forge anyway. In the meantime, why not list the sewer dungeon for sale?

Whispers regarding secret dungeons were finally beginning to circulate among the player base. Concrete details were nonexistent, but vague rumors were spreading through word of mouth—hints that secret dungeons existed and served as absolute goldmines for leveling. There was no better time to offload his remaining clears.

Dungeon rights were traded through various avenues, but the safest method was utilizing the consignment shop or the auction house. Because no one had ever listed a dungeon before, players simply remained unaware that the system supported dungeon deed transfers.

Listing Sewer No. 77 now would register it in the shop's catalog under the listing: [D-Rank Secret Dungeon: 50/150 Clears Remaining].

Only the details Sanghyuk chose to reveal would be visible. Even if he kept every single line of information hidden, the mere tag of a 'Secret Dungeon' would trigger a ferocious bidding frenzy. The consignment shop guaranteed total security, mediating the transfer so both parties had to verify the exchange before finalizing the deal. For both the seller and the buyer, trading through the consignment system eliminated any risk of foul play.

After registering the sewer dungeon on the consignment network, Sanghyuk wandered into the outskirts of Falcon City to casually hunt local mobs. Roughly an hour later, the chime of an incoming notification echoed in his ears—the brokered trade request he had been waiting for had finally arrived.