Ten days later—
The salty scent of the sea filled the air as Alan's mount crossed the final stretch of stone causeway connecting the mainland to Cokro Island.
Jagged cliffs rose on both sides, waves crashing violently below. Despite its harsh terrain, the island was beautiful—many residents lived here, having adapted to its environment. Alan's gaze drifted toward the far end of the island, where towering mountains loomed. Somewhere within those mountains lay the cave where Hell Gao had been imprisoned by Sword Saint Muller.
"I should create some heat-resistant equipment first," Alan murmured as he began moving toward the smithy.
Since Cokro Island wasn't very large, its smithy was modest in size as well. Alan stepped inside and saw several blacksmiths hard at work—both NPCs and players. The sound of hammer striking metal echoed through the building.
As Alan walked in, a few players glanced at him, noticing the unfamiliar face. He was no longer wearing the white mask, and his armor had been changed to simple leather, so no one recognized him as White Lion.
"Excuse me. Are you the one in charge here?" Alan asked a burly NPC.
The NPC looked him up and down, then frowned slightly. "I'm Drane. What do you need?" he asked gruffly.
"Are you a blacksmith?" Alan asked, glancing at the man's hands.
"I am. Why?" Drane replied.
"I was wondering if I could use the smithy," Alan said calmly.
"You can, but you'll have to pay the usage fee," Drane said, pointing toward an empty furnace.
"Okay," Alan nodded, immediately paying the fee.
"You're free to use it," Drane said, waving him away.
Alan ignored Drane's disinterested tone as he stepped toward the furnace.
"Now… let's craft my armor," he muttered.
He took out his materials and began working. Salamander scales—harvested from a dungeon boss in the Lava Pit he had defeated earlier—were laid out carefully. He combined them with refined metals, shaping them into armor components.
Before long—
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The sound of Alan's hammer echoed through the smithy—but unlike the others, his rhythm was smooth, steady, almost musical.
Drane, who had been dozing off, suddenly jolted awake.
"What is that sound?" he muttered, turning his head toward the source.
His eyes widened as he watched Alan work.
Each hammer strike landed perfectly. The temperature control was flawless. The metal responded as if it were alive.
"Such perfect tempering…" Drane whispered, completely mesmerized.
Other NPC blacksmiths noticed as well and slowly gathered around Alan, their expressions filled with awe.
Meanwhile, the player blacksmiths looked on in confusion.
"What's going on?"
"Is he a high-level blacksmith?"
"I've never seen forging like that…"
One player stepped forward, about to speak.
"Hey—"
"Don't disturb him," an NPC blacksmith snapped sharply, blocking the player's path.
A system notification flashed.
[ Your affinity with lemon has decreased by 50 points. ]
The player froze as he saw the message, his face turning pale. 'My hard earned Affinity!!!' he cried without making sound fearing others might hate him too.
Around him, the NPC blacksmiths continued to stare at Alan in silence—completely absorbed by the flawless craft unfolding before their eyes.
Time passed quietly.
One hour.
Then two.
Then three.
Before anyone realized it, twenty full hours had gone by.
Sweat dripped down Alan's temples, but his hands never faltered. With a final, controlled strike, he set the completed armor onto the anvil.
Clang.
"…Finally. Done," Alan exhaled.
A system notification rang out.
[ You have crafted Salamander Scale Armor (Unique Rank). ]
[ A Unique-rated item has been produced. ]
[ All stats have permanently increased by +12. ]
[ Reputation throughout the continent has increased by +300. ]
The surrounding blacksmiths sucked in sharp breaths.
A Unique item.
And not from a workshop master—but crafted here, in this small island smithy.
Alan didn't linger on their reactions. He calmly moved the newly completed armor to the side and began laying out the remaining materials.
"Next… gauntlets, greaves, and a helmet," he muttered.
Without wasting a second, Alan returned to the furnace.
The flames flared once more.
His hammer rose—and fell again, beginning a new cycle of forging as the stunned NPC blacksmiths continued to watch, unable to look away.
Five days passed in what felt like a single, unbroken breath.
Alan barely left the smithy.
He slept in short intervals, ate only when his stamina demanded it, and spent every waking moment in front of the furnace. The rhythm of metal against metal never stopped—clang, hiss, thrum—a steady heartbeat that echoed through the small workshop day and night.
By the second day, the NPC blacksmiths had stopped pretending to work.
By the third, players began avoiding the smithy entirely. The pressure was unbearable. Every strike Alan made felt too perfect, every adjustment too precise. Watching him was like watching a master conductor guide an orchestra of flame and steel.
By the fifth day—
Clang.
Alan placed the final piece onto the worktable.
Gauntlets.
Greaves.
Helmet.
The Salamander Scale Set was complete.
A deep red-and-black armor set lay before him, scales overlapping like living flame, faint heat rippling in the air around it. Even un-equipped, it radiated power.
System messages cascaded down his vision.
[ You have crafted Salamander Scale Gauntlets (Unique Rank). ]
[ You have crafted Salamander Scale Greaves (Unique Rank). ]
[ You have crafted Salamander Scale Helm (Unique Rank). ]
[ Salamander Scale Set Completed ]
[ Set Effect Activated ]
[ Fire Resistance +41% ]
[ Heat Damage Reduced by 50% ]
[ Burn, Scorch, and Ignition effects duration reduced by 60% ]
[ Environmental Lava Damage Negated ]
Alan slowly equipped the full set.
The moment the final piece locked into place, a wave of heat surged outward—then vanished, as if absorbed entirely by the armor itself.
"…Perfect," Alan murmured.
The surrounding NPC blacksmiths instinctively stepped back.
Drane, the burly smith who had granted him access, stared with wide eyes.
"Th-that armor…" Drane swallowed hard. "It's the finest work I've ever laid eyes on."
Alan nodded slightly. "Thank you for letting me use your smithy."
With that, he turned and left.
Outside the workshop, a group of players was already waiting. At their center stood a tall man clad in silver-and-blue armor, a sword sheathed on his hip. His presence alone carried weight.