Scott stared at the options before him, his thoughts slowly drifting. I can see the appeal of choosing the rewards everyone will receive, but there’s no guarantee any of them will be worthwhile, he mused, eyes lingering on the first notification.

  He shifted his gaze to the second option. This one is even more tempting. Giving up the right to choose guarantees a greater reward. But then again, just because the system deemed it greater didn’t mean it would be valuable to him. Scott considered Akas’s Runestone—a treasure to others, yet utterly useless in his hands.

  A greater reward… He fixated on the system’s phrasing. There was no way to gauge how significant the improvement would be. For all he knew, it could be a slightly better runestone. Then again, it could be something beyond his comprehension.

  Scott exhaled and turned to the third option. A reward perfectly suited to you will be given if you choose to become the Prime Target of the 9th round! He reread the words, his gaze flickering between the choices.

  No matter how I look at it, this is the best option, he reasoned. The first option is too broad to ensure anything good—I don’t want to depend on my shitty luck. The second promises a better reward, but it still involves luck. His eyes settled once more on the third. This one, however, guarantees something tailored for me. The only drawback… His expression darkened. I’ll be the Prime Target of the next trial.

  The system hadn’t elaborated on what that entailed, but Scott had his guesses.

  This is the best choice for me. He raised his hand, fingers hovering over the selection. One last time, he glanced at the other two options, ensuring he hadn’t overlooked anything. A moment later, he sighed. No point in hesitating. Steeling himself, he tapped the panel.

  A notification materialized.

  Scott’s brows knit together. Wait, what? Have I fucked up?

  The wording immediately threw him off. Wait. ‘Round’ doesn’t refer to zones? Then what the hell is the 9th round? As if responding to his confusion, another message appeared.

  Scott let out a dry chuckle. Yep. I’ve definitely fucked up.

  Then—a new notification.

  Scott’s eyes narrowed. I had a hunch someone was running this place. But what do they want with me?

  He hesitated briefly before selecting [Yes]. A new message appeared.

  Scott’s face twisted in frustration. “At least tell me what the hell this ‘Prime Target’ thing is supposed to be,” he muttered, exasperated.

  The system, as expected, remained silent.

  Scott’s stomach dropped. I’m such a fucking idiot. He clenched his fists. I should’ve known there’d be a catch. The system’s blatant refusal to explain anything only irritated him further, but he didn’t dwell on it.

  There’s no way in hell I’m coming back here for a third time. I might as well get it over with now.

  With his mind made up, he selected [Yes].

  A final notification appeared.

  Scott read through the details, his expression darkening.

  Yeah. I’ve definitely fucked up.

  Scott massaged his temples as he read through the notifications. I royally fucked up.

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  Before Scott’s eyes, a thick, misty gray enveloped the city, swallowing the frozen champions and worn buildings beneath its billowing embrace. Then—he saw them. Towering shadow forms streaked through the fog at breakneck speeds. They were slow enough to be noticed, yet too fast for their true shapes to be discerned.

  Scott’s pulse quickened as the mist thickened, erasing the last remnants of the frozen city. Shadows flickered at the edges of his vision, darting like phantoms between the swirling fog. They moved faster and faster—streaks of darkness vanishing before his eyes could fully register them.

  Then, amid the shifting silence, a sound cut through the mist.

  Clang.

  A hammer striking metal.

  Clang.

  Again, the sound echoed—deep, rhythmic, and unyielding. It sent a shiver down his spine. Scott turned his head toward the source, his instincts urging him forward. The shadows seemed to scatter as he moved, as if wary of what lay ahead.

  A few steps in, the air thickened, pulsing with heat. A low roar followed, deep and guttural—the unmistakable sound of a furnace breathing fire.

  His boots pressed against the unseen ground, each step drawing him closer. Shapes shifted within the fog, coalescing into something more tangible.

  Then, through the haze, he saw it.

  A hulking figure loomed ahead, half-shrouded in mist and shadow. Scars ran like battle-worn maps across its massive frame, each one etched deep like a forgotten history. With every downward swing of the hammer, sparks flew, briefly illuminating the rough-hewn face of a smith lost in his craft. The metal beneath his hammer glowed molten red, the anvil bearing the weight of countless strikes.

  Just beyond him, obscured but unmistakable, a silhouette rose from the mist—a building, its form barely visible, standing like a silent sentinel in the distance.

  Where the hell is this place? Scott had numerous questions, but his gaze lingered on the blacksmith hammering away at the anvil.

  Like the guardian, he felt the blacksmith’s true form was imperceptible to his mind. Rather, the figure he saw was a construct—his mind’s attempt to make sense of what his senses perceived.

  “You’re the new one, huh?” the blacksmith suddenly called out, pausing his monotonous strikes. He stood upright, turning toward Scott, and their gazes locked.

  An endless, scorching heat coiled around Scott’s form as he stared into the man’s eyes. The blacksmith’s human-like physique gave way to something else—a being of all-consuming fire, like a sun taking humanoid shape.

  The War Hammer of the Mad God revealed its true form while the Chains of the Abyss coiled around Scott. Nihilistic portals manifested in small clusters around him.

  “Oh, those are some interesting weapons you have there,” the blacksmith said, and the vision dissipated. “So, does that mean you’d prefer a war hammer and a chain?”

  “What?” Scott blurted out, still maintaining his distance. “Who are you, and what—?”

  “None of that is of any importance,” the blacksmith interrupted, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You’re here for a weapon, right?”

  Scott didn’t answer immediately. He stared blankly at the blacksmith, his mind racing. Is this what the system deems a suitable reward?

  “I don’t have time to waste,” the blacksmith spoke again. “The longer you stand there silently, the longer this will drag on.” He turned back to his work, hammering the glowing ore on the anvil once more.

  Scott remained in place, his gaze shifting between the blacksmith and the swirling gray around them.

  A weapon? Is that really all there is to this? He glanced at the chains and war hammer in his possession.

  Can this guy even forge something comparable to them, let alone something better? Doubt lingered in his mind.

  “Just so you know,” the blacksmith said, speaking over the rhythmic strikes. “Those weapons of yours are on the verge of destruction. It’s a miracle they’ve lasted this long. If you don’t replace them soon, they’ll crumble—and who knows if that’ll happen when your life is on the line.”

  Scott tensed as the blacksmith suddenly ceased hammering and locked eyes with him. “More importantly, neither of those weapons were personally created for you. Neither truly harmonizes with your essence,” he announced, his gaze shifting toward the War Hammer of the Mad God. “Especially that one.”

  “For a being of authority, you besmirch your throne by wielding such an inferior weapon,” he continued. His eyes flickered to the chains. “And those? Not even worth mentioning.”

  Scott furrowed his brows. “And you can forge something better?”

  The blacksmith chuckled, resuming his rhythmic strikes. “Even my anvil is better than them.”

  Scott crossed his arms. “And you’re willing to put that to the test?”

  The blacksmith’s hammering paused again, and he turned toward Scott. Wordlessly, he stepped back, using a pair of tongs to lift the glowing ore from the anvil, placing it into an ordinary-looking water bath. Steam hissed into the thick air.

  “Go ahead,” he said, a thin smile twisting his scarred lips. “However, I am obligated to warn you of the consequences.” His smile widened. “Your weapon will be destroyed in both spirit and form. Judging by your current level, you will likely lose an arm—perhaps even your left eye.”

  Scott stared at the blacksmith before shifting his gaze toward the anvil. It looked utterly unremarkable.

  I can’t sense anything special about it. Is he bluffing? The thought barely formed before he dismissed it. The blacksmith exuded a detached confidence, the kind that didn’t require deception.

  Still, how could striking an anvil not only shatter his weapon but also cripple him? It made no sense.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” the blacksmith suddenly added, rousing Scott from his thoughts. “If you do this, be prepared for what you’ve discarded to come forth. Her goodwill will be wasted, but I’m eager to see if your skepticism will override your rationality.” He gestured toward the anvil. “Enough talk. The stage is yours.”

  Scott didn’t move. Bluff or not, he had no way to verify the blacksmith’s claims—and no desire to take the risk.

  “It seems you’ve chosen the rational decision,” the blacksmith noted, turning back to the anvil. “A wise choice.”

  Without another word, he retrieved the still-flaming ore and resumed hammering. Sparks flew, illuminating his stoic expression.

  Scott took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Can you tell me why you said—”

  “Irrelevant,” the blacksmith interrupted. “A master doesn’t need to explain himself to a novice. You can choose to believe my words or reject them. Either way, they remain true.”

  He suddenly turned to Scott, his gaze sharp. “I advise you not to come any closer. The heat isn’t something you can endure yet.”

  “What heat are—” The words barely left Scott’s mouth before an unbearable wave of heat erupted from the anvil. His skin bubbled as if his very blood and organs were boiling.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself backward, and the heat instantly vanished.

  What the hell was that? He clenched his fists, his features ashen.

  His body had long since merged with the nihilistic zone. His blood, his organs—they were formless constructs. Yet, the heat had seared him as if his body were still tangible.

  “Impressive,” the blacksmith remarked. “Most would have disintegrated the moment they felt it. Not only did you survive, but you had the willpower to retreat. If nothing else, you can be proud of that.”

  Scott stared at him. Why does it sound like he’s mocking me?

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Scott asked abruptly. He had no patience for cryptic conversations.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You talk as if you know all about me—like I’m some disappointment.”

  The blacksmith paused, then met his gaze. “And you aren’t?” he asked, matter-of-factly.

  Scott had no response.

  The blacksmith turned back to his work. “You wield power capable of…” He suddenly stopped, as if skirting the edge of something forbidden. “Learn to harness your strength. Stop living in the shackles of your fears. Because sooner or later, what you fear will come for you—and you won’t have the power to resist.”

  His hammer fell once more, ringing through the mist.

  “Take as long as you need to decide what weapon you desire. As long as you can conceive it, I can forge it. We have all the time in the world.”

  The blacksmith smirked. “After all, you can’t leave this place until I’m finished.”