The same word. But displayed in binary code on the wall of the ancient room, glowing red after the chest was opened.
"This is a message," Nyxaria said, her voice low. "Not for the one who opens the chest. But... notification that this chest has been opened."
Lazarus looked uneasy. "Did we trigger an alarm?"
"Perhaps," Seris answered, her eyes sweeping the room. "But no active attack mechanisms. Just... a message."
They left the room with mixed feelings—victory over the obtained loot, but also lingering questions. As they climbed the stairs, the pale purple light from the room below slowly extinguished. The empty chest closed itself. The ground at the surface closed back up, covering the entrance as if there had never been one.
The return journey felt more silent. Nyxaria processed what had just happened. Small dungeon. Simple puzzle based on old game knowledge. Mythic loot with very specific and powerful function. And binary message 'Forgotten'. The pieces didn't fit together neatly, but they formed an intriguing picture.
When they reached the Obsidian Aegis gate, Seris, who was usually silent, suddenly spoke.
"My Lord," she said, her voice full of consideration. "That item... [Veil of the Forgotten Queen]. I've read vague references about 'pre-launch' item classification in old guild archives. Items designed before the commercial launch of Aeternum Online, for testing concepts that were too... balance-disrupting. Supposedly, all items like that have been deleted from the live game database."
She paused, looking at Nyxaria. "This item shouldn't exist in the live game version. Why is it here?"
The morning sun had risen high, illuminating the obsidian walls of the Sanctuary with golden light. The wind carried the sound of activity from within—the laughter of refugee children, the pounding of hammers in the workshop area being built, whispers of conversation. A world beginning to live.
Nyxaria stood before the gate, staring at the forest behind her shoulder, then at the veil cloth now invisible in her inventory.
Why can that mythic item exist?
That question still hung in the air at the gate, heavier than the morning mist being swept by the sun. Why is it here? Nyxaria stood still, her fingers unconsciously touching the spot on her arm where [Veil of the Forgotten Queen] was now stored, cold and silent like a corpse. Pre-launch item. Should have been deleted. But Lumi saw it, and the system registered it for her.
As if someone deliberately left evidence, Mara thought inside. Or as if the system forgot to discard its own trash.
The sound of hurried footsteps cut through her train of thought. Lazarus, whose face still radiated amazement mixed with worry from the earlier expedition, approached with a new expression—confused, but with a bit of urgency.
"My Lord," he said, bowing. "There's... a guest. Not a player. An old NPC from the Willow's End refugee group. He requests an audience. Very... insistently."
Nyxaria turned, her eyebrows—thin and elegant—rising slightly. "Insistently?"
"Standing in front of the library door for the past hour, refusing to move. Carrying a large parchment scroll he clutches like his own child. Says he must speak to the Obsidian Ruler about... 'buried legacy'." Lazarus sighed dramatically. "I already tried to calm him, but he's stubborn as mountain rock. And his eyes... there's fire there. Not the fire of anger. The fire of passion."
Seris, still standing beside him, crossed her arms. "Is he carrying a threat? Hidden weapons?"
"No. His hands are calloused, marked with old burn scars and metal scratches. The scent of lubricating oil and forge smoke clings to his worn clothes." Lazarus nodded slowly. "He's a craftsman. Old. But his posture is still as straight as reforged steel."
Mara, inside, felt curiosity awakening. NPC with passion? Who requests a direct audience? Not asking for protection or food, but talking about legacy? Eight thousand hours of playing games taught her: NPCs with special quests usually come with attitudes like this.
"Bring him to the small hall," Nyxaria said, her voice flat. "I will hear him."
The small hall was a simple room with a long stone table and several benches. Light from the high windows illuminated dust dancing in the air. Nyxaria sat at the end of the table, Lumi sat on the floor beside her feet, busy folding the wet ends of her cloak into strange shapes. Seris stood near the door, in an alert position. Lazarus stood beside Nyxaria, arms folded, trying to look dignified.
The door opened.
The man who entered was probably in his sixties in human years—but in the Aeternum world, physical age often deceived. His hair was white as snow, cut short and untidy, with a similar beard that was better maintained. His face was wrinkled like a mountain map, with deep grooves on his forehead and around eyes that were narrow but sharp. He was stocky, broad-shouldered, his arms visible from his short-sleeved shirt full of muscle and shiny scar tissue. He wore a thick leather apron covered in black stains and holes from fire sparks.
But what caught attention were his eyes. Gray, like unforged steel. And they shone with an intensity rarely seen by Mara—in either NPCs or players. Not madness. Not desperation. But a focus that was almost physical.
In his hands, clutched tightly, a large parchment scroll tied with leather string. The scroll looked old, its edges tattered, and there was a suspicious brownish stain on one side.
He stopped three steps from the table, his eyes staring at Nyxaria. No fear. No awe. Only swift, analytical assessment, like a craftsman measuring raw materials. Then, he nodded once, sharply.
"Obsidian Queen," his voice was hoarse, heavy, like stone scraping stone. "My name is Aldric. Once they called me Forge-Master Aldric, the Steel Hand of Everfell. Now I'm just an old refugee with hands that still remember how to forge."
He didn't bow. Didn't prostrate. Only stood upright.
Lazarus coughed, trying to restore protocol. "Aldric, face your Ruler with—"
"Let him speak," Nyxaria cut him off. Her ruby red eyes looked straight into Aldric's gray eyes. "You asked me to listen. Now I'm listening."
Aldric nodded again, satisfied. He stepped forward, placing the parchment scroll on the stone table carefully, like laying down a baby. The leather string was untied, the scroll unfurled.
Not ordinary parchment. This was a blueprint—detailed technical drawing of a weapon, with measurements, cutting angles, assembly diagrams, and scribbled small notes in ancient Dwarf language. Listed materials: Adamantine Ore, Ember-Core from Phoenix Ash, Liquid Quicksilver from Mirror Lake... Rare items, even by endgame standards.
"Sunfang Reforged," Aldric said, his rough finger pointing to the title above. "Great two-handed sword, Legendary class. Redesigned from an artifact destroyed in the Enlightenment War. I completed this design for forty years. Searched for materials for twenty years. And the Church of Light confiscated everything last week, forcing me to make crusade weapons for them."
His voice was flat, but beneath the flatness was a vibration of long-restrained anger.
"Escaped. With this." He patted the blueprint. "They're after my life for refusing. Because I told them: weapons like this are not for slaughtering villages or intimidating farmers who refuse to pay taxes. Weapons like this are art. Legacy. They said it was insurrection. They said I was allied with demons." Aldric finally smiled, a thin smile without humor. "So I thought, why not? If they've already labeled me that way, I might as well come to the real demon."
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Okay, NPC with complete backstory and personal motivation, Mara thought. And he came here, to my sanctuary. With a Legendary blueprint.
"You want me to help you make this sword?" Nyxaria asked, tone flat.
"No," Aldric answered quickly. He stared at her again, those gray eyes radiating a strange brightness. "I want a workshop. Workplace. Equipment. Basic raw materials. And permission to teach those willing to learn." His hands clenched. "The Church seized everything—not just my materials. They seized knowledge. Killed my students who refused to work for them. Forced the others to become slaves in their forges. I'm tired of seeing skill enslaved for cruelty."
He drew a deep breath. "Here, I heard there are refugees. NPCs who survived the cleansing. Players who disagree with the Church. I saw empty space in the sanctuary's west wing—maybe once a communal kitchen or simple metal workshop. Give that to me. Let me teach. And I will build for you not just weapons, but industry."
That word hung in the air. Industry.
Lazarus gasped. "My Lord, this is... a very ambitious proposal. And a workshop requires resources, supervision—"
"What's your crafting level?" Nyxaria asked, cutting him off.
Aldric didn't answer immediately. He extended his hand, palm open. A warm light, orange like forge fire, appeared in his hand. Above it, glowing letters formed.
[Crafting Level: Master (Tier 9)]
[Specialization: Blacksmithing, Metallurgy, Rune-Forging]
[Equivalent Combat Level: 95]
[Known Designs: 447 (87 Rare, 23 Epic, 4 Legendary)]
Seris whistled softly—a sound rarely coming from the elf. "Master level... that's equivalent to player guild grandmaster. Only a handful of players reach Tier 8, let alone Tier 9."
Level 95 in the crafting system, Mara thought, impressed inside. That's high. Very high. NPCs with levels that high usually only exist in large cities, surrounded by guards and only serving nobles or top guilds.
"I don't need guards," Aldric said, as if reading her thoughts. His eyes still stared at Nyxaria. "I need freedom to create. And protection from those who want to silence my hammer and fire. You can provide that. And in return..." He pointed at the blueprint. "I'll start with simple things first. Uncommon and Rare weapons for patrols and beginners. But with quality better than what players can buy in city shops at the same price. Then, when resources accumulate, we talk about Epic. And someday..." His hand patted Sunfang Reforged.
"Legendary."
Nyxaria was silent. Inside, Mara processed. This isn't an ordinary quest. This is an opportunity. But also a risk. The Church is surely hunting him. If they know he's here, that's more reason to attack. But...
But imagine. The Sanctuary isn't just a shelter. Not just a fortress. But a production center. Players need weapons, armor. Guilds need supplies. Eclipse Merchants are already trading partners—they can be distributors. This could completely change the Sanctuary's economy.
From shelter to crafting hub, she thought. From surviving to producing.
"I agree," Nyxaria finally said. Her voice was still flat, but there was a final tone there. "Lazarus, give him the west wing. Empty it, give him full authority over that space. Seris, help him with a list of basic equipment and raw materials needed—we can buy from Eclipse or take from local resources." She stared at Aldric. "You have freedom to teach anyone willing to learn—NPC or player. But all production remains under Sanctuary oversight. And you'll get a share of sales."
Aldric nodded, once, firmly. "Fair." Then, for the first time, his expression changed—slightly loosened, like heated steel beginning to bend. "There's... one more thing."
He flipped the Sunfang blueprint. On the back, another sketch was drawn—workshop layout, with placement of forge, anvil, quenching tub, material racks. Efficient, functional design, clearly expert work.
"I need assistants. Two or three. Young, willing to learn, not afraid of dirt and heat." His eyes shifted to Lazarus, then Seris. "Maybe... some of the refugees whose hands are still nimble. Or players bored with fighting and wanting to try crafting."
"You'll hold selections," Nyxaria said. That wasn't a question.
"Simple test." Aldric nodded. "I give them an ordinary iron bar and tell them to shape it into a straight nail. Those who fail, try again tomorrow. Those who succeed, can enter on the first day."
Simple. But effective. Testing patience, precision, and basic sense of material. Mara smiled inside. He knows what he's doing.
"Do it," Nyxaria said. She stood. "Lazarus, arrange everything. I want the workshop operational in three days."
Lazarus bowed deeply, his energy fully dramatic again. "As My Lord commands! I will empty the west wing as fast as the death wind blows! Forge fire will soon ignite in Obsidian Sanctuary!"
Aldric nodded to Lazarus, then to Nyxaria. "Thank you." Those two words were spoken heavily, like forged iron. Then he took his blueprint, rolled it carefully, and left with steady steps.
The door closed. The room returned to silence.
Seris approached. "This... is a big change, My Lord. If successful, we're not only self-sufficient in weaponry. We can be suppliers. That will attract more neutral players to our territory. And give us real economic leverage against the Church blockade."
"Yes," Nyxaria answered shortly. But inside, Mara felt something else—not strategy, not calculation. An acknowledgment. He, Aldric, level 95 in craft. I'm level 999 in combat. But in this, he's the expert. I only provide space. Power isn't just statistics. Power is giving others the opportunity to use their talents.
Lumi pulled her cloak. "That man smells like fire and iron," the child said, her nose wrinkling. "But his eyes... are clear."
Clear. Yes. That's the right word.
Three days wasn't a long time, but under Aldric's control, the west wing transformed at a surprising speed. Lazarus mobilized several refugee NPCs who used to be carpenters or masons. Seris coordinated the first raw material delivery from the warehouse—coal, medium-quality iron ore, basic tools. Eclipse Merchants, upon hearing the news, sent one cart full of rare materials as an "opening gift"—including one small box of Mithril Shards that impressed Aldric.
The workshop was simple but functional. Large forge with handmade bellows, three anvils of different sizes, metal racks, cooling tub fed by water from modified stalactite channels. The air inside quickly changed—warm, smelling of hot metal, oil, and burning wood.
The assistant selection test was held on the second day. Twenty people came—fifteen refugee NPCs, five players from Hearthlight Guild who were curious. Aldric stood in front of the table, giving a finger-sized long piece of iron to each.
"Make a nail. Straight. Flat head. Sharp tip. Time: one hour."
The results varied. Some NPCs, with hands already used to working, produced nails that were fairly straight though slightly bent. Players, with good avatar motor control, produced more precise nails but felt stiff, without "soul" as Aldric grumbled. But there were three who stood out: two young NPCs—a woman who used to help her carpenter father, and a man who secretly always tinkered with tools—and one male player level 34 whose class was Merchant and always interested in crafting.
The three of them were chosen. Aldric nodded satisfied.
Production began on the third day. Aldric started with simple designs: Hunting Knife dagger (Uncommon), Iron Shortsword short sword (Uncommon), and Broadhead Arrow arrowheads (Uncommon) in large quantities. Basic materials were available. He personally supervised the process, correcting every wrong hammer blow, every insufficient or excessive heating.
And the result...
At the end of the third day, Seris brought one Hunting Knife from the workshop to the throne room. The knife was simple—oak wood handle, forged iron blade. But when held, its balance was perfect. Its sharpness even from base to tip. And at the blade's base, engraved a small stamp: a hammer and anvil with the letter "A" in the center—Aldric's signature.
Nyxaria held it, rotating it in her hand. With STR 9,999, all weapons felt light. But this... this felt right. Not just a statistical object.
[System Feedback]
Crafting Hub Established: Obsidian Sanctuary.
Facility: Master-tier Blacksmith Workshop.
Current Output: Uncommon-grade Weapons & Tools.
Economic Impact: Low → Moderate.
Status: Operational.
No fanfare. No global announcement. Only administrative notes. But to Mara, that was more satisfying than noisy system notifications.
This is real. This is actually developing.
The next day, news began to spread. Some Hearthlight players who came to pick up supplies saw the workshop. They asked, tried to order. Aldric, with his taciturn style, gave prices: 20% cheaper than city shops, with quality that was statistically 15% better due to craftsmanship.
The first order came: one set of twenty Broadhead Arrows and two Hunting Knives. Then other orders.
On the fifth day, an Eclipse Merchants courier came—not Torin, but another representative. He saw the workshop, examined samples, and his merchant eyes sparkled.
"Consistent quality. Competitive price. And production location inside the Sanctuary makes logistics costs to our neutral zones lower," he said to Seris who accompanied him. "We're interested in becoming exclusive distributors for this workshop's products. With larger volume, we can guarantee regular purchases."
A written proposal came on the seventh day: six-month exclusive distribution contract, with monthly minimum order, negotiated prices, and gradual quality improvement clause. Eclipse wanted Obsidian Sanctuary to become a permanent supplier for quality weapons and tools.
Nyxaria read the proposal in the library, accompanied by Seris and Lazarus. The numbers made sense. The benefits were clear.
"Approve," she said. "But with clause: supply priority for internal Sanctuary needs remains primary. And right to sell limitedly to individuals directly remains."
Seris nodded, taking notes.
Lazarus smiled proudly. "That workshop has produced fifty items in a week, My Lord. And two NPC assistants can already make nails and arrowheads themselves without full supervision. They're... developing."
Hearing that, something stirred in Mara's chest—not statistical achievement, not power. But satisfaction seeing something grow. They're developing.
On the seventh night, Nyxaria visited the workshop. Warm air greeted, smelling of metal and charcoal. The forge had been extinguished, but its residual heat was still felt. Aldric was there, cleaning the anvil with a metal brush. He turned when he sensed Nyxaria's presence.
"Obsidian Queen," he said, nodding.
Nyxaria looked around. The racks were beginning to fill with semi-finished and finished goods. Tools hung neatly on the wall. The stone floor was clean of excess charcoal dust. Everything orderly, maintained.
"Are you satisfied?" Nyxaria asked.
Aldric nodded slowly. "I can work. I can teach. That's enough." He stopped brushing, staring at Nyxaria. "But there's something I must show you. Come."