The digital silence of Unit 707 was absolute, broken only by the microscopic hum of the Comet "Astraeus" Diamond-Class cooling fans. Inside the obsidian pod, Arthur Kim wasn't just playing a game; he was executing a multi-layered heist on reality itself.
Before he had even touched the capsule's power button, Arthur had spent weeks in the physical world preparing. His "ethical" hacking wasn't just for the 50,000,000 Won price tag; it was to refine Ciel, his autonomous Divine AI. Ciel was his scalpel, and Satisfy's source code was the patient.
"If I take the Pagma's Successor class, the world breaks," Arthur mused, his consciousness floating in the golden void of the login screen.
"Grid is the pillar that holds the future together. If I remove him, I lose my roadmap. I don't need his life. I just need his talent."
Arthur's plan was elegant in its brutality. He wouldn't steal classes; he would Plunder them.
"Ciel," Arthur commanded. "Initialize the Identity Overwrite. We're bypassing the 'Commoner' birth-spawn."
By manipulating the unlinked data strings of the Saharan and Eternal royal families, Ciel had woven Arthur into the very fabric of the world's power structure. He was now a secret prince of two nations, a man with a legitimate claim to the thrones of the world's superpowers.
But a prince without power was a target.
"Now," Arthur's mental voice sharpened. "The anchor. Set my starting coordinates at Lomorg, capital of Lubana. We aren't going to a starter village. We're going to the grave."
"With 99.9% sync and your hacking? I'll take those odds," Arthur whispered.
The world materialized with staggering clarity. The scent of ancient stone and the oppressive humidity of the Lubana Kingdom hit Arthur's senses. He wasn't in a cozy beginner's zone like Patrian. He was in Lomorg, the fortress city.
Standing in a shadowed alleyway, Arthur looked down at his basic linen clothes. To any NPC, he looked like a beggar. But deep within his status window, two titles glowed with a faint, regal gold: [Nephew of the Eternal King] and [Imperial Blood of Saharan].
"Ciel, the map. Guide me to the Lomorg grand Library."
Arthur moved with the precision of a ghost. Thanks to the Astraeus, there was zero input lag. He could feel the texture of the cobblestones through his thin shoes, allowing him to adjust his weight and move silently until he reached the the Lomorg grand library.
He wasn't looking for a king of Lubana. He was looking for the man history had tried to forget, The Undefeated King, Madra.
The mahogany doors of the Lomorg Grand Library stood like the silent, wooden sentinels of a bygone age, their surfaces etched with the complex history of the Lubana Kingdom.
As Arthur approached, the sunlight reflecting off his silver-white hair, the two guards clad in gleaming plate mail didn't see a potential savior of their lore; they saw a Level 1 vagrant in linen rags, a digital ghost with no standing in their hierarchy.
Their halberds crossed with a sharp, metallic ring—a sound that usually sent low-level players scurrying back to the slums. But Arthur didn't flinch. He didn't reach for his pouch to offer a meager bribe, nor did he plead for a moment of their time.
Instead, his gaze cut through the space between them, locking onto a figure seated at a high desk deep within the foyer. This was Scholar Pelon, a man whose intellectual arrogance was matched only by his absolute disdain for the "muscle-brained" Warriors who normally trampled through the kingdom's history.
"Step back, traveler," the guard on the left grunted, his voice muffled by his visor but heavy with elitism. "This sanctuary is for the learned and the noble. It is not a resting place for those who have spent their lives swinging wooden sticks at rabbits."
Arthur's response was not a defense, but a surgical strike against the intellectual pride of the institution. "I am not here to sharpen a blade," he spoke, his voice carrying the cold, modulated authority of a man who had already mastered the world's systems.
"I am here because the murals in this hall supposedly contain a flawed transcription of the Second Era's geomancy. I find it distressing that such a prestigious institution would allow a clerical error to persist for decades, misleading every scholar who walks these halls."
The scratching of Pelon's quill ceased instantly. The old librarian, whose life was a series of ignored warnings about historical accuracy, looked up with wide, spectacle-magnified eyes. He approached the gate, his ink-stained hands trembling as he waved the guards down. "A 'clerical error'? You, a mere wanderer, claim to understand the nuances of the Second Era?"
Arthur turned his gaze to the massive fresco on the far wall, a masterpiece of color and ancient geography. "Most 'fighters' see only a wall of pretty pictures," Arthur said, his tone dripping with calculated indifference. "But anyone with a mind can see the ley-lines depicted in the Lubana mountain range are shifted three degrees to the east. It is a fundamental betrayal of the architects who built this city upon those very lines."
Pelon's jaw dropped. For ten years, the Ministry of Culture had called him a senile old fool for that exact observation. "Finally! Someone who looks with their eyes and not their sword! Guards, move those toothpicks! This young man is a guest of the academy."
[You have gained the favor of Scholar Pelon.]
[The Lomorg Grand Library is now accessible!]
[Intelligence stat has increased by 2.]
As the doors swung open, Arthur didn't stop for the pleasantries Pelon tried to offer. He moved with a predatory efficiency toward the "Records of the Fallen Kingdoms" section, a dusty, neglected corner of the library that had been largely ignored since the server's launch.
His true target wasn't the sanitized, official history of the kingdom, but the Journals of the Lubana Scouts—handwritten accounts from three centuries ago.
While the rest of the player base, including the future "Grid," would eventually view the Northern End Cave as a mere dungeon holding a legendary book, Arthur was looking for the "Soul" of the geography. He spent hours cross-referencing ancient murals with the scouts' frantic, ink-smeared reports of "The Cursed Wind." He was searching the legacy of the Undefeated King, Madra.
"There it is," Arthur whispered, his finger tracing a faded ink drawing in a 300-year-old journal.
Entry 402: "The winds in the southern peaks no longer blow; they howl. It is the sound of a thousand soldiers screaming in unison. We found the entrance to the caves, but the air felt heavy. We call it the Howling Caves. We shall not return."
Arthur's eyes sharpened with a ruby-glinted intensity. Arthur had just decoded the "Howling Caves"—the true, hidden geographic coordinate where the energy of the Undefeated King's spirit resonated.
The Undefeated King's Swordsmanship was a power that could cleave the world's very laws in two. Arthur's vision for chaos was no longer just about being a blacksmith; he would take the legacy of the hammer to build his global "Vitality" empire, but he would secure the coordinate data for Madra's grave to ensure that his martial dominance was absolute.
He would be the smith who forged the world and the king who cut down anyone who tried to reclaim it.
"Leaving so soon?" Pelon asked as Arthur closed the final book, the heavy thud echoing through the quiet halls.
"The archives were enlightening, Scholar," Arthur replied with a slight, respectful bow that felt more like a king acknowledging a subject.
"But I have found a 'geographic correction' I need to verify in person. The truth doesn't stay hidden in books forever."
Arthur stepped out of the library and into the biting, thin mountain air of Lomorg. He wasn't the same player who had entered an hour ago.
He now possessed the map, the specific atmospheric data of the Howling Caves, and a three-month head start on the man who would have been his rival.
While Youngwoo was likely swinging a greatsword in a dark hole, complaining about the heat and the cost of bread, Arthur was standing on the precipice of a double legacy.
He adjusted his basic linen shirt, feeling the "Vitality" of the Diamond-class capsule keeping his senses sharp as a razor. He looked toward the northern peaks, where the wind began to roar.
The "Chaos" was no longer a plan; it was a physical trajectory. He had the intellect to navigate the libraries of the world and the vision to see the kings buried beneath the dirt.
As he began the long trek toward the Northern End, Arthur wasn't just walking into a cave; he was walking into the role of a god. The world of Satisfy had a script, and he had just burned the last copy.