The air in the makeshift market hummed with the uneasy energy of a world still learning its new rules. Makeshift stalls lined the street, hawking everything from monster parts to poorly repaired gear. In one corner, set slightly apart from the others, Nanashi worked.
His hammer fell in a steady, rhythmic cadence on a piece of steel, the sound clean and precise amidst the market's din. He wasn't making a masterpiece. He was producing simple, functional iron daggers—the kind an E-rank player could afford after their first successful dungeon run. But even these simple tools held a subtle perfection in their balance, a testament to the skills he had already stolen and synthesized.
Nanashi didn't look up, but his eyes, hidden beneath the brim of a simple cap, tracked the player Leviathan indicated. A Warrior-type, probably D-rank. The skill was common, but it was a solid foundation. With a thought, he activated his Authority of Envy. A phantom sensation, like a page turning in a book he couldn't see, flickered through him. The skill was his, permanently added to his growing "shrub" of abilities.
"See? Easy!" Leviathan chirped. "Now you hit even harder with your club!"
"Quiet, Levi," Nanashi murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm working."
"Hey, crafter," a voice called. A young woman with a chipped shortsword approached. "Can you fix this? The last Kobold chieftain did a number on it."
Nanashi nodded, taking the blade. He ran his fingers along the edge, his touch allowing him to copy the passive skill [Basic Sword Maintenance] from the weapon itself. "Fifteen minutes. Fifty System Coins."
The woman blinked. "SC? Why not cash? I can pay cash."
"System Coins only for commissioned work," Nanashi said, his voice even. He picked up his hammer and began the repair, the [Basic Blacksmithing] skill he'd copied weeks ago making the work swift and precise.
Leviathan's voice, a whisper only he could hear, piped up in his mind. "Why not take the paper money? It's so colorful! We could buy more snacks with it!"
Before Nanashi could answer her, the woman shrugged. "Alright, weirdo. SC it is." She watched him work for a moment, then pointed to a quiver of arrows on his table. "What about those? How much?"
"Those are cash for a bundle of twenty," Nanashi replied without looking up.
She paid for the arrows in crumpled bills, examining them. "Huh. Way better fletching than the junk the guilds are pushing. Straight, too. Thanks, I'll be back for more arrows in the future!" She nodded appreciatively and moved off.
As she left, a new voice echoed in Nanashi's mind, rich with amusement and a cosmic depth that made Leviathan gasp.
"Oh, this is delightful. Truly delightful."
Nanashi's hammer paused for a fraction of a second. This wasn't Leviathan.
"You charge hard currency for disposable ammunition," the voice continued, "but for a permanent piece of gear, you demand the intangible currency of the gods. You let them think it's an eccentricity, while you hoard the one resource that can buy things beyond mortal ken. The deception is so beautifully layered!"
Leviathan materialized in a small, panicked puff of spectral smoke. "Who's that? Who are you? Go away!"
"Peace, little leviathan," the voice chuckled. "I am merely an admirer of fine artistry. And this..." A pressure filled the air, a sensation of being watched by a thousand unseen eyes. "...this is art. The art of the long game."
System Alert:
Patron [Crawling Chaos] - Nyarlathotep - is observing you with great interest.
He offers his patronage.
Nanashi set down his hammer, finishing the sword. He handed it back to the woman, who transferred the SC. Only when she was gone did he speak internally, his thoughts directed at the new presence.
"The government can tax cash. They can track cash," Nanashi thought, his explanation as practical as his club. "They can't touch System Coins. And the System Store has resources and information you can't get anywhere else. It's not a deception. It's efficiency."
Nyarlathotep's laughter was a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. "Efficiency! You call it efficiency, I call it theatrical misdirection! You present yourself as a simple man of simple means, all while building a war chest of cosmic currency under their very noses. You are a grand performer on a stage of fools, and I have not been so entertained in eons."
System Alert:
Patron [Crawling Chaos] - Nyarlathotep - has formally offered a Patron Contract.
Do you accept? [Y/N]
"Don't do it!" Leviathan cried, flitting around Nanashi's head. "He's scary! And loud! And... and chaotic! We don't need him!"
Nanashi looked at the spectral dragon, her form shimmering with worry. He then looked inward, at the vast, empty potential of his Pretender class and the slow, arduous grind of the Authority of Envy.
"He's powerful, Levi," Nanashi thought back, his tone gentle but firm. "You've done so much for me. You're my first friend. But we're playing a game where the other players have gods and demons in their corners. We can't afford to be outnumbered."
He projected his thoughts toward the lurking presence. "What are your terms?"
"Terms?" Nyarlathotep sounded amused. "My terms are that you continue to be the fascinating source of chaos and calculation that you are. I will offer my support, my knowledge, and on occasion, a nudge in a more... dramatic direction. In return, I get a front-row seat to the greatest show in this corner of the cosmos. You."
It was a patron contract unlike any ever recorded. No demands for worship, no strict agenda. Just a desire for entertainment.
Nanashi didn't hesitate.
> Y
A new, profound connection snapped into place in his soul, right beside his bond with Leviathan. It felt like a silent, cosmic audience had just taken their seats.
"Excellent!" Nyarlathotep's voice was now a permanent fixture in his mental landscape. "Now, let's see... oh, a little something for the road. A token of my appreciation."
System Alert:
Patron [Crawling Chaos] has gifted you: 50,000 SC.
Patron [Crawling Chaos] has gifted you: [Minor Ward of Obfuscation] - Helps mask the true nature of your abilities from casual observation.
Leviathan let out a small, defeated whimper.
"Cheer up, little one," Nyarlathotep said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "We are co-investors in a masterpiece. And I never interfere with a fellow artist's relationship with their muse."
Nanashi picked up his hammer again, the weight of it familiar in his hand. He was now a man with two patrons: a dragon who envied the bonds of others, and a chaos god who was fascinated on his potential for drama. He continues his business as more players come to seeks his cheap, good gears and arrows of better quality.
The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel had become the soundtrack to Nanashi's new life. His small workshop, once just a converted garage, now hummed with constant activity. A line of low-rank Players stretched out the door, each waiting their turn for the craftsman's famous affordable gear.
"Next," Nanashi called out, not looking up from the bow he was reinforcing.
A young woman in scout's leathers stepped forward. "I need another quiver of those broad-head arrows. The ones that don't shatter against rock hide."
"Twenty SC," Nanashi said, wiping his brow with a rag. He gestured to a rack of finished arrows. "Take your pick."
"Twenty? The guild shop charges eighty for worse quality!" she exclaimed, counting out the shimmering System Coins eagerly.
Nanashi merely nodded, already turning to the next customer. This was his business model: high quality, low profit margins. He didn't need to get rich; he needed to build a reputation and gather materials. The System Coins were just a means to buy rare components he couldn't acquire himself yet.
Leviathan: "Ooh! More shiny coins! We're getting so many today! But... why don't you charge more? That lady would have paid forty!"
Nanashi: (Thinking back) "If I charge what everyone else does, I'm just another merchant. This way, they talk. They remember the craftsman who didn't rob them blind."
Nyarlathotep: (A dry, amused chuckle) "A subtle long game. Building influence through gratitude rather than fear. Unconventional. I approve."
The flow of customers continued until two men in sharp, officious uniforms entered without joining the line. The chatter in the workshop died down immediately.
"Terry Sau?" the lead man said, his voice carrying unnecessary volume. "We're from the Provincial Commerce Regulation Office. We have some questions about your... business practices."
Nanashi set down his hammer. "I'm known as Nanashi here. What seems to be the problem?"
The man, whose nametag read 'R. Alvarez', flashed a condescending smile. "The problem is you're destabilizing the local economy. Selling A-tier arrows for C-tier prices? No overhead, no guild fees? It's not sustainable. Unless..." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a false-conspiratorial whisper. "You've found a way to circumvent material costs. Perhaps using... unregistered abilities?"
The accusation hung in the air. Nanashi felt a familiar cold anger stir. The sheer, petty greed of it. They didn't care about rules; they cared that they weren't getting a cut.
Nanashi: (Internal monologue) I could end this with one swing of this hammer. Crush his skull. Use My previous work's experience to make it look like an accident. It would be so... efficient.
Leviathan: "Eep! No, no, no! Bad thought! Don't crush the squishy man! That would be messy and get us in trouble!"
Nyarlathotep: (Purring with delight) "Oh, but imagine the theater! The bureaucratic puppet reduced to a pulp on his own paperwork! The chaos! Still... perhaps premature. Let's see how this play unfolds."
Nanashi took a slow, controlled breath. "I am a registered craftsman. I source my materials legally. My low prices are a result of efficiency, not fraud. Now, if you have no actual evidence, you are disrupting my business."
Alvarez's smile turned nasty. "We'll see about that. We're initiating a full audit. I hope you keep very good records, Mr. Saulog. The fines for non-compliance can be... bankrupting."
Just as the tension peaked, a new voice cut through the room, calm and authoritative.
"Is there a problem here, Nanashi?"
Every head turned. Standing in the doorway was a man clad in sleek, master-crafted ranger armor, a magnificent recurve bow slung across his back. Hector "Hawk-Eye" Morales, the top Archer-class Player in Cavite province and a local celebrity.
The government clerks visibly paled.
"Ah, Hector," Nanashi nodded, his expression not changing. "Just a discussion about market prices."
Hector walked forward, ignoring the clerks completely. He picked up one of the finished arrows from the rack, spinning it expertly between his fingers.
"These are your work? The fletching is perfect. The weight distribution... impeccable." He looked at Alvarez, his gaze sharp enough to pin the man to the wall. "You're harassing the man who makes the best arrows south of Manila over prices? I've paid guild craftsmen triple for half the quality. He's not destabilizing anything; he's exposing how badly you've all been overcharging us."
Alvarez sputtered. "Mr. Morales, this is an official—"
"An official waste of time," Hector interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "I have a B-Rank field dungeon clear scheduled tomorrow. My party's safety relies on gear from this shop. If your 'audit' causes any delay in our preparations, I will personally file a complaint with the Governor's office detailing how your office endangered Player lives by harassing a vital resource."
The clerk's bravado evaporated. The threat of angering a top Player, one with real political clout, was far more terrifying than any fine they could levy on a small business.
"W-we were just following up on an anonymous tip," Alvarez backtracked, gathering his papers. "Clearly a misunderstanding. We'll, uh, we'll be on our way."
The two clerks nearly tripped over each other in their haste to leave. The moment the door shut behind them, the workshop erupted in relieved laughter and cheers.
Nyarlathotep: (Wheezing with psychic laughter) "OH! THE COWARDICE! THE SWIFTLY DEFLATED EGOS! HE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO THREATEN VIOLENCE! JUST THE PROSPECT OF PAPERWORK! MAGNIFICENT!"
Leviathan: "Hehe, did you see their faces? They ran away like scared little goblins! That was way better than smashing!"
Hector turned back to Nanashi, a genuine smile on his face. "Sorry about that. Guilds and government leeches... they hate it when someone competent works outside their system." He placed a heavy pouch of SC on the counter. "I'll take your entire stock of broad-heads and another fifty custom-made, if you have the time. Your work is the reason my clear times have improved by a lot."
Nanashi gave a slight, respectful nod. "I'll have them ready by evening."
As the workshop returned to its busy rhythm, Nanashi felt a grim satisfaction. He had built something here. Not just a cover, but a foundation. A place that people valued enough to defend.
He picked up his hammer again. The clanging resumed, louder and more confident than before. The system could throw bureaucrats, monsters, or even gods at him. He would meet them all with the same unwavering pragmatism.
For now, he had arrows to fletch.