(East Zone, Blacksmith Street)
In an instant, the world around Shiki transformed.
The searing heat immediately brushed against her skin, like the breath of a furnace that never sleeps. The rhythmic clanging of iron meeting iron echoed from every direction—loud, methodical, and relentless—creating a working cadence that felt like a weight upon the chest. Each hammer blow was like the heartbeat of this street, bouncing off stone walls and glass storefronts, layering upon itself until the air vibrated with the heavy resonance of metal.
Rows of weapon shops stretched to the left and right. Behind thick glass, gleaming swords reflected the furnace fire; massive axes engraved with dragons seemed to move as their shadows shifted, and shields glowed dimly, their surfaces covered in fine scratches like the marks of untold battles. Blacksmith workshops stood packed tightly along the street, each displaying a distinct crest—a dragon biting its own tail, a hammer raised above a flame, or a pair of dragon wings carved crudely yet full of power.
Thin smoke billowed from tall chimneys, its scent bitter and charred, mingling with the pungent aroma of hot metal. Sparks leaped from open workshop doors, dancing briefly in the air before dying upon the cobblestones blackened by soot. The stones themselves retained the heat, reflecting the orange glow from within the forges until the street appeared to be perpetually ablaze, as if the sun set and rose again in every corner.
For now, only the sound of hammers and the hiss of fire filled the space. But Shiki knew that soon, these sounds would be joined by the shouts of haggling, curses about impure steel, and fierce debates over the price of custom forging. For the moment, the Nagawira were still too busy processing the reality of their displacement to this alien world. The busiest street in the city felt strangely empty—and Shiki walked alone through the beating heart of the East Zone.
As she stepped out of the teleportation circle, the signature scent of Blacksmith Street assaulted her senses—a cocktail of burning charcoal, hot oil, and freshly forged iron. The air felt heavy and warm in her lungs, as if it contained energy that had yet to be fully unleashed. Every step she took was accompanied by the layered tolling of hammers, creating a rugged symphony that never truly ceased.
Shiki's gaze shifted left and right, not because she was lost, but because the sight summoned her old memories. She possessed no talent for smithing, yet no true warrior fails to understand the weapon they hold. With just a glance, she could judge the quality of the steel, the balance of the blade, and the honesty of the forge. Most of the swords, spears, and axes in the display cases were merely standard-grade weapons—sufficient for low-level dungeon monsters, but prone to snapping, dulling, or failing to pierce the hide of a Grade-C monster or higher. Even so, for beginners, these weapons were a lifeline. The difference between returning to the City of Beginnings gasping for air—or not returning at all.
Shiki's pace remained steady. Her goal in the East Zone was not to shop, but to dominate this territory.
All the shops on Blacksmith Street were owned by NPCs, and all could be purchased with Tower Coins. However, the prices set were not just expensive—they were impossible for someone in the early stages. Therefore, Shiki did not come to buy buildings. She came for something far more practical.
She stopped in front of a shop with a large sign that read Manny's Smithy, its metallic letters still warm, radiating the residual heat of the furnace inside.
"Hey," she said casually to the shop assistant, her voice cutting through the surrounding clanging. "I need the starter pack for five hundred people."
In the City of Beginnings, there was one small thing that newcomers rarely noticed: the Starter Pack. Its contents were simple—a thin sword that still smelled of raw metal, a wooden shield with grain that felt rough against the palm, and leather armor stiff from never being worn. These items did not promise victory, but they were enough to ensure someone returned from their first dungeon with their breath still intact.
Initially, all Nagawira believed these packs were provided for everyone. A small gift from a cruel city, a sort of initial mercy before they were thrown into a world of fangs and claws. But like most things in the City of Beginnings, that kindness was an illusion. There were no limits. No rules forbidding someone from taking more than one. And because of that, every extra pack taken by one person meant hundreds of others would step into the dungeon empty-handed.
More ironically, almost no one knew that along the entirety of Blacksmith Street, only one shop actually stocked the Starter Packs—Manny's shop. That fact only surfaced years later, when an exhausted Nagawira, tired of counting coins in front of a display case, muttered in half-despair, "If only there were free equipment for beginners, maybe I wouldn't have nearly died in that first dungeon." The shop assistant, who had always stood like a statue with a professional smile, wordlessly handed a bundle of basic gear into his hands.
The news spread overnight. Veterans who had once bled fighting low-level monsters with their bare hands could only laugh bitterly. To them, those thin swords and wooden shields would have once felt like miracles. Now, those items weren't even fit to be sold at a flea market.
The commotion reached its peak when an angry Nagawira approached Manny's shop and demanded all the remaining Starter Packs. The assistant simply smiled and handed them all over, as if there were nothing strange about the request. And so, the City of Beginnings was thrown into turmoil once again—not because of monsters or dungeons, but because of the reality that an initial opportunity, no matter how small, could determine who survived… and who was eliminated from the very first step.
Had the veteran Nagawira of the past known that Starter Packs could be taken in any quantity—even the shares belonging to others—they surely would have swept the entire stock and made the weaponry of the City of Beginnings their private property. But time had passed. Now, for those accustomed to carrying rare weapons and high-grade armor, a thin sword and a wooden shield were nothing more than junk cluttering a corner of a warehouse.