As the final echoes of the Fortress Raider's explosion died down, the ruins of the skyscraper district flickered with thousands of blue data streams. From the digital ether, metallic boxes manifested by the thousands—the B-Rank Custom Armor Box Sets. They glittered under the golden twilight like a field of fallen stars.
"There's... there's so many," Victor muttered, his voice thick with awe. He reached out to touch a crate, his gauntlets reflecting the shimmering loot.
Ester, back to her bubbly guide persona, clapped her hands with a bright, "Congratulations, everyone! A perfect clear! No casualties, and a bounty fit for kings! It's a clean sweep!"
"How do we even begin to choose?" George asked, looking at the endless rows.
"We can't just gamble on luck when our lives are on the line."
"See that button?" Ester pointed to a micro-device on each box.
"That's a holographic projector. Just hover your hand over it, and you'll see the 3D model and the armor details. Click 'Acquire,' the blueprints and the forging materials set will fly straight into your inventory. Go on, heroes! Go pick your new suits!"
As the warriors—Victor, Valerie, Phyllis, and the others—dived into the sea of loot with shouts of excitement, Dodge and Katie didn't join them. Their eyes were fixed on the shadow near the command console. Lawson stood there, his back to them, his hands gripped so tightly on the railing that the metal was groaning.
"Alright, cut the crap. Truth time—now!"
THUD!
In the Base, Dodge suddenly executed a violent "wall-slam," pinning Lawson into the corner with one hand. This dramatic ambush caught Lawson completely off guard. The icy, "Demon King" expression he had been maintaining cracked under the sheer absurdity of the gesture. He let out a dry, awkward chuckle, his eyes flickering away.
"Hey... Dodge. Aren't you using this move on the wrong person? Shouldn't you save this for that girl from the class next door you've been obsessed with?"
"Heh, there it is. That look of pure disgust—now that's my buddy talking." Dodge let go, a flicker of relieved nostalgia crossing his eyes.
"How could I forget..." Lawson lowered his gaze, his voice softening. "Back then, I heard a girl screaming behind the school building. I thought you, the golden-haired grizzly bear, were harassing some innocent girl again. I didn't even think—I just rushed in and gave you a 'fist of justice'."
"And it turned out it was just a game of Truth or Dare. I took a sucker punch for nothing and had to write a three-thousand-word apology letter." Dodge gave a self-deprecating laugh, but the mirth vanished as quickly as it came. He gripped Lawson's shoulder with a heavy hand, his strength almost piercing through to the bone. "Seriously, man. Hearing you talk trash makes me feel half-relieved. But now... look me in the eye. Give us the truth."
Katie stepped forward as well, her eyes clear yet sharp. "Senior Lawson, stop acting. We've known each other for over a decade. Did you really think that forced expression of yours could fool us?"
Faced with two pairs of eyes filled with concern—eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul—Lawson could no longer maintain his arrogant, cold facade. The mask of the "Demon King" shattered completely, revealing the raw, bleeding heart beneath. He clenched his trembling fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. Like someone who had suddenly lost all strength, he collapsed, sliding down against the wall.
"I... I'm actually... scared."
In a hoarse, broken voice, Lawson finally recounted the nightmare—his mother mutating into a Shadow Shifter, and how he had to end it all with his own hands. The air froze. Dodge and Katie's eyes widened in horror; the brutal truth hit them like a sledgehammer, leaving them speechless for a long time.
"I'm terrified of failing... I'm honestly going insane."
Lawson's voice began to spiral out of control, thick with tremors and the sound of stifled sobs. "I'm scared that I won't be able to lead you all out of this alive. I'm scared that in the end, you'll all turn out like my mother... infested and rotted by this 'virus' called Shadow Shifters, only to vanish forever in agony. And what I fear most... is that next time, I'll have to swing my hammer at you."
The overwhelming weight of responsibility and the suffocating loneliness of being the "Game Finisher" who must clear the game finally breached his defenses. He could no longer hold it back. In this corridor of a base haunted by the shadow of death, he wept like a child who had lost his entire world, stripping away all glory and crying before his oldest friends. Katie didn't say a word; she simply knelt in the dust and pulled him into a fierce, heartbreaking embrace. Dodge stood over them, his hand pressed firmly onto Lawson's shoulder, his own eyes burning with a silent, furious grief for his friend.
The massive base doors groaned open with a heavy mechanical roar. Ester led the warriors inside—their faces were caked in dust and grime, but their eyes burned with the brilliant light of victory.
Lawson took a swift, deep breath, aggressively wiping the last traces of tears from his eyes with his sleeve before marching forward. He intended to offer a few words of wisdom like a reliable senior, but before he could even open his mouth, the group of "noobs"—who in his eyes were barely worth a combat rating of five—exploded like a powder keg.
"Master Lawson...!"
"God! You are literally our savior!"
Katie and Dodge had been worried that Lawson would be embarrassed by his earlier breakdown. However, what happened next caused all three —who thought they had seen everything—to drop their jaws in unison.
The ecstatic warriors didn't even give him a chance to speak. They swarmed him, hoisted the "Chief Armor Smith" onto their shoulders like a conquering king—or perhaps a deity—and began tossing him high into the air!
"Hey! Wait! Stop! You bastards are being way too enthusiastic! AHHH—HELP! I'm going to hit the ceiling!"
The man who usually calculated complex variables and strategized with icy precision was now flailing his limbs in mid-air, letting out unceremonious shrieks of terror. Where was the cold, "Lone Demon King" from moments ago? He looked more like a frantic kite with its string cut.
Seeing Lawson bobbing up and down, screaming for his life, Katie and Dodge found their worry replaced by uncontrollable laughter. Even Ester, the Game Guide who claimed to be a cold observer of human emotion, was swept up in the raw, clumsy warmth of the moment. Her icy facade thawed, her eyes crinkling with mirth as she stood to the side, clapping like a little girl.
It was perhaps the most illogical yet heartwarming "victory banquet" in this twisted game world.
"Stop! Stop it right now! Any more of this and your 'Chief Armor Smith' is going to... cough up foam and die on the spot!"
Lawson scrambled to find his balance in mid-air. Yet, even during this "death-defying toss-play," his professional habits kicked in. While shrieking, he craned his neck to bark at the core members like a nagging father:
"George! Yes, you! Stop posing and trying to look cool! Your armor durability is in the red! You dared to pull mobs earlier without getting it repaired first? Do you have a death wish?! And you..."
Even while airborne, Lawson acted like a worried mother hen, nagging about armor plates over here and weapon maintenance over there.
George, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed to maintain his "tough guy" persona, hadn't intended to join the chaotic celebration. Suddenly called out, his handsome face stiffened. Embarrassed, he turned his head away, pretending to study the ventilation ducts on the ceiling with intense interest.
Seeing Lawson nag even while being tossed, the warriors laughed even harder. At this moment, he wasn't some high-and-mighty god; he was the base's "Head Housekeeper" and "Old Man." The suffocating tension of the base was completely washed away by his untimely grumbling.
After the ruckus subsided, the rhythmic hum of heavy machinery reclaimed the air inside the Factory.
Staring at the mountains of B-Rank blueprints and rare materials radiating high-tier energy on the workbench, Lawson took a deep breath. A faint, subconscious smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Finally... we've reached the turning point. Once these B-Rank armaments are forged, we will be the ones rewriting the rules of this world."
Golden light flickered rapidly in his pupils—a sign that his System Authority was being pushed to the limit.
[Armor Smith Exclusive Skill: Logic Re-coding — Activated!]
Lawson solemnly pulled out one of the blueprints, a custom set designed for Emma. Seeking the perfect synchronization, he opened Emma's "Personal Requirements" note.
The second he saw the content on the screen, Lawson nearly spat a mouthful of blood onto his expensive materials.
In the notes, Emma had written:
"Lawson-bro, please build me a set of armor for 'Ultimate Slacking.' Ideally, I want to be able to farm mobs while lying down. Pretty please~"
"This... this is absurd!"
Lawson's hand trembled as he clutched the blueprint, the veins in his temple throbbing. His pride as a top-tier Armor Smith had just taken a critical hit.
"I'm over here sweating over numerical variables and engine tuning, and you want me to build an 'Automatic Ergonomic Gaming Massage Chair' for war? This... this will be the crowning disgrace of my professional career!"
Despite his furious cursing, Lawson's eyes were already darting across the blueprints. His brain, betrayed by its own genius, had already begun subconsciously calculating the logic algorithms required to achieve "AFK combat functionality"...