With a sudden flick of his wrist, Ryan sheathed the sword and snatched the Blackhart Lance from his back. He planted the base of the spear and used the golem's own momentum against it. The spear tip, reinforced with his aura, pierced the golem's chest plate like it was parchment.
Strike two. Strike three. Strike four.
"He's... he's using three different weapon styles in a single engagement," a spectator whispered. "An All-Rounder?"
For the final strike, Ryan leaped into the air. He didn't just use strength; he channeled the raw, volatile power of the Dark Seed. His aura flared—a terrifying, shadowy red that made the air in the arena vibrate with heat. He drove the lance straight into the golem's glowing eye-core.
The construct shuddered, its mana light flickering out before it collapsed into a heap of inert stone.
The silence that followed was absolute. Edward Harvey stood at the railing, his knuckles white as he gripped the stone. He had expected a noble's display of flashy magic; he hadn't expected a calculated, brutal execution by a master combatant.
"Special Merit," Edward breathed, his voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat and looked down at the eight-year-old boy who wasn't even winded. "Fine! You've made your point, Ryan Blackhart. You're either a genius or a monster. Either way, the contract is yours."
Moments later, in the quiet of the Guildmaster's office, Edward handed over a scorched parchment bearing the official Guild seal.
"The Discovery Rights for the Ashbury Sewers, Sector 4," Edward said gravely. "Legally, anything you find—including your 'anvil'—is yours. Just... try not to let the city burn down under your feet."
"Thank you, Guildmaster," Ryan said, tucking the permit into his coat.
He walked out of the Guild with Amelia trailing closely behind. The sun was setting, casting a long, blood-red shadow across the cobblestones. The Year of the Crimson Moon had truly begun.
"Amelia, prepare the lanterns and the cleansing salts," Ryan commanded, his eyes fixed on a nondescript iron grate in the alleyway. "We're going down. It's time to claim the Blood-Stained Anvil."
The iron grate groaned as Ryan slid it aside, revealing a yawning maw of darkness that exhaled the stench of decay and stagnant mana. Beside him, Amelia lit a magi-lantern, its steady blue glow cutting through the gloom.
"Stay close," Ryan commanded, his hand resting on the hilt of the Blackhart Sword. "The air here is already saturated with Infernal Mana. To a normal person, this is poison. To the creatures down here, it's an evolution trigger."
As they descended the moss-slicked ladder into the Ashbury Sewers, Ryan's mind shifted into "Gamer Mode." He visualized the map of Sector 4. In Istahar Online, the sewers were a notorious death trap for those who didn't understand the environmental hazards.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Dozens of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness. The Red-Furred Rats—mutated by the leaking mana from the infernal plane—scrambled over the pipes. They were larger than hounds, their claws dripping with a corrosive ichor.
"Young Master!" Amelia warned, raising her guard.
"Don't waste your energy," Ryan said. He didn't just draw his sword; he unleashed a pulse of the Dark Seed's aura. The rats, sensing a predator higher on the food chain, hesitated for a split second. That was all the time he needed.
Ryan moved like a shadow. The Blackhart Lance became a blur of silver and black, skewering three rats in a single thrust. He transitioned seamlessly to his dagger, opening the throat of a fourth that tried to pounce from the ceiling.
In the lore, the blood of these mutated creatures is the 'key', Ryan recalled. The hidden chamber—the ruined remains of a corrupted castle from the dawn of the Age of Legends—requires a massive sacrifice of tainted blood to unlock its gate.
He knew he couldn't wait years to scavenge the rare components to craft a Blood-Stained Anvil from scratch. The materials—Hell-Iron and Heart-Sliver—were currently locked behind high-level demon territories. Taking an existing, functional anvil from the origin of the curse was his only viable path to 20% assimilation before the invasion.
After an hour of systematic slaughter, the sewer floor was littered with the carcasses of the mutated swarm. Ryan knelt beside a particularly large alpha rat. He pulled out a small glass vial and carefully collected its dark, viscous blood.
"Is that for the Guild's proof of kill?" Amelia asked, wiping her own blade.
"No," Ryan whispered, tucking the vial into a lead-lined pouch. "The Guild gets the bodies. I keep the 'key.' This blood is tainted by the Crimson Moon; it's the only thing that will resonate with the castle's seal."
They returned to the surface, emerging into the cool night air of Ashbury. When they walked back into the Guild, Ryan dumped a heavy sack of red-furred tails onto the counter. The evening crowd went silent.
"Sector 4 is cleared of the immediate infestation," Ryan told the stunned receptionist. "Tell the Guildmaster that the 'leak' is exactly where I predicted. I'll be back tomorrow to finalize the Discovery Rights."
As they walked back to their carriage, Ryan looked up at the moon, which was beginning to take on a faint, bruised-purple tint.
The logs of the Great War mentioned that the 'Corrupted Castle' was the epicenter of the first demon breach, he thought. The players in the game spent months searching for clues in the VR ruins, but I already know the coordinates. I'll reach the anvil before the first demon even sets foot in this world.