CHAPTER 104: KOEL

Just as one could purchase new armor with coin, there were also blacksmiths in the game who specialized in repairs. Their forges never slept, hammering day and night, making them indispensable to both players and NPCs alike.

As long as the armor wasn’t too far gone, it could be restored—sometimes even improved if the smith was skilled enough.

His was damaged, yes... but not beyond saving. At least, he doubted it was to the point of being unrepairable.

A sharp glint flickered in his eyes as the thought crossed his mind.

"He shouldn’t be far from here," Riley muttered inwardly, the smirk returning faintly to his lips.

He walked down the street, his steps steady, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he scanned his surroundings.

The chatter of merchants and the clamor of the village blended into a dull hum in the back of his mind.

His gaze shifted from one forge to another as he moved further down the road.

Koel.

The name alone carried weight in his memory.

Within the game, Koel was a legendary blacksmith—one whose existence wasn’t even known in the early days.

He had originally been discovered by Terry in the first city, and later, his name alone had a huge impact within the world.

What made Koel stand out was that he wasn’t just an ordinary NPC, he was one of the very few who possessed a talent.

Players weren’t the only ones blessed with them.

Demons, rulers, and other unique figures across the world of Apocalypse possessed abilities that rivaled, and in some cases, even surpassed those of players.

These NPCs weren’t mere background—they were entities that could shape the flow of history within the game.

Koel was one of them.

Riley wasn’t sure what grade Koel’s talent was—it had never been revealed publicly, at least not with certainty.

But given the sheer number of legendary weapons and artifacts Koel had crafted in his past life, Riley could only guess that it was around S-rank... perhaps even higher.

What he did know was that it was a blacksmithing talent, a power that allowed Koel to forge items that could tip the balance of wars.

That was how Koel had managed to create so many legendary weapons and artifacts that had shaped the fates of countless players.

And now, Riley thought, maybe he could reach him before anyone else did.

Riley soon appeared before a narrow alley, and the corners of his lips curved slightly into a smirk.

"This should be the place," he thought to himself, a sharp gleam flashing through his eyes.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the alley. The walls on either side were cracked and weather-stained, the air faintly carrying the smell of coal and rust.

His footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones as he made his way through.

Before long, he arrived at the end—and there it was.

An old, run-down shop stood before him. The wooden walls were splintered and worn, the roof patched together with uneven tiles that looked as though they might cave in at any moment.

The windows were cloudy with dust, and the door itself seemed to creak even before being touched.

Hanging just above, swaying faintly in the breeze, was a weather-beaten sign. The words carved into it were bold yet faded:

"The Best Blacksmith."

Riley’s eyes shone with a faint excitement the moment he saw it.

"I was right... this really is it!" he thought, his pulse quickening slightly.

His memories surged forward.

In his past life, after humanity had managed to push back against the demons for the first time, Terry had held a small celebration in honor of Koel.

And for good reason.

Most of the weapons that had been wielded in that decisive battle—blades that tore through demon flesh, shields that withstood hellfire, and spears that pierced armored beasts—had all been forged by Koel’s hands.

Without him, victory that day would not have been possible.

Riley had been there during the celebration, but only as part of the nameless crowd.

He hadn’t been anyone worth noticing, just another face watching from the back as the others laughed and drank.

He still remembered clearly the moment Terry had stood before everyone, raising a cup in Koel’s honor, and briefly narrated how he and Koel had first met.

According to the hero’s story back then, things hadn’t been so glorious.

Terry had spoken with his usual confident tone, but Riley remembered clearly the honesty in his words that night.

He had been broke, frustrated, and nearly at his wits’ end. His armor had been damaged far beyond repair.

The dents and cracks made him look more like a scavenger than a rising warrior.

Other blacksmiths in the area had quoted outrageous prices for even basic repairs. Each hammer strike and each replacement plate cost more gold than he had to his name.

It was in that moment of desperation, wandering the streets with no clear idea of what to do, that Terry had stumbled upon this place.

The shop had been exactly as it was now—run-down, weathered, and unimpressive compared to the polished storefronts of the more established smiths.

But it was precisely this rundown look that had caught his attention. It had looked too... strange.

And then there had been the sign.

"The Best Blacksmith."

Not just "a blacksmith" or "repairs done here," but a bold declaration. The words were carved deep into the wood, as though whoever made it had wanted to challenge the entire world.

Terry had admitted that at first he laughed when he saw it. The worst-looking shop in the district claiming to be the best? It was absurd. But curiosity tugged at him. He had nothing left to lose, no other options left to try.

So he had pushed the door open, and walked inside.

And that was how he had met Koel.

...

’This incident,’ Riley thought, staring at the crooked sign with a sharp gaze, ’was supposed to happen about a week later.’

In his past life, Terry’s meeting with Koel didn’t occur until then. Fate had led the so-called hero down this very path at the appointed time, and from there, a bond had been forged.

But now...

Riley’s lips pressed into a thin line.

’Because of me, that timing’s changed,’ he thought. His eyes narrowed slightly, shadows flickering faintly in their depths. ’I’ll be the one to meet him first. And a whole week earlier at that.’

That small difference was anything but insignificant.

Riley knew all too well how fragile the flow of events was. A single deviation could ripple outward, altering everything else that followed.

He folded his arms, standing in the quiet alleyway for a moment longer.

’I’ll still need to be careful about this,’ he muttered inwardly. ’This little interference of mine is sure to change the future a lot.’

And Koel wasn’t just any ordinary blacksmith.

In Riley’s past life, Koel had been a huge help to humanity as a whole.

The weapons and armor he forged didn’t just arm the soldiers—they changed the course of battles.

They gave humans the ability to stand against enemies who should have crushed them with overwhelming force.

Even though Riley had never personally received one of Koel’s creations—back then, he hadn’t been a notable warrior, just another face lost in the crowd—he had seen their effects firsthand.

He remembered the gleam of blades that sliced through demonic hide as if it were paper. He remembered shields that held firm against corrosive flames.

He remembered bows whose arrows flew like streaks of lightning, piercing through the darkness of the battlefield.

Koel’s craftsmanship hadn’t just been impressive. It had been a cornerstone of survival itself.

And now, Riley was standing in front of the very shop where it all began.

He let out a soft sigh before stepping forward.

His boots pressed against the uneven wooden planks, and the floor gave out a weak, drawn-out creak with every step he took.

It was the kind of sound that told of age, neglect, and too many years of wear without care.

He paused for a moment, standing just before the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the handle.

For a brief second, he hesitated. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he thought to himself that this was the moment—earlier than it should have been, earlier than it was meant to be.

But hesitation never served him well in this life, so he pushed the thought away and slowly opened the door.

Creaaak!

The loud groan of the hinges echoed in the narrow alleyway, followed by the slow reveal of the shop’s interior.

Compared to the dilapidated, weather-beaten state of the outside, the inside was a touch better—though only barely.

Dust clung stubbornly to the shelves, the counters were scratched and chipped, and the faint smell of rust lingered in the air, seeping from half-finished weapons and piles of discarded metal scraps lying carelessly in the corners.

And yet, it wasn’t the cracked walls or the shelves of dull, neglected tools that caught Riley’s attention.

No.

It was the boy.

Sitting on the floor near the far end of the room was a boy who looked no taller than five feet.

He sat cross-legged, his posture slouched with exhaustion, and in front of him was a thin, malnourished brown dog.

Its ribs pressed against its skin, and its fur was patchy in places. The poor animal looked like it hadn’t eaten in days.

The boy extended a hand, gently stroking the dog’s head with slow, careful pats. His voice was quiet, filled with a faint, bitter warmth.

"You’re hungry, right? ... I wish I had food to give you."

The words carried a simple helplessness.

Riley’s gaze sharpened as he took in the boy’s features.

’Yeah... that’s definitely Koel.’