Lord Of The Lost

William stepped into the blacksmith's shop, the air thick with the scent of molten metal and smoke. The blacksmith himself was a towering man, broad-shouldered with a bushy beard that seemed to frame his entire face. His strong arms were blackened from hours spent by the forge, and his eyes were usually steady and focused.

Today, however, they softened with a deep sadness as William approached, pulling out the hunter's token.

"I found a clue about Little Bob," William said quietly, holding the token out for the blacksmith to see.

The blacksmith froze as his gaze fell upon the small, worn token. His expression changed instantly; what had once been a look of calm authority crumbled into grief. The hunter's token wasn't just a simple item; it was sacred. To a hunter, it represented the moon goddess's protection, a guiding light through the dangers of the night.

Losing it meant more than misplacing an object, it meant losing one's way, a severing of the bond between the hunter and the goddess.

For a long moment, the blacksmith stood in silence, unable to speak. The weight of the token in William's hand seemed to echo the heaviness in the room.

"How... how did you get this?" the blacksmith finally asked, his voice thick with emotion.

William kept his voice calm but respectful as he recounted the events in the Misty Forest. He told the blacksmith about the werewolves, how Little Bob had stayed behind to fend them off, buying time for him and Little Red Riding Hood to escape. It was a selfless act, and one that, even now, seemed almost too incredible to believe.

Bob had held off an entire pack of werewolves; surely that couldn't have been the end for him.

"I don't think Little Bob is dead," William added thoughtfully. "Even sober, he was a formidable hunter. He had to hold back his own strength to avoid losing control. But if he did lose control, if he became the monster inside him; he would have been more powerful than any elite werewolf."

The blacksmith clenched his fists, fighting back tears. "The werewolves couldn't kill Little Bob," William continued. "The only thing that could stop him would be a witch's poison, not brute strength."

The blacksmith's sadness deepened as he listened. He had been close to Bob and his family for years, and hearing the story confirmed his worst fears. The tension in the room was palpable. Little Red Riding Hood had yet to return, and no one knew what had become of the brave young hunter.

The blacksmith closed his eyes, his lips trembling as he whispered a prayer. "Moonlight Goddess, please, grant Little Bob peace. Let him rest, wherever he is."

For a long while, the blacksmith stood silent, consumed by sorrow. Then, after taking a few deep breaths, he seemed to regain his composure. He opened his eyes and met William's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and resolve.

"Adventurer, you've kept your word," the blacksmith said. "You brought me news, and for that, I owe you a debt." He motioned for William to follow him to the back of the shop.

In the blacksmith's dimly lit backyard, three gleaming weapons were laid out on a workbench. They caught the flickering light of the forge, each one a masterpiece in its own right. The blacksmith gestured to them, saying, "These are yours to choose from: [Viper's Fang], [Battle Fury], and [Knight's Lance]."

William took one look and immediately knew what he wanted. Without hesitation, he reached for the [Knight's Lance].

The weapon was magnificent. Over two meters long, its silver-white shaft gleamed with a fierce brilliance. The lance was straight and sturdy, crafted from a rare metal that balanced both strength and flexibility. The blade at the end of the spear was nearly half a meter long, narrow, sharp, and shaped like a deadly diamond.

It was designed for both thrusting at a distance and slashing with immense force.

He lifted it, feeling its weight. It was perfectly balanced. "This will do nicely," William murmured.

The blacksmith nodded, proud of his work. "That lance can pierce through magic to a certain extent," he explained. "It delivers penetrating damage, perfect for taking on tougher enemies. It's worth two gold coins, but for you, it's repayment for what you've done."

William inspected the lance, running his hand over the cool metal. The craftsmanship was impeccable, and he knew that with this weapon in hand, he was more than ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Thank you," he said, meeting the blacksmith's gaze with sincere appreciation. "I'll put this to good use."

As William left the shop, the weight of the lance felt reassuring in his hand. But more than that, he felt the weight of the blacksmith's grief, the unspoken promise to honor Little Bob's sacrifice. The journey ahead was uncertain, but with the knight's lance in his grasp, William felt more prepared than ever to face whatever awaited him.

The weapon William held in his hand was worth more than the previous two fine weapons he had come across, with fifty silver coins left over. But the value wasn't why he chose it. He chose it because he loved spears. There was something about the elegance and precision of a spear that always drew him in, and this one was no exception.

The moment he gripped the lance, something strange happened, his body felt lighter, his movements swifter and more fluid, as if the weapon itself was amplifying his abilities. It was an unexpected sensation, one that made him pause.

A hidden tip flashed before his eyes: '"Weapons and suitable users complement each other. When the match is right, hidden power can be activated, unleashing even greater force."'

William was taken aback. He hadn't expected that wielding the right weapon could unlock such potential. He mulled it over, then it clicked. "Of course," he murmured to himself. "Just like with a lantern. When it's held by someone, it becomes more than just a light; it merges with the holder, dispelling fear, warding off evil, and protecting them."

A lantern on its own could drive away evil spirits, sure, but without a person holding it, the lantern held no real protective power. He recalled how, during a fierce encounter with an elite werewolf, he had held onto that lantern. The werewolf had been unable to wrench it from his grasp, instead, the creature was thrown back, repelled by an unseen force.

At the time, William had thought the lantern was simply special, but now he realized there was more to it. Sophisticated weapons, extraordinary equipment; worked the same way. The user brought out the hidden power within the item.

His understanding of the game's equipment system deepened. Even at the "excellent" level, these weren't just ordinary weapons; they were far more advanced than he had first assumed. There was a hidden connection between the weapon and the one who wielded it. But that made him wonder, had he been missing something with the slingshot Little Red Riding Hood had made?

Perhaps he hadn't figured out the right way to use it yet.

The game prompt's mention of a "suitable user" echoed in his mind. William began to think this compatibility might be a prerequisite for unlocking the full potential of advanced weapons. But even though he wasn't a knight by class, this knight's lance still responded to him. So, clearly, the condition wasn't tied strictly to the "knight" path.

He mulled over the possibilities, but no clear answers emerged.

Setting aside the thoughts for now, William tied the new hat securely onto the scarecrow's head, giving a satisfied nod. "There you go," he said, grinning at the chattering scarecrow. Then, with a deep breath, he left Moonlight Village, his next destination clear: Crow Ridge.

Crow Ridge, known as the hunter's trial ground, had always puzzled William. He never understood how this forsaken place could be considered a trial. But now, in hindsight, the scarecrow's words made sense. It wasn't just a trial for new players; it was a rite of passage.

Crow Ridge was a low-level dungeon, a place where players tested their mettle against the relentless flocks of black crows that dominated the area.

The last time William had been here, things were much different. Back then, he had been forced to skulk around the edges of the ridge, cautiously picking off lone, weak crows from a distance. If a flock came near, retreat was his only option. And if he ever managed to bring down a high-level crow, he'd be running for his life moments later, with the entire swarm on his heels.

But today, it was a different story. He stood at the foot of the ridge, looking up at the mountains with a smile that was almost predatory. After countless battles and hard-won victories in more dangerous territories, William had come back stronger, faster, and far more confident.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath, his smile widening. "After all those high-level challenges, I get to have a little fun with the weak ones."

The thrill of the hunt surged through him. Today wasn't about survival. Today was about dominance. The tables had turned, and now, Crow Ridge would see a different William; one that was ready to claim victory over the very crows that once had him on the run.

"Time to hunt," he said with a gleam in his eye, gripping the knight's lance tightly. The power he felt coursing through the weapon and himself was undeniable. Today, Crow Ridge would fall under his spear, and the crows wouldn't stand a chance.

With a battle-ready grin, William set off up the ridge. Today, the hunt began, and nothing could stop him.

Not long after William ventured deeper into the mountains, the black crows spotted him; an intruder in their territory. A sudden shift in the air signaled their response. Dozens of them flapped their wings, launching into the sky as one. From a distance, they looked like a massive black cloud, darkening the skies and roaring toward William with a chilling intensity.

A single black crow was already dangerous enough. Their presence alone could unsettle a person's mind, throwing them into a dazed, trance-like state. Those with weak resistance would soon find themselves dizzy, nauseous, and retching. But when these crows gathered in numbers, the real danger began. Together, they unleashed a mental assault, a force strong enough to shatter a person's sanity.

The mildest outcome was becoming a babbling fool, incapable of self-care; the worst? Brain death on the spot.

To anyone from William's world, these crows would be called birds of prey, but they were far more than that. Their sharp beaks could tear through flesh, their claws could rip with precision, and their strong, muscular bodies gave them the agility to strike with speed. Their wings were sleek and powerful, built for swift attacks, while their piercing eyes missed nothing.

Now they were closing in, fast.

In mere seconds, the flock had covered over a hundred meters, diving straight for William. The sky itself seemed to darken with their approach, the air thick with the beating of their wings.

William didn't flinch. In one fluid motion, he raised the knight's lance high above his head, the spear gleaming like a flash of silver lightning against the black cloud. With a swift, powerful thrust, the lance tore through the crows, splitting the sky itself.

Feathers exploded into the air, scattering like dark snowflakes. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, and the crows' bodies fell from the sky with sickening thuds. William's spear had torn through them effortlessly, severing wings and splitting bodies in a single blow. The ground beneath him was now littered with their lifeless forms.

The remaining crows screeched in horror, the harsh cawing echoing through the mountains. For a moment, they hesitated, their instincts screaming at them to flee. They had underestimated their prey; now, they wanted nothing more than to escape.

But William wasn't about to let them fly away.

"Where do you think you're going?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as the crows attempted to retreat. A sheep doesn't walk into a tiger's den and expect to survive. They had come for him and now, they would pay the price.

With a fierce determination, William swept the spear in wide arcs, the blade moving like a dragon through the air. The energy from the lance was so intense that even those who weren't directly struck were wounded by the sheer force radiating from the blade. A mere scratch could cause injury, and any direct contact was deadly.

The lance cut through the air with terrifying ease. It was as though William were slicing through soft tofu, not flesh and bone. The black crows didn't stand a chance. In the blink of an eye, the battlefield was littered with their broken bodies, and the sky above had cleared.

Despite the brutal slaughter, William felt no resistance in his movements. The knight's spear, resistant to magic, worked in perfect harmony with his high spirit value. These crows, weak and low-level; barely at levels two or three, posed no real threat to him. There had been more than a dozen of them, but none had managed to break through his defense.

Only two black crows managed to escape, fleeing in panic as they screeched into the distance. William watched them disappear over the horizon, satisfied that they wouldn't return anytime soon.

With the battle over, he turned his attention to the corpses at his feet. Among the fallen crows, he began collecting their magic feathers. Some were damaged in the fight, but he managed to gather nearly twenty intact ones. The feathers were dark and soft, glistening with a faint magical sheen.

William smiled as he held them up to the light, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction. These feathers would come in handy later, and the feeling of victory only made the moment sweeter.

---

'You have killed the magical creature: Black Crow.'

'You have killed the magical creature: Black Crow.'

'Your talent for killing to prove your way has taken effect, and has slightly improved.'

---

The notifications flashed in front of him, confirming his success. William felt a surge of power within him, a small but significant improvement to his abilities. The talent system was working in his favor, and every kill brought him one step closer to unlocking his true potential.

With a final glance at the corpses around him, William tucked the feathers away and prepared to move on. Today had been a victory, but there were still more challenges ahead and he was more than ready to face them.