Fenrir groaned as he stepped into his lab, rubbing his shoulder with a wince.
His back ached, his arms throbbed, and even his fingers felt stiff after hours of swinging around the C-grade sword.
It might not have weighed much to most, but to soone whose body wasn’t trained for lee combat anymore, it was as if he’d been lifting concrete slabs all day.
He dropped into a chair and leaned back, scowling at the ceiling.
"My body isn’t built for this crap anymore..." he muttered.
Sure, the potions he made were miraculous.
They could heal wounds, amplify strength, enhance reflexes—but they didn’t erase fatigue.
The micro-damage and tension from repeated motion were still there, accumulating deep in the muscles. The potions could hide the pain temporarily, but not solve the root issue.
And now, after just a short dungeon session, he felt like he’d aged twenty years.
"Stupid sword. Never again."
He grumbled.
He stared down at his calloused palms and let out a long breath.
What he needed wasn’t a heavier weapon—he needed sothing efficient, practical, and easy on the body.
Sothing that let him focus on precision and mana usage instead of brute force. Sothing that fit him.
"A gun. "I need to make a gun."
He said, blinking as the idea solidified.
Most hunters relied on traditional blades, staves, and artifacts.
But for Fenrir, who had experience with ancient and modern crafting alike, it wasn’t so far-fetched.
He stood up, ignoring the dull protest from his back, and pulled a stack of books and e-docunts onto his main terminal. It was ti to study.
For the rest of the night, Fenrir buried himself in research.
He read everything he could find—how early firearms were constructed, modern-day gun chanics, hybrid mana-weapon theories, even ancient rune-engraved projectile designs.
The more he read, the more obsessed he beca. His mind raced with possibilities: internal mana chambers, recoil dampening with enchantnts, built-in elental triggers.
It was like discovering an entirely new world.
When dawn crept in through the windows, Fenrir finally pushed his chair back.
His eyes were bloodshot, his mind humming with blueprints, but he was ready.
He gathered the remaining ores and minerals from his last dungeon run—lightweight mythril alloy, mana-conductive silver, and a few monster cores with condensed kinetic properties.
There wasn’t enough for anything extravagant, but he didn’t need flashy. He needed functional.
His hands moved with purpose.
Every screw, every gear, every rune line was placed with precision.
He tested the barrel alignnt again and again, engraved the mana circuit into the inner chamber, and carefully molded the grip to match his hand’s shape.
He even adjusted the trigger sensitivity down to the finest milliter.
Three hours later, the weapon was complete.
It was sleek, compact, and deadly. Matte-black with subtle silver etchings along the barrel, and a soft leather grip that molded to his palm perfectly.
The mont Fenrir picked it up, he knew—this was the weapon ant for him.
The system chid.
[You have crafted: Unnad Custom Manafire Gun]
Grade: S
Critical Hit Chance 100%
Bullet Tracking Enabled
Internal Mana Storage Core (No external mana usage required)
Passive Party Buff: 100% Damage Boost (Unlocks upon official party registration)
Warning: Current user level restricts buff activation. Only Critical Chance active.]
Fenrir exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"A hundred percent crit chance. That’s ridiculous."
He said to himself.
It was ridiculous.
It felt unfair—this was an S-rank weapon with absurd stats, created not with divine blessings or ancient materials, but with leftover scrap and a night of studying.
But unlike the sword, this felt right. Balanced. Lightweight. Precise.
It was a tool built not for power, but control—and control was what Fenrir valued most.
Still, the system’s restriction annoyed him.
The rest of the buffs, especially the party boost, were locked because of his low level.
That ant he couldn’t take advantage of everything his own creation had to offer.
"Figures. Make sothing perfect, and it laughs in your face until you’re strong enough to actually use it."
He muttered, setting the gun gently on his worktable.
But despite the sigh that followed, Fenrir felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He finally had a weapon he could wield without feeling like he was going to fall apart afterward.
No more heavy blades. No more aching muscles. Just clean, precise combat the way he preferred.
He reached out and picked up the gun once more, turning it over in his hand, admiring its craftsmanship.
The barrel shimred faintly with dormant mana. It was waiting—just like him.
"Let’s see what you can do."
He murmured.
That evening, Fenrir sat on his couch with a steaming mug of tea, lazily scrolling through the internet on his tablet.
He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular—just the usual scan of news, drama, and hunter updates. But then sothing caught his eye.
A headline that made him raise an eyebrow:
[Legion Hunter Shows Off New Never-Seen-Before Weapon?]
Curious, Fenrir clicked on the video embedded in the post.
It opened to show a Legion hunter—soone he vaguely recognized from one of Rick’s squads—standing in front of a stunned crowd inside a training arena.
The hunter lifted a sleek sword—the very C-grade sword Fenrir had forged—and launched a demonstration against a summoned golem.
The mont the sword made contact, flas erupted across the monster’s surface.
"Burn chance active again! Third activation in ten hits!"
The hunter called out, sounding far too pleased with himself.
The video zood in, replaying the burning effect over and over.
Fenrir leaned forward, frowning slightly. It wasn’t a bad demonstration, though he would’ve preferred a more professional presentation.
Then again, this wasn’t about him—yet.
The comnt section, however, had already turned into a battlefield.
"That’s fake. No way a C-grade sword has a burn effect."
"That has to be an S-rank weapon. They’re trying to pass it off as lower-grade to test it!"
"I’ve never seen that weapon in the database. Is it custom-made?"
The next mont in the video made everything worse. The hunter, clearly enjoying the attention, turned the sword toward the cara and pulled up its system screen.
[C-Grade Sword]
Effect: 30% chance to inflict burn status on hit.
Crafted by: ???
The internet erupted.
Fenrir refreshed the page and saw thousands of reposts, screenshots, breakdowns, and even s. The main talking point was the sa everywhere:
How did a C-grade weapon get an S-class effect?
Speculation flooded the forums. So claid it was an anomaly. Others believed it was a hidden update from the system itself.
And then ca the demand.
"Who made this? Where can we buy it?"
"Legion better not be hoarding this. We need access to that crafter!"
"Mr. ’X’—was it him again?"
Fenrir set his tea down and sighed. He didn’t even need to wait long before Legion officially responded.
Their social dia accounts posted a formal statent, likely crafted by Rick himself:
[Regarding the weapon displayed in today’s video: It is a genuine C-grade weapon crafted by Mr. ’X’. This weapon is currently for internal use only within Legion and is not for public sale or mass production. We appreciate your understanding.]
And just like that, the chaos doubled.
Posts exploded across every platform.
Fans of Mr. ’X’ sang praises of his miraculous abilities.
Critics accused Legion of hoarding national-level assets. Independent weapon sellers debated how such a feat was even possible, and hunters everywhere scoured the market for any trace of similar weapons.
Fenrir leaned back and rubbed his temples.
"So much for staying low-profile."
He muttered.
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