The next morning was chaotic. Even Fenrir could not have foreseen the results of the decisions he made a day before.
The mont Fenrir opened his system screen the next morning, he was hit by a wall of ssages.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of notifications piled up, flooding in one after another with flashing headers and blinking alerts.
[What cheat did you use?!How did you extract Mystic Grass without contamination?!]
[Are you a hidden S-ranker or sothing?!Tell us your thod! I'll pay top dollar!]
Fenrir rubbed his forehead, groaning as he dragged a hand down his face. "What now..." he muttered.
Opening the auction page, he blinked at the swirling storm of comnts and bid logs. His eyes zeroed in on the item that had apparently caused the chaos.
[Mystic Grass - Grade: EX (Verified)
Additional effect: Increase Atk and Stamina by 10% for a duration of 30 min.]
"...What?"
He stared, double-checked the analysis, and stared again.
Mystic Grass was a common drop in F-class dungeons—an herb known for minor mana recovery. It usually sold for scraps.
But now, the system had graded his as "EX"—a classification so rare that most hunters believed it was a myth.
Fenrir tilted his head.
'That's new.'
Curious, he searched online to see what the fuss was about.
Within minutes, he ca across dozens of videos, all discussing the proper techniques for collecting dungeon drops.
As he clicked through one after another, he realized the truth—people harvested these herbs like they were plucking weeds.
Rough hands, careless handling, no regard for mana preservation.
The mana signature would weaken the mont contact was made, especially if the collector didn't stabilize it.
Fenrir recalled his own thods: he had sensed the flow of mana, asured its pulse, and used minimal contact to extract the herb with a custom technique drawn from ancient magical practices.
It had been second nature to him.
He leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
'So that's why...'
While others had dismissed basic care in handling as unnecessary, his body's muscle mory had preserved the true essence of the item—and the system, for all its flaws, had recognized that.
Seizing the opportunity, Fenrir jumped on the auction house ssage board and posted a simple ssage:
[It's a secret harvesting technique. One that can only be learned through years of training. Keep your eyes on the shop if you want more.]
He didn't reveal his identity. He didn't explain any further.
But the ssage, coupled with the EX-grade tag and the fact that no one had ever seen such a thing before, sent the entire community into a frenzy.
Within an hour, his seller profile had gained hundreds of followers, and his credibility had skyrocketed from 'new account' to 'elite-level supplier.'
hispers began to swirl. Who was this person? A hidden master? A retired hunter? A system glitch?
Whatever he was, one thing beca clear—he wasn't ordinary.
Across the city, atop a glass-towered skyscraper that scraped the clouds, a different kind of storm was brewing.
Mark Spencer, guild leader of Supre and ranked third in the world, stared down at a transparent display screen embedded in the desk before him.
His chiseled features remained impassive as he scrolled through the reports, though a faint arch of interest lifted his brow.
Behind him stood a woman in a sleek suit, tablet in hand.
"That's all we've gathered so far, sir. The system verified the grading. It's legitimate. But the seller remains anonymous."
Mark tapped his fingers against the glass.
"EX-grade Mystic Grass... from an F-class dungeon?"
"Yes. And it sold for over five hundred tis the usual market price."
A low whistle left his lips.
"I've never seen anything graded EX. Not even from S-class dungeons."
"Neither have I. The experts we contacted believe it's either a system bug... or soone has knowledge we don't."
She admitted.
Mark chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he gazed at the sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"It's been a while since sothing new showed up."
He turned to the woman.
"Keep watching that seller. I want to know the mont they post sothing else."
"Yes, sir. Should I send soone to trace their location?"
Mark tilted his head in thought.
"No... not yet. Let's not scare them off. But if this mystery seller can produce more EX items...Then I want them on our side. Or at the very least, not on soone else's."
He smiled, a glint of intrigue in his dark eyes.
The woman bowed and left, and Mark remained alone in his office, staring at the glowing listing on his screen.
[Seller: ???
Listing: Mystic Grass (EX) - SOLD
Next listing: Unknown]
"Who are you... and what else can you do? Now, how can I use you?"
He mused.
______
Back in bed, Fenrir lay against his pillows, eyes lazily flicking across the screen projected from his system.
The final sale notification popped up with a chi.
[Mystic Grass (EX) - SOLD]
He blinked once.
"That's... ridiculous."
He muttered.
The bidding war had ended hours ago, but the ssages hadn't.
Buyers kept spamming him—so with desperate pleas, others with suspicious flattery, and a few openly offering partnerships.
Fenrir didn't respond to any of them.
He wasn't interested in getting dragged into so influencer-style rchant hustle. Not yet.
He had enough money to relax for a long while, and his real goal wasn't to build a brand—it was to rebuild his strength.
"If I get another rare drop while training, I'll sell it. But I'm not running a farm."
He reasoned aloud, voice calm in the quiet of his room.
His body still ached from the previous dungeon run, but the muscle pain was dull now, faded into the background. It was more satisfying than botherso—proof of progress.
With that thought, he pushed off the bed and geared up again.
There were dozens of F-class dungeons around the city, and another wouldn't be hard to find.
Even if the loot wasn't spectacular, the movent, mana circulation, and combat rhythm were training enough.
By nightfall, Fenrir returned—exhausted, dirt-sared, but not wounded.
The loot this ti was far more underwhelming.
A handful of C-grade items, so mana stones, and one piece that barely caught his attention:
[Mystic Grass – Grade: S]
He held the item up as the system projected its stats.
[Effect: Increases attack and stamina by 5% for five minutes. Cooldown: One hour.]
"Only 5%?"
Fenrir frowned, then pulled up the entry for the EX-grade one he'd sold earlier. That one had boosted all stats by 20% for ten minutes with no cooldown.
No wonder people went mad over it.
He set the S-grade item down on his desk and leaned back, thoughtful.
The EX-grade was probably enhanced not just by his technique but also so unique environntal factor, maybe even chance.
Still, the S-grade was decent.
He tagged it for auction and prepped it for upload, making sure to note that it was raw and untouched. Below it, he listed the rest of the haul.
Then paused.
He hovered over the C and D-grade drops—minor materials, dull-colored mana herbs, and faded stones. They weren't worth the ti or space, and certainly didn't have special effects.
"Trash."
He muttered.
He selected everything below grade B and deleted it all with one swift command. Better to keep his inventory clean.
Money was useful, but strength still ca first.
And he had a long way to go.
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