Sword Art Online: Moonlight Swordman.

Ren kept his eyes on the stat window for a long while, as if staring a little longer might somehow lower the price.

The armor in his hands felt heavy, not from the weight of the metal, but from the cold, brutal numbers carved into the menu, pressing down on his mind.

A set of armor like this... on Floor 3?

This wasn't an item that belonged here.

This was something that should only appear on the tenth floor, the true domain of the Dark Elves. No confirmation was needed, Ren could just feel it.

From the subtly purple-gray tint of the black metal, to the utterly minimalistic design, stripped of all excess... this piece was crafted by a master.

Not for beginners. Not for those still hesitating between life and death.

He swallowed dryly, then finally spoke, his voice low and quiet:

"How much?"

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he bent down and carefully lifted the armor out of Ren's hands, more like cradling a rare antique than a piece of battle gear.

"Even if it's not the final version. It's not far off," he said, gently turning the chestplate in his hands to admire the beautifully dark metal. "Fifty thousand Cor."

Ren didn't respond immediately.

That number felt like a spear to the brain. Swift, clean, and merciless.

Fifty thousand.

Not just a lot. Almost everything he had. A complete wipeout.

He had saved every single Cor dropped from monsters, every quest reward, every scrap of profit from selling old gear on the lower floors... all for emergencies.

And now... all of it, for one set of armor?

He knew its worth. He also knew that missing this chance meant he'd never find another like it. But still, a voice whispered in his head:

"You'll be broke. If you fail, you'll have nothing left."

Ren didn't want the hard life he had once endured to come back. He had always worked himself to the bone. He knew the terror of poverty.

With the money he had now...

He could probably buy a shabby wooden shack on the outskirts of the Starting Town for just around forty thousand Cor. A roof, a door with a lock. A peaceful sleep, no need to stand watch.

But this... this was just a piece of gear. One item. One thing... that could determine whether he lived or died.

And he didn't need sleep. Didn't need a roof. Didn't need peace, Ren thought he already had those.

And now...

He needed to move forward.

And to do that, he had to choose what was truly worth it.

After a moment, Ren's eyes sharpened—cold but not emotionless. He exhaled slowly, as if pushing out the last of his hesitation from his chest.

"Can you lower it? 48,000?"

His voice wasn't loud. But it was firm.

It was still a high price. But it might save just enough for him to buy a healing potion if things went south, so he wouldn't die over being short 300 Cor.

He wasn't bargaining out of stinginess. He was bargaining for survival.

"No," the blacksmith replied instantly, not even pausing to think. "If you're just here to haggle, then put it down. I don't sell this to someone who doesn't understand its real value."

He slowly reached to take back the armor, his gaze heavy as lead. "This isn't some trinket to be bargained over. It's the line between life and death."

Ren frowned, his hand still on the armor.

The smith's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed through the forge like a hammer blow, striking down the idea of haggling still lingering in Ren's mind.

Each word felt like a test of determination, or maybe desperation, directed at the one standing before this item.

Ren knew: the price of fifty thousand was fair. Every rivet, every reinforcing plate inside said so. But... his wallet wasn't that generous. His balance was just barely enough, and after that, it'd be completely empty.

He swallowed, then raised his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Alright," Ren said, like swallowing a vow.

He reached into his pocket, silently opened the menu. A soft "ting" sounded as the transaction completed. In that moment... it felt like a blade slicing straight through his wallet.

The armor was handed to him. Heavy. Cold. And real, something with no turning back.

A message popped up in the corner of his interface:

Account Balance: 12,430 Cor

Ren stared at that number, frozen.

"Bleeding…"

He didn't know whether he was talking about his wallet, or the life that awaited him now.

"Don't worry. You won't regret it," Aisen stepped up, slapping Ren firmly on the back, voice brimming with certainty.

"Let's hope not," Ren muttered, sighing as he opened his inventory.

He selected the newly bought armor, took a deep breath, and tapped [Equip].

Immediately, a pale light spread across his body. The black steel fragments dissolved into the air and reformed, piece by piece, locking into place with astonishing precision and seamlessness.

The chestplate fit snugly, sleek steel plates covering his torso and abdomen, coldly minimalist, no ornaments, no waste, only faint ridgelines running along the edges, like the silent traces of something forged in solitude.

Matching armored boots wrapped his feet in smooth steel from ankle to toe, snug enough that he could feel each toe move freely without restriction.

He clenched his fist lightly. The friction between inner lining and outer metal let out a soft creak, like the armor itself was breathing.

The black-steel gloves hugged his hands tightly, with small lead-colored rivets joining the joints, yet they didn't hinder even the tiniest movement.

Now, Ren looked like a true warrior. Not flashy. Not ornate. Only cold, calculated practicality.

He tilted his head, feeling the weight settle evenly across his shoulders and spine, like donning a new vow.

Being light armor, it had to be stripped of everything unnecessary to reduce weight.

.....

Both of them left the Dark Elf outpost, making their way through the fog-laced canopy and rugged terrain of the Mist Forest. Aisen led the way, his steps firm, as if confident in the direction.

At least... that was the first impression.

Because every time they took a wrong turn, looped back through a part of the forest they'd already passed, or paused silently to check the map, Aisen would turn around and let out a dry chuckle:

"I'm the best pathfinder on the team. Trust me."

Ren sighed, not bothering to respond.

He glanced at the man ahead, seriously wondering:

"Is this guy... really the leader of the scouting unit?"

Eventually, after fumbling through what felt like identical paths, they found the area marked by signs of spiders crawling over the trail.

Milky-white webs stretched across dry branches, trembling gently in the thick mist.

This was the route the scouts usually used, the shortest, fastest, but now it was completely blocked by nesting venomous spiders.

"We could go around," Aisen said, squinting as he surveyed the nests. "But the other paths are longer, rougher, and take much more time."

Ren raised an eyebrow. His gaze swept across the eight-legged creatures scuttling ahead, the biggest one barely level 14.

He couldn't hold back and blurted, "But… with your level, you're afraid of these lame spiders?"

He remembered clearly: Aisen once bragged about being an elite warrior, definitely over level 30. With that kind of strength, these low-level spiders should be like mosquitoes.

But then again… Ren had never seen Aisen's exact status. The guy had used some function to hide his level before inviting Ren into the party.

Strange. And a bit suspicious.

"Well, then it wouldn't be your turn, would it?" Aisen whistled, then sighed theatrically. "You think the commander's that nice, just letting me lounge around picking flowers?"

He turned and started counting on his fingers:

"Normally we draw lots. But what can I say? Bad luck. Besides..." Aisen raised an eyebrow, "Clearing spiders is fun, right? Fuzzy, more legs than my ex, and a perfectly valid reason she dumped me."

Ren glared, unsure how to respond.

Aisen shrugged and continued:

"Honestly, the monsters here reproduce like someone's paying them per egg. Just hours after getting wiped, they're crawling back out. See? The job never ends."

He grinned wide:

"That's why we need you. Rookie, healthy, undemanding, and not experienced enough to realize you're being exploited."

Ren pouted, making no attempt to hide the annoyance spreading across his face.

Aisen noticed, but only shrugged again, looking entirely unbothered, as if he hadn't just said something worthy of a punch. He leaned against a mossy tree trunk, arms folded, looking annoyingly relaxed.

"Go on," he nodded toward the lingering spiders, "I need to see how you handle this, Rookie."

He dragged the last two words out deliberately, like he was savoring the salt in Ren's irritation.

"And hey," Aisen added, still in that half-joking tone, "You've got a few missions to make up for. Who knows, if you don't break halfway through, maybe yours truly will beg Sylen to forge you a weapon... that fits."

He clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back like his job was done and now he was just here to enjoy the show.

Ren narrowed his eyes, unsure if he should feel encouraged... or insulted.

'So the blacksmith's name is Sylen…'

He hesitated for a moment. But then... just a second later, Ren's eyes lit up. A sword forged by a blacksmith from the tenth floor?

Just the thought of it made his blood stir. Without hesitation, he turned and charged toward the cluster of venomous spiders weaving webs under the gnarled roots.

What needed to be done was obvious: wipe them out.

This mission wouldn't be easy. But with the newly purchased armor tightening around his shoulders and torso, and his familiar sword in hand, Ren felt a strange confidence swell in his chest.

It was confidence.

Confidence that, at least this time… he wouldn't run.

But he couldn't deny it either… it was arrogance. That's exactly what it was. Just a little, but enough for Ren to notice. He could almost see himself, his raw, primal self, emerging with each breath, with each heartbeat pounding as he entered the battle.

And he wasn't afraid.

On the contrary, Ren felt excited.

That feeling started small, like a whisper at the back of his neck. But the closer he got to the spiders, the louder it grew, overtaking any sense of caution or unease.

It was no longer fighting to survive. No longer killing just to not be killed. No longer reflex. No longer reluctant.

Now, he stepped forward willingly.

He wanted to feel the weight of his blade cutting into that hard chitin shell. Wanted to experience the thrill of facing strong enemies.

Ren wasn't sure if that was something to be proud of.

But at least… in that moment, he felt truly alive.