[SYSTEM] You are the first player to complete all tasks.
[SYSTEM] Reward granted: Dragon Pack.
[SYSTEM] Open it to receive an Epic-grade extraordinary material.
The messages faded one after another, and a new item appeared in Ethan’s inventory like it had always been there.
Dragon Pack.
Opening a loot box deserved ceremony.
Ethan decided to let it sit for a while—just long enough for the anticipation to become its own reward.
“The bullets are fine,” he told Skye.
To keep his end of the bargain, he set out ten crystalline droplets of concentrated magic—the Water Element Essence he’d promised.
Skye’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw them. She tried to look casual about it and failed completely.
She scooped them up with the greed of a creature that had been pretending not to be greedy.
Ethan watched her reaction and kept his voice deliberately offhand.
“You have a way to sell these?”
He meant the Water Element Essence.
Alchemy was a money pit, and he was about to jump into it with both feet.
Ralph had already arranged to take him to the extraordinary materials market tomorrow.
Which meant Ethan would be buying supplies tomorrow.
Buying required coin.
The only money Ethan currently had was what he’d taken off pirates: three bags of gold.
He’d counted them twice.
Two hundred and ten coins in total.
For now, it was a lifeline.
In the long run, it was nothing.
So yes—he’d crossed into a supernatural world.
Yes—there were gods and Relics and abyssal whispers.
And he still needed a steady income.
The fastest method he could see was obvious:
Fish Water Element Essence and sell it.
Since the Essence was a core ingredient for a common Luck Potion, it probably wasn’t “one in a lifetime” rare…
But it also wasn’t something you tripped over on the street.
The problem was his new identity.
Ethan was now an apprentice cleric of the Violet Goldflower Faith.
He could not be seen walking into a black-market-style materials exchange and peddling Essence like a dockside trader.
That kind of attention got questions asked.
Questions got people killed.
So he needed a proxy.
Skye might fit that role.
Skye stared at him. “You… you have more Water Element Essence?”
She sounded genuinely shocked.
“It’s not common,” she said, as if explaining to a child. “Each unit has to be extracted by a certified alchemist, using a specialized method.”
“Slowly.”
Skye’s ears twitched (cat ears had far too much personality).
“A skilled alchemist needs three days to extract a single Essence. And that’s three days of work where the process can still fail.”
No wonder she’d been surprised by how casually Ethan had produced ten of them.
Ethan gave a small shrug, careful not to overplay it.
“I have a little extra.”
Skye’s gaze narrowed, curiosity sharp as a hook.
But she didn’t press.
“In the market,” she said, “one Water Element Essence sells for about one hundred and twenty gold.”
She glanced at Ethan’s new cleric coat—fresh cloth, clean seams—and added, almost too quickly:
“I know people who need them. I can sell them for you.”
“No fee.”
“And the price is public,” she said, as if daring him to accuse her. “You can ask tomorrow. I’m not lying.”
One hundred and twenty.
Ethan kept his face neutral by sheer force of will.
Ralph—an actual full cleric—made two hundred gold a month in stipend.
Ethan, as an apprentice, got food and a bed and exactly zero coins.
Ten Essence at market price was more than half a year of Ralph’s income.
That was not a side hustle.
That was a plan.
“All right,” Ethan said calmly. “If I need to move some, I’ll contact you.”
Outside, the sky had turned fully black.
The moon and stars hung over Windrest City like cold lanterns.
Ethan glanced toward the Inner Ward—toward the twin dragon skulls mounted high on iron spikes.
Torchlight burned beneath them, making the enormous bones visible from across the city.
Trophies.
Governor Panglos Fell’s trophies.
The governor made sure the whole city could see his “glory,” no matter where they stood.
“You didn’t come to Storm Island by accident, did you?” Ethan asked.
Skye nodded once.
Her voice was flat. Controlled.
Earlier that day, Ethan had heard other clerics praising the governor—the man who ended the Dragon Age, the Dragonslayer Governor, the hero of the Endless Sea.
From another angle, though…
Skye was a young dragon.
And Panglos Fell had built his legend on dragon bones.
Ethan could guess the shape of the hatred between them without needing the details.
Race. resources. power.
Every world used different words for the same old war.
He didn’t want to be part of it.
“You have a place to stay on Storm Island,” Ethan said.
Skye nodded again.
“Then go do what you came here to do,” Ethan told her. “Unless something big happens, I won’t contact you.”
Today wasn’t yesterday.
Now Ethan had a lawful identity, a roof, and the protection of a church backed by the Earth Ring.
He could level up slowly, safely, without staring down blades every hour.
Skye’s strength was valuable—but he no longer needed it at his shoulder every second.
And he definitely didn’t want a young dragon lingering under the Dragonslayer Governor’s nose.
He wasn’t cutting her off.
He was simply refusing to tie his future to her revenge.
Skye was quiet for a moment.
Unexpectedly, her expression softened.
Ethan’s refusal to pry—his lack of judgment, his lack of advice, his lack of meddling—felt like a kind of respect.
Not “I’ll help you.”
Not “I support you.”
Just: I won’t interfere. Do what you must.
In Skye’s world, that mattered.
She hesitated, then said, “Sungrass is powerful. But it has side effects—insomnia, agitation. Keep an eye on yourself for the next few days.”
Ethan blinked.
“Sungrass?”
For him, it was a nonsense word.
And his confusion immediately confused her.
Bishop Frey had requested Sungrass from the Grand Diviner Skye Fell—formally, urgently—because of Rhine’s injuries.
Skye had approved the loan and sent a courier to deliver it to the Violet Goldflower Church at once.
She’d come tonight in cat form to check on him…
And he was already healed.
Yet she could smell no Sungrass on him. No trace in the room. Nothing.
Impossible.
Skye scratched at her ear, then leaned forward to sniff the air again.
No Sungrass.
Her eyes narrowed.
Ethan caught up fast.
So Sungrass was the “special herb” Bishop Frey had mentioned. The one they’d planned to use on him before his wound closed on its own.
He considered lying.
Decided it was pointless.
Skye was already staring at the hole in the story.
“I healed after I arrived,” Ethan said. “I don’t know why.”
“Bishop Frey says the Goddess of Wisdom and Life sheltered me.”
Skye froze.
“…What?”
A god in the divine realm personally sheltering a random shipwreck survivor?
That wasn’t just strange.
That was the kind of strange that attracted attention.