The heavy, pressurized iron doors of the alchemical forge hissed open with a deafening surge of steam, venting a shimmering, multicolored mist into the rafters. The hour had passed entirely within the echo of the boy's rambling autobiography. To an ordinary observer, his story might have carried a tragic, whimsical weight, but to my cold, analytical mind, he was simply like every other Earth gamer… a creature trapped in a digital framework, completely unable to grasp that Andromeda did not calculate existence in arbitrary numeric data, but in raw, violent evolutionary dominance.
The master artisan stepped out from the smoke, his heavy leather apron dusted with shimmering crystalline soot. He held a velvet-lined obsidian tray in his calloused hands.
"Ma'am, the rings are ready, it took every drop of catalyst I had to bind the matrices without cracking the core gemstones, but the compression is absolute." the craftsman announced, his voice carrying the deep fatigue of someone who had just spent sixty minutes forcibly warping high-tier spatial geometry.
I rose from the wooden chair in a single, fluid motion, the fabric of Olive's fire-resistant crimson trench coat shifting silently around my hidden blood wings. I walked over to the obsidian counter and looked down at the tray. The nineteen scattered bands I had violently plundered from Don Anthony's cartel vault were entirely gone. In their place lay three pristine, masterfully forged bands, each one pulsing with a concentrated, localized gravitational pull.
Beside me, the brunette boy practically leaned over the counter, his crimson eyes dilated with raw envy as he gripped his knees.
"Woah... look at the particle effects on those things! Bounty hunter, those have got to be legendary tier items. The item level on those things must be off the charts! Are you going to equip them all at once?!"
I merely shrugged his childish chatter off, refusing to waste a single ink stroke on a notepad. I reached out with my single right hand, my long, pale fingers sliding the newly forged artifacts off the velvet tray one by one.
Because my left arm had been entirely severed during my past escape, leaving me with only a single hand to distribute my tactical loadout, geometric optimization was mandatory. I systematically slid the rings onto my fingers, matching them to my biological and mechanical needs:
The Sapphire Ring was slipped smoothly onto my index finger. It thrummed with a deep, oceanic resonance, casting a faint blue luminescence across my knuckles.
The Ruby Ring was settled firmly onto my middle finger. It radiated an intense, violent crimson warmth that immediately sent a faint prickling sensation through my nerve endings.
The Emerald Ring was locked tightly onto my pinky finger. A soothing, pale green current immediately began to circulate through the skin of my hand.
The Inventory Ring was remained securely positioned on my ring finger, its golden band anchoring my entire weightless arsenal of Death Chant firearms and tactical tear gas flasks.
Only my thumb remained completely bare, a deliberate vacancy left for future high-tier acquisitions.
The newly forged metal was still intensely warm from the alchemical furnace, the lingering heat seeping deep into my skin. The moment the fourth band settled into place, a sudden, violent surge of raw power erupted through my circulatory system. It wasn't an imaginary digital "buff," but a profound, tangible alteration of my internal biology. The ancient blood in my veins pulsed with renewed, lethal velocity, the compressed mana fields of the rings instantly aligning with my sixth-evolution demonic core. My vision sharpened, the shadows in the corners of the workshop becoming perfectly clear, and the ambient noise of the capital city outside seemed to drop by an octave as my perception expanded.
Amused by the boy's constant babbling about hidden interfaces, I decided to utilize the very asset he lacked: the professional, highly trained linguistic and structural analysis of a high-tier appraiser. I narrowed my single jade-green eye behind the deep shadow of my canvas hood, focusing my gaze directly on the glowing bands to decipher their newly consolidated matrix structures.
The analytical breakdown formed perfectly within my mind, translating the fused mana circuits into precise structural tiers:
[INDEX FINGER] - MANA POOL RING (LEVEL 8)
Durability: 80/80
Structure: Fused from eight baseline mana reservoirs.
Attributes: Expands the user's internal mana capacity eightfold. (+8000 mana when user wear)
[MIDDLE FINGER] - MAGIC ENHANCEMENT RING (LEVEL 6)
Durability: 60/60
Structure: Fused from six baseline spell-amplification matrices.
Attributes: Increases the kinetic impact, velocity, and raw destructive output of all channeled blood magic and alchemical triggers by 600%.
[RING FINGER] - SPATIAL INVENTORY RING (LEVEL 1)
Durability 10/10
Capacity: 25.00 Kilograms maximum threshold.
Current Payload: 9,658 Grams (Firearms & 10x Tactical Tear Gas Flasks).
Available Space: 15,342 Grams remaining.
[PINKY FINGER] - HEALING ENHANCEMENT RING (LEVEL 5)
Durability 50/50
Structure: Fused from five baseline restoration stones.
Attributes: Accelerates cell regeneration and tissue repair by 500%.
Special Attributes: Passive demonic cellular recovery further amplifies this ratio.
The math was absolute, the compression flawless. By melting down the nineteen individual pieces of jewelry into three highly concentrated bands, I had completely bypassed the physical limitation of my single hand while exponentially compounding my combat parameters. I was no longer just a mute survivor hiding in the residential districts; I was a fully optimized, weightless fortress of chemical and magical warfare.
I turned away from the counter, the heavy hem of my crimson trench coat sweeping across the floorboards as I gestured with a sharp tilt of my hood for the reincarnated boy to move. He scrambled to his feet, still staring at my ringed hand as if trying to find a hidden text box in the air.
With exactly forty-two silver pieces remaining in my purse, a level-eight mana pool burning in my veins, and the boy securely in my custody, the afternoon was beginning to wane. My next immediate task was to navigate the outer sectors and deliver this gamer straight to Father Columbia's cathedral, fulfilling my contractual obligation to Nautilus.
I stepped out of the warm, smoky air of the artisan's forge into the bustling streets of the 6th District. The newly forged rings on my right hand thrummed with a heavy, rhythmic power, the intense magical energy circulating beautifully through my veins. The brunette boy scrambled out right behind me, his crimson eyes glued to my fingers as if he were trying to read invisible stat blocks floating above my knuckles.
As we navigated the cleaner, stone-paved merchant avenues, the kid suddenly broke the silence.
"Say, bounty hunter... what's your actual name? I mean, I can't just keep calling you 'bounty hunter' or 'boss' the whole way to this church."
It was a reasonable question. I didn't want to waste time pulling out a notepad while navigating a crowded district, so I simply reached into the breast pocket of my fire-resistant crimson trench coat and pulled out my silver placeholder status card. I held it directly in front of his face, letting his crimson eyes trace the official Bureau engravings.
"Eirene? Wait... Eirene, the S-Rank bounty hunter from the front page of today's newspaper?! The one who literally wiped out an entire arms syndicate in six days?! No way... no way you're that powerful! I'm walking next to a literal server-first raid leader!" he read aloud, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He looked from the card back to the deep shadow of my canvas hood.
I smoothly snatched the card back and slid it into my pocket, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. The boy puffed out his chest, completely energized by the revelation, and rubbed the back of his neck with a cocky grin.
"Well, since we're trading handles... me? I don't use my original fantasy name anymore. That guy died in the tutorial. In this world, my name is Xx_progamer123_xX."
I froze dead in my tracks on the cobblestone walkway.
A sudden, violent spasm hit my chest. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of his statement pierced straight through my cold, S-rank analytical armor. I tried to suppress the reaction, but a laugh forcibly ripped its way out of my throat. Because my tongue had been brutally carved out in the archives of my youth, I lacked the anatomical structure to produce a normal, human chuckle. Instead, a harsh, ragged, guttural sound erupted from my chest… a terrifying, animalistic wheeze that sounded like a dying beast or a predatory monster clicking its jaws in the dark. It was completely horrendous.
The boy flinched, taking a frantic step back as the terrifying sound echoed off the storefronts.
"Hey! Don't laugh! It's an absolute classic! It is literally the coolest username from the old shooter lobbies, alright? It's iconic!"
I forced my breathing to stabilize, the monstrous clicking in my throat fading back into a cold, silent amusement beneath my mask. His "name" was a textbook online handle… an incredibly cringe-inducing relic of Earth's digital past that had absolutely no business existing in the bleak, blood-soaked reality of Andromeda.
Refusing to acknowledge his defensive whining, I clicked my boots against the stone and continued marching toward the boundary wall. We quickly arrived at the heavy iron checkpoint leading into the 7th District, the capital's grand administrative and spiritual sector where the High Church held dominion.
I approached the guard station, pulled out my silver status card, and fished two more silver coins out of my purse to cover my departure and the custody clearance toll for the boy. My personal funds officially dwindled down to exactly 40 silver pieces.
The 7th District guards checked the silver card, noted my S-rank clearance, and immediately opened the heavy iron gates.
"Pass through, Lady Knight," one of them said with a respectful salute.
The moment we crossed the threshold, the chaotic noise of the lower sectors completely died down, replaced by clean, marble-paved avenues, manicured white stone plazas, and the distant, echoing chimes of holy bells. Towering above the secondary plazas was the massive, imposing gothic architecture of Father Columbia's Cathedral. The pristine white marble walls stretched toward the fading afternoon sky, its stained-glass windows gleaming with an eerie, divine light.
With Xx_progamer123_xX shuffling awkwardly at my side, his eyes darting nervously toward the holy symbols etched into the stone, I marched straight up the grand marble staircases toward the massive oak doors of the church. The first phase of my administrative contract with Nautilus was seconds away from completion, and the clock was steadily ticking toward the stroke of midnight.