I sat in kneeling before the statue of the Goddess Selene, my back straight, both knees folded neatly, my palms resting on my thighs.
The habit had appeared on its own the moment I saw the three-meter moonstone statue perched in the alcove right behind the altar. Her face was serene and faintly smiling, her long robe fell in folds of stone that looked like silk stirred by the wind, and her two hands formed a half circle cradling a silver crescent moon between the palms. In the morning light slanting through the stained-glass windows along the hall’s walls, the statue gave off a soft glow that felt alive.
No one had told me to sit like this. No system rule required it. But after several days of being far too busy counting gold coins and followers, I felt I owed one completely silent minute to the figure who was the reason all this chaos had begun.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For this temple. For the moon’s return. And for... everything."
The statue, of course, didn’t answer. But the silver glow in her palms pulsed once, softly, like an eyelid blinking, and the warmth in my chest slowly loosened.
I opened my eyes and summoned the temple’s status window with a flick of my finger.
[Silvergrass Moon Temple - Tier 2] Owner: Syl (Saintess of the Moon Goddess) Followers: 603 From NPCs: 203 | From Players: 400
"Six hundred three," I murmured, barely believing it.
Last night the number had been one hundred seventeen. Now it was six hundred three. In less than a day, this little temple by the lake had gained nearly five hundred new followers, and I hadn’t done a single thing except sleep, go on a date, and eat Aunt Lara’s fried chicken.
I scrolled through the follower source list at the corner of the panel. About two hundred followers were NPCs: villagers from the settlements around Silvergrass, merchant caravans that stopped by and carried the news to other towns, and residents of Cedar Hollow who had apparently walked a full day just to pray. The remaining four hundred were players. Around three hundred of them were dark-race players, and the other hundred were players of other races curious about the rumors of the Saintess.
Beneath that number, a small new line caught my eye.
[Follow-up Quest: Spreading the Moonlight - Tier III]
[Requirement: 1,000 Followers. Progress: 603/1,000.]
[Reward: ???]
"One thousand," I repeated, tapping my chin. "Four hundred more."
My brain switched to calculation mode at once, and within seconds a not-so-pleasant conclusion formed clearly.
This surge was driven by two factors that wouldn’t repeat anytime soon. First, word that the temple reduced the sun penalty had spread quickly through forums and chats, and dark-race players had swarmed it like moths to a lamp. Second, the shock effect of the temple opening among NPC residents. The number of NPCs around Silvergrass was limited, and most had already come. Meanwhile, three hundred of these four hundred players were dark-race players who genuinely needed the sunlight blessing, and their total number across the whole server was finite. The remaining hundred were merely curious visitors, and that kind of curiosity fades fast.
If I estimated from forum statistics, the number of active SWO players was currently about six thousand, and four hundred of them had already become followers of this temple, roughly one in fifteen players across the entire server. Dark-race players, who had the greatest stake, probably made up only eight to ten percent of those six thousand, or around four hundred eighty to six hundred people, and three hundred of them had already joined. The rest were dark-race players who hadn’t heard the news and ordinary players. Growth from here would slow sharply.
"Stagnant," I told the Goddess statue. "At least for a few weeks."
I leaned back and let out a long sigh.
Six thousand players sounded lively on paper. But the SWO world was vast, divided into dozens of areas with maps that even the big guilds hadn’t finished exploring. Six thousand people scattered across hundreds of square kilometers of forests, swamps, mountains, deserts, and seas felt like a handful of sand grains in a barren plain. That was also why I could hunt in Murkwater all night without meeting a single other player, and why Arachne remained untouched until we arrived.
And all of it was due to one thing: SWO was still region-locked, available in only one country. A restriction clearly designed so the developers could test server load and refine the system before opening the gates to the whole world. I didn’t mind. A quiet world gave me room to breathe.
But for this temple, that quiet meant a scarcity of potential followers.
"The third batch," I muttered, remembering the giant screen in the middle of the city this morning. "Ten thousand new players."
Ten thousand new people meant an increase of more than one and a half times the current population. If this temple could maintain its reputation until then, the new players, including those who chose dark races, would look for a place that could reduce the sunlight penalty. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to push the number past one thousand.
"I’ll wait," I said at last, closing my eyes briefly before opening them again. "There’s nothing to chase. Let it grow on its own."
And now, the part I’d been waiting for.
I slid the tab in the temple panel to the far right column, where a wooden box icon decorated with a crescent moon blinked softly. It was the donation box I’d hidden in a corner of the hall, a simple object I’d set up merely so the villagers would have a place to leave offerings without feeling awkward.
I touched the icon.
[Silvergrass Moon Temple Donation Box]
[Total Donations Collected: 7,000 Gold Coins.]
I froze.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
"Seven thousand?"
Not seven hundred. Not seventy. Seven thousand. Seven hundred times the guild registration fee I’d paid with a sorrowful face a few days ago, and more than ten times the amount sitting in the Guild Storage from the Arachne raid. I stared at that number cross-eyed, rubbed my eyes, and stared at it again.
It turned out the system wasn’t lying.
Most of the donations came from visiting merchants, who apparently had a habit of leaving a tenth of their profit at every place of worship they passed for the sake of a safe journey. Some came from villagers who didn’t have much but gave bit by bit with sincerity. And the rest came from players, including a few high-level ones who, for some reason, left dozens of gold coins just to pray for five minutes.
I clasped both hands in front of my chest, and a very human temptation crept into my head.
Seven thousand gold.
Seven thousand gold coins that could cover my entire nonexistent debt list. Seven thousand coins that could speed up the Moon Bow modification through Master Geppetto. Seven thousand coins that could buy materials for ten sets of Epic+ equipment. Seven thousand coins that could turn an alchemist who constantly complained about budgets into one of the richest people on the server.
With trembling fingers, I tapped the small button beneath the number.
[Withdraw Funds to Personal Inventory?]
[Warning: Temple funds may only be used for temple development and maintenance. The owner cannot withdraw funds for personal use.]
"...Ah."
The small sound that came from my mouth sounded like someone who had just lost the only golden opportunity of his life.
"What a shame," I murmured, then chuckled softly like an amateur thief caught red-handed. "Hehe. Of course it can’t be done. The Goddess must have known I’d try."
On the altar, the silver glow in the statue’s hands pulsed again, slightly brighter than before. I could almost swear there was a note of amusement in it.
"Fine, fine. I understand." I raised both hands in surrender. "Then let’s use it for the right things."
I reopened Mira’s table that I’d copied into the system notes last night, two simple columns that now felt far more important than any strategy document.
Left column: the temple’s needs. Right column: the fastest results.
With seven thousand gold in hand, my choices suddenly widened. But Mira’s written rule at the bottom of the page still applied: set aside 200 for maintenance, and don’t buy anything when hungry. I added a new line with my finger in the air: leave one thousand as an emergency fund.
Six thousand to spend. Four choices made the most sense, and the total fit exactly down to the last coin.
Prayer Hall Expansion, 800 Gold Coins.
Healing Altar, 1,200 Gold Coins.
Moon Archive Library, 1,500 Gold Coins.
Lake Mirror Pier, 2,500 Gold Coins.
Total: exactly six thousand.
The Guardian Bell Tower and the Pilgrim’s Inn would have to wait for the next donations. I gritted my teeth as I marked both with the note next stage, but the logic was irrefutable. Hall capacity was an urgent need; the healing altar would attract high-level players, the library would unlock the layer of lore I’d been after, and the pier, though the most expensive, was the only facility whose effect worked only at night, and might even be tied to the moon and the lake that now always seemed to surround me.
"Confirm," I said, and touched the four buttons one by one.
Ting!
[Funds Spent: 6,000 Gold Coins.]
[Upgrades Begin: Prayer Hall Expansion, Healing Altar, Moon Archive Library, Lake Mirror Pier.]
The fund balance at the corner of the panel shrank at a speed that nearly stopped my heart. Seven thousand became six thousand, four thousand, two thousand, until it finally stopped at one tidy number.
[Temple Funds Remaining: 1,000 Gold Coins (Emergency Fund).]
I let out a long breath. Six thousand gold coins vanished in a matter of seconds. It felt like watching a giant dragon swallow an entire treasure vault without chewing.
But the next second, the whole building trembled.
A subtle vibration ran from the floor to the walls, from the walls to the ceiling, and the entire prayer hall seemed to draw a deep breath. The white stone walls on the left and right slid slowly outward with a soft rasp like turning book pages, and new pillars rose from the floor, growing upward in dazzling silver light. The rows of wooden benches expanded into two long lines, and new stained-glass windows lit up one by one along the widened walls. In less than ten seconds, a hall that once held thirty people was now spacious enough for nearly a hundred.
[Prayer Hall Expansion Complete: Capacity 80.]
[Healing Altar Active: HP and MP regeneration +5% for visitors within the hall’s radius.]
The Goddess statue before me glowed a little brighter, and a faint shimmer flowed from the altar across the entire floor, wrapping my body in a gentle warmth like soaking in a hot spring. I heard my own breathing slow, and every remaining tension in my shoulders loosened as if I’d just received the best massage in the world.
On the right side of the hall, a new arched door had appeared in a wall that had previously been blank. I rise and walked closer, and the moment I pushed open its leaf, a warm room with the scent of old paper and sandalwood welcomed me.
Dark wooden shelves towered from floor to vaulted ceiling, filled with parchment scrolls, leather-bound books, and silver tubes arranged neatly. In the center of the room, a long reading table covered in dark blue velvet was lit by a crystal lamp casting soft light. On the farthest wall, a large painting depicted a woman in a white robe standing at a lakeshore, both hands raised toward a full moon.
[Moon Archive Library Opened.]
[Manuscripts Available: 14. Readable by all followers.]
I took one of the scrolls from the nearest shelf, opened it slowly, and read the winding script on the yellowed parchment. Thanks to [Reading / Linguistics Lv. 21], its contents read smoothly: records of full-moon ceremony procedures, protective chants for travelers, and the lineages of several priests who had once served in small temples along the coast.
But on the lowest shelf, a worn scroll tied with black ribbon was tucked away, and when I tried to open it, a system window appeared without warning.
[Manuscript Locked: High-Tier Ancient Language.]
[Requirement: Reading / Linguistics Lv. 30.]
I frowned and stared at that scroll for a long time. Reading Lv. 21, and the requirement was 30. A gap of nine levels. But something made the back of my neck prickle, a faint feeling that this manuscript was more than a record of ceremonies.
"Later," I murmured, and returned the scroll to the shelf. "When I’m smart enough."
From outside, the noise of people drifted in faintly. I walked to the big window at the end of the room and peeked into the yard, and nearly laughed at the scene below. The village chief stood in the middle of the garden with his mouth agape, while a dozen villagers stared at the temple that had suddenly grown, as if witnessing a seasonal miracle. The old yard-sweeping granny dropped her broom. The bread-seller woman made a crescent-moon version of the sign of the cross over her chest. And at the gate, standing upright like two solemn guards, Soft Bone and Chicken Porridge saluted the building with stiff motions that made one of the skeleton’s finger bones clatter to the ground again.
"Ah, my finger!" came his cry.
I held back my laughter and turned away, then headed to the pier to check the last upgrade.
[Lake Mirror Pier Active.]
[Effect: At night, the lake’s surface turns into a moon mirror. Followers standing on the pier receive the Mirror Blessing (MP Regeneration +10%, Darkness Debuff Resistance +15%).]
The simple wooden pier where I’d last parted from my friends now stretched far out into the lake, its planks arranged in a crescent pattern with silver lantern posts on both sides. Under the morning sun, the water’s surface looked ordinary. But I could imagine that when night fell, and the full moon hung above, this lake would turn into a giant mirror reflecting the sky.
A sight that made me, without realizing it, want to share it with someone.
"Mira would love this," I murmured, and a small smile appeared on my face.
I returned to the main hall and sat for a moment on the front bench, checking the temple panel one last time.
[New Weekly Maintenance Fee: 150 Gold Coins.]
One hundred fifty. Triple the previous amount. I sighed, but didn’t panic too much. The emergency fund of one thousand gold could cover maintenance for more than six weeks, and follower donations would keep flowing. As long as the temple stayed alive, the finances should be healthy.
After closing the panel, I stood and stretched with my arms raised above my head, feeling my avatar’s joints crackle softly. In the real world, stretches like this always felt like pulling an old rubber band about to snap. Here, my body obeyed without complaint, light and supple like a cat just waking from a nap.
From my bag, I took out a small notebook calendar of my own making, and crossed out one line at the top: Finish temple business.
"Done," I murmured with satisfaction. "Now, for something more fun."
Last night, as I lay in bed staring at the bedroom ceiling, the idea had simply appeared in my head. A small idea that had grown and swelled all morning, through the drive around the city, through lunch with Mira, and had now finally reached the point where I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Bombs.
For days I’d been carrying the same problem in a corner of my mind. My explosive gear, once the only reason I could survive in dangerous areas, was now trapped within system limits. The Sulfuric Shrapnel Bomb, fifteen kilograms each, with a maximum of five per stack. Titan’s Roar: structural damage reduced to one thousand per second after the update. The Ironfang Siege Grenade. The Frag-Grenade: The Iron Maiden. All of them fell under the Volatile Item category, and each of those categories brought an annoying inventory limit, heavy penalties, and the threat of chain explosions if struck by fire.
For a hunter, that was a major problem. For an alchemist, it was a tempting challenge.
What if it weren’t a bomb?
The thought flowed like water finding a crack in a dam. What if, instead of carrying thrown explosives, I implanted that explosive power into an arrow?
An arrow was Ammunition. That category didn’t have extreme weight limits like Volatile Items. One quiver could hold dozens, and the inventory system treated it as a light item. If I could make an arrow that exploded on impact, without labeling it a bomb, then in theory it wouldn’t hit the Volatile limit.
In theory.
I smiled wide and stepped out of the temple with light steps.
"It shouldn’t hit the limit, right?" I murmured to myself with a chuckle. "It shouldn’t. Hehe."
The walk to my workshop wasn’t far. Only a few minutes on foot from the temple, along a path flanked by yellow wheat fields and thatched-roof houses. Villagers I happened to pass bowed politely and greeted me with "Saintess" and beaming faces, and I returned their greetings with awkward nods while pulling my hood lower.
The old watermill stood at the edge of the small river just as I’d last seen it. Its large wooden wheel turned slowly with a peaceful creak, and the green moss between its planks added an aged look that, for some reason, made me feel like I was coming home. I pushed open the front door, and the scent of wood, charcoal, and a little sulfur greeted me like an old friend.
The workshop was exactly as I’d left it. The long workbench on the left was crowded with test tubes and bottles labeled in my own handwriting. The small furnace in the back corner still held embers. The wooden shelves on the wall contained materials I’d stored neatly: lumps of Refined Steel Ingot, stone fragments, pouches of alchemical ingredients, and a stack of arrows with various arrowheads I’d collected from earlier battles.
I opened my inventory and took out everything I needed, arranging it on the workbench one by one like a surgeon laying out operating tools.
[Steel Bodkin Arrowhead (Rare)] A sharp steel arrowhead. Suited for piercing armor.
[Crude Black Powder (Uncommon)] Coarse black powder. Flammable and unstable.
[Corrosion-Resistant Blood Oak Arrow (Rare)] An arrow shaft of rust-resistant red oak. Light and balanced.
[Powder Measure] A brass measuring sleeve for dosing powder precisely.
Beside them, I laid out a few additional materials: sulfur flakes from the Sulfuric Shrapnel, a small lump of beeswax from Aunt Lara that I’d taken yesterday without her knowledge, and a Wind-sculpted Stone that had been lying at the bottom of my bag since an old adventure.
A design began to form in my head, like a technical drawing emerging from fog.
First, a steel arrowhead hollowed out on the inside, forming a small chamber the width of a pinky to hold the black powder charge. Second, a beeswax cap at the end of the chamber to keep the powder dry and stable in transit. Third, an impact trigger mechanism, perhaps from sulfur flakes and ground wind stone, which would ignite only when the arrow tip struck something with a hard collision.
"And most importantly," I murmured, weighing the red oak shaft in my palm, "the trigger must stay inactive while inside the quiver. Otherwise I’ll blow myself up alone in the middle of the forest."
I lit the furnace, waited until the heat was sufficient, then picked up a small hammer. My hands moved automatically, without needing to think, as if following muscle memory formed over hundreds of hours of working in this place. [Blacksmith Lv. 21] and [Alchemy Lv. 21] worked together, one forging the arrowhead, one stirring the powder and trigger mixture in a small glass mortar.
The arrow shaft work, [Carpenter Lv. 16], perfected the wood joints with pigeon feather fletching left over from old materials.
A system window suddenly appeared in the middle of my work.
[New Recipe Detected: Explosive Arrow Experiment.]
[Result Category: Ammunition (Experimental).]
[Warning: This item contains active Crude Black Powder. Risk of premature detonation if exposed to heat, impact, or fire.]
[Proceed?]
I read the text once, twice, and then my lips curved into a very wide smile.
"Ammunition," I whispered, my fingers nearly dancing across the table. "Not a Volatile Item. The category is Ammunition."
No Volatile label. No five-per-stack limit attached. No fifteen-kilogram weight warning. Only the risk of premature detonation, which I’d already calculated carefully, and a category free of inventory restrictions.
"Hehehe," I chuckled softly, and the sound of my own laugh was like that of a mad scientist in old movies. "Developers... you may have forgotten to think about this loophole."
I pressed confirm.
Ting!
The furnace crackled, the glass mortar glowed reddish, and a small arrow began to take shape on the anvil, its tip gleaming steel with a tiny ring of wax at its end. While I watched the process with sparkling eyes, a thought slipped into a corner of my head.
I already had a Combo Chain. I already had a Legendary Moon Bow. I had unbreakable armor and a temple with six hundred followers. But there was one thing about me that had never changed: I was an alchemist and blacksmith who couldn’t stop taking things apart just to learn how they worked.
And today, a small arrow with a belly full of black powder was ready to become my newest experiment.
I rolled up my robe sleeves, gazed at the prototype slowly hardening on the anvil, and whispered softly with a knowing smile.
"Let’s see how hard it explodes."