For three days, Riou was a god. He distributed like candy. He healed every wound with Sacred Water poured from a bottomless well. He ate Prosperity Orbs for breakfast. The army feasted on Giant’s Steak and Tuna Casserole until they vomited.
But on the fourth day, a messenger arrived from South Window. A plague. Not of the body, but of the spirit. Merchants had stopped trading. Why buy and sell when you could just ask Riou for anything? Artisans had smashed their forges. Why craft a sword when a perfect one existed in the infinite pouch? Farmers left their fields. Why plant grain when Riou could pull out an ? suikoden 2 gameshark codes all items
He took a breath. He placed the cold cartridge against his sternum. For three days, Riou was a god
Viktor, reaching deep, pulled out the —the true one, not the replica. The sword growled in his hand. He ate Prosperity Orbs for breakfast
He thought of the legends. Tales whispered by old merchants and drunken sailors of a "perfect arsenal"—every piece of armor ever forged, every rune ever inscribed, every sharpened blade and rusty nail. A hoard so complete it could end all want, all scarcity, forever.
Riou wept. He would forget this week. He would forget the power. He would go back to scarcity, to struggle, to the honest weight of a single herb pouch and a worn tunic. He would let the merchants haggle, the farmers sweat, the blacksmiths hammer.
He looked into the pouch one last time. At the bottom, deeper than any item, he saw a new thing. A single, small, unassuming slip of paper. He pulled it out.