Thorian strode into the Alchemist's Lab, his presence commanding the immediate attention of those within. "I trust that you have all completed my quota for the day," he declared with an air of expectation.
Hamur, the chief alchemist, responded without hesitation, gesturing towards a neatly arranged stack of potions on a nearby table. "Of course, my lord," he said, his voice tinged with pride.
Thorian's gaze fell upon the potions, inspecting one closely. Its contents, a light green liquid interspersed with dark green clumps, appeared far from appetizing. Yet, there was an undeniable aura of potency about it, not that he could not smell it seeping through the cork.
Satisfied, Thorian nodded in approval. "Excellent. I'll take one for myself. I will have the rest of the party members come and claim theirs," he instructed, placing the potion securely in his possession.
"As you wish, my lord," Hamur replied, bowing slightly.
With the potions secured, Thorian departed for the Village Hall, where he was to rendezvous with Forlune and Zogarth. Upon his arrival, he posed a direct question, "Are the four teams ready?"
Forlune, brimming with anticipation for the battle ahead, flashed a confident grin. "More ready than ever," he declared.
"We're all waiting for your orders," Zogarth added, his tone serious and unwavering.
"Good," Thorian responded, his nod conveying both approval and command. "Then have everyone go to the Alchemist Lab. The detoxification potions are waiting for them."
"De-detoxifilication potions? What does that even mean?" Forlune queried, his eyebrow arching in curiosity.
"It cleanses toxins. The guardian of the fourth floor uses a poison cloud," Thorian explained, his voice laced with the gravity of the situation. "These potions are a precautionary measure, in case of emergency."
"Understood, my lord," Zogarth responded, his voice solemn, his nod full of respect. "I'll make sure everyone is equipped with the potions you've generously provided."
Forlune, ever the brash warrior, shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, I'll go too. But I doubt they're necessary. This body of mine can resist any poison you can imagine."
Thorian allowed himself a small smirk at Forlune's boastful remark, yet he chose not to engage. Instead, he waited patiently as the two figures left the Village Hall, their silhouettes melting into the darkness of the night.
Well, this will indeed be a chance for you to learn more about this world... and about your own limits, Thorian mused silently.
With Forlune and Zogarth now out of sight, Thorian's attention turned to his status window. After a day filled with combat, he anticipated some minor updates, curious to see the fruits of his labor and the toll of his battles.
Display Panel.
Ding
Race Flame Kobold Level 26/30 (exp: 9756/12000) Class Elemental Magus Level 23/40 (exp: 6402/14000) Lifespan 40 years Cultivation realm Qi Gathering Fifth Stage (45.9%) Stats Strength 113 Agility 124 Constitution 103 Mana 104 Qi 100 Free Points 25
As Thorian contemplated his nearing second evolution, a rare smile played upon his lips. I am getting close to that second evolution, he thought, his mind alive with anticipation. The rewards of the human quest had been bountiful, and he was eager to see what rare variant would be offered to him next.
For a fleeting moment, his heart fluttered with excitement—a sensation so uncommon for him, yet entirely fitting given the circumstances.
Glancing over his status panel, he noted that it remained largely unchanged since his last check. The free points he had accrued were indeed tempting to use, but given his already formidable stats, he felt no urgency. It was wiser to reserve them for unforeseen emergencies.
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Reflecting on his current abilities, Thorian couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. My stats have grown exceptionally. I possess the strength and constitution of a warrior, the agility of an assassin, and the mana pool of a magus. And with my newly acquired movement martial techniques, I can confidently say I have no significant weaknesses.
However, despite these formidable skills, Thorian had yet to test his two new martial skills in battle. None of his encounters that day had posed a sufficient challenge to necessitate their use.
Making his way out of the Village Hall, Thorian stepped into the quiet of the night. The twin moons hung low in the sky, casting a surreal glow over the village inhabited by the kobolds and goblins. Their soft murmurs and the distant howls blended into the background as he approached an empty lot beyond the Altar, encircled by the sea of tree trunks.
The air was cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth. Thorian closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The world seemed to hush in anticipation. He felt the pulse of the village, the soft tread of nocturnal creatures, and the twin moons' gentle gaze upon him.
He started with the Yin path. Thorian, his solid frame belying the fluid grace about to unfold, initiated the "Silken Step Drift." His movements echoed the rhythm of the night – like flowing water, each step carrying him effortlessly across the ground. The soft rustle of his clothing was the only sound, merging with the night's whispers.
As he weaved his intricate dance, Thorian's mind delved deeper into his movements, each one a testament to adaptability and finesse. He imagined himself as part of the night, moving with a tranquility that belied the precision and strength behind each gesture.
Transitioning into the Yin fist technique, his arms moved with a deceptive softness, akin to willow branches swaying in a gentle breeze. Yet, each strike was deliberate, a whisper of power targeting key pressure points. The air around his fists hummed, each tap resonating with the quiet strength of a master, in harmony with the night's serene energy.
Pausing, Thorian let out a soft chuckle. "Well, that does it for the Yin path," he murmured to himself, feeling the Qi within him dance and swirl. He allowed it to settle, flowing back to his dantian, leaving a trail of calm in its wake.
Now for the Yang path.
His demeanor shifted, energy igniting like a newly kindled flame. Each step was a burst of energy, propelling him forward with raw power. He transformed into a living tempest, the air around him crackling with dynamic force.
Finally, Thorian unleashed the Yang fist technique. Each punch was an explosive display of power, echoing the raw ferocity of a storm. The impacts resonated like thunder, and each strike let out a small shockwave, primed to destroy anything it touched.
After rigorously testing his new skills, Thorian pondered deeply, his fingers idly stroking his furry chin. The Dark Flame Palm still surpasses these new fist techniques in strength, he mused. But the real challenge lies in seamlessly transitioning from the movement skill to the Dark Flame Palm. That will require dedicated training.
His contemplation was interrupted by a voice. "King, we are now ready."
Thorian's gaze shifted to his two generals, who stood with their main teams, poised for departure. They were well-equipped, each member adorned with a pouch for their items, signifying their readiness for the journey ahead.
"Good, let's not delay," Thorian replied, striding towards his generals. "Summon your direwolves; we move now."
"Right away, my king," the kobolds responded in chorus.
The main teams were a familiar and formidable assembly: the original four kobold magi, Vigil, Forlune's seasoned warrior team, and even Vivax and Lapis. The ranks included goblins too, such as the three elders, Omn, Jarvis, and Yur, alongside some of the goblin champions.
In total, excluding Thorian and the two generals, there were seventeen members, each recognized as the strongest individuals currently in Wolvendale.
Thorian reached out telepathically to Harald. 'Harald, it’s time we move.'
Harald's response came swiftly, tinged with his usual impatience. 'Finally, I was beginning to think you had lost your edge, considering how dull these past two days have been.'
A chuckle escaped Thorian at Harald's remark. 'Only you would find a full day's work boring. Anyway, meet me at the outer gate,' he replied, ready to embark on their next endeavor.
Severing the telepathic link, Thorian led his assembled teams out of the village. They quickly found themselves under the night sky, where the king of the direwolves awaited their arrival. Mounting his formidable steed, Thorian took the lead, guiding the raid group towards the Verdant Labyrinth. Their familiarity with the dungeon's terrain, coupled with Thorian's unerring sense of direction, made their nocturnal journey surprisingly swift and uneventful.
In mere minutes, they arrived at their destination: a colossal hollowed tree that stood as a silent sentinel at the labyrinth's entrance. The tree, both foreboding and inviting, marked the beginning of their next formidable challenge.
Thorian halted his mount, turning to address his assembled warriors. "Before we enter, listen carefully," he began, his voice resonating with authority. "Our initial progression toward the golden grotto should proceed as usual. The real challenge lies beyond. The gilded spiketail is merely a subguardian of the fourth floor. Our true adversary is a treant, an entity both living and dead, intelligent yet instinct-driven. It exhales toxic fumes capable of incapacitating even the mightiest warrior."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then continued, "Our optimal strategy is to engage it from a distance with magic. If that proves infeasible, our fallback plan is direct combat. Enter the fray, hold your breath as long as you can, and strive to end the battle before your lungs give out."
Finally, Thorian produced the green potion he had earlier secured. "If all else fails, resort to this. It's vile, it will induce vomiting for a prolonged period, but it could very well save your life." With this solemn warning, Thorian prepared to lead his team into the depths of the Verdant Labyrinth, each member acutely aware of the dangers that lay ahead.