As Thorian peered at the vial of shimmering liquid and the rough-hewn tree barks, a smile crept across his face. “Excellent work, these ingredients will be the salvation of Forlune,” he declared.
Jarfin, the goblin champion, arched an eyebrow in skepticism. “Will they indeed, my lord?”
Their conversation drew the attention of Ventus, who hastened to Thorian’s side. Examining the items with a critical eye, he scoffed, “To me, these seem like nothing more than some blood and a handful of barks.”
“They are far more than they seem,” Thorian responded, his voice imbued with a quiet certainty. “These are the key components for the antidote that Forlune desperately needs.” He then produced a crinkled piece of paper from his pocket, revealing an intricate recipe. “The final ingredient, clumps of moss, can be found within the forest, should we search diligently.”
Vigil, curious, requested a glimpse of the recipe. As he studied the scrawled instructions, his brow furrowed in concern. “My lord, given the scarcity of these materials, the alchemists will have but a single opportunity for success. Misfortune may yet lead them to failure.”
Acknowledging Vigil’s caution, Thorian nodded solemnly. “You speak truthfully. Hence, we must venture into the dungeon again on the morrow, securing as much of these ingredients as possible for our alchemists.”
A heavy silence enveloped the group, the gravity of their task weighing heavily upon each of them.
Thorian, however, remained focused on the hollowed tree before him. “I do hold hope that the last team will return with additional vials of corrupted sap,” he mused, a hint of optimism in his tone.
His words pierced the somber mood, instilling a renewed sense of hope among his comrades. The stark reality that even one of their own generals lay incapacitated, a victim of the dungeon’s treachery, served as a grim reminder: in this perilous world, strength and confidence offered no immunity against the ever-present shadow of mortality.
The critical moment arrived swiftly. The final portal shimmered open, and through its blinding white glare, the battered figures of the warriors staggered forth. As they emerged fully, three of them—Elder Yur, Lapis, and Vivax—collapsed, their bodies wracked with violent retching. Nearby, three direwolves lay prostrate, their fur tinged with an ominous shade of purple.
Thorian, his gaze unwavering, turned to Zogarth, his remaining general. “Zogarth, distribute potions to those in need from your team’s reserves.”
“Immediately, my lord,” Zogarth responded with a nod, signaling his team to hasten to the aid of the afflicted direwolves.
Elder Omn, having regained some strength, moved to comfort Elder Yur, while Aqua and Vigil tended to Lapis and Vivax with gentle care.
Meanwhile, Thorian approached the group's leader, the formidable goblin champion. Although unfamiliar with his name, Thorian recognized him as the mightiest of his kind, renowned for his ability to imbue his aura with crackling yellow electricity—a talent that had posed a formidable challenge to Thorian in the goblin lair.
“Exemplary leadership,” Thorian praised the sword-bearing champion. “You've steered your team through harrowing trials without the loss of a single life. For this, you have my deepest gratitude.”
The goblin champion, meeting Thorian's gaze, responded with a dismissive tone. “You praise me too much, my lord.” His eyes scanned the surroundings. “It appears we're the last to return. My apologies for the delay.”
Thorian, his eyes briefly shifting to the prone figure of Forlune, offered a thoughtful reply. “A late arrival does not always signify failure. Often, it is the cautious and steady approach that prevails.”
Hanging onto those words for a brief moment, Thorian fixed his gaze upon the goblin champion. “I haven’t had the opportunity to become acquainted with you. What's your name?” he inquired.
“Zarjin, my lord,” replied the champion with a respectful bow. “Since our last battle, serving under your command has been a great honor.”
Acknowledging Zarjin, Thorian stepped aside. “Well, Zarjin, I won’t keep you long. As soon as your comrades have recuperated, distribute the rewards before our departure.”
Thorian returned to his seat, his interest piqued by the last group. All eyes were riveted on them, eager to discover whether the spoils included the coveted items.
The group, having consumed detoxification potions and expelled the toxins from their bodies, commenced the allocation of their loot. Elder Yur was the first to receive some ornamental accessories. Skill scrolls were then handed to those with the aptitude for them. When the last pouch was opened, Thorian's eyes widened in anticipation.
Excellent. Fortune favors us today.
The pouch revealed two vials of corrupted sap and three pieces of treant bark. Zogarth was the first to react, approaching Zarjin. “The gods are indeed on our side!” he exclaimed, leaving Zarjin momentarily puzzled. Noticing the champion’s confusion, the high orc chuckled and elaborated, “It appears I owe you an explanation. Forlune has been poisoned, and these ingredients are essential for crafting his antidote.”
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Zarjin, looking at Forlune's battered form, suddenly understood. “Then we must do everything in our power to save him. Please, take these ingredients; they serve us no purpose.”
“Thank you, Zarjin. Your allegiance shines brightly today.” Zarjin’s generosity earned him Zogarth's rare praise. His words, unexpected from one typically indifferent towards goblins, resonated amidst the gathered crowd, a fitting tribute given the circumstances.
With the crisis seemingly averted, Thorian stood up. “We should proceed. Forlune requires a comfortable resting place and proper care.”
Thus, the raiding party mounted their direwolf steeds, those without them keeping pace on foot. With their formidable abilities, the difference in travel speed was negligible.
Thorian led the way, seizing this tranquil moment to check something that had been on his mind but had thus far eluded his attention.
Display Harald Pannel.
Race Storm Alpha Direwolf Level 1/50 (exp: 143/25000) Lifespan 70 years Stats Strength 115 Agility 164 Constitution 123 Mana 56 Skills Feral Leadership (Passive) Tempest Agility (Passive) Electrified Fur (Active) Gale Force Howl (Active) Whirlwind Guard (Active) Storm's Fury (Active) Wind Leap (Active) Dire Rend (Active) Bestial State (Active) Mana Manipulation (Active)
There are quite a few more skills. And it seems that ‘Howl of the Lord’ had been replaced by ‘Gale Force Howl’.
Thorian marveled at the remarkable enhancement in Harald's stats, a leap so substantial that even his own impressive figures, renowned across the region, paled in comparison. Harald's newfound prowess now surpassed all but a few, such as the notorious Goblin King or the formidable High Orc Warlord.
"You've truly evolved into a formidable force," Thorian remarked with a chuckle, teasing Harald. "Your progress is astounding."
Harald dismissed the praise with a scoff. "My aim is to become the strongest in the entire world. If your ambitions don't stretch that far, beware. The day may come when you find yourself beneath me, rather than astride."
The thought of Harald, with his immense stature, riding atop him brought a mix of amusement and unease to Thorian. "Fear not, my ambitions are as vast as the horizons I gaze upon."
"Good," Harald retorted sharply. "Only such aspirations are worthy of me."
Observing his direwolf's lofty declarations, Thorian playfully scratched at Harald's neck. "A truly insatiable wolf, aren't you?"
Harald responded with a playful growl, choosing not to verbalize his thoughts. Yet, through their soul link, Thorian sensed Harald's hidden pleasure in the affectionate gesture, prompting him to continue with a knowing chuckle.
Time seemed to fly as the raiding party swiftly approached the village's outer wall. The late hour made Thorian skeptical about finding anyone in the Alchemy Lab, but he was determined to check it out regardless.
Once he had ensured Forlune was comfortably settled in his bed, under the watchful eye of the priest Vigil had recommended, Thorian made his way to the lab. To his surprise, he noticed smoke still billowing from the chimney, an unusual sight for such a late time.
In all my time in the southern lands, it was rare to see such dedication beyond regular working hours, Thorian mused, his past life briefly flickering through his mind as he entered the lab.
These fleeting memories of a life once lived briefly crossed his mind as he entered the lab. Inside, he found Hamur, the kobold, deeply engrossed in potion-making. Respecting the meticulous nature of the work, Thorian quietly observed, waiting for an appropriate moment to make his presence known.
Finally, as Hamur completed his task, Thorian spoke up. "Hamur, to still find you laboring at this hour is truly remarkable. Your dedication is commendable."
Hamur, turning with a chuckle, dismissed the praise. "My lord, this isn't about discipline or work ethic," he explained. "It's more like the whims of the child within me. Since childhood, I've been fascinated by the mysteries of nature, so being here, experimenting and concocting, is like living a dream."
Thorian's smile broadened at Hamur's genuine enthusiasm. Shifting the conversation to a more pressing matter, he inquired, "How proficient are you now in your Alchemy skill?"
After a brief glance at his panel, Hamur replied with evident pride, "I've reached 85% proficiency, my lord. With a bit of luck, I should be able to advance to Alchemy II by tomorrow noon."
Impressed, Thorian promptly pulled out an antidote recipe and some ingredients from his pockets. "Take these," he urged. "Learn this recipe and start working on it as soon as possible."
Hamur's eyes widened as he examined the recipe, then met Thorian's gaze with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "To be entrusted with such a task is a great honor, my lord."
"The honor is mine," Thorian responded earnestly. "I will supply more ingredients tomorrow. If even one of your attempts is successful, name your reward. Whatever it is, it's yours."