“My lord, might we view the items?” Forlune gently nudged Thorian’s shoulder, urging him to face the group. “I believe the rest are quite eager to see what treasures we've uncovered.”
“Of course, here you are,” Thorian replied, handing over the items to Forlune with a distant air. His mind was ensnared by thoughts of the items’ class restrictions.
Raven’s Nest, now having become Wolvendale, harbored a fifth guild once—the archers. If I remember correctly, other realms possessed their unique class guilds as well, he pondered, his gaze lost in contemplation. An insight struck him.
These unique class totems, capable of evolving into statues and then into guilds, originate from extraordinary dungeons. William must have discovered the archer totem on one of his ventures into Eärendil.
“My lord, I'm perplexed,” Forlune frowned, scrutinizing the item descriptions. “It specifies a class requirement: archer.”
“Archer?” Aqua interjected, his voice tinged with confusion. “I’ve never heard of such a class or advancement. Is this akin to the special class Nalia possessed?”
“It is unique, yet not in the manner you suggest,” Thorian clarified, a spark of excitement in his tone. “To my understanding, Eärendil harbors a new class from which we can establish a guild.”
“Really?” Nox chimed in, interest piqued. “And I guess this class would be Archer?”
“It's more than just a guess; it's almost a certainty,” Thorian affirmed, nodding solemnly. “The evidence—gaining items linked to this class from a quest in Eärendil—strongly supports this theory.”
At this, Forlune cracked a smile, his enthusiasm barely contained. “This is fascinating. A new class guild could significantly enhance our collective strength. The strategic advantage we could gain over other territories is substantial.”
Stretching, Thorian signaled a shift in focus. “Since we have secured all possible rewards from our completed quests, there’s no further reason to linger.” He turned to Nox. “It's time you advance through the remaining floors of the abyss to catch up.”
With these words, the group dispersed. Nox, Ventus, and Ifrit, along with many others, set off for Locksley to confront the abyss’s challenges up to the twentieth floor. Thorian, Zogarth, Forlune, and Aqua, meanwhile, remained in the village to attend to other affairs.
Returning home, Thorian donned his new robe and contemplated his freshly acquired title.
Title Defender of the Feywild Rank Honorary Description Awarded to those who have shown dedication and bravery in protecting the Feywild and its inhabitants, this title signifies a bond of trust and friendship between the bearer and the myriad creatures of the Feywild, including spirits and elves. Holders of this title are met with amiability and respect within the Feywild, as it symbolizes their commitment to the preservation and welfare of this realm.
So, it's merely an honorary title? Thorian mused to himself, a trace of disappointment veiled by pragmatism. While I had hoped for something more prestigious, an esteemed or renowned title perhaps, this should still aid in my endeavors within Eärendil.
Titles, after all, were symbols of reputation and recognition, ranging from the humble rank of initiate to the lofty echelons of exalted and sovereign. There were whispers of titles belonging to beings of even higher stature, though Thorian had yet to witness such honors firsthand.
The Golden Prince may have once held a title surpassing even that of a Sovereign, but such glories belong to a bygone era. In this life, he shall not reclaim that magnitude of power—not if I can help it. With a determined shake of his head, Thorian cast aside these ponderous thoughts.
Refreshed and resolute, Thorian stepped out into the day, his path leading him toward the carpenters' workshop. Upon arrival, he was greeted by the sight of Hewer and his fellow craftsmen gathered around a large wooden cart.
“It appears your efforts have borne fruit,” Thorian remarked, a smile playing upon his lips.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Indeed, my lord,” Hewer replied, turning to face Thorian and wiping the sweat from his brow. He gave the cart a fond tap, his pride unmistakable. “This beauty will haul any load of rocks you deem fit to place upon it.”
“I admire your confidence,” Thorian responded with an approving nod. He then issued a challenge, “Why not put it to the test? I propose you and your colleagues climb inside and jump upon it, to demonstrate its resilience.”
“Your will, my lord,” Hewer consented, motioning for the other carpenters to join him in proving the cart’s durability.
As the carpenters energetically leapt atop the cart, it stood resolutely, not so much as emitting a creak, embodying the sturdiness of a steadfast bull.
Observing the cart's unwavering firmness, Thorian's smile broadened, and with a graceful gesture, he signaled for the demonstration to cease. "Excellent work, everyone. I assure you, your efforts will be generously rewarded."
Approaching Hewer, Thorian shared a quiet word, "Later today, I'll speak with Alacrtias to arrange for your son, Mart, to select anything he desires from the storage room. Expect his arrival tonight."
"Thank you, my lord," Hewer responded, his voice laced with genuine gratitude. "Your kindness has been a blessing to not just me but my entire family."
"You're most welcome," Thorian chuckled, then turned his attention to the gathering of workers. "As a token of my appreciation, all of you will see your homes enhanced today—a reward for you and your families."
With heartfelt thanks from the carpenters, Thorian proceeded through the village, personally overseeing the enhancements to the residences of those involved in the cart's construction. Completing this task, he ventured towards the village outskirts, where Forlune awaited him by the gate.
"The first cart is ready," Thorian declared, a note of pride in his voice.
"That is indeed wonderful news, my lord," Forlune replied, leaping from his perch to land beside Thorian. "Shall I direct my men to start clearing the path to the quarry?"
"Absolutely," Thorian nodded affirmatively. "We must initiate the work without delay to maintain our momentum."
"As you command," Forlune agreed, his smile reflecting anticipation. "I look forward to our village's advancement and the new structures it will bring."
"As do I," Thorian shared the sentiment. "Speaking of advancements, how fares our exploration?"
"Quite well," Forlune confirmed. "Our high orcs discovered a large settlement to the north, governed by an orc king. There are also smaller, unaffiliated settlements nearby."
"An orc king..." Thorian pondered, then decisively spoke, "We'll address the smaller settlements first, with Zogarth leading. His kinship with the orcs will serve us well."
"I'll convey your instructions to Zogarth," Forlune agreed.
With their plan set in motion, Thorian returned to the heart of the village. After reviewing the requirements for the territory's upgrade, he contemplated, While increasing our orc population is beneficial, it alone won't suffice for the village's enhancement. We'll need more kobolds and kobloids to accelerate our growth.
Yet, such considerations were for another time. The immediate task was to ensure the seamless integration of the orcs Zogarth was to bring. With no urgent matters demanding his attention, Thorian dedicated himself to his training regimen, focusing on refining his mana control through both physical enhancement and elemental mastery.
* * *
Zogarth’s POV
As Forlune conveyed Thorian's command, Zogarth assembled a formidable team of high-orcs and set forth, guided by Forlune's directions. Their journey led them to a fortified settlement, its perimeter encased in a sturdy barricade of wood and iron. Upon their arrival, the presence of an orc guard became the catalyst for an unexpected encounter. As Zogarth and his warriors emerged from the dense forest, the guard recoiled in terror, his voice trembling as he questioned, “Ar... are you the king? The ruler of this forest?”
Zogarth advanced, his gait unwavering, “The only king I acknowledge is neither myself nor the entity you fear.”
Stricken with fear, the guard found himself speechless. Observing this, Zogarth's frustration boiled over. “Your fear disgraces our proud lineage,” he chastised, before exhaling a weary sigh, “Lead me to your warband's leader, or whoever holds authority here.”
The guard hastened away, eager to escape Zogarth's formidable presence. With a shake of his head, Zogarth signaled his group to proceed, following the retreating figure of the guard.
The standards for guards have evidently fallen, Zogarth reflected grimly. In my era, such cowardice would have been met with death.
Upon reaching the settlement's core, they found themselves encircled by nearly a hundred orcs. Their gazes were a turbulent mix of fear, hostility, and suspicion.
This is the response I expected, Zogarth noted internally with a hint of satisfaction. Fear should never conquer the heart, regardless of the adversary's might.
Amidst the tense crowd, a formidable orc emerged, his body adorned with red tattoos, his face etched with rage. “Who dares intrude upon my band's settlement? Are you the so-called 'king' uniting bands from all over this forest under his banner?”
Brandishing his sword, the tattooed orc issued a challenge, “We will not bend to your will unless you defeat me. And should you fail, I shall claim your kingdom as my own!”
“I am not the king you speak of,” Zogarth responded, irritation tingeing his voice as he drew his giant battleaxe. “But if it's a battle you seek, then I shall gladly oblige.”