Morgen's carefully woven plan unraveled as he learned the harsh reality – six powerhouses above Level beta lurked in the shadows, their presence making any intervention as Amy's follower virtually impossible. A wave of frustration washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by a steely resolve. He wouldn't be deterred.
His keen eyes caught the unspoken understanding between him and Amy – both desired the Valkyrie. But his sorrowful shake of the head confirmed his fears. The undead mage, with his bottomless pockets, had already secured her.
The price offered burned into Morgen's mind: an extraordinary one-horned northern dragorhino. Greed flickered in the skeletal mage's eyes, the image of the creature a tangible representation of his insatiable desire.
This wasn't just any beast. The northern dragorhino, a majestic hybrid of dragon and rhinoceros, roamed solely in the unforgiving northern plains. Their power was legendary, as was the prestige associated with possessing one. But it was the horn, coveted for its ability to forge weapons of unparalleled strength, that truly set their price sky-high.
Hunting one atop an 8,000-meter snow-capped mountain was no easy feat. The harsh environment ensured only the most daring and skilled dared attempt it. Yet, despite the perilous odds, the horn remained a symbol of ultimate status, a trophy reserved for the wealthiest and most ruthless. Morgen knew acquiring it wouldn't be easy, but the Valkyrie was within reach, and he wouldn't give up without a fight.
Fate, or perhaps sheer chance, had placed Grot, the weathered northern warrior, in the unenviable position of holding the very prize the skeletal mage craved: the horn of an extraordinary northern dragorhino. A collective hush fell over the gathering as Grot cautiously stepped forward.
"Master Bone," he rumbled, his voice betraying a tremor of apprehension, "might I offer other options? I possess a tome, a sacred gift bestowed upon me by my deity..."
Before he could complete his plea, Bone, his bony hand adorned with a ring carved from a dragon's tooth, cut him off with a dismissive shake of his head. The dark sockets of his skull seemed to burn with an unholy intensity.
"No," he rasped, his voice like dry leaves rustling in a crypt. "Only the horn of the dragorhino will suffice. It is crucial for my ward's ascension to the realm of the extraordinary. Substitutes exist, yes, but none possess the raw power and prestige I require."
Bone's bluntness was a stark contrast to the practiced bartering of the other attendees. His words were laced with a chilling honesty, revealing his true intentions without a shred of pretense.
A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd, their knowing glances lingering on Grot's tense form. The warrior had unknowingly become part of Bone's elaborate play, his previous offer merely a veil to elevate the value of the horn.
Grot's face hardened, his calloused hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his axe. He knew Bone's hunger wouldn't be easily sated. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a storm brewing on the horizon of their negotiations. What price would be demanded for this coveted prize, and what sacrifices would Grot have to make to claim the Valkyrie?
The northern dragorhino horn was a sacred relic of the northern people, a symbol of honor bestowed upon the first king of the northern land who vanquished an extraordinary northern dragorhino.
Centuries had passed, and countless generations of northern people had inherited this tradition. The northern dragorhino horn symbolized not only glory but also the unwavering belief of countless souls.
If possible, Grot would sooner sacrifice his life than exchange the northern dragorhino horn with this sinister undead mage. Doing so would signify the severing of centuries-old traditions and beliefs in the north, and Grot would be branded a traitor.
Yet, could he refuse?
The north had fallen, and his royal family might be the only ones left at the mercy of the undead mage. If he did not comply, would he and his people ever have the opportunity to reclaim their homeland?
Bone observed Grot's anguish with unconcealed delight.
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The struggle, the anger, the despair of the ignorant northerners brought him immense pleasure. His twisted soul, corrupted by the ceaseless breath of death, found solace in creating chaos and suffering.
Bone had chosen Grot specifically because he had once proposed the exchange of the northern dragorhino horn only to be vehemently rejected and humiliated by Grot. Although Viscount Bernard had intervened and prevented a confrontation, the incident had remained ingrained in Bone's memory.
He yearned to witness Grot's choice when faced with a dilemma that weighed equally upon his heart. The twisted pleasure surged through him like a tidal wave, driving him to madness.
"Esteemed Sir Grot, why do you hesitate? Will you choose the northern dragorhino horn or the royal bloodline of your people—this admirable Northern Valkyrie?
The room fell into a deafening silence as all eyes fixed themselves on Grot.
Grot turned his gaze to the elegant Viscount Bernard, his voice hoarse with pain.
"Viscount Bernard, has the Northern Plateau truly fallen to the Nolan Empire and the Glorious Empire? Has the northern royal family been eradicated?"
Viscount Bernard exchanged a few whispered words with his bodyguard, his lips moving silently.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, Viscount Bernard nodded slowly, confirming Grot's worst fears.
The north had indeed been conquered by the Nolan Empire. As for the northern royal family, the majority had been hunted down by extraordinary beings from the Glorious Empire.
Intelligence suggested that legendary forces had also taken action against the north, leading to uncertainty about the fate of any remaining royal family members.
Grot turned to face the unconscious Northern Valkyrie, her body bearing scars that resembled the rough bark of an ancient tree. The once-formidable northern warrior, now lying helpless on the ground, had knelt before him with tear-stained eyes.
Unable to control his emotions, Grot slammed his hand against the floor, shattering the thick wooden planks and carpet beneath.
Fragments scattered throughout the room as Grot's head hung low, the once-proud warrior reduced to a defeated slave.
"Your Highness, may you forgive my choice, all for the sake of the north," Grot uttered in a voice heavy with despair.
Bone's eyes gleamed at the sight, his shrill voice dripping with mockery.
"So, your choice is the northern dragorhino horn? What a noble northern warrior you are, willing to abandon your king. What a marvelous spectacle!"
Grot rose to his feet, his two-meter frame exuding an oppressive aura. The resilience and determination of northern warriors returned to his demeanor.
He reached for his neck and untied the thick black cord that held a pendant.
The warrior extended his hand, revealing a sharp tooth-like object hanging from the cord.
Step by step, Grot approached Bone, his falcon-like eyes piercing.
The sound of his black leather boots against the velvet carpet was faint yet thunderous in the silence of the room.
"I will exchange it with you," Grot declared.
Bone's dark blue eyes under the gray cloak flickered with mockery and contempt.
"You would trade a mere wolf's fang?"
"No, this is the horn of the northern dragorhino!" Grot's voice trembled with uncontrolled anger.
"The ancients of the northland sought the aid of a legendary space mage and, after centuries of effort, sealed this sacred relic, which belongs solely to the northern warriors, within this pendant. Thus, the colossal horn of the northern dragorhino was miniaturized into this pendant worn by heroes."
"You need only break the seal to obtain the extraordinary dragorhino horn," Grot continued, his eyes brimming with pain and anguish as he handed over the sacred relic of his people to a necromancer. The guilt and self-reproach threatened to consume him.
Bone's dark eyes flashed as he extended his hand to take the pendant.
After a moment of careful examination, he exclaimed excitedly:
"Indeed, it is a seal left by a legendary mage, a testament to a valiant northern warrior. You speak the truth!
In the presence of Viscount Bernard, I, Bone, accept the agreement with Master Grot!"
Bone immediately returned to his seat, his eagerness evident as he meticulously studied the thumb-sized, dull gray pendant. He paid no heed to the Northern Valkyrie lying on the ground, leaving her in the hands of Grot, who felt a bittersweet mixture of pain and relief.
He had sacrificed the glory of the north, yet he had secured hope for its future. A northern king could not be lost to them.
"Master Grot, I swear upon the god of the dead that I am compelled by my last shred of kindness to warn you: seek the blood of the golden race with haste.
Your king has but three months left to live," Bone proclaimed, his tone dripping with malicious glee.
Grot glared at Bone but remained silent, the coldness in his eyes conveying his resentment.
The wrath of a level beta plus northern warrior would normally be of great concern to ordinary individuals, but Bone, the undead mage, remained unfazed, even relishing in the animosity. To him, the warrior was but a lowly thief of level alpha minus.
"Your Highness, let us depart," Grot said, bending down to lift the battered Northern Valkyrie. He cast a final glance at Bone before turning away.
As the door closed behind Grot, a sudden surge of inspiration coursed through the mind of Morgen, who had been silently observing the drama unfold from the shadows.
Abandoning his original plans, a daring idea took hold of him.
He set his sights on the door through which Grot had exited.
This time, he would go all in.
His goal?
To hunt down this level beta plus northern warrior,
At any cost.
His heart pounded with anticipation.