2025-04-26 22:04:42Within Heartwood Palace, Elysia Forest's seat of power, Grand Elder Lyrien and esteemed elven elders convened around a polished wooden table. Their deliberations were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Enter," Lyrien called out. An elven soldier stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Forgive the interruption, Grand Elder. I have crucial information." Lyrien's gaze narrowed. "This meeting is of utmost importance. Make it brief." The soldier apologized. "I understand, Grand Elder. But this concerns Eryndor." The elders' interest piqued, they leaned forward. "Speak," Elder Thalion urged. The soldier took a deep breath. "While searching for Eryndor, we encountered a horde of goblins. But what struck us was that they were from different clans, yet moving together, peacefully." Elder Namarie's eyes widened. "Impossible!" The soldier stood firm. "I assure you, Elder, my fellow spies and I witnessed it. We decided to follow them, and what we saw was... marveling." The elders exchanged intrigued glances. "Continue," Lyrien commanded. The soldier's voice filled with awe. "We saw goblins constructing homes, training with swords, mastering magic arts, and practicing archery. Their organization and discipline were unmatched." Elder Thalion's brow furrowed. "And Eryndor?" The soldier's eyes locked onto Lyrien. "We saw him, Grand Elder. Clad in magnificent armor, with a red cape billowing behind. Every goblin bowed as he passed. It was... reverent." The room fell silent, the elders' faces grave. Lyrien's expression darkened. "This sounds like more than mere leadership. Eryndor may be forging an empire." Elder Namarie's voice trembled. "The implications are dire. We cannot underestimate Eryndor's power." The soldier's words hung in the air, foreboding and ominous. "We once considered the goblin clans scattered and weak," Elder Thalion said, "but now, united under Eryndor's leadership, they pose a formidable threat." Elder Namarie nodded gravely. "Facing them alone would be disastrous. Our armies would be hard-pressed to match their numbers." "Then we must seek allies," suggested Elder Eirlys. Lyrien's eyes narrowed. "I propose we send an envoy to the human kingdom of Kryptoria. We've identified the source of the dark force gathering in the Dark Forest. Eryndor's rise to power threatens their borders as well." The elders nodded in agreement. "Summon Captain Fiannor," Lyrien instructed. "Task him with selecting a team to journey to Kryptoria. They will request King Ryker's assistance in addressing this growing menace." Elder Thalion stood. "We must emphasize the urgency of this situation. The humans cannot afford to underestimate Eryndor's power." Lyrien's gaze swept the room. "Prepare the envoy. We will offer our expertise and magical prowess in exchange for Kryptoria's military might." The elders dispersed, each attending to their assigned tasks. As the meeting concluded, Lyrien's thoughts turned to the uncertain future. "Will the humans recognize the danger Eryndor poses? Or will pride and skepticism blind them to the impending storm?" Eryndor sat upon his throne, his palace a testament to his growing power. He contemplated the future, knowing the humans would eventually come for him. "Grimp," he summoned. The loyal goblin appeared before him. "Summon Shaman Korga, General Gorthok, and Archer Vexar," Eryndor instructed. The three clan leaders arrived, their faces set with determination. "My friends," Eryndor began, "our army grows strong, but we require more. I have a plan." Their eyes locked onto his. "Each of you will head east, seeking out goblin and beast clans. Recruit or conquer, whichever necessary." Shaman Korga nodded. "The Shadowhand will spread our influence." General Gorthok cracked his knuckles. "The Ironfist will crush those who resist." Archer Vexar smiled. "The Paradya will pick off stragglers." Eryndor's gaze turned to the west. "I'll journey to Kryptoria, disguising myself as an adventurer. I'll gather intel on their military, their weaknesses." Grimp's eyes widened. "Ingenious, my King! Hiding in plain sight." Shaman Korga grinned. "The humans will never suspect a thing." General Gorthok chuckled. "We'll strike when they least expect it." Archer Vexar nodded. "Our King's wisdom is unparalleled." The clan leaders departed, tasked with their missions. Eryndor's thoughts turned to Kryptoria. "Time to play the role of a lifetime." Eryndor focused inward, accessing the system. "System, get me a few things to change my looks. If I am to infiltrate the Kryptoria Kingdom successfully, I need to be under their radar." "Ding! Ordinary traveler's clothes purchased for 50 points. Old, worn sword purchased for 20 points. Leather backpack purchased for 30 points. Hair dye, black, purchased for 10 points." The system confirmed the purchases. Eryndor donned the traveler's attire, buckling the old sword at his side. He slung the leather backpack over his shoulder and applied the hair dye. His long blonde hair now black, Eryndor examined his reflection in a nearby mirror. Unrecognizable. He exited the palace, where Grimp and the clan leaders awaited. Their faces burst into laughter. "By the gods, my King!" Grimp choked, holding his belly. Shaman Korga grinned. "You look like a genuine adventurer." General Gorthok chuckled. "Who'd suspect our mighty King beneath that humble guise?" Archer Vexar clapped Eryndor's back. "May the road rise up to meet you, my King." Eryndor smiled, pleased. "Grimp, oversee the village in my absence. Ensure our plans proceed without hitch." Grimp bowed. "As you command, my King." With a final nod, Eryndor set off toward Kryptoria. The clan leaders watched him disappear into the horizon. "He walks among humans, unseen," Shaman Korga whispered. "A true master of deception," General Gorthok added. Archer Vexar nodded. "Our King's cunning will bring us victory." Eryndor trekked for hours, navigating through the dense forest, passing by ferocious beasts. As sunset loomed, he reached the forest's edge. Time to camp. He kindled a fire, roasting the meat he'd brought from the palace. The savory aroma filled the air. As he ate, movement and voices caught his attention. Ignorable, likely human adventurers. The voices drew closer. Four men, clad in leather armor and wielding swords, emerged from the nearby bushes. Their leader, a burly man, chuckled. "See boys, the gods smile on us – an elf! How much at the auction house?" A companion laughed. "Thirty thousand gold coins, give or take." Eryndor's gaze locked onto the men, his expression neutral. The burly man sneered. "Well, elf, looks like you're worth a fortune." Eryndor's thoughts raced. His disguise had fooled them, but now he faced slavers.
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Chapter 93. We Work Together
The council chamber of New Elyria was alive with voices even before Eryndor entered. Torches burned along the stone walls, shadows dancing across the long table where elves, goblins, centaurs, orcs, harpies, and humans sat side by side. It was a sight no one in the Eastern Continent would have believed, that so many races, once bitter enemies, now sat together under one roof.But unity was fragile, and tonight it trembled.The doors swung open. Eryndor stepped inside, his golden hair catching the torchlight, his silver armor gleaming. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Behind him walked Lucius, ever calm and watchful, and Grimp, the hobgoblin who had been with Eryndor from the very beginning. Isabella, once a princess, now sat at his right hand, her gaze steady.Eryndor sat at the head of the table and folded his hands. “Speak,” he said simply. “What troubles you?”A human councilor, Lord Branwell, rose first. His face was pale, his fingers trembling as he held a parchmen
Chapter 92. The Alliance
The great hall of Valebridge Keep groaned under the weight of voices. Flames burned in golden braziers, casting long shadows across the round table where twelve kings sat in heavy chairs carved with the sigils of their kingdoms. The banners of the Southern Continent—wolves, lions, spears, suns, and towers—hung overhead, but tonight they did not bring pride. Tonight they were reminders of what could be lost.The fall of Draemir had shaken them. The destruction of Kelthorn only days later left no doubt—this was no common war. An evil sorcereress was here in their continent.. and she had brought hell with her.King Harland of Valebridge, the host, rose first. His silver beard spilled over his chest, and his iron crown gleamed. He slammed his hand on the table.“Brothers! We cannot sit idle. The shadow spreads with every sunrise. If we do nothing, our people will be cattle to that witch before the season ends.”Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. But King Rhogar of Stonevale
Chapter 91. Duskmar's First Campaign
The night was darker than a grave. Clouds swallowed the moon, and no stars gave light. The world felt smothered, as though it already belonged to the shadow. Marching feet broke the silence, steady and relentless, like the beating of a single heart. At the front rode General Duskmar, his armor black as coal, his helm carved into the shape of a skull. Behind him stretched thousands of soldiers, once men and women, now bound in chains of shadow, their eyes glowing a sickly white. They did not speak. They did not breathe. They only obeyed.The army stopped when the first torch of Kelthorn flickered in the distance. It was a small farming town surrounded by low stone walls. Chickens clucked in coops, farmers snored in their beds, and lazy guards strolled along the ramparts with half-shut eyes. To them, this was just another peaceful night. To Duskmar, it was the beginning of conquest.He raised his black steel blade, and his voice carried like thunder.“Tonight, this town falls. Half of i
Chapter 90. The Shadow Returns
The great meeting hall of Eryndor’s keep was built of stone and timber, decorated with banners of every tribe, clan, and kin who had sworn loyalty to him. Wolves’ heads, harpy feathers, goblin marks, elven leaves, symbols of unity that once seemed impossible. The torches burned warmly along the walls, but the faces gathered around the table were serious.At the head of the long oak table sat Eryndor, the blonde elf whose calm strength had drawn beasts and men alike under his banner. At his right hand sat Lucius, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, his armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Beside him was Grimp, the hobgoblin who had followed Eryndor since the beginning, his tusked mouth pulled into a permanent scowl that disguised his loyalty.Further down sat Isabella, the former princess of Kryptoria, her beauty regal even in her simple gown, her hand resting lightly on Eryndor’s arm. Across from her, a wide circle of representatives, a centaur chieftain, a wolfkin matriarch, an orc
Chapter 89. Birth Of BlackRaven
The palace of Draemir was no longer a place of light. Once, its marble walls had gleamed in the morning sun, banners of the royal house fluttering proudly above its towers. Now the stone was stained with black veins of crawling shadow, and the banners had been burned to ash. The great hall, where kings once sat, was drowned in darkness that pulsed like a living heart.At the center stood Sorceress Lyra Moonwhisper.Her silver hair shimmered faintly against the gloom, her crimson eyes glowing like embers in a furnace. Around her knelt hundreds of soldiers clad in black, their armor ink-like, their eyes empty hollows. The Shadow Legion. They waited in silence, still as statues.At the front knelt a towering figure—General Duskmar, her chosen blade, his armor marked with runes that devoured light. His voice was deep and steady.“My mistress. The Legion is ready. Say the word, and they will march.”Lyra’s lips curved into a smile. “Good. But ready is not enough. The world must tremble whe
Chapter 88. Fear in Rakeshire
The town of Rakeshire always smelled of bread and river water. Every morning the air was filled with the sound of fishermen calling out, merchants shouting prices in the square, and children running through narrow cobbled streets. To strangers, it seemed like a place far away from war, far away from the darkness spreading across the lands.But for King Eisblish, the quiet streets were a cage.He walked through the marketplace, his cloak drawn low, his silver-gray beard tucked into his collar. Every step reminded him he was no longer a king. He was a man in hiding. At his side strode his son, Prince Arin, tall and sharp-eyed, his hair the same pale gold that marked him as royal.“Father,” Arin muttered, glancing at a group of blacksmiths hammering iron. “Do you see the way they look at us? They know we’re not from here.”Eisblish didn’t raise his eyes. “Keep your voice down, Arin. The less people notice us, the longer we live.”Arin’s jaw tightened. “Living? You call this living? Hidin
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