2025-04-10 04:27:58Eryndor knew that sparing Lyrien will bring him more troubles in future, but he could not bring himself to kill a family member of the former Eryndor.
"Well, if he comes looking for trouble again, I won't mind sending him on his way to goddess Gaia." Eryndor muttered. He recalled the system. Now he has a system, his life in this new world will be smooth sailing. "Hey, Two-face, mind showing me my stats?" "Ding! As Host wishes." "Ding! STAT (System for Transfer and Analysis of Tactical data): Host: Eryndor Thorne Race: Half-Elf Age: 250 Status: Healthy Attributes: Strength: 30 Intelligence: 55 Agility: 40 Vitality: 50 Endurance: 35 Charisma: 60 Combat stats: Attack power: 60 Defense: 85 Health points: 100% Mana points: Infinite Accuracy: 50% Evasion: 50% Performance metrics: Goody or Chaos points: 100 Level: 1 Skills: None Gold or currency: 0 Kills: 0 kills Win-loss record: 0 Goal: None set System suggests that Host creates a goal so as to activate the system missions." "A goal huh? Wait, why is my Mana point infinite?" Eryndor asked the system. "Ding! The former Eryndor was born with an infinite Mana pool, but he had no aptitude for magic, thus he could not channel his Mana to perform any magic, not even the simple ones." The system response shocked Eryndor. Perhaps this was why the Eryndor was hated. "Hold on, does that mean I'll suffer the same fate?" Eryndor asked wide eyed. "Ding! No. With enough points, Host can learn any skill he wishes." Eryndor's brain began working on a plan. "What skill can I learn with a hundred points." Eryndor asked. "Ding! Here are skills host can learn with his meagre amount of points. FYI, host really needs to amass more points. Advanced Archery: 100 points Advanced Sword art: 100 points" Eryndor looked around. Sure Archery is good, but when it becomes useless in a melee combat. The sword art is better. "I choose the advance sword art." "Ding! One hundred points has been deducted from Host's point pool." Eryndor then felt a slight pain in his head, it felt as if small needles were pricking his brain. "Ding! Advanced Sword Art learned." "Ding! Host has leveled up." Eryndor then picked up a sword which one of the elves had left behind. It didn't feel strange to him. "Time to move." Eryndor walked deeper into the forest, lost in thought. He wondered why Lyrien and Grand Elder Thorne hated the old Eryndor so much. Sure the guy could not use magic, but he was still royalty. "What did he do to make them want him dead?" As he walked, the trees grew twisted and the bushes thicker. Eryndor felt a change in the air but didn't notice. Suddenly, three ugly orcs appeared. Their scarred faces twisted into angry snarls. Eryndor inspected them using the system and could not believe it.. they were all level 5. "Elven trash!" one orc shouted. Eryndor drew his sword, ready to fight. Behind the orcs, a goblin hung tied to a tree. Its eyes begged for help. The orcs charged, swinging their crude blades. Eryndor dodged the first orc's swing and countered with a quick slash. The orc stumbled, clutching its wounded arm. The second orc lunged, blade aimed at Eryndor's chest. Eryndor blocked, their blades clashing in sparks. The third orc swung from the side, forcing Eryndor to spin. Their blades clashed, Eryndor's training saving him from deadly blows. But the orcs' brute strength wore him down. A crushing blow sent Eryndor crashing to the ground. The orcs closed in, blades raised. Eryndor rolled, avoiding fatal strikes. He scrambled up, gasping. The orcs pressed their attack. Eryndor's sword arm trembled. Was he going to die here? No, no way, he will get his happy ending, and no one will take that away from him anymore. Adrenaline began surging. With renewed strength, Eryndor struck. A swift kick sent one orc stumbling. A precise slash felled another. The last orc stood, enraged. Their blades clashed. Eryndor's vision blurred. The orc's blade sliced toward his neck... Eryndor dodged. The orc stumbled. Eryndor seized the moment. A decisive blow ended the battle. Eryndor stood panting. "Ding! Congratulations to Host on defeating three high leveled orcs. Host has been awarded 300 chaos points." "Ding! Host has leveled up thrice. Host is now level 4" The goblin watched, wide-eyed. "Thank you," it stammered. Eryndor approached, sword still trembling. "Who did this to you?" he asked. The goblin's gaze flicked toward the orcs. "Razgut's clan... they raid our village... take slaves." "Ding! Does Host wish to make the goblin his subordinate?" The system asked. "Wait what!? I can do that!?" Eryndor blurted out in surprise. The goblin looked at Eryndor in a weird way. "Ding! Yes but the other party has be willing. To avoid unnecessary attention, Host is advised to communicate with the system through telepathy." "Fine." Eryndor replied. He then turned to the goblin. "I'll help you. But first, will you become my subordinate?" Eryndor asked the goblin. The goblin's eyes lit up. "Yes. I'm Grimp. Thank you." "Ding! Subordinates: Name: Grimp. Level: 2. Skill: beginner class archery." Eryndor smiled. "I'm Eryndor." Grimp's gaze fell on Eryndor's sword. "You're strong." Eryndor sheathed his sword. An idea began to form in his mind. He turned to the goblin. "Are there any other goblin clans nearby?" Eryndor asked Grimp. "Yes. Me go ask help from Gobrou clan, but orcs stop me" the goblin replied with a crestfallen expression. Eryndor was thinking. If Grimp was caught here, that meant one thing.. these orcs here were scouts sent to find out about the next clan. This was good. If Grimp hadn't been caught, the orcs won't need a reason to stop, and may have gone ahead to the village and cause chaos. But now the orcs are dead, he could go over there and acquire more subordinates. "Ding! Host can simply defeat the goblin clan leader and take over the clan. Goblins and orcs respects the strong. If the clan leader is to fall by Host's blade, then Host can easily be made the new goblin chief." Eryndor liked that idea. But why stop at one goblin clans, when he could take over the orcs and perhaps the entire forest. Lyrien called him an insignificant half-breed, well, he will show him who truly is insignificant. "System, use the three points and give me skills suitable for me right now." "Ding! Three hundred points has been deducted from Host's point pool." "Ding! Host has learned the skill, Flaming sword." "Ding! Host has learned the art of self regeneration." Eryndor smiled. "We'll get you home, Grimp. Now, lead the way to the Gobrou clan.”
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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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