2025-04-10 04:50:28As the sun began to set on the victorious battle, Eryndor and his goblin entourage made their way back to the village, carrying the lifeless bodies of the orcs. The goblins chattered excitedly among themselves, their eyes gleaming with pride and accomplishment. The spoils of war would provide them with a much-needed feast, and Eryndor knew that this would boost morale and bring the tribe closer together.
Upon arriving at the village, Eryndor gathered the goblins around him. "Today, we proved our strength and resilience," he declared, his voice echoing through the ruined village. "But our work is far from over. We must rebuild and ensure our village is secure and prosperous." Eryndor's gaze fell upon Grimp, the battle-scarred goblin who had fought bravely alongside him. "Grimp, your loyalty and bravery have earned you a place by my side. From this day forward, you will serve as my second-in-command." Grimp's eyes widened in surprise, and he nodded solemnly, accepting the responsibility. Next, Eryndor's attention turned to a stout female goblin with a missing tooth and a scar above her eyebrow. "Gorsha, your culinary skills are renowned among our kin. I appoint you as our village chef. Select a few capable females to aid you in preparing meals for our tribe." Gorsha beamed with pride, her face creasing into a wide smile. "Me, Chef! Me choose best helpers! Make belly-happy food!" Eryndor chuckled, pleased with Gorsha's enthusiasm. He then turned to the burlier goblins, their muscular physiques evident even under their tattered clothing. "You, Krog, Vorg, and Throk, will form our hunting party and village guard. Your strength will protect our kin and provide for our tables." The appointed goblins grinned, flexing their muscles in excitement. With his leadership team in place, Eryndor focused on the daunting task of rebuilding the village. He surveyed the damage, his mind racing with strategies and plans. Many houses were beyond repair, reduced to smoldering ruins or splintered timber. Eryndor summoned the goblins with carpentry skills, tasking them with designing and constructing new homes using the surrounding forest's resources. He assigned others to gather materials, cut trees, and shape wooden beams. As night fell, the village transformed into a hive of activity. Goblins worked tirelessly, their torches casting flickering shadows on the ground. Eryndor moved among them, offering guidance and encouragement. To ensure efficiency, Eryndor divided the village into sections, assigning specific tasks to each group. Some goblins focused on crafting tools, while others worked on rebuilding the communal longhouse. As the days passed, the village began to take shape. New homes rose from the ashes, their wooden frames sturdy and strong. The air filled with the smell of freshly cut wood, smoke, and roasting meat – courtesy of Gorsha's culinary expertise. Eryndor's leadership and vision had ignited a sense of purpose within the goblins. They labored together, united in their determination to rebuild and thrive. One evening, as Eryndor watched the goblins gather around the fire to devour Gorsha's latest culinary masterpiece – roasted orc meat with wild herbs – he felt a deep sense of pride and belonging. The goblins had accepted him as one of their own, and he was determined to protect and guide them toward a brighter future. The village's rebirth was underway, and Eryndor stood at the forefront, ready to face the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead. Eryndor settled into his makeshift throne, crafted from the finest woods of the realm, within the skeletal framework of his future palace. The sound of hammers ringing against metal and the chatter of laborers filled the air as they worked tirelessly to complete his grandeur. With a wave of his hand, he summoned Grimp, his trusted goblin advisor. Grimp scurried into the hall, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he approached Eryndor. "My lord?" he inquired, his voice trembling with reverence. "Ah, Grimp," Eryndor began, "I've been pondering our victory over the orcs. It's time to turn our attention to your kin. Are there other goblin villages aside from the Gobrou clan?" Grimp's expression turned somber, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yes, my lord. There are many goblin clans scattered across the realm. However, most are... aligned with the elven kingdoms." Eryndor's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "Aligned?" "Slaves, my lord," Grimp clarified, his voice laced with bitterness. "The elves use them for menial labor, forcing them to toil in their mines and farms." A slow smile spread across Eryndor's face as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the armrests. "Then it's time we changed that. Grimp, rally the goblin army. We march out to liberate their kin from the elven yoke." Grimp's eyes widened, and for a moment, he forgot himself, letting out a whoop of excitement. He quickly composed himself, bowing deeply. "As you command, my lord. I'll see to it immediately." As Grimp hastened to depart, Eryndor called out, "Grimp?" "My lord?" "Tell the goblins... we fight not just for freedom, but for our right to determine our own destiny." Grimp's face lit up with understanding, and with a determined nod, he vanished into the bustling corridors. With Grimp attending to his task, Eryndor focused on the next phase of his plan. He closed his eyes, and a holographic interface materialized before him – the System. "System," Eryndor said, his voice low and deliberate, "I've acquired ten thousand Chaos Points from our victory over the orcs. I wish to utilize them to acquire better armor and weapons for the goblin army." "Ding! Chaos Points Balance: 30,000 Goblin Army Equipment Upgrade Available Options Leather Armor Set. Basic: 100 Chaos Points CP each Chainmail Armor Set. Intermediate: 150 CP each Steel Plate Armor Set. Advanced: 300 CP each Short Swords. Basic: 200 CP each Long Swords. Intermediate: 400 CP each Battle-axes. Advanced: 800 CP each Please select the equipment and quantity to purchase." Eryndor's eyes scanned the options, calculating the best distribution of resources. He decided to prioritize a balance between offense and defense. "System, I'll purchase... 500 Chainmail Armor Sets, 1,000 Long Swords, and 500 Battle-axes." "Ding! Purchase Confirmed Chaos Points Balance: 2,300 Equipment Distribution: 500 Chainmail Armor Sets allocated to the goblin army 1,000 Long Swords allocated to the goblin army 500 Battle-axes allocated to the goblin army." With the goblin army's equipment upgraded, Eryndor felt a surge of confidence. His vision of a unified realm, free from oppression, was taking shape. The elves, with their slaves and pretentious grandeur, would soon face the wrath of the liberated goblins and their human champion. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the construction site in a warm orange glow, Eryndor leaned back in his throne, a determined smile etched on his face. The march to freedom would begin soon.
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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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