The silence that followed Thorzen's declaration was heavier than the mountain itself. Inside the war room, the Advanced Planning Table glowed, its shimmering map a stark reminder of the red icons clustered to the northwest. The air hummed with the low-level energy of the Amber Aegis, a comforting presence, but it did little to dispel the tension.
Hector, the Minotaur Sentinel, broke the quiet, his voice a low rumble. "The wall is a strong tooth, Chief. But a wall that does not bite invites wolves to scratch at it. Let us be the bite. Let Bulwark and I meet this Grull in the field. We will break his charge before it begins."
Before Thorzen could respond, a new voice, gruff yet measured, cut through the room. "That would be a waste of good stone and blood."
All eyes turned to Torac. The Orc Sentinel stood with his massive arms crossed, his green skin a stark contrast to the polished marble of the room. His single eye, gleaming with an intelligence forged in two lives, was fixed on the map.
"Grull leads a warband of the Gritch," Torac continued, his voice devoid of the rage he once possessed, now replaced with a strategist's calm. "They are not a disciplined legion, but they are cunning. They will not charge a fortified wall head-on if they can find a weaker point. Or dig. Or starve us out." He pointed a thick finger at the map. "They will probe. They will test. And they will have shamans with them, not just warriors."
Hector snorted, a puff of air from his broad nostrils. "And you suggest we wait behind our walls like frightened kobolds?"
"I suggest we use our walls as the anvil," Torac retorted, his gaze shifting to Thorzen. "But an anvil is useless without a hammer. We should not meet their main force in the open. We should let them commit to the wall, then hit their flanks with our Sentinels and guardians. Crush them against the stone."
Thorzen listened, impressed. The Fortify Seed and his own influence had honed Torac's innate orcish cunning into genuine tactical acumen. "Your counsel is sound, Torac. We fight on our terms." He then posed the question that had been forming in his mind. "You know these clans. Are there others? Factions we could turn? Allies who might see Grull's ambition as a threat?"
A complex emotion flickered in Torac's eye—a ghost of memory, a spark of hope. "The Gritch are not a monolith. They are many clans, united only by strength or fear. Grull's rise has made many enemies. Chieftains who lost warriors to his schemes, shamans who resent Veldrak's... wasteland magic."
He paused, his jaw tightening. "My own brother, Torax... he was with me in the raid on the goblin village. But he was not captured. He is out there. He is a warrior of the Broken Tusk clan. Proud. Stubborn. He never trusted Veldrak's whispers or Grull's hunger for power. If he lives, and if he saw what became of Grull's Maw... he might listen. He would be a powerful ally. A bridge."
The revelation hung in the air. A potential ally within the enemy's ranks. A brother. The narrative seed planted earlier began to sprout.
"He would need a sign," Torac added. "Proof that the Strong Chief is not just another warlord, but a power worth following. A power that offers more than just blood and plunder."
"A power that offers a home," Rosa Lightbringer said softly, her voice a balm to the martial tension. She stood near the head of the table, her presence radiating a calm, fortified light. "The land itself is beginning to heal under the core's influence. The goblin children no longer have night terrors. This is our strongest argument."
Thorzen nodded, his mind weaving their counsel into a coherent strategy. "Then our plan is threefold. First, we finish fortifying. The walls are our anvil. Second, we train and strengthen the Clan Guard—they are the body of the hammer. And third," he looked at Torac, "we seek your brother. We find a way to send a message, to drive a wedge into the Gritch Clans before the hammer falls."
A new quest notification, crisp and clear, appeared before him.
System Quest: A Brother's War.
Objective: Locate Torax of the Broken Tusk clan and secure his allegiance, or neutralise him.
Reward: 8,000 XP, 40 Attribute Points, 150 Skill Points, [Orcish Warband Blueprint].
He accepted without hesitation.
"The farm," Thorzen declared, shifting focus. "It is not just for food. It is a symbol of what we are building. Zek, status."
Zek, his kobold features sharp with fortified intelligence, consulted a slate. "The eastern plot is cleared and tilled, Chief. Flick and her goblins have worked miracles. They have sorted the seeds we foraged. They are ready for planting, but they lack... expertise. They are hunters and gatherers, not farmers."
"Then we will acquire expertise," Thorzen said. "Athena, scan the region for agricultural knowledge. A farmstead, a homestead, anything we can assimilate."
"Scanning... There are faint signatures of abandoned settlements to the south, in the foothills. Low probability of significant knowledge. A higher probability source would be the Solar Imperium's frontier town, Edgewatch. They practice organized agriculture."
"Noted. For now, we work with what we have." Thorzen stood. "The council is adjourned. Zek, with me. We plant the first seeds."
The eastern plot was a swath of dark, rich earth, steaming slightly in the morning sun. The newly built wall loomed to the north, a silent, rune-etched guardian. Flick and a team of goblins waited nervously, clutching baskets of tubers and seed packets.
"Chief Thorzen!" Flick squeaked, bowing her head. "The soil is ready. It... it feels good. Warm."
Thorzen placed a hand on the earth. He could feel it too—a faint thrum of vitality, a trickle of energy from the Dungeon Core encouraging growth. "Then let's begin."
He knelt, taking a handful of the dark soil. It was just dirt, but it represented the future. "Athena, assimilate a one-pound sample. Full analysis."
The soil vanished from his hand.
Assimilation Complete.
Material: Soil (High Quality, Slightly Magically Enriched).
New Blueprint Acquired: [Fertile Soil].
Note: Can be created in bulk to enhance barren land.
A small but significant gain. He could now repair and enrich land, a power with implications far beyond this single farm.
He took a potato-like tuber from Flick's basket. "Now, the seed." He focused, analyzing its structure, its potential.
Analyze!
Sun-Root Tuber.
Properties: Edible, Nutritious. Growth Cycle: 60 days.
Yield: Moderate.
Blueprint Acquired: [Sun-Root Tuber].
"Now, we create." He placed his hand back on the earth. He focused on the blueprint of the Sun-Root, on the concept of growth, of life springing from the soil. He channeled a tiny amount of MP, not to create a single plant, but to enact a ritual of sowing.
"Creation."
A wave of gentle green energy, tinged with the amber of the core, flowed from his hand and spread across the entire five-acre field. The air filled with the scent of damp earth and ozone. Where the energy passed, the soil seemed to shift. In perfect, evenly spaced rows, small, green shoots pushed through the earth, growing to a height of several inches before stopping. The entire field was now planted, perfectly aligned and already sprouting.
Feat of Strength Unlocked: First Large-Scale Cultivation.
Reward: 2,000 XP, [Irrigation Channel Blueprint].
Flick and the other goblins gasped, falling to their knees and touching the fledgling plants with reverent hands. "It's a miracle," Flick whispered.
"It's a beginning," Thorzen corrected, though a smile touched his lips. "Your job, Clan Farmer Flick, is to tend them. Protect them. Learn from them. Zek will provide you with workers to dig irrigation channels from the lake."
As he spoke, a private alert from Athena chimed.
"Ray, the Dungeon Core is reacting to the introduction of organized agriculture. It is a new concept of 'order' and 'sustained growth.' Core progression has increased by 5%."
Dungeon Core Aethelgard Annex - Level 2 Progress: 5%.
Satisfied, Thorzen left the burgeoning farm and headed to the Coliseum within Aethelgard. The 7:1 time dilation was their greatest weapon. While a single day passed outside, his Sentinels could undergo a week of hellish training.
He found them there, in the white-sanded arena. But they weren't fighting simulated monsters. They were sparring against each other.
Zog and his guardian, Vigil, moved as one, a blur of red scales and yellow light, harrying Wan and the immovable Bastion. Guy and Stalker were a dance of shadows and silent strikes against Torac and Juggernaut. In the center of it all, Hector and Bulwark faced Fan and Aegis. The goblin warlock weaved spells of shadow and binding, while Aegis projected shimmering wards that flared under Bulwark's thunderous blows.
It was chaos, but it was a controlled, purposeful chaos. They were learning to fight together, to cover each other's weaknesses. Thorzen watched as Fan, under Hecate's guidance, cast [Bone Shield]. Instead of a haphazard wall of remains, three interlocked, polished shields of bone orbited her, deflecting a shockwave from Hector with precise, efficient movements.
Fan has advanced!
Warlock Level: 12 -> 13
Bone Shield proficiency increased.
"Enough!" Thorzen's voice echoed in the vast arena. The combatants immediately broke apart, turning to face him. "You have honed your individual skills. Now, you will learn a new one: Combined Arms."
He spent the next realm-day (a few hours in the real world) drilling them in complex formations. Hector and Wan forming an unbreakable front line; Zog and Guy exploiting the gaps they created; Torac acting as a mobile reserve of brute force; and Fan providing magical support and control from the rear, her guardians protecting her.
The progress was rapid, fueled by double XP and superhuman attributes. By the end of the session, several notifications chimed.
Zog has reached Level 13!
Wan has reached Level 16!
The Clan's Shield Quest Updated: 25/50 Guardsmen at Level 10.
As the Sentinels rested, Thorzen turned his attention inward. He had 358 Skill Points. The siren call of Assimilation Level 9 was strong, but the cost was prohibitive. He needed more immediate, versatile power. The world was not just physical; it was mystical, political, and divine.
"Athena," he commanded. "Allocate 150 Skill Points. Research a new spell. Something for utility, for control. I need options beyond destruction."
"Researching... Accessing divine knowledge bases and Azeroc's magical lexicon. Proposal: [Telekinetic Grasp]. A force-based spell capable of manipulating objects, disarming foes, or creating mobile barriers. A foundational spell for more advanced telekinetic abilities."
"Approved. Develop it."
A rush of complex arcane formulae flooded his mind—somatic gestures, mental focuses, the feel of weaving invisible forces. It was more intricate than his elemental strikes.
New Spell Learned: Telekinetic Grasp (Level 1).
Effect: Manipulate objects or creatures up to 100 lbs at a range of 30 yards. Cost: 15 MP per second of sustained use.
Skill Points Remaining: 208.
It was a start. A tool for a thousand different tasks, from construction to combat.
His final action in Aethelgard was to visit the Seed Garden. The silver tree was thriving, and the seeds pulsed with life. He approached the Life Seed of the Minotaur, Hector. Next to it, he placed the Knowledge Seed containing the [Administration] skill he had granted Sal. Using his [Soul Forge] ability, he didn't combine them, but he studied their interaction. Could he one day instill non-physical traits into a new Life Seed? Could he create a Sentinel General who was both a mighty warrior and a natural leader?
The possibilities were endless, but the path was complex. It would require more power, more knowledge.
When he returned to the real world, the sun was setting, casting long shadows from the watchtowers. A sense of peace had settled over the fortress, a peace earned by relentless labor and preparation. But it was shattered by a frantic mental shout from Athena.
"Ray! Contact! Northwest watchtower reports movement. A single figure. It's not an orc."
He was in the Viewing Room in an instant. The wall shimmered, showing the perspective from the northern tower. The kobold guard, Zan, was pointing, his voice tinny through the scrying link. "Chief! There! Coming from the trees!"
A figure emerged from the treeline, walking slowly, purposefully, towards the wall. It was not an orc. It was a human, clad in the travel-stained leathers and chainmail of a ranger. He carried a longbow on his back and a sword at his hip. He held his hands away from his body, open and empty.
But it was his companion that made Thorzen's breath catch. Padding silently beside the ranger was a creature of legend—a massive wolf, its fur the colour of freshly fallen snow, its eyes intelligent and glowing with a faint, silver light.
Analyze!
Ranger Kaelen
Level: 18
Disposition: Cautious, Observant.
Intent: Parley.
Winter Wolf (Frostmane)
Level: 20
Disposition: Alert, Protective.
Abilities: Freezing Breath, Cold Immunity, Pack Tactics.
The ranger stopped a hundred yards from the wall, well outside bowshot. He looked up, his eyes seeming to scan the battlements, and though he couldn't possibly see the Viewing Room, his gaze felt like it landed directly on Thorzen.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. His voice, magically amplified, rang out clear and strong in the twilight air.
"Hail the master of this fortress! I am Kaelen, a humble hunter of these woods! I seek parley! I bring word of the movements in the Wildlands... and an offer from those who watch from the shadows of the Sylvan Dominion!"