On the Southern Borders
A vast horde of orcs dismantled their camps under the glaring sun, their numbers stretching far beyond what any human army could muster. At the forefront stood a towering figure—Grommash, a colossal orc standing three meters tall, loomed over the gathered warriors with a fierce intensity. His piercing yellow eyes scanned the crowd, while his broad shoulders and slightly hunched stance exuded raw power. The deep lines of his weathered face bore an expression of hardened resolve, his lips curling into a slight sneer as if daring anyone to question his authority. His presence was as imposing as the scars that riddled his green, battle-hardened flesh, each a testament to countless wars and victories. Adorning his body were intricate tattoos, dark and pulsating with otherworldly energy. These were no ordinary markings; they were arcane imprints etched by their Tier 4 shamans, enhancing his life force and amplifying his already prodigious strength. For most, these tattoos were limited by physical endurance, but as a tier 5 Mystic Warrior, Grommash bore them with ease, embodying the pinnacle of orcish power.
With a snort that betrayed impatience, Grommash turned to his adviser, a wiry troll warrior who stood respectfully by his side, his lean frame draped in animal pelts and adorned with bone charms that clicked softly with every movement. His sharp tusks protruded just slightly over his lower lip, and his bright, calculating eyes darted nervously under Grommash's intense gaze. "Are the beasts ready?" he growled, his voice resonant and guttural.
"The beastmasters are rounding up the wargs, Warchief!" the troll responded promptly, bowing his head.
Satisfied, Grommash hefted his massive greataxe and strode to a raised wooden platform. From his belt, he drew a war horn carved from the tusk of a slain beast. Taking a deep breath, he blew into it with all his might.
WOOOOOOOOOOOO!
WOOOOOOOOOOOO!
WOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The haunting sound reverberated through the air, a rallying cry that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest warriors. The horde's march had begun. This was no mindless assault, as humans often assumed. It was a calculated invasion born of necessity. The orcs' homeland, the arid deserts of Saharan in southern Tellus, was barren and unyielding. With resources scarce, survival demanded aggression. The fertile lands of the Kingdom of Almira to the west, rich in meat, vegetation, and water, were their only hope.
As the horde began to move, goblins and trolls took their positions. Goblins, small and cunning, scurried alongside monstrous trolls, directing the behemoths as they pulled siege engines and supplies. The orcs marched in steady formation, their weapons—brutal axes and swords—gleaming in the sunlight. Though many were not seasoned warriors, even the weakest orc possessed the raw strength of a human tier 1 Fighter. The ground trembled beneath their feet, a harbinger of the bloodshed to come.
From his vantage point, Grommash surveyed the 50,000-strong army with grim determination. This campaign was more than a battle for resources; it was a fight for survival. The conquest of Almira would be a long and brutal endeavor, spanning years and claiming countless lives. Betrayals and tragedies would unfold, not only on the battlefield but in the hearts of those who fought.
Kane's Manor
The library of Kane's Manor was a haven of quiet contemplation, the scent of aged parchment mingling with the warmth of sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with tomes of varying sizes and colors, their spines glinting faintly in the sunlight. A grand, ornately carved reading table stood in the center, surrounded by plush armchairs upholstered in deep burgundy. Nearby, a crackling fireplace added a gentle hum to the otherwise silent room, completing the ambiance of intellectual serenity. Eleanor sat at a polished oak table, her serene expression belying the intensity of the task at hand. Beside her sat Aldrich, a one-year-old with an extraordinary focus for his age. His tiny fingers traced the letters on a page as his mother guided him through a beginner's primer.
"See this, Aldrich? It's the letter 'A.' Can you say it?" Eleanor's voice was soft and encouraging.
"A," Aldrich repeated, his pronunciation clear despite the slight lisp of his youth. He looked up at his mother with bright, eager eyes, seeking approval.
"Very good!" Eleanor praised, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Now, let's move on to the next one."
Their peaceful lesson was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Standing there was Bea, Aldrich's maid, holding the hand of a bashful one-year-old girl. The child's golden curls framed a face that was strikingly delicate, a stark contrast to her mother's sturdy demeanor. Peering shyly from behind Bea's skirt, the little girl's wide, curious eyes darted between Eleanor and Aldrich.
"Master Aldrich, this is my daughter, Anna," Bea said with a warm smile. She knelt and gently urged the child forward. "Say hello, my dear."
Anna timidly waved her tiny hand but quickly retreated behind her mother, earning a chuckle from Eleanor. Crouching to Anna's level, Eleanor spoke gently. "Little Anna, don't be shy. Look, here is my son Aldrich. He's the same age as you."
Encouraged by her mother's coaxing, Anna peeked out again, her gaze meeting Aldrich's cheerful smile. Seizing the moment, Aldrich stepped forward and extended his hand. "Come on, Anna! Let's go read together!"
Bea laughed softly. "Young Master Aldrich, my daughter can't even speak properly yet."
Unfazed, Aldrich grinned. "Then we'll play instead! Let's go, Anna!"
Hesitant at first, Anna allowed herself to be led away. Aldrich guided her to a cushioned corner of the library, his sanctuary of books and knowledge. Settling her onto a soft seat, he retrieved a beginner's alphabet book and opened it with enthusiasm. "Let's start here!"
Anna tilted her head, her small face scrunching in confusion. She attempted to mimic his words but could only manage a garbled, "Ah eh."
Aldrich laughed, undeterred. "Don't worry, I'll teach you!"
Their afternoons together became a cherished routine. Eleanor often joined them, her presence adding warmth to their shared learning sessions. Seated beside Aldrich, she would guide him through books filled with stories and lessons, her patient demeanor encouraging both her son and the bashful Anna. Together, they explored the world of words, their bond deepening with each page turned.
Time passed as Aldrich immersed himself in teaching, occasionally glancing at Anna, who struggled to keep up. Eventually, her small head drooped, and soft snores escaped her lips. Realizing his mistake, Aldrich sheepishly shook her awake. "Anna, wake up! I'm sorry, I forgot how tiring this must be for you."
Groggily, Anna nodded, and Aldrich escorted her back to Bea. Watching the little girl sleep peacefully in her mother's arms, Aldrich felt a spark of determination. "This is just the beginning," he thought, already planning their next lesson.
A month later, Aldrich had fully mastered the local language. Grinning with satisfaction, he summoned his Status Panel:
[CHAIN QUEST: 1/4]
HUMAN LANGUAGE: 1 SKILL POINT, 100 EXPERIENCE POINTS (CLAIMABLE)
"Claim," he muttered, feeling a rush of satisfaction as his progress was rewarded.
But his journey was far from over. The next challenge lay in deciphering the Dwarven language, a script far more complex than the human alphabet. As he sat surrounded by thick tomes, Anna played quietly beside him, now comfortable in his company. Despite his occasional outbursts of frustration, the little girl remained his steadfast companion.
He looked over his stats and was glad that his intelligence was much higher than the average man. Studying the experience needed to level up, he muttered, "It's only 200 experience points. Let's try leveling up."
He poured 200 experience points into his blacksmith class and then—
LEVEL UP!
Pain surged through him, radiating from his brain to his bones and muscles.
'ARGH!' he mentally cried out, collapsing to his knees. 'I never knew leveling up could be this painful.'
After a few moments, the agony subsided, and he stood, his body trembling.
'Status Panel!'
[Status Panel]
Age: 1 / 75 years
Class: Apprentice Forgemaster Level: (0/400)
Health: 8.3 / 8.3
Mana: 16.1 / 16.1
Strength: 0.83
Agility: 0.63
Intelligence: 1.61
Vitality: 0.83
Skill Points: 3
Unused Attribute Points: 0.75
Experience Points: 900
'Let's distribute all of it equally to Strength, Agility, and Vitality to achieve the average stats of an ordinary man.'
The pain returned, but it was milder this time. It seemed that the stronger he grew, the less intense the process became.
[Status Panel]
Age: 1 / 75 years
Class: Blacksmith Level 2: (0/400)
Health: 10 / 10
Mana: 16.1 / 16.1
Strength: 1
Agility: 1
Intelligence: 1.61
Vitality: 1
Skill Points: 3
Unused Attribute Points: 0.04
Experience Points: 900
'Much better. Maybe I can now do all the training that my father taught me.' He clenched his fists, feeling the newfound strength coursing through his body, a strength reminiscent of his previous life. Determination filled his gaze as he prepared for the challenges ahead.
Feeling the newfound strength coursing through his body, Aldrich hurried to his room, his small frame moving with an uncharacteristic urgency. Annie, who had been reading nearby, watched him dash out of the library with a raised eyebrow. What's gotten into him? she wondered, puzzled, before shaking her head and heading off to find her mother.
Aldrich arrived in his modest room, his breath coming in short, excited bursts. Dropping to his knees, he peered under the bed where the wooden greatsword lay forgotten. Dust clung to its surface like a shroud of time, a testament to its recent neglect. He reached out, his small hands wrapping tightly around the hilt, and pulled it free with a determined tug.
It's much lighter than I remember, he thought, gripping it with both hands.
A wave of nostalgia crashed over him, pulling him back to that moment—his first attempt to lift the blade. His arms had trembled under the weight, and his pride had been bruised by his failure. Now, holding it with ease, he felt a rush of exhilaration mixed with a strange, quiet sorrow.
I've come so far already... but that was just the beginning of my journey. His grin widened, and a fierce determination sparked in his chest. This time, I'll wield it like a warrior.
A grin stretched across his face, brighter now. Finally, I can begin training my body properly.
He looked down at himself, examining his small yet rapidly growing frame. Standing nearly three and a half feet tall, he towered over what anyone would expect from a one-year-old.
Raising my stats must be affecting my growth, he mused, a cocktail of curiosity and unease swirling in his mind. It's an advantage for training and combat... but what if it doesn't stop? What if I become some kind of giant, out of place among normal people? He sighed, shaking his head sharply.
No. Focus. This is power. And power is what I need to survive. The thought settled heavily in his chest, drawing a reluctant sigh from his lips. But he forced it aside and turned his mind toward the task ahead.
He assumed a firm stance, recalling his father's training demonstrations with vivid clarity. Holding the greatsword aloft, he shouted, "First stance!"
The wooden blade, nearly a kilogram in weight, angled backward above his head, poised to strike.
"Strike!" With a powerful swing, he brought the sword down in a smooth, half-moon arc. The air split with a faint whoosh, the sound echoing softly through his small room.
"Second stance!" Aldrich shifted his posture, angling the sword downward as though preparing for a deceptive thrust.
"Strike!" The tip lunged forward, slicing through the air with precision.
With each stance, his movements became crisper, more exact.
"Third stance!" The hilt braced against his hip, the sword's point jutted forward in a tight, defensive posture.
"Strike!" He lunged, envisioning an enemy's blade being parried and countered.
"Fourth stance!" The sword now extended outward in a fierce, aggressive pose.
"Strike!" A quick, sharp thrust emphasized his call.
"Fifth stance!" Lowering the tip to the ground, Aldrich imagined a sweeping blow cleaving through a horde of enemies.
"Strike!" The sword swept in a wide arc, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Finally, he took a breath and called out, "Sixth stance!" The sword rested behind him, angled as if shielding against unseen attacks.
"Guard!" The stance transitioned seamlessly back to the first, completing the cycle.
Minutes slipped into an hour. Aldrich's body trembled from exertion, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his clothes. He leaned on the sword, gasping, his chest rising and falling like a bellows. His muscles ached, but exhilaration lit up his eyes like fire.
Father and his soldiers can train like this for hours, he thought in awe, his voice inside trembling with resolve. Their weapons are heavier, too. One day, I'll reach their level.
A thought crept into his mind—should he use his strength to level up again? But he shook his head, jaw tightening.
"No," he muttered aloud. "I'll wait. The books said twelve years is the age to peak average stats. I need to master my current abilities first."