"Your Majesty, his name is Orion Stoneheart," Elanor began. "Unlike Balor Starveil from the Starveil Giant Clan, he hails from another giant tribe(clan) up north. He's quite adept with the trident. The ones he hurls can easily withstand my bolts, so he's clearly skilled at both ranged and melee combat.
In their duel for the giant throne, he showed off a large-scale spear technique. At first, it wasn't that powerful, but once those spears turned into tridents, their strength skyrocketed. On top of that, he's got a terrifying bloodline ability…"
Meanwhile, in the Northern Coalition's temporary camp, Orion was attending a war council. He, Jorik, Gareth, Ironhoof, Lokiviria, and Bluehide were once again gathered.
"Everyone, in at most three days, we'll reach the Blood Elves' City of Blessings," Jorik said, voice low and charged with excitement. "Our advance party has already clashed with the Blood Elves' scouts. I can smell the final battle coming."
He paused, then continued in a determined tone, "According to our previous plan, we'll begin by encircling the City of Blessings and force the Blood Elves to come out and fight.
However, my ancestor is getting impatient. That means we also need a well-thought-out strategy for breaching the city. Once my ancestor takes down the elven king, we'll need to move on into the central region."
Nobody responded to Jorik. Even Orion stayed silent.
In truth, the Northern Coalition had lost plenty of troops during their southward campaign. Orion, for instance, had lost more than half of his spider forces. Currently, he was down to less than two hundred thousand.
If it weren't for taking Stoneheart City and the support from two vassal races of the Starveil giants—plus reinforcements of Gnolls and Beastmen—Orion wouldn't have enough soldiers left. His situation was tough, but the others were worse off.
Everyone was willing enough to invade Blood Elf territory, because whoever won the final battle would get a slice of that fertile land. But launching a direct assault on the City of Blessings and then pushing ahead to the central region afterward? That sounded like being used for free by White Dragon Frostsire.
White Dragon Frostsire was only their nominal leader. He'd stationed a will projection in the western theater, but he hadn't contributed actual troops.
Everything they'd conquered so far was taken by these six lords pouring in countless cannon fodder and bloodline warriors.
For Jorik to announce Frostsire's impending demands now only drove a deeper wedge within the Coalition. Orion and the others had no desire to be forced further south, especially when it wouldn't benefit them.
Jorik, seated at the head of the table, scanned the room in grim silence. Truth be told, he didn't want to push into the central region either. Among the six, he was actually the weakest; he'd also suffered the most losses. Without Orion and the others to back him up, Jorik wouldn't stand a chance. Yet if the ancestor commanded it, he couldn't refuse. The atmosphere in the tent was stifling.
Orion kept his head down. The final battle hadn't even started, and Jorik was already speaking like this. That move alone was enough to fracture their alliance. The Northern Coalition could very well collapse over this disagreement.
Suddenly, Aldous spoke up in a stern tone, breaking the silence. "Lord Jorik, win or lose, Ogres won't continue toward the central region after we take the City of Blessings."
He shot a hard look around the table. "We're not suited for any long march. My people have traveled all the way south, and we're already exhausted. Once this final confrontation is over, we need time to rest and recover. Our birthrate is low, meaning we can't afford more attrition."
With Aldous's statement, Lokiviria, Gareth, and Ironhoof soon added their refusal to press on to the central region.
Jorik's words could be taken only as a suggestion, not an order.
At that point, a surge of Legendary-level energy flared from Jorik, enveloping the five others inside the tent.
A deep, echoing voice—White Dragon Frostsire's—reverberated throughout the space, carrying the crushing aura of an Arch Lord.
"With me here, the Blood Elves will surely fall! And I can promise that if you're all willing to push into the central region after we defeat the Blood Elves, you won't just get a share of their lands. You'll also be included in the partition of some human territories. Humans have even richer lands, brimming with beasts and resources—more than any Blood Elf realm could offer." Discover exclusive content at
It was a tempting offer, a neat little carrot Frostsire dangled in front of them. Still, none of the lords looked particularly swayed.
Orion, Gareth, Ironhoof, Bluehide, and Lokiviria all knew they lacked the populations and strength to properly manage or defend any bigger slice of territory, especially if they risked overextending themselves far from their homelands. Even if they seized more land, neighboring factions would eventually chip away at it.
Nobody took the bait. The payoff simply wasn't sweet enough.
"I can also promise," White Dragon Frostsire continued, "that when this war is over, each of you will receive a Lord's Stone."
Now that sparked immediate reactions. The sharp, collective intake of breath in the tent said it all. Each lord in the Northern Coalition coveted that precious treasure.
When Faelar of the Blood Elves was killed, a Lord's Stone had dropped, and likewise with the fall of Balor. Orion had claimed both, and although the other five lords said nothing at the time, he knew full well they envied him. Their eyes practically shone with greed, and it was only the looming final battle—and Orion's power—that kept them from ganging up on him.
Ever since Orion took over Stoneheart City, the looks he got from Lokiviria, Jorik, Gareth, and Ironhoof grew sharper.
If they weren't so wary of fighting him while they still needed every ounce of strength to face the Blood Elves, they might've tried to swipe Orion's Lord's Stones already.
After all, a Lord's Stone was one of the most valuable items on the continent. Everyone wanted one.