Orion had just ascended to the rank of Archlord; avatar-related skills and techniques were exactly what he needed. And now, Caesar had handed one to him on a silver platter. The scroll was only of the Hero-tier, true, and its limitations were significant. But for Orion, at this moment, none of that mattered.
Without hesitation, he opened his own vast inventory and began to transfer the items Caesar had requested. As for the adult mounts, he sent over five thousand cave spiders, all neatly packed into a shimmering Containment Sphere he had acquired from Leonidas.
Hulk: Next time you have need, come to me directly. Do not be a stranger.
Orion suspected Caesar had been hesitant to bother him, and wanted to put that notion to rest.
Julius Caesar: Boss, I am truly grateful. If there is ever anything you need done, anything at all that you cannot attend to yourself, I swear I will see it handled.
Orion smiled and closed the channel, saying no more on the matter. In Caesar’s eyes, Orion had done him a massive favor, and he had gotten the better end of the deal. But in Orion’s view, that rare avatar skill was worth more than the entire shipment of goods. Then again, the value of any object was a matter of perspective. A trade that served a purpose in the present was always a good trade.
Hulk: One more thing. A gift. You might have a use for this.
Orion retrieved another item from his collection: a glass jar containing a single, disembodied eye. It was the third eye of an Alpha-level Silver-Eyed person. In the escalating skirmishes with the Silvermoon Empire, a number of such grim trophies had fallen into the hands of the allied forces. Caesar had lost an eye; perhaps this could serve as a replacement.
Unknown Realm, Sacred Sword City.
In the private meditation chamber of his palace, Julius Caesar opened his eyes. He stared at the large supply satchel and the glass jar in his hands, his mind reeling. For months, he had done nothing but train and haunt the Survivor’s Platform, trying to scrape together what he needed to secure his new city. And with a few words, Orion had provided it all.
He knew the value of what he had given in return. The Ice Phoenix Palace was useless to him, and he would never have used the avatar scroll.
As the Sword King, a man who prided himself on walking a righteous path, the dark and insidious nature of the Devouring Avatar skill was anathema to his very being. But this eye... this was a finished object, not a corrupting rite. The moral burden was far less.
He has helped me so much, Caesar thought, a wave of frustrated gratitude washing over him. I don’t know how I can ever repay the debt. He shook his head. I must grow stronger. Then, perhaps, I will be of use to him.
Caesar carefully stored his new acquisitions, his resolve hardening. With these arms and armor, he was confident he could repel any foe and hold his city fast.
Meanwhile, Orion finished his business with Caesar and opened a channel to Scarecrow. It was the off-season in Scarecrow’s world, a time of rest. As was their custom, they first completed a large trade of grain.
Just as Orion was about to sign off, Scarecrow initiated a new trade, gifting him a batch of magical grain and a significant number of small, golden scarecrows.
These were not the same as his friend.
[The Cursed Scarecrow]
Type: Death-Ward Artifact
Quality: Hero
Inherent Skill: This Cursed Scarecrow is an outcast from the Scarecrow race. When carried, it will absorb a single fatal blow meant for the wearer.
Evaluation: This is only a Hero-level artifact. Do not assume it can substitute for any death.
Orion held one of the small effigies, examining it closely. After a moment, he shook his head in slight disappointment. Against the transcendent power of an Archlord, this curse would offer no protection. It was only useful for those below the Legendary tier.
And yet... for his Alpha-level warriors, for the pillars of his tribes, this was an exceptionally valuable trump card. While he personally had no use for it, for his faction, it was a treasure. And judging by the quantity Scarecrow had sent, it was mass-producible.
Even with his limited social graces, Orion understood. Such a gift was not given without reason.
Hulk: This is a precious gift. I will not be polite; I accept it. We have known each other for some time now. Is there something I can help you with?
He put the question to his friend directly, ceding the initiative.
Unknown Realm, a World of Endless Snow.
In a house built entirely of straw, a lone figure stood at a window, gazing out at the sweeping white drifts. Scarecrow had been waiting for Orion to ask, but now that he had, the words caught in his throat.
The Cursed Scarecrows... they were artifacts he created from the enslaved members of his own race.
In his world, to be a low-tier scarecrow was to live a life of misery, with the constant threat of being burned for fuel or bound into a fetish. He desperately wanted to ascend to a higher rank, to escape that fate. To that end, he had spent his life forging friendships, showing kindness, hoping his good relationships would one day grant him the opportunity he needed.
He had now reached the peak of the Alpha-rank. If he could just become a Lord, some of the restrictions on his existence would be lifted. He needed a Lord’s Stone.
But in his circle of acquaintances, the stones were treasures of unimaginable rarity, almost never traded or sold. The reality was cruel. Orion himself possessed many Lord’s Stones, but he had never considered selling them, not even after his own ascension. For Scarecrow to find one on the open market was a near impossibility.
After a long pause, a message appeared.
Scarecrow: You can call me Hayden. Scarecrow is just a trade name.
He had decided on the truth.
Hayden: I need to acquire a Lord’s Stone. I will pay any price you ask, if it is within my power.
His words were direct and sincere. He knew this wasn’t a negotiation. It was a plea, both blunt and deferential. Only now, when he needed one so desperately, did he truly understand how precious a Lord’s Stone was.
Stoneheart City, upon the Throne.
"Hayden," Orion murmured, slightly surprised that his reclusive friend had offered his true name. He could feel the sincerity in the message, the raw desperation for the Lord’s Stone. He knew the truth of it. For those without a powerful patron, a Lord’s Stone was more than just a barrier. It was a chasm, wide as the sky.