The Ferun Continent.
Northern Region.
Fury Peak, a major gathering place for orcs in the Ferun Continent.
Surrounding a massive mountain nearly five thousand meters high, there was an endless dense forest, winding rivers, rolling hills, and countless orc tribes.
In the Ferun Continent, savage orcs were synonymous with bandits.
They did not engage in production, roaming the land with their fierce and terrible ways of plundering, like a group of lawless robbers, seizing the wealth and territories of other civilized races.
Pillaging others to strengthen themselves was the main way of orc development.
Since every orc was a born warrior and the tribe had shamans, wizards, wolf riders, and other powerful professions, many races suffered terribly from orc raids but lacked the strength to contend with them. Therefore, under compulsion, they abandoned their lands and homes, fleeing far away under the threat of the orcs.
However, this situation was about to come to an end.
Because the orcs had provoked an enemy far more terrifying than themselves.
Amidst the intense fluctuations in space, gigantic magical flying wheels carrying hundreds of silent figures emerged from the spatial portals.
Humming sounds filled the air! Around Fury Peak, numerous portals opened continuously, and heavily armored, burly human warriors emerged in droves, attacking the orc tribes from all sides.
The heavy, powerful footsteps made the ground tremble violently.
"Eradicate these dirty and cruel beasts, leave none alive!"
On one of the magical flying wheels, the army's leader, the Great Archmage Iolum, emanated a brilliant elemental aura, issuing commands with a stern voice.
At his command, thousands of arcanists began casting spells.
They showed no mercy, expressionlessly unleashing one powerful arcanum after another on the orcs below.
Boom! Fire, lightning, hurricanes, frost... various elemental arcanums devastated swathes of the forest.
The orcs living there were buried along with the forest in the deadly brilliance of the spells.
Fury Peak was an orc stronghold.
However, it was actually the orcs' rear area, with their strongest and most elite forces not stationed there. Additionally, as the first appearance of teleportation magic, the orcs were caught off guard by the human army's surprise attack, resulting in heavy casualties.
One by one, the orcs either turned to ash and dust under the fierce spells or had their heads chopped off by the warriors' sharp swords.
The orcs' counterattack was insignificant.
As time passed, the orcs began to show signs of despair.
Amidst the blazing fires and encirclement of human warriors, some orcs knelt down, entrusting their hopes for survival to their faith.
"Great Orc God, your followers are being sneakily attacked by despicable humans."
"Blood and fire cover the land."
"Your loyal followers pray to you, beseech your mighty divine power to grant your followers the strength to annihilate these contemptible humans!"
The orcs' prayers echoed above Fury Peak in their language.
Most arcanists in the sky understood Orcish. Hearing the orcs' final prayers, they remained indifferent, with not a trace of wavering, casting spells even faster and more fiercely.
However, just a few breaths later, Iolum's expression suddenly changed.
He looked up solemnly at a certain point in the sky.
"Could the Orc God really respond to these creatures' prayers?"
Gods generally do not interfere in the struggles of the material world.
The Great Archmage, over 150 years old, did not believe in gods. He thought gods were just beings with more powerful abilities. However, not believing in gods did not stop Iolum from deeply fearing their power.
Magic surged and gathered on his staff.
The arcanists on the flying platforms moved in unison.
They prepared their best spells, ready to face even an avatar of a god.
Meanwhile.
Amidst the intense spatial fluctuations, a huge figure materialized from an ethereal state to a solid form amidst the frenzied cheers of the orcs and the tense watchfulness of the arcanists.
"Hold your fire."
Staring at the colossal being in the sky, Iolum was slightly startled and restrained his arcanists.
The being that had suddenly appeared above the battlefield had no connection with the orcs.
It was a dragon.
A super-giant dragon, forty-seven meters long with a wingspan of nearly sixty meters.
Its shining silver scales, four twisting and imposing horns, robust limbs, and several rings of peculiar black scales around its body – the silver dragon descended into this world. It did not actively release its draconic aura.
Yet, its body, much larger than the arcanists' magical platforms below, naturally exuded a powerful and oppressive force.
Not knowing which side the silver dragon was on, the chaotic battlefield fell into a brief calm due to its arrival.
"Hmm, where is this?"
"The elemental energy here seems a bit off."
Garon spread his wings, blocking the sunlight and casting a shadow on the ground.
He had teleported to this new timeline using the Imaskar Ring of Magic as an anchor and immediately sensed something unusual about the elemental energy in the air. Here, the elemental energies were orderly intertwined, like an omnipresent magical network.
With a thought, Garon could easily manipulate magical elements through this network.
"This must be the Weave, right?"
"A magical web that makes casting spells simpler and more convenient."
Garon realized, thinking to himself.
He had read about the Ferun Continent in 'The Adventurous Paladin,' which mentioned the Weave.
The Weave was under the domain of a powerful deity, the Goddess of Magic.
Here, the elemental energy in the air was not chaotic like on the Noah Continent, where casters had to spend a lot of mental effort to organize the energies to construct spells. With the existence of the Weave, the threshold for becoming a caster was significantly lowered.
"Are these humans below from the Ancient Imaskar Empire?"
Garon's gaze swept over the human mages and warriors below.
Just a glance, and he shook his head, dismissing his initial thought.
He saw no mechanical creations.
There was no presence of artificers here.
"The teleportation must have been slightly off. This should be the Ferun Continent, but maybe not within the territory of the Ancient Imaskar Empire."
Garon pondered his situation.
Like planar teleportation, his time-space teleportation also had a margin of error, but with the Imaskar Ring of Magic as an anchor, this error was not significant.
"I need more information about the Ferun Continent."
Garon thought to himself.
He knew about this material world, but his understanding of it was far from sufficient.
Meanwhile.
The strongest among the human and orc spellcasters, the legendary caster, looked up at Garon and asked in Draconic, "Great true dragon, may I ask your purpose for coming here?"
At this moment, Iolum sensed unfathomable power in the silver dragon in his vision.
If he was here to aid the orcs, it would definitely not be good news for the human army here.
Around Fury Peak, the human warriors continued to wield their sharp weapons, engaging in a life-and-death struggle with the orcs. The arcanists in the sky, wary of Garon's arrival, focused their attention on him, temporarily ceasing their assault on
the aftermath of the devastating magic unleashed by Ioelum, the once-mighty Fury Peak now lay shattered, a testament to the power of the Great Arcanist. The surviving orcs, desperate and outnumbered, fall one after another to the blades of the human warriors. The battlefield, once a place of chaos and struggle, transforms into a silent graveyard, the cries of the fallen echoing in the wind.
Garon, observing from above, remains unmoved by the carnage below. His presence, a mysterious anomaly to both humans and orcs, has not gone unnoticed. As the dust settles, Ioelum, now standing before the immense dragon, repeats his question with a tone of respect and curiosity, "Great Dragon, from whence do you hail?"
Garon, opening his luminous dragon eyes, replies in a deep, resonant voice that ripples through the air, "I am from a place far beyond your understanding, a realm where time and space weave a different tale. I am here seeking knowledge and artifacts of power, but fear not, for your battle is not my concern."
Ioelum, absorbing Garon's words, feels both relief and intrigue. "A traveler of realms, then. Your presence here is an honor. If you seek knowledge, perhaps we can be of assistance to each other."
Garon's interest is piqued. The Ferun Continent is rich in magic and lore, and this Great Arcanist could indeed prove a valuable source of information. "What assistance can you offer, Arcanist Ioelum?"
Ioelum, aware of the opportunity before him, proposes, "The annals of our history and the depths of our arcane knowledge are at your disposal. In exchange, might we gain insights into the magic and mysteries of your world?"
Garon considers this offer. Knowledge is a currency he values greatly, and the exchange proposed by Ioelum could prove beneficial. "An equitable exchange, Ioelum. I accept."
As the pact is made, a new alliance forms between the Great Dragon Garon and the human Arcanists of Ferun, one founded on mutual respect and the unquenchable thirst for knowledge.
In the background, the orc survivors and the human warriors watch in awe and uncertainty. The appearance of Garon, a being of such power and mystery, foretells a new chapter in the history of Ferun, one filled with possibilities and unknown futures.
With this new alliance, Garon's journey through the annals of Ferun begins, a quest for knowledge and power that will take him to the very heart of the continent's magic and history. Meanwhile, Ioelum and his Arcanists prepare to delve into the mysteries of Garon's world, anticipating the untold magic and wisdom they might uncover.
As the dragon and the Arcanist converse, the sun sets on the Fury Peak, its rays glinting off Garon's silver scales, casting long shadows across the land. A new era dawns in Ferun, marked by the meeting of two great minds from different realms, each eager to explore the vast and unknown realms of magic and power.
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