Chapter 13: The Emperor's Command

“All right, the orcs have all been dealt with.”

Elian gazed out over the wasteland before Rolling Stone Village, a scene of utter devastation littered with the bodies of orcs.

At this level of battle, he didn’t even need to intervene personally.

He turned back to the villagers of Rolling Stone Village.

—These survivors, still trembling in fear, had yet to recover from the terror.

“We are grateful to you, honored mages!”

“You saved our village.”

Following the village chief, who bowed his head and kissed the ground before the mages, the other villagers one by one prostrated themselves.

Gret followed suit.

This twelve-year-old boy pressed his forehead to the earth, his body still trembling. The snarling orcs charging down the hillside moments ago lingered vividly in his mind.

Previously, the enemies they faced were mostly weak goblins and kobolds. Orcs had been rare, only a few at a time.

This time, the number of orcs raiding the village far exceeded all those Gret had ever seen combined!

If the mages hadn’t saved the village, Rolling Stone Village would no longer exist.

“As you saw just now, orcs are strong and wield weapons. They are bloodthirsty and immensely powerful—a race born for battle. Had we not used magic to kill the invading orcs, this place would be in ruins.”

Elian paused, then said, “So, do you know what must be done from now on?”

“I understand, great mage!”

The village chief, still prostrate, forced himself to lift his head, tears glistening in his eyes:

“We will remember the kindness of the mages and henceforth obey your commands without question. Our lives were given by you, great mages!”

“No!”

Elian’s tone was resolute, commanding:

“You must learn magic yourselves. Only then can you protect yourselves.”

—This was the very first order given by Emperor Eldoren to the surface-dwelling commoners in history.

Prostrate on the ground, young Gret shuddered violently at Elian’s words, a chill running down his spine like an electric current.

He hadn’t expected the emperor’s decree to be like this.

But soon, a sense of reason dawned upon him:

“That’s right. If I learn arcane magic and become a powerful mage, I can protect the village!”

“If I had known magic when the orcs invaded years ago, my uncle wouldn’t have died. My father’s pinky would still be intact.”

“I will study hard to become the strongest mage and the guardian deity of Rolling Stone Village!”

For a fleeting moment, a vivid, exhilarating fantasy flashed in young Gret’s mind—a scene any boy his age might dream of—

He soared into the sky, casting mighty spells amid the awestruck gazes of his sister, parents, and fellow children. He summoned blazing flames and storms, annihilating the invading monsters with overwhelming power!

When the battle ended, he descended amidst cheers and gratitude, leaving behind a solitary silhouette.

Oh, just thinking about it stirred his blood.

That single moment of fantasy made Gret tremble.

But he quickly regained his composure.

He knew fantasies were just that—fantasies.

At that moment, Gret glanced ahead at the Arcane Emperor Elian, cloaked in a pitch-black robe speckled with stars, surrounded by mages and revered by the villagers. A chill ran through his heart, and a wave of bittersweet emotion welled up:

His ultimate fantasy, one he would feel ashamed to dwell on for even a second, was the very reality that the great Eldoren Arcane Emperor was living.

Just as Gret’s thoughts grew tangled, he suddenly noticed:

Elian cast a brief glance in his direction, then quickly looked away.

What?

The emperor just looked at me?

No way.

It must be an illusion.

He vaguely knew that the esteemed “Arcane Emperor,” the Supreme Mage, was the king of mages, respected even by those in Sky City.

A figure of immense stature.

Last time he had spoken with him had been a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck.

This time, why would Elian suddenly look his way?

Meanwhile,

Elian withdrew his gaze from Gret.

No other mage could discern anything special about this common boy.

—After all, in this era, Eldoren’s mages didn’t even know the concept of “warlocks.”

But as the God of Magic returned from a distant future, Elian could accurately judge from the fleeting fiery glint in the boy’s pupils and the faint magical aura flickering around him that Gret’s ancient dragon bloodline was beginning to awaken.

“Impressive—the awakening speed of the ancient red dragon bloodline is much faster than I expected!”

“As anticipated, his frequent exposure to draconic vocabulary at school and his intense yearning for magic have played a crucial role in triggering this extraordinary bloodline.”

“With such a once-in-a-million prodigy warlock, if he awakens fully before adulthood...”

It must be noted, in his previous life, Gret only completed his awakening nine years later, amid a near-fatal massacre of the mages’ village.

Theoretically, he had missed the prime age to receive magical training.

As the first recorded warlock in human history and a super-genius one in a million, upon the moment of awakening his red dragon bloodline, Gret instantly became a high-level warlock of the sixth circle.

Within the first second of encountering magic, he achieved feats that countless gifted mages spent their entire lives striving for in vain.

In Elian’s past life, that was akin to a “Ramanujan” level prodigy—a super genius beyond compare!

No wonder the imperial mages felt intense hostility toward these “natural spellcasters” who didn’t need to study.

Warlock magic could also be refined through practice. In theory, such a super-genius warlock, with proper training, had boundless potential.

At the very least, there was a significant chance he could surpass the ninth circle and enter the legendary realm.

Unfortunately, in the original timeline, Gret, as the leader of the civilian resistance, was regarded as a mortal enemy by Eldoren’s mages. Less than three months after awakening his magic, he was brutally suppressed and killed by the imperial mage nobles.

But now, none of that had happened yet.

Elian studied the trembling, unremarkable, frail boy in the crowd of villagers.

In this life, he intended to help this prodigious warlock awaken early and stand with the empire, receiving the most suitable training.

He would be a crucial force against the looming invasion of the Dragon Lords and demon legions.

“After all, he is the first recorded warlock in human history. His fate will determine the imperial mages’ attitude toward warlocks.”

“By then, it would be best to engineer a scenario where Gret awakens his bloodline in a positive light...”

...

The moon rose.

Silver light scattered across the land, draping it in a silvery veil.

Elian sat upon a rock, gazing afar:

The villagers, recovered from the orc attack’s terror, built a bonfire and sang and danced in its glow.

A bard plucked the strings of a lute, singing tales of heroes who saved the village from orcs, praising Sky City for building schools and sharing knowledge, and dreaming of a bright new future.

The drifting music echoed beneath the starry sky, flowing into the forest.

Ancient bards of the Eldoren era did not yet understand drawing magic from music. The extraordinary profession of “bard” would not appear for centuries.

Yet this melodious, beautiful, tear-inducing music was genuine.

In just a few months, the disgraceful deeds of the mages in Sky City were gradually being buried.

“Your Majesty...”

Just as Elian admired this beautiful scene of imperial reform, rebuilding, and looking toward the future, a figure quietly approached him.

It was Sol, the mage general of Eldoren—the commander of the recent orc eradication battle.

“Your Majesty, after two months of preparation and mobilization, all elite combat mages of the floating city have been assembled.”

“We are ready to launch a full-scale strike to cleanse the orc clans within the empire’s borders!”