Chapter 80: The Thunder Clan!

These humanoid giant bears, with pelts of ashen gray, were as tall as ogres but even more massive, their burly arms thicker than a grown man’s waist, muscles taut with overwhelming power.

They were the Bearfolk Clan, allies of the elves, a native race of the Thraciel Highlands, extraordinary beings by birth.

Their hands resembled those of humans, except their fingers had become half-foot-long, thick, deadly claws.

Their manes were like those of lions, yet braided into fine plaits, bound at their backs with polished bone beads.

Though there were only five of them, they stood in a line, blocking dozens of orcs behind.

Denise whispered, “They’re Bearfolk!”

“The ancient elven scrolls that my mentor deciphered mention that the Bearfolk are the elves’ staunchest allies and one of the original races of the Thraciel Plateau.

Not only are Bearfolk individually powerful, but they also possess innate command of magic, able to manipulate the elements to cast spells. They excel, however, at channeling elemental power into their claws for close combat.

A mighty Bearfolk warrior, wielding the power of the earth, possesses boundless strength; their claws, charged with thunder, frost, or flame, can easily shatter rock and rend steel.

Some scholars even believe they are the origin of orcish shamans.

When Archlord Chessaire led his people down from the mountains, some Bearfolk clans followed at their side.

The guardians of the Atrium are, in fact, the Thunder Clan among the Bearfolk.”

At this, Denise grew excited. “If Bearfolk are here, perhaps we really are near the Atrium!”

While Denise recounted old tales on the mountainside, the orcs below in the gorge were not idle.

The orc chieftain—astride a giant dire wolf and wielding a massive black greatsword (or more accurately, a long blade)—slowly approached the Bearfolk, addressing them in an ancient, guttural tongue.

“Mighty guardians of the Thunder Clan, we are the Blade Clan, as ancient as you and once your allies. Allow me to offer my sincerest greetings.”

Of the five Bearfolk guards, the most imposing, a bear of snowy white fur, barked coldly, “Orc, state your purpose!”

“Seven hundred years ago, our people were betrayed by humans and driven to the northern tundra. Now, we only wish to return to our homeland!”

“When you betrayed the elves, you should have expected this day!” the Bearfolk guard sneered. “Besides, this is not your homeland.”

The orc chieftain raised his blade, pointing toward the storm altar where the adventurers hid, causing them to shrink back in fear.

He shouted, “Our altar is on the mountain! Our burial grounds lie below! This is our home!”

The Bearfolk guard crossed his massive arms, looking down at the orcs with icy disdain, saying nothing more.

A thousand years ago, when the beastfolk were powerful, they swept across the myriad races, enslaving and slaughtering nearly half, claiming the entire Wolfdriven Plains as their own.

The elves and Bearfolk withdrew to the Atrium, and in the end, had no choice but to seal it away and depart.

War raged for three centuries, ending only with the victory of mankind.

The storm altar, built nine hundred years ago, stands atop the bones of countless races from a millennium past.

After the beastfolk retreated, the Wolfdriven Plains, under the magical influence of elven druids and orcish shamans, was transformed into a vast forest, and the foothills of the mighty barrier returned to peace.

The Bearfolk who remained in the Atrium had dwelled in these mountains for centuries before, and centuries after.

Now, to call this their homeland?

Were the full might of the orcish horde at their borders, the Bearfolk might have hesitated, but these mere dozens posed no real threat.

Seeing the Bearfolk unmoved, the orcs grew agitated, raising their blades and shouting, “Home! We are going home!”

Denise, watching anxiously from above, fretted, “What should we do? They’re about to fight!”

Faced with the wicked orc wolf-riders, she was clearly on the Bearfolk’s side.

Though the Bearfolk guards were strong, the orc wolf-riders were greater in number and likely to prevail.

“What else can we do? Just watch. These orc wolf-riders are all formidable. Even one-on-one, we’d have trouble beating them, let alone dozens,” Barrett said helplessly. He sat cross-legged, took out some snacks, preparing to spectate.

As he spoke, he flexed his arm in a show of strength, boasting, “A powerhouse like me could handle two at most. As for you lot, even one would be a struggle!”

Leo nodded in agreement—he couldn’t even scratch a dire wolf, let alone the infamous wolf-riders.

Wolf-rider was a human nickname; the proper term was Dire Wolf Knight. They were the elite of the beastfolk legions, matching the extraordinary knights of humanity.

Dire Wolf Knights—commonly called wolf-riders—were the beastfolk’s equivalent of extraordinary knights.

The Odaroff family’s Gale Knight Order had been founded specifically to counter the wolf-riders.

The beastfolk measured rank by individual prowess: from lowest to highest—orc laborer, orc warrior, orc champion, orc sergeant, orc warlord, and orc high commander.

An orc sergeant was one who had awakened magical power—an extraordinary among the beastfolk—already an officer among the infantry.

But among the wolf-riders, sergeant was the lowest rank of Dire Wolf Knight.

After all, lesser orcs could not hope to defeat a dire wolf, let alone ride one as a knight.

Dire Wolf Knights wielded heavy blades weighing dozens of pounds, and with the momentum of their mounts, could cleave a tree as thick as a man’s embrace in one stroke. Even elite heavy infantry in full plate found it hard to withstand a single blow.

Leo had no intention of testing their blades with his own flesh.

At that moment, a voice suddenly sounded in Leo’s mind.

It was ethereal and mechanical, as if descending from the vast heavens, utterly devoid of emotion.

Every word struck Leo like a thunderclap.

“Ding! You have activated the Civilization Lord System. Loading system…”

“Chosen one, you have activated the Civilization Lord System. Lead your people toward civilization!”

“Novice quest: Assist the Thunder Clan in repelling the invading orcs.”

“Quest reward: Access to the Atrium granted.”

Leo stood in a daze, listening to the voice in his mind, feeling utterly unreal.

So, I’ve unlocked a system?

Perhaps the system may arrive late, but it never fails to show up.

There was no time to dwell on it. Leo spoke up, “The orcs are our enemies; we need to find a way to drive them off.”

Seeing everyone’s gaze, Leo explained, “With so many orcs here, they could spot us at any moment. If we don’t fight back, do you really think they’ll just let us be? We might as well take the chance to cut down a few, weaken their strength, and maybe convince them to leave this place!”

Harkins thought for a moment, then nodded. “Leo is right. With a horde of orcs entrenched here, exploring will be much harder—we might even have to abandon our quest.

“And if we join the fight now, we might win the Bearfolk’s friendship and learn something about the Atrium.”

“So what should we do?”

(Hurry, hurry, hurry, I am King Jiji! Warning: This is not a system novel!)