CHAPTER 140: A HUMAN IN THE ORC STRONGHOLD

When the members of the Flowing Light guild saw Ryan’s location update, their disbelief was palpable. The few Orc-faction players standing nearby froze, as if unable to trust their own eyes.

At level twenty, mages gained the ability to anchor themselves to a main city and could also teleport their allies there. Greenhide, a Berserker, had just been sent back to Ironblood Fortress through one such portal, eager to learn new skills. But as he stepped off the teleportation platform, he noticed someone strange materializing behind him.

A human.

Greenhide stopped dead in his tracks. He had been on his way toward the Valley of Spirits but couldn’t ignore the impossible figure who had followed him into the Orc stronghold.

Everyone knew the rules. Opposing factions could never use each other’s facilities. A mage’s portal could only be entered by members of their own party, and even the flying beast tamers of each faction treated outsiders with hostility. Yet here was a human Paladin, standing where no human had ever stood before.

Greenhide tested his weapon hand instinctively but discovered he couldn’t even target the newcomer. That only confirmed what his instincts were already screaming: this was no ordinary intrusion.

"Everyone, to the Valley of Spirits! A human just walked into Ironblood Fortress!"

The mage who had opened the portal couldn’t contain himself. The moment he spotted Ryan—known in-game as Featherlight—he shouted into the Regional Channel.

The reaction was immediate. The already bustling fortress erupted into chaos as word spread like wildfire. Some players assumed it was a prank, but as more and more witnesses poured out of the teleportation array and saw Ryan with their own eyes, disbelief gave way to frenzy.

Within minutes, half the zone was in motion. Orc players abandoned their grinding spots and rushed toward the fortress. Guilds sent runners. Mages opened portals from the far edges of the plains, bringing entire parties across the map just to see the anomaly for themselves.

"Where is he? Where’s the human Paladin?"

The sight of a human in the Orc faction’s capital was unprecedented. Players had killed plenty of human characters before, but never had a living human stepped onto the streets of Ironblood Fortress.

The news hit the forums like a meteor strike. Threads about raids, strategies, and loot tables died instantly as everyone pivoted to the only topic that mattered: Featherlight, the Paladin who had somehow infiltrated enemy territory.

Speculation raged. Some insisted it was a hidden questline. Others imagined using the same trick to assassinate enemy leaders, winning glory and achievements never seen before. The thought of being the first to slay a hostile faction’s chieftain made more than a few bloodthirsty players salivate.

Meanwhile, Ryan stood calm in the middle of it all. When he had arrived, the system had given him a notification: Wait in the Valley of Spirits until the guards arrive.

So he waited.

Even when the crowd swelled, and a few overeager players lobbed area-of-effect spells at him to test the system’s boundaries, he didn’t flinch. He simply planted his feet in an open space near the teleportation platform, unmoving.

Out of curiosity, Ryan struck up interactions with nearby vendors. To his surprise, the system allowed him to buy items as if he were an Orc-faction player. Prices were gouged to absurd levels—double the standard cost thanks to his "hostile" reputation—but the fact it worked at all was shocking.

Most of the vendors in the Valley of Spirits sold little of note, but one wandering merchant nearby was peddling Spotted Serpents, small ornamental pets unique to the Orcs. They cost little more than a single coin here, yet Ryan knew collectors in the Alliance of Light would pay anywhere from twenty to a hundred for them.

He bought a handful, keeping one for himself and reserving the rest for guildmates who loved filling their stables with rare trinkets. Still, he had no intention of stuffing his inventory with hundreds of them. Each serpent took up a precious slot, and Ryan had more important things to buy later.

Ten minutes later, the spectacle reached its next stage.

The Valley of Spirits fell silent as a squad of armored guards strode into the crowd. These were no ordinary NPCs—they were the Chieftain’s Honor Guard, their equipment gleaming with unique textures and runes. They surrounded Ryan without hesitation and began escorting him through the fortress.

Ryan complied, his expression unreadable.

The march through Ironblood Fortress was like stepping into another world. Unlike the orderly streets of human capitals, the tranquil beauty of elven domains, or the raucous revelry of dwarven cities, Ironblood Fortress was built for war and nothing else. Its streets radiated brutality; its walls and towers were weapons in themselves.

Where other factions hid their claws, the Orcs flaunted them. Every stone of the fortress screamed violence, and every player who called it home carried that energy in their stride.

The procession grew as it advanced. Minotaurs, Undead, and other members of the Dark Horde streamed in, called by guildmates who didn’t want to miss history in the making. What was normally a half-empty city—its population spread across quest zones and dungeons—now felt as if it held the entire faction.

The ripple effects stretched far beyond the fortress walls. In contested zones like the Arid Plains, Alliance players suddenly found themselves unchallenged. With the bulk of the Horde distracted, they gleefully cleared quests and ground monsters in peace, finally tasting the uninterrupted farming sessions they’d always dreamed about.

All the while, Ryan kept a steady stream of updates flowing to his guildmates. He told them about the march, about the sights of the fortress, about the reaction of the crowd. What he didn’t tell them was how he had actually gotten here. The truth—that Astral City connected to every capital—was too valuable to reveal. He simply framed it as a special quest requirement.

His guildmates didn’t press. They were too busy spamming him with requests: buy this pet, grab that trinket, bring back something rare. Ryan humored them all, making mental notes to fill his inventory with a few more serpents on the way out.

If only the mailbox system worked across factions, he thought. If it did, he’d corner the market on pets and flood the Alliance auction house until no one could compete.

"We’re here, Featherlight," one of the guards rumbled at last. "The High Shaman awaits."

After nearly twenty minutes of winding streets and suffocating stares from the mob behind him, Ryan stood at the highest point of Ironblood Fortress. Before him loomed the Elemental Hall, seat of the Orc faction’s leader.

The doors opened, and the voice of the Honor Guard carried into the chamber.

"The High Shaman Bandari is ready to receive you."