The Elven Cultivator

Chapter 57: Chapter 56: Witnessing the Rise of a Legend

The Chiyan Hills. The mining camp.

The setting sun bathed the valley in a dusky yellow light.

In a clearing at the center of the camp, Dwarves sat around a bonfire, drinking heartily from wooden mugs as they chatted and laughed.

Grim was tilting his head back to pour Firewine down his throat when he suddenly heard footsteps on the gravel path.

He turned to look and saw a squad of Elf Guards escorting supplies into the camp.

Their leader was an old acquaintance, Kaleb, a squad leader in the Forest Guard who had previously commanded the troops stationed at the mine.

But the Silver Moon Race later had to pull the guards from the mine to deal with the Molten Spike Tribe, so the two had barely seen each other since.

"Kaleb!" Grim raised his mug in greeting, grinning widely. "What brings you here delivering supplies in person? Where are the young ones?"

Kaleb directed his men to move the supplies to a designated spot before walking over. He sat down in a space by the bonfire, an irrepressible smile on his face.

"I’m in a good mood today, so I volunteered to make the trip."

Grim asked curiously, "What happened?"

Kaleb chuckled. "We won a great victory against the Molten Spike Tribe today. We didn’t just kill over five hundred Lizard-men; we also captured more than a hundred."

"Oh?" Grim’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Killing and capturing six or seven hundred Lizard-men in a single battle was without a doubt a great victory.

"How did you pull that off?" Grim asked, curious.

The other Dwarves, including Elder Thorvin who was sitting nearby, also stopped their conversations and looked over in astonishment.

From what they had seen and heard, the war between the Silver Moon Race and the Molten Spike Tribe had been a tense struggle. The Elves were barely holding the upper hand, at best.

By all rights, a victory of this magnitude should have been nearly impossible.

Kaleb smiled faintly, unfastened a waterskin from his waist, and took a swig. Wiping his mouth, he finally began to speak, drawing out his words.

"It’s all thanks to Anton."

Anton?

The Dwarves grew even more curious.

’What does Anton have to do with this?’

’Could it be that Anton developed some new, powerful Rune Equipment or potion?’

Kaleb didn’t keep them in suspense. "Anton has advanced to the Golden Tier," he said with a smile. "He personally killed a Golden Tier Dragon Lizard-man on the battlefield, completely shattering the morale of those reptiles. We pressed our advantage and chased them down, which is how we achieved such a fruitful victory."

His words struck the crowd of Dwarves like a thunderbolt, leaving them stunned speechless.

Grim’s mug froze in mid-air, his eyes wide as copper bells.

He wondered if he had heard wrong, stammering as he asked again, "An-Anton... advanced to the Golden Tier? That kid who’s not even an adult yet?"

Kaleb nodded, beaming, his face a mask of undisguised pride.

Once they had confirmation, the Dwarves erupted into an uproar.

"A Golden Tier under a hundred years old?"

"What kind of talent is that? That’s unbelievable!"

"Isn’t Anton busy making potions and Rune Equipment all day? How did he level up so fast?"

"Unbelievable..."

Even Elder Thorvin sat frozen in place, a look of utter astonishment on his face when he heard the news.

In his mind, Anton had always been a genius skilled in Alchemy and potion-making, a treasure that needed to be protected.

Even though he knew Anton also had a talent for both Magic and combat, it paled in comparison to his astonishing skill with potions and Alchemy.

He had always assumed that Anton’s strength would, at the very most, peak at the Silver Tier.

He never, ever would have imagined that at such a young age, Anton was already a Golden Tier!

To think that he, at over three hundred years old, was merely a Middle Gold tier.

The comparison made him feel, for a moment, as if all his years of training had been a complete waste.

Kaleb took in the Dwarves’ reactions, feeling more and more pleased.

In the past, the Silver Moon Race had only been considered a mid-tier power among its neighbors, far from possessing the military might of Gray Rock Castle. Even the lowly Molten Spike Tribe could bully them at will.

But things were different now.

Anton’s arrival was changing everything, little by little.

From the Dragon Essence Potions to the Rune Equipment, and now to his Golden Tier combat strength, Anton had delivered one surprise after another, steadily bolstering the Clan’s confidence.

And with that confidence, the Silver Moon Race could hold its head higher when dealing with other powers.

After basking in the Dwarves’ awe and praise for a while longer, Kaleb departed, completely satisfied.

The Dwarves, however, were still reeling from the shock of Anton’s promotion to the Golden Tier, unable to stop marveling at the news.

Thorvin observed them for a moment, then snorted and chided, "Now you see that there’s always someone better out there, don’t you? Stop walking around all day thinking you’re so great. The world is full of geniuses far more talented than you."

The faces of several young Dwarves flushed red—whether from the burn of the Firewine or the heat of shame, it was hard to tell—and they lowered their heads in unison.

Grim, however, was thick-skinned. With a sheepish grin, he sidled up to Thorvin and whispered, "Elder, is it true what I heard? That the Silver Moon Race wants to request—er, invite us to cooperate with them against the Molten Spike Tribe?"

"That’s true," Thorvin said, taking a swig of his drink. "But the Clan Leader hasn’t given a definite answer yet."

Grim curled his lip. "If you ask me, the Clan Leader should just agree. I’ve been itching for a fight with those Molten Spike Tribe reptiles for ages. Now that we have a chance to wipe them out, we can’t let it pass."

The other Dwarves all nodded in agreement.

Gray Rock Castle wasn’t far from the Molten Spike Tribe, and they had clashed several times in the past.

They had no love for those cold-blooded reptiles, either.

Thorvin shot him a glare and snapped, "That’s for the Clan Leader to worry about, not you. If you’ve got this much time on your hands, why don’t you go dig a few more cartfuls of ore in Tunnel Three!"

Grim flinched, then retreated to the bonfire, muttering under his breath as he went back to his drink.

Thorvin paid him no mind, his gaze returning to the dancing flames as he fell into thought.

In truth, he too was inclined to join forces with the Silver Moon Race.

It wasn’t just about settling old scores with the Molten Spike Tribe; he also wanted to use this opportunity to acquire a batch of Frost-Rune Equipment from Anton.

Beyond that, he also wanted to forge a deeper bond with the Silver Moon Race.

And the news he’d received today only strengthened this conviction.

A Golden Tier Warrior who wasn’t even an adult.

An Alchemist who could mass-produce high-quality Magic items.

A master who could create improved versions of various strategic-grade potions.

Any one of those three identities alone was enough to allow a power like the Silver Moon Race or Gray Rock Castle to rise rapidly.

And what’s more, all three belonged to the same person.

The implications of that were self-evident.

Forging an alliance with the Silver Moon Race now was, without a doubt, a deal with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

’That kid... his future is limitless.’

Thorvin suddenly felt as though he were personally witnessing the rise of a Legend.