CHAPTER 143: CHILDREN OF NATURE AT WAR

The Minotaur territory stood apart from all others, perched atop sheer cliffs that overlooked the land like a city carved into the sky. At first glance it might have seemed a grand, imposing capital, but most players eventually learned the truth: the Minotaurs had chosen this lofty refuge not out of glory but necessity. They had fled here to escape their ancient rivals, the Centaurs.

Of course, no Minotaur would ever admit to such fear. For a race once hailed as the Children of the Earth, being forced to abandon the ground and live among the clouds was a wound to their pride that never fully healed.

Even after joining the Dark Horde and, with Orcish aid, exterminating the nearby Centaur tribes, the Minotaurs kept this elevated fortress as their capital. To outsiders it was majestic, but to the Minotaurs themselves it remained a scar—an enduring reminder of humiliation, meant to keep future generations from forgetting. It was in this very sky-borne city that Ryan now found himself.

The Savory Deviate Delight was a strange item, infamous for transforming a player into either a pirate or a ninja, with appearances drawn randomly from a wide pool of races—even some that had not yet been officially introduced into the game. At the moment Ryan had been turned into a pirate, though not a human or elf or orcish one. His form was that of a Goblin, a race destined to join the Dark Horde at a later stage.

Goblins were, without question, one of the most notorious races in the game—not for honor or heroism, but for greed. Their endless appetite for profit and their willingness to risk life and limb for a handful of coins had made them a constant source of amusement among players. Their catchphrase, "Time is money, friend," had taken on a life of its own, adopted by countless player-merchants until it became almost a business creed.

The wealthiest were dubbed "Goblin Tycoons." The small-time traders were derisively called "Petty Goblins." And those few clever enough to corner entire markets earned the lofty title of "Goblin Prince."

Even in the current era, long before the Goblins formally pledged themselves to the Dark Horde, many were already thriving in the world, gathering riches through trade, scams, and sometimes less legitimate ventures—piracy included. It was little wonder then, that even here in the Minotaur capital, Goblins could be found lurking about.

Ryan, in his goblin-pirate disguise, should have drawn stares, but the Minotaur city was strangely quiet. Teleportation was rare here; most mages preferred to bind their hearths to the Orc capitals or the Undead cities. The Minotaur teleportation array was tucked away in a remote corner, so isolated it was almost forgotten. This, combined with the fact that the Minotaurs had little use for professions tied to spellcraft or the darker arts, left the area almost deserted.

So when Ryan emerged from the teleportation circle in the form of a swaggering Goblin pirate, he found no other players around to notice. The only ones who did take note were the guards. Before long, the Minotaur Chieftain’s Honor Guard had arrived to escort him. By the time word spread that Featherlight—the same Featherlight who had stirred so much trouble in Orcish lands only days earlier—had set foot in the Minotaur capital, he was already inside the Chieftain’s own tent.

Another cinematic sequence followed, carrying the quest through its Minotaur Chapter. When it ended, Ryan found himself free to return. His Hearthstone had long since cooled, yet he didn’t use it. Not immediately. Instead, he lingered, letting his feet carry him through the city. The Minotaurs, though brutal and proud, had decorated their sky-bound home with unexpected care, and Ryan took the time to wander its soaring streets, drinking in the strange, rugged beauty of the place.

The Minotaurs, celebrated as the Children of the Earth, were also counted among the Children of Nature, a title they shared with their ancient rivals, the Night Elves. Yet while both drew power from nature, their philosophies diverged sharply. The Minotaurs embraced the boundless prairie, while the Night Elves belonged to the forest. Both were capable of producing druids—the only races in their respective factions who could—but the same bond that tied them to nature also kept them locked in bitter conflict.

When the Centaurs, the Minotaurs’ greatest enemies, were finally wiped from their homeland, the struggle with the Night Elves flared to the forefront. Minotaurs thrived on wide open plains, raising vast herds of livestock and gathering herbs gifted by the grasslands. Their thick hides and formidable builds made them perfect as frontline tanks, while their skill in herbalism only deepened their connection to the prairie.

The Night Elves, in contrast, drew their strength entirely from forests. The deeper the woods, the greater their advantage. With nature’s blessing, they could vanish into shadows even beneath the midday sun, slipping into stealth as effortlessly as rogues. They worked tirelessly to expand their forests, pushing their reach further and further.

Conflict was inevitable. Minotaurs required endless grasslands not only for their herds but also to ensure the survival of their people. Pushed by necessity, they cleared and sometimes burned forests, enriching the soil to spread the prairies. Each blaze they set only fanned the Night Elves’ fury. Retaliation was swift, and neither side could afford compromise. For both races, survival meant the destruction of the other. They were Children of Nature alike, yet sworn to annihilate one another.

Despite being built in the sky, the Minotaurs had shaped their capital, Nature’s Crown, to feel as though it rested on the earth. A carpet of thick grass covered the land, broken only by the spread of white tents. Sunlight poured over everything with no shadows to obscure it, for the Minotaurs revered the sun as the source of life itself. To them, basking in its warmth was an act of worship.

Around their tents, patches of herbs grew in careful cultivation. These were not the sort of herbs a player could harvest. They were sacred resources, guarded closely, traded away only in bulk to fuel the Minotaurs’ prosperity. Where the Orc capital was a monument to brutality, the Minotaur capital exuded serenity. But behind its quiet grace lay the strength of warriors who could not be underestimated.

Ryan wandered through the city, letting nostalgia guide his steps. When he was satisfied, he finally pulled out his Hearthstone. Before leaving, however, he stopped at the auction house, where he purchased a large batch of Mutated Fish. By level twenty, the auction houses of different cities were linked, allowing him to buy from the Minotaur marketplace as easily as any other.

Back in Astral City, he set to work, transforming the fish into Savory Deviate Delights. These he mailed off in bulk to his alternate accounts for storage. Three alts were already filled with supplies, and even that was becoming cramped. He was starting to think it was time to create a fourth.

By the time he finished, his Hearthstone’s cooldown still had some minutes left. Ryan didn’t mind. He had no desire to rush toward the Undead capital. He had always disliked that place, with its air thick with rot and the sight of corpses drifting through the sky. Better to stay away from it as long as possible.