Rise Online: Return of the Legendary Player

The route that the lord's servants took when they left the palace on the mountain was simpler than Kaizen imagined. As they needed to collect taxes, the caravan would descend from the mountain in the morning and collect taxes and services from the other villages, also following a predefined trail so as not to get lost in the freezing fog.

However, there were two major problems with this plan to attack the lord's servants. The first problem was that the date of the servants' arrival was a mystery, a great doubt, there were no exact dates, as they always appeared suddenly. And the second problem was the idea of intercepting the caravan.

Since they didn't know the area, it was difficult to ambush them, because they could be at a disadvantage.

These two problems together formed an even bigger one, so the wisest choice was to wait. In a game whose day cycle was extremely similar to that of the real world, waiting days or even weeks to complete a mission was risky, but Kaizen knew that the timing of this game tended to be very precise.

The hours dragged by slowly as they waited, enveloped in the magical bubble that Alina skillfully maintained. The heat inside the sphere contrasted with the biting cold outside. Soon, everything began to darken, indicating that night was fast approaching. The orange lights of the village came on, and the snow, now illuminated, sparkled like a sea of diamonds as the winds whispered in everyone's ears.

Finally, the silence was broken by the distant sound of shouts and the creaking of carts.

"Let's go! Let's go! Faster!"

The lord's servants approached, announcing their presence with their shouts for the mounts to go faster.

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The village, previously plunged into a stillness that was only interrupted by the pounding of hammers on anvils, was now agitated by the sudden arrival of the men, and the fear that gripped the dwarves was such that while some began to run to organize the deliveries, others ran to try to finish the deliveries in time.

The soldiers' wagons were pulled by imposing black felines, whose eyes glowed with a sinister reddish light. These creatures were Shaccar, animals with thick fur and usually sharp teeth, but these apparently had their fangs clenched to make it easier for humans to dominate them.

The servants wore dark cloaks that fluttered in the icy wind, and the clanking of their armor echoed like a dark symphony in the night.

Leading the group was Valthorn, the cruel-looking dark elf, leading the caravan at the front. He rode a large, strong Shaccar, which left deep tracks in the snow wherever it went. Valthorn's lips curved into a sarcastic smile as he watched the dwarves gathering in the center of the village, hesitant at the oppressive presence of the servants.

"Ahhh, this is that dwarf Talfor's village. Always a pathetic spectacle," muttered Valthorn, then shouted to his subordinates: "Let's go, before the storm gets any stronger!"

When the lieutenant arrived, his Shaccar slid on the snow and roared loudly, frightening the dwarves, who shrank back. Valthorn began to circle his mount while laughing and waiting for the others to arrive.

As soon as the caravan arrived, the lieutenant ordered his servants to start collecting the tribute, and the dwarves lined up to start handing it over. With cold efficiency, the henchmen spread out through the village, knocking on the doors of the warehouses and demanding contributions under threat.

However, contrary to what Kaizen had expected, the dwarves weren't just coerced into forced labor, they had to give bags of grain that had been carefully grown in greenhouses, barrels of beer and, of course, the dwarves' hard-earned labor.

Jayaa watched this with restrained anger, her fists clenched as she witnessed the humiliation imposed on the dwarves.

Alina, for her part, maintained a serious expression, her eyes sparkling with the promise of justice to come. However, Kaizen prevented them from acting before the time was right.

Valthorn, sensing the dwarves' discomfort, climbed down from the Shaccar and approached a group of them, his eyes fixed on an elderly dwarf who trembled at his presence.

"What have we here? A wrinkled old man who refuses to hand over what's owed?" teased Valthorn, as his watchful eyes noticed that this older dwarf was the only one who hadn't given anything so far. "You should be grateful that we haven't ripped off more than your meager contribution."

The dwarf, his white beard trembling, swallowed before replying. "All I have is to support my family, sir. My daughter is ill and my grandson is just a baby. You leave us with just enough to survive."

Valthorn laughed, an unpleasant sound that cut through the frosty air. "Survival is a luxury you barely deserve. The lord demands tribute, and we're here to make sure he gets it, so your excuses don't matter to me. Have you ever been attacked by Frost Giants?"

Silence pervaded the center of the village, and no one dared to say a word.

"That's it! Of course you've never been attacked, because you're protected by us! Now, how can you refuse to pay what you owe us?"

Valthorn's voice echoed through the village, carrying with it a subtle, icy threat. His eyes, sharp as daggers, swept over the elderly dwarf's face, and a malevolent smile played on his pale lips.

The elderly dwarf in front of him, with trembling hands, held tightly a sack of grain, as small as a boot, also his only contribution to avoiding the wrath of the lord's servants. Valthorn, impatient with the dwarf's apparent insolence, reached out to take the sack, but the dwarf didn't give it to him, obviously afraid.

"You dare defy the lord's will?" Valthorn vociferated, a spark of fury igniting in his tone that tried to sound calm. "Perhaps we should teach you and the other disobedient men a lesson. Kragar!" The dark elf glared at his subordinate, a sturdy soldier holding a long spear. "Bring me the head of this insolent dwarf!"

Kragar, with a cynical smile, which was the only thing that appeared on his helmet apart from his eyes, approached the group of dwarves and they all retreated, leaving only the elderly dwarf in front. The spear glinted in the dim light of the village. The crowd watched with tightened hearts, but they could do nothing against the lord's forces.

The elderly dwarf kept his head down, but still persisted, even as Kragar's spear hung over his head. It was at this tense moment that the deep voice of an older dwarf echoed out, cutting through the silence like an arrow.