Tales of the Endless Empire
Chapter 193: Status Screen (2)

Lying on the ground as a Tidecaller Serpent was far from comfortable, but seeing his status screen more than made up for it.

Status:

Name: Thalion Walker

Age: 31

Length: 6.10m

Level: 74

Race: Legendary Tidecaller Serpent (F)

Health: 2,807/2,807

Mana: 4,090/4,090

Experience: 200,084/216,732

Stats:

Strength: 189

Agility : 164

Endurance : 113

Intelligence : 409

Wisdom : 684

Dexterity : 86

Perception : 91

Toughness : 62

Vitality : 287

Fate : 56

Skills:

Acquire Form (Exalted), Shapeshift (Exalted),Identify (Common), Echoes of Worlds (Common), Morphic Adaptation (Rare), Arcane Synergy (Exalted), Tidal Surge (Epic), Camouflage of the Depths (Epic), Aqua Lance (Legendary), Water Shield (Exalted), Waterslash (Epic), Tsunami Breaker(Legendary),Iron Maw (Common), Abyssal Sight (Uncommon)

Titles:

Guardian's Remnant

Form:

Crippled Eclipsari(Ascendant) Level 74

Human (Mythic) Level 74

Wind Eagle(Ethereal) Level 74

Bloodline:

none

This form had, by far, the highest wisdom, and even his intelligence was incredibly elevated. Thalion knew intelligence influenced the size of one's mana pool, but wisdom remained more mysterious. He could only speculate that it enhanced spell potency or provided some other hidden benefit. However, he wasn’t entirely convinced, as both Eagly and the crippled Eclipsari possessed extraordinarily powerful abilities despite their wisdom being nowhere near as high.

Regardless, the numbers were solid, and he was eager to see how strong his next evolution would be. Sometimes, he wondered just how powerful the Chosen of the Gods had managed to become. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what more he could have done to gain even greater strength. He had trained for a full year in the Golden Palace and wielded an utterly overpowered title. His body-tempering across every form was also highly advanced.

What truly kept him engaged was the thought of fighting a Chosen. That clash was inevitable. The new world was far grander than the tutorial, but the odds of encountering them in one of the special quests were high. Thalion had come too far to step aside and let some so-called Chosen seize his opportunities. After all, he was living the dream of ascending to godhood, and so far, everything was progressing well. The greatest trials still lay ahead, but he had faith in his survival skills.

Of course, he wouldn’t merely fight to survive. He had acquired some serious power-ups, and there were still plenty of vampires to hunt. But for now, it was time to teleport to the next stage and test his new race. Shifting smoothly back into his human form because flopping on the ground as a Tidecaller Serpent wasn’t exactly pleasant—he gave the others half an hour to prepare before the teleportation.

Granted, he was actually the one running late. They should have already teleported an hour ago. But rather than rushing it, he decided to allow them a little extra time. He had always hated being abruptly forced into teleportations in the Golden Palace, so it was only fair to extend the courtesy. Instead of waiting idly, he made his way to the blood pond. It wasn’t entirely full, but there were still several hundred liters left.

The blood was not as potent as what he had previously fed to the Sanguine Thorn. It came from this week’s hunts and hadn’t had much time to absorb power from the crystals in the pond. Still, it would make for a decent snack. Sitting down before the pond, Thalion sank into deep meditation, focusing on his blood cultivation—a practice he hadn’t indulged in for quite some time.

<--

Tension in Thalion’s tutorial was reaching its peak. The special quest was only a week away, and the many factions that had formed were preparing for war. Among them, only one faction had managed to stand above the rest, partly due to their belief in their own superiority and partly because of divine favor. That faction, of course, was the elves.

For the elves, the tutorial was significantly easier than for any other race. Many of them had already lived for centuries, and even those who started in the lower stages had advanced rapidly. However, their strength alone was not what made their journey easier—it was their unity. Much like vampires, elves instinctively aided one another when facing outsiders. An attack on one elf was considered an attack on their entire race and was punished severely.

That did not mean internal power struggles were nonexistent. Like vampires, elves were masters of manipulation. Normally, such conflicts would remain beneath the surface, but not long ago, one of their strongest fighters had been lost. The event sent shockwaves through the elven ranks, sowing doubt among even the most confident. Some no longer felt as certain of their superiority.

To crush such dangerous whispers before they could spread, the most powerful elves gathered in the Grand Tower of their massive fortress. Twelve representatives were present, each from a different lineage, but only four truly mattered. These were not only the strongest elves, but also those with the most influence—except for one.

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This elf stood nearly two meters tall, his silver hair cascading over broad shoulders. Althirion Feyshade was seven hundred years old and one of the most influential figures from their homeworld. Here, in the tutorial, he had earned at least a legendary blessing, his mere presence a testament to his overwhelming power. The only one who came close to him was Vaelinor Luthien, another high-blooded elf who had secured a powerful blessing. He led the largest camp of elves and was a formidable plant mage.

The remaining two figures of importance were Elaria Valefaye and Naeriel Moonbrook. Elaria, unlike most elves, had chosen the path of a healer, yet she still held a position of power. The fact that she had maintained influence despite focusing on healing rather than combat was a testament to her intelligence and political acumen.

With tensions rising and war looming on the horizon, the elves prepared to cement their dominance once and for all.

"So, has anyone discovered what happened to the prince?" Althirion asked, his voice heavy with tension as he leaned against the table, his sharp gaze sweeping over the elves gathered before him. In the old world, he had been closely connected to the royal family and had watched the young prince grow into the leader he was meant to become. He had supported him throughout the tutorial—until the unthinkable happened.

Prince Vaelith Aldorien and his entire escort had vanished without a trace. That should have been impossible. Alithirion already knew the truth deep down—the prince was dead. Yet, he refused to accept it. If the king and queen learned that their son had perished in the tutorial, especially under his watch, the trust and influence he had spent centuries cultivating would crumble. It wasn’t as if Vaelith had been their only child. Elves bore offspring rarely, but after living for over a thousand years, the royal couple had several. Still, losing a child was the worst pain an elf could endure, and he could only hope that their other children, scattered across different tutorials, were faring better.

At the very least, he could avenge Vaelith. He would bring the king and queen the head of their son’s murderer. The problem was that no one could say for certain who was responsible—or at least, there was no solid proof. But to Althirion, the culprit was obvious. It had to be the undead. No other faction was strong enough to strike down the prince and his elite guard. He knew the other elven leaders saw it too, but they hesitated. They did not wish to risk war, fearing for their people’s safety—or, more likely, their own.

He had tried desperately to frame the attack as a direct assault on all elves, but so far, no one had listened. What they didn’t know, however, was that he had placed a recording crystal in the chamber. Once the meeting was over, the entire fortress would see what had transpired here. Then, perhaps, the elves would finally follow his lead.

"No, we still do not know for certain who killed the prince," Elaria stated calmly, leaning back in her chair with an unreadable smile. "One of our scouts reported traces of miasma at the site, but that alone proves nothing."

Althirion had been waiting for this response. He seized the moment, his voice rising with indignation.

"Are you all blind? It is obvious that the undead attacked the prince and slaughtered his entire entourage! This was not just an attack on him—it was an attack on every elf in this base! And yet you would cower in silence instead of responding?"

"I understand that his death weighs heavily on you," Naeriel replied, her tone measured and composed. "But to me, his life was no more important than that of any other elf here. I will not support a war against the undead."

Althirion’s patience wore thin. "How can you all be so calm? The undead have already broken their non-aggression pact, taking the best positions around the catacombs. What makes you think they won’t come for us next? If they manage to resurrect Ankhet, they could very well breach our walls. Do you not remember? They have already killed our prince!"

His words were not only meant for the elves in the chamber but for the many who would later witness this recording. It was crucial to project strength, especially when he was about to make his move. Well, not personally—one of his loyal followers would handle that part.

"We are clearly superior to the undead," Vaelinor, the plant mage, argued. "With our strong defenses, they have no way of breaching our walls. Besides, the tutorial will end soon."

Althirion scoffed, seizing on his opponent’s words. "First, you claim we are superior, and now you suggest hiding behind walls? Just how pathetic are you?"

He knew precisely which words would cut the deepest. Attacking an elf’s pride was always the most effective strategy, and once this recording was made public, many would rally behind him. This meeting was far from over, but so far, it had gone exactly as he had planned. And the best part? None of the others had any idea what he was up to.