According to records from the Fifth Era, Titans were born as legends, reaching demigod status upon adulthood.
The mighty Titan King, even without ascending to godhood, possessed power rivaling deities!
Such were the Titans - masters of half the primordial Ferland world!
Feeling the Titan's majestic aura, Mike grew more cautious, burying his transmigrator's pride deep within. He remained mortal, not even touched by the supernatural. In this world brimming with extraordinary powers where death lurked everywhere, only caution could preserve one's life.
Flying through Vastsea Forest's airspace, they weren't intercepted by the patrolling eagle-men or hippogryphs, landing directly at the eagle-men's gathering camp.
No sooner had they landed than a soldier from the Eagle King's Court approached.
A middle-aged eagle-man clad in wolf pelts, he bore no supernatural aura but exuded the presence of a seasoned veteran.
"Which tribe are you from? Who leads you?" he asked impassively.
Mike stepped forward. "Elder of the Court, I am their leader. We come from High Savage Mountain tribe."
The soldier gave a noncommittal hum, clearly unfamiliar with their tribe's name. His eyes passed indifferently over their bronze weapons and armor.
What significance could a minor tribal group of eagle-men—one that even included females—possibly hold?
"Follow me. The eastern eagle-man clans are under Lord Morgan's command."
The middle-aged soldier led them through half the camp to a vast, squalid encampment.
Here, all trees had been felled, leaving only barren earth and patchy grass.
With a quick glance, Mike estimated ten thousand eagle-man warriors camped here, their gray-black wing feathers interwoven across the ground like some vast ashen net.
The soldier casually pointed to a corner.
"You'll stay there for now."
He turned to leave without another word—after all, these were just cannon fodder destined to die in battle, hardly worth conversing with.
Mike quickly called after him, asking earnestly:
"Elder, may I know your name? And where might Lord Morgan's headquarters be? How should we receive his orders?"
The camp was in complete disarray, eagle-men clustered haphazardly without any apparent chain of command. Mike thought it best to clarify.
The soldier turned back, amused, his disdain unconcealed:
"What makes you think you're worthy of receiving Lord Morgan's orders? When the time comes, someone will come fetch you."
As he spoke, he pointed to a nearby eagle-man encampment.
A royal eagle-man warrior wielding a bone spear hovered midair, shouting at several tribal groups below:
"You, you, you—and you! Bring your people and follow me now!"
The summoned eagle-men dared not resist, immediately gathering their kin to depart. Some groups numbered over a dozen, others just a few souls—each warrior's eyes dull with resignation.
Clearly, this wasn't their first conscription.
Every small tribe had arrived with fifty members. The missing ones had undoubtedly perished.
Mike observed this with growing solemnity.
"I understand, elder."
"Good that you do. I'd rather not speak too bluntly. You minor tribes surviving under the Court's protection should obey orders faithfully—perhaps a few of you might return when the war ends."
"As for my name... you needn't know it."
The middle-aged soldier gestured indifferently toward the forest's edge.
"Oh, and don't consider fleeing. Look there—that's the fate of deserters!"
Mike followed the indication and saw rows upon rows of impaled eagle-man corpses—bloody poles thrust through mouths and out groins, planted gruesomely in the earth.
He fell silent, while the middle-aged eagle-man laughed heartily.
"Boy, don't overestimate yourself. Eagle-men like you are nothing more than ants and weeds. The King's Court decides whether you live or die. You'd do well to remember that."
With that, he took flight to greet the next tribe.
Left standing there, Mike clenched his talons, his eyes dark with resolve.
A King's Court like this offers no future for eagle-men. No wonder they become one of the weakest monsters in the future. I will overthrow them sooner or later!
Behind him, the eagle-men warriors who had grown up with Mike also showed anger but restrained themselves.
Only after the middle-aged eagle-man had left did one approach to ask,
"Mike, what should we do now?"
Hearing this, Mike glanced at the eagle-man scouting teams flying overhead and smiled.
"Let them do their thing—we'll do ours. Lai, bring out those bone spears we made earlier. We're going on patrol ourselves."
An eagle-man stepped forward and handed Mike a long object wrapped in animal hide.
Removing the hide, Mike brandished a bone spear and announced to the group with a grin,
"From now on, I'm a King's Court soldier taking you all out on a scouting mission. Follow me!"
"Hell yeah!"
He was determined to find the old turtle's location—even without the King's Court's orders, he would have volunteered for scouting duty.
But when it came to choosing their patrol route, he would decide what was safest.
As for whether they'd be discovered? That didn't matter.
Death loomed either way. To awaken supernatural power, he had to take this risk.
After packing some preserved meat and questioning returning eagle-man scouts about nearby routes,
Mike gripped his bone spear, donned his bearskin cloak, and—posing as a King's Court guard—led his tribesmen skyward in broad daylight.
The journey passed without incident; too many such squads came and went for anyone to notice.
Court eagle-men constantly departed with fifty tribal warriors, only to return with a dozen or fewer.
Scouts always suffered heaviest losses before the real fighting began.
In these skies, tribal eagle-men were the weakest combatants. Forget the dragon-blooded hybrids crisscrossing the clouds, or the various wyverns and drakes—even a single griffin could match fifty eagle-man scouts.
Just as Mike's group neared the camp's edge, a Court sentry suddenly swooped before them, frowning.
"Who are you? I don't recognize you."
"I arrived with the new recruits today."
Mike replied calmly, his expression so natural that the royal eagle-man guard could find no fault and nodded in permission.
Behind him, his tribesmen's hearts pounded so loudly they could almost hear it. Just as they began to relax after being granted passage—
—they saw Mike's next move and nearly choked.
Instead of leaving immediately, Mike quietly stepped forward and slipped a piece of gold into the guard's hand, asking:
"Brother, I'm new here. Could you tell me where the fiercest aerial battles are happening?"
Gold was a universal currency, even in this ancient era—this piece had been obtained during their raid on the serpent-folk tribe.
The guard grinned approvingly. "I get it. These past few days, the eastern front has been brutal—even a few noble eagle-men with supernatural powers have fallen. For a newcomer like you, heading west would be much safer."
"Thanks, brother."
With a grateful nod, Mike led his tribesmen westward.
Adjacent to the eagle-men's camp lay the goblin encampment. This race, destined to decline in future ages, was currently one of the major vassal factions under the Titans' rule.
Numbering in the tens of millions, they spanned the entire world of Ferland—their presence even extended to the Ancient Dragons' forces.
The goblins were remarkably intelligent—at least Mike could see their camp was filled with massive catapults under construction, along with wooden watchtowers and neatly arranged low tents, far more organized than the chaotic eagle-men encampment.
Adjacent to the goblins were the trolls, whose camp was as disorderly as the eagle-men's, a complete mess.
Mike knew that the ancestors of the elegant and beautiful elves of future ages might be among them.
Further ahead were centaurs, dwarves, half-beasts, and others—a microcosm of the world's intelligent races.
Flying out of the camp, Mike led his tribesmen further west, searching along the way for traces of small lakes, ponds, and streams.
As for the great river that cut through the forest, the old turtle's recollections made it clear that this was definitely not where it had lived in its youth.
By nightfall, he brought his tribesmen back in groups.
This routine of leaving early and returning late ensured no one would notice that their numbers remained largely unchanged.
After several days of searching the west, Mike still hadn't found the old turtle's dwelling.
On the fifth day, as they prepared to set out, the eagle-man guard at the gate stopped him, warning that they could no longer keep heading west—the safest direction.
With no other choice, Mike had to lead his tribesmen southward instead.