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Humming a jaunty tune, Lilya strolled through the corridors of the cursebinding spire, her mood light and carefree. Lately, the ancient higher-ups in the tower had all been dispatched to deal with matters in the orcish kingdoms, leaving no one to rein in her behavior.
Word had it that a few orc shamans had lost their minds and attempted to recreate the chimeras used by the allied forces during the Abyssal War. Unsurprisingly, the experiment had spiraled out of control. A pack of deranged chimeras swallowed half a dozen orc tribes whole and somehow managed to ascend to legends. The orcs had no choice but to beg the cursebinders for help—at a steep price.
"Legendary weapons, huh? Why do all of them end up in orc hands? Practically every legendary weapon known today is with them. It's weird… unless the orcs are hoarding some ancestral stash we don't know about."
Lilya rubbed her chin in thought as she glanced aimlessly about.
"Eh, maybe it's just their culture. Only orcs would be dumb enough to bring those priceless weapons onto a battlefield just to enjoy the resulting carnage. Who knows how many legendary weapons those dwarves are hiding?
"Still, one legendary weapon in exchange for the service of three top-tier grand wizards? We're definitely getting the better end of that deal. When the spire expands, I'd better...
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