The newly-christened Grimgar Dungeon was a formidable fortress, but as the initial relief of safety settled, its logistical challenges became starkly apparent. Seiji, with Riveria at his side, walked the echoing, multi-leveled halls. The sheer scale was immense, a vertical city of stone and shadow. But the elf tribe, numbering only in the low hundreds after the purge, was lost in its vastness. They were a people of the sun-dappled canopy, not the deep, unyielding earth. Their skills lay in weaving with living wood, not carving through dead stone. The upper floors were manageable, but the deeper levels remained dark, empty, and defensively sparse.
"It is too much for us alone," Riveria admitted softly, her voice echoing in a cavernous hall on the tenth floor. "We are guardians, not colonizers. To truly secure this place, to make it a living stronghold, we need more. Different hands. Different strengths."
She turned to him, her advisor's mind fully engaged. "You should invite other tribes. Those who are also victims of the empire, who know the sting of its greed. The Oni of the volcanic highlands are mighty smiths and fierce warriors. And the Beastmen..." She paused, her eyes knowing. "Ranga's memory crystal. You know where his people fled."
Seiji nodded. The plan was sound. An alliance of the oppressed, united under the banner of Grimgar. It was a strategy that resonated with the core tenets of many Riders: unity in the face of a common foe.
The journey to the Midheimhor forest was a testament to the continent's scale. The forest was not merely a wood; it was a primordial ocean of green, covering a quarter of the landmass, its canopy so thick it cast the world below in a perpetual, verdant twilight. Finding a specific, hidden tribe here was like finding a single leaf in a hurricane.
Then, he remembered. Among the few artifacts he had recovered from Ranga's tomb was a simple, weathered crest carved from a fang of immense size. The token of exchange between the fallen king and his sage.
He pulled it from a containing-space in his system. The moment it touched the air of Midheimhor, it hummed with a low, resonant energy, then began to glow with a soft, insistent white light. It was a homing beacon, activated by the proximity of its kin. Seiji followed the pull, the light brightening as he moved deeper into the heartwood.
After an hour of following the guiding glow, he stopped. The forest around him was too quiet. The natural sounds had ceased. He could feel them—dozens of pairs of eyes watching from the dense foliage, from the high branches. He could smell the musk of predator species.
"I know you're there," he stated, his voice calm but carrying through the unnatural silence. "I don't want to fight. I came with an invitation. I hope you will listen."
A low, unified growl was his answer. From the shadows, they emerged. Beastmen of all predator kinds—lions with magnificent manes, tigers with stripes that blurred into the foliage, bears whose shoulders bulged with raw power. Their weapons were simple but deadly: claws, fangs, and crude but effective spears and axes. Their eyes held no trust, only a feral wariness.
Seiji sighed internally. Must I fight my way to a conversation? He prepared to access a Rider power, calculating the minimum force required to subdue without killing.
"Hold on!"
The voice was a roar of command that shook the leaves. The Beastmen instantly stilled, their aggressive postures easing into ones of respect. From a path between two colossal trees, two figures approached. One was a tall, powerfully built man who was a clear hybrid of Ranga's werewolf lineage and a lion's majesty—a thick mane of tawny hair framed a face with a lupine intensity. He carried an air of unquestioned authority.
And in his right shoulder, he carried an old man.
The elder was frail, swathed in robes of deep blue embroidered with silver constellations, a long white beard flowing over his chest. He reminded Seiji strikingly of the wizards from the stories of his world. Grand Sage Orias.
Orias's ancient, milky eyes were not weak; they were piercing. They fixed on Seiji, then dropped to the glowing fang-crest in his hand. The sage observed him for a long, silent moment, reading not his armor, but the intent behind it.
"He carries the King's Fang. He may be not your enemy," Orias declared, his voice thin but firm, carrying absolute authority.
The beast-man king nodded, his tense shoulders relaxing. He gestured, and the surrounding warriors melted back into the forest, their forms disappearing into the shadows as if they were never there.
The king then stepped forward. He moved with a predator's grace, stopping a respectful distance from Seiji. He placed a fist over his heart in a formal, polite salute.
"I am Logan," he said, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone. "The great-grandson of the Beast Emperor Ranga and the current king of the Beastmen hiding in Midheimhor." His eyes, golden and slitted, flickered to the crest. "If you have brought my ancestor's token here, it means you have discovered his tomb and laid his spirit to rest. For that, you have the thanks of me and my people." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "And if you have brought his will, or a message from the heavens themselves, then if you do not mind, please follow me to our residence. We will speak there."
Seiji, still clad in the intimidating Vanguard armor, gave a single, slow nod. No words were necessary. The crest had spoken for him, and Orias's wisdom had granted him an audience.
Logan watched the silent, armored figure for a moment, then turned. "Follow me," he said, before carefully helping the aged Orias. Together, with Seiji a silent, black and crimson specter in their midst, they led him deeper into the secret heart of the forest, towards the hidden kingdom of the Beastmen.