By virtue of his own divine power, a brand new 'Earth' divine position began to manifest in his front claws!
No longer a power forcibly seized by the Titans, but an authority obtained through resonance with the Azeroth World-Soul.
This process was slow and steady.
It was like a low rumble from deep within the earth's crust, echoing endlessly in the empty fortress.
After an unknown period, the divine position finally took shape.
It floated into the air, drifted towards Neltharion's heart, and gradually merged into his Godhead.
As this process progressed, the heavy burden of the earth gradually fell upon Neltharion's shoulders once more.
However, this time, he was no longer the Titans' doorkeeper dragon, but had become the true master of the earth.
Neltharion slowly opened his dragon eyes, and the divine light in his molten-gold vertical pupils was brilliant and even more profound than before.
He looked down, his gaze seemingly piercing the Divine Kingdom Serrakon's barriers, once again casting upon the vibrant mortal world.
A thought surfaced in his consciousness:
"Before I sleep — I should go settle accounts properly with that 'ungrateful son.'"
Leaving aside the intimate father-son time between Neltharion and Nefarian for now — Divider —
Dekonor, Pioneer's Hall.
The hall was spacious and bright, the floor as clean as a mirror, and the queues in front of the service windows were orderly.
When Kyle nervously presented his token, he was immediately led by a respectful attendant to a quiet office.
The office was empty; the attendant told him that "the person who wants to see him will be here shortly" and then hurried away.
Kyle sat on the sofa, somewhat bewildered, feeling as if he was still in a dream.
Mainly, the fact that the mysterious Dragonkin was actually Emperor Prestor himself, whom he revered so much, was too shocking, so much so that Kyle took a long time to recover.
After quietly praying before the newly unveiled statue, he came here with the two tokens.
Tens of minutes later, the office door was pushed open by an Ice Troll noble.
He wore an exquisite civil servant's attire and calmly introduced himself to Kyle as the Duke of Dekonor, Galvin Toka.
He meticulously inspected Kyle's tokens, and after confirming their authenticity, he nodded slightly, his tone professional but not impolite:
"Token verification is valid. According to regulations, you will receive an initial grant of one thousand gold coins for designated pioneering projects of the Kingdom."
Galvin then signed a document and summoned an attendant to take it away.
Soon after, a heavy chest was brought before Kyle, filled with enough gold coins to make the Red Dragonkin dizzy.
"The Kingdom-sponsored expedition fleet has already assembled in Zuovok Port," the Duke continued, producing a map marked with a route.
"You need to travel to Zuovok yourself and, there, form or join a team to board the appropriate ship to the target continent."
"You need to choose your mission focus from several main directions: exploring unknown territories, establishing colonial outposts, spreading the faith of our Lord, or conducting trade activities."
"Different choices will result in different subsequent support and obligations you need to fulfill."
Just then, Duke Galvin Toka seemed to suddenly remember something.
He carefully scrutinized Kyle, especially his red scales and slightly reserved demeanor, then smiled:
"Oh, I remember you. You were in the clergy viewing area during the previous ceremony, weren't you? A Red Dragonkin is quite noticeable there."
Kyle hadn't expected this busy Duke to notice him and nodded, somewhat flattered.
"Since you are clergy," the Duke's finger tapped the 'Mission Type' column on the document, his tone becoming more enthusiastic and affirmative, "then I suggest you choose the 'missionary' task!"
"This is a great opportunity to utilize your strengths and spread the glory of our Lord far and wide! Many remote areas desperately need the guidance of the Dragon God!"
"Ah? Missionary? I..." Kyle instinctively wanted to refuse.
His dream was to travel and explore freely, not to be burdened with heavy missionary tasks and responsibilities.
He was well aware of his own priestly abilities; his meager cantrips were simply not enough to support the heavy responsibility of missionary work.
But the Duke had already checked the 'missionary' box with his pen, as if worried that Kyle might suddenly change his mind.
"Next, you just need to sign your name here, and this money will be yours." Galvin handed the pen to Kyle.
Looking at the Duke's matter-of-fact and encouraging gaze, the words of refusal that Kyle had on the tip of his tongue simply wouldn't come out.
He opened his mouth, and in the end, it could only turn into a dry:
"...Yes, thank you for your guidance, Duke."
So, he signed his name on the application form.
Galvin immediately stamped it with the seal representing the Drakkari Kingdom and handed it to Kyle along with the box of gold coins.
He also enthusiastically taught Kyle how to activate the anti-gravity magic on the box.
Then, Kyle, carrying the box of gold coins, left the Pioneer's Hall with mixed feelings.
The starting point of his dream seemed to have been forcibly bent in an unforeseen direction by an invisible hand.
Carrying a large sum of money and feeling bewildered, Kyle once again took a beast-drawn carriage back to Zuovok, the port city in Howling Fjord.
Unlike the previous desolation, the Zuovok docks were now bustling with activity, practically a large-scale talent recruitment market!
Various teams, displaying their banners, set up tables and chairs, shouting themselves hoarse to publicize their destinations and needs.
"To Zandalar! To Zandalar!" A deep-purple-skinned Troll, dressed in elaborate feathered attire, stood on a wooden crate, shouting loudly, his accent somewhat peculiar.
"The Golden City of Dazar'alor is plagued by a strange blood plague!"
"This is a great opportunity for powerful priests, shamans, and druids to demonstrate divine power, heal the wounded, and spread true faith!"
"Merit, wealth, and prestige await the true heroes!"
Kyle leaned closer to listen, his heart pounding. Blood plague?
It sounded very dangerous.
He weighed his few cantrips, decisively shrank his neck, and avoided the zealous recruiters.
On the other side, a group of dusty-looking Dragonkin and Trolls were also recruiting.
"South Kalimdor Pioneer Group! We need strong warriors, experienced farmers, and skilled craftsmen!"
"We will build new homes there! Challenge centaurs, tame quilboar, and exchange sweat for land and freedom!"
"Those who make outstanding contributions will even have the chance to be crowned as nobles of the Kingdom!"
Expanding territory? This sounded more in line with his adventurous imagination.
Kyle was somewhat moved and squeezed over to inquire.
The one in charge of registration was an old Dragonkin veteran with a scar on his face.
He looked Kyle up and down: "Young man, what's your profession? Have you fought in wars? Can you farm? Can you build houses?"
Kyle honestly replied: "I... I used to learn a few small priest cantrips."
The veteran frowned and shook his head: "We need people who can immediately pick up weapons and fight or who can start working in the fields right away."
"Priests are already basically saturated! Next one!"
Kyle was turned away and had to walk away to look elsewhere.
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