The Birth Of A Kingdom

[ Name: Ren Arken

Age: 14

Race: Human

Strength: 30

Agility: 2000

Vitality: 200

Mana: ~~~

Spiritual: ~~~

Intellect: 1, 000

Unique Skills:

-magic cards -appraisal -evil gaze -strengthen -leap -basic magics -fire magic -Fire Archmagic -illusion magic -water magic -light magic -nature magic -Grimoire of death -Real Clone [Heavenly Slime] -Eye of Wisdom ]

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Beastmen

Once known as demi-humans, the beings now referred to as beastmen had evolved beyond their primal origins. With intellect surpassing that of their goblin and orc brethren, they embraced the designation of beastmen, a testament to their unique blend of bestial features and humanoid form.

Their society was organized into clans, each bearing the totemic emblem of their animal kin – lions, tigers, snakes, birds, oxen, wolves, and more. These clans formed the bedrock of beastmen culture, uniting under the banner of their shared heritage.

In the aftermath of the war with the demons, beastmen found common cause with humans, forging an alliance born of mutual respect and shared struggles. Together, they stood shoulder to shoulder as brothers in arms, their bond unbreakable in the face of adversity.

Yet, as the sands of time continued their relentless march, the once-solid bond between beastmen and humans began to fray at the edges. Old resentments and grievances resurfaced, threatening to undo the fragile harmony they had fought so hard to achieve.

Amidst whispers of discontent and mistrust, the once-great alliance teetered on the brink of collapse, its foundations weakened by the passage of time. And as the shadows of discord loomed large, the future of this tenuous bond hung in the balance, its fate uncertain in the shifting sands of history.

-World history of Grandaria, Grandaria library, Capital of Grandaria.

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"Tarot. Tarot kingdom," Oz declared with a cool confidence, his words cutting through the air like a knight's blade.

"Um... what?" Aegir's puzzled expression mirrored his confusion.

"I said, we'll not call ourselves a tribe anymore, but a kingdom, Tarot kingdom," Oz reiterated, his indifference unwavering.

"A Kingdom?? We're hardly called a town!!!" Aegir's protest rang out, echoing the incredulity of the group.

"Calm down, Aegir. I haven't finished my suggestions," Oz interjected, his voice a calming balm amid the rising tide of dissent.

"As we just heard, the demons are back in action. We don't know when or where they will strike next. There will be countless victims in their wake."

"Think about it. What will the small tribes do when faced with demon attacks?" Oz posed the question, his eyes sparkling with fervor.

"Will they stand and fight, emerging victorious? Or will they fall in battle? Perhaps they'll flee, seeking refuge elsewhere."

"But if they knew of our growing kingdom, they'd flock to us like moths to a flame. Seeking refuge. Seeking strength. Seeking unity," Oz's words flowed like a river, carrying with them the promise of hope.

The executives sat in stunned silence, processing the weight of Oz's revelation.

"Great suggestion, Ren!"

"Nice idea!"

"More soldiers for me!" The chorus of approval washed over the gathering like a gentle breeze.

Yet amidst the jubilation, one voice dared to question the unspoken truth.

"Wait a minute," Magra interjected, her voice slicing through the fervent chatter. "If we're to become a kingdom, who will be the king?"

A hush fell over the assembly as they grappled with the implications of Magra's inquiry.

"Let's not dwell on it too much. Let's put it to a vote. Whoever receives the most support will assume the mantle of king," Aegir proposed, his words a beacon of pragmatism in the sea of uncertainty.

"That sounds fair."

"Agreed."

"Let the voting begin. Raise your hand if you support the nominee I call out," Aegir instructed, his tone firm and resolute.

""Understood!"" The response was unanimous, a chorus of determination echoing through the chamber.

"Okay then, we start from... Fedra!"

Silence greeted Aegir's call.

"Ibra!"

Again, no response.

"Brad!"

Still no takers.

"Aegir!"

The air remained still, but Oz felt a chill run down his spine as he observed the lack of support for Aegir.

(Oh no, if they pick me as king, what in the seven realms am I supposed to do!?)

"Magra!"

Once more, silence prevailed.

"Gurolf!"

Not a single hand was raised.

Aegir's smirk widened, sensing victory on the horizon.

"And lastly, Ren!"

A chorus of hands shot up simultaneously, leaving Oz in a state of panic.

(Damn it!)

"Wait just a minute!!" Oz interjected, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I-I'm a newcomer, I can't be king!" he protested, his heart racing with uncertainty.

"We all welcome you, Ren, and above all, you're our hero," Aegir countered, his words laced with conviction. "We've all cast our votes for you, believing in your wisdom and strength. You're the most capable among us. We'll stand by you, no matter what."

"But I-" Oz attempted to protest further, only to be cut off by Aegir's unwavering resolve.

"No buts, Ren. We've entrusted you with this responsibility because we trust you. And besides, our kingdom is still in its infancy. You're free to explore the world whenever you wish. We'll manage things here in your absence. You're not alone in this," Aegir assured him.

Despite his reservations, Oz couldn't deny the sincerity in Aegir's words. However, he couldn't shake the weight of the secret he'd been harboring.

(But I'm just a human!)

"Okay, okay, I'll accept the title of king, on one condition," Oz declared, determination flickering in his eyes.

"A condition?" Aegir echoed, intrigued.

"I need you all to accept my true form," Oz revealed, steeling himself for their reaction.

"True form?" Aegir queried, his curiosity piqued.

"Goblin card, unequip..." Oz silently whispered to himself, his voice barely audible amidst the swirling mist that engulfed the room.

Whoosh

The thick cloud of smoke billowed and twirled, shrouding everything in its mystical embrace.

As the mist gradually dissipated, a hazy figure emerged from the haze, gradually solidifying into the form of a human.

Before the astonished gaze of the executives stood a brown-haired, muscular figure of a human, towering at 170 cm in height. Despite his newfound stature, the youthfulness radiating from his face was unmistakable, a testament to his tender years.

"This is my real form," Oz declared, his voice resonating with newfound strength.

"I'm actually not a goblin," he confessed, his words cutting through the stillness like a dagger.

"I'm a human."

The executives remained silent, their eyes wide with disbelief as they beheld the transformation before them. The once diminutive goblin had been replaced by a formidable human presence, exuding an aura of strength and vitality.

(What in the seven realms is happening? How did my body suddenly become so muscular?)

(Alright, let's set that mystery aside for now...)

"This is the form I've been hiding from all of you," Oz admitted, his head bowed in shame.

"It's up to you whether to accept me or not. I've deceived you, and I understand if you feel betrayed," he confessed, his words heavy with remorse.

The room fell into a profound silence, each executive grappling with the weight of Oz's revelation. Even Aegir, usually quick to voice his opinion, remained silent.

"This..."