Overlord: Welcome the Birth of the King

The next morning arrived with the same blazing heat.

It was the ninth day since Lyle had entered this valley of Despair, and only his second day within the human oasis.

With a sharp creak, he pushed open the wooden door of his lodging. Immediately, a wave of hot, heavy air rolled over him.

The first thing that caught his eye was a pool about five meters across, bubbling gently with rising streams of water. All around it, hardy plants spread their shade, their thin branches and narrow leaves surprisingly green in this wasteland. A few even carried dewdrops, sparkling like tiny gems in the harsh light.

The air here held a faint coolness, a gift compared to the choking dryness of the endless sands outside.

Lyle took a deep breath, savoring the rare hint of moisture. His expression eased into something close to a smile.

"Perhaps killing those gray dwarves yesterday was a bit reckless," he admitted to himself. "But in this place, drawing attention hardly matters."

On the northern continent, such an action would have caught the eyes of powerful factions within hours. Here, it had passed without consequence.

He knelt by the pool, scooped a handful of water, and drank. The liquid was cool, though its taste carried a faint bitterness. Still, water was water, and in a land like this, it was nothing short of treasure.

"Hero!"

A familiar, breathless voice rang out. Turning, Lyle saw Yaral hurrying over, clutching a tray of food with both hands. Her skin glistened with sweat beneath her revealing tribal attire, the minimal cloth leaving her toned midsection and long legs bare.

"Good morning, Yaral." Lyle straightened and greeted her with a polite smile.

"Hero, this is your breakfast. Forgive me for being late!" Yaral bowed deeply, shame coloring her silver eyes.

Lyle waved dismissively as he accepted the tray. "It's fine. I only just stepped outside myself."

He picked up one of the local delicacies—roasted scorpion tail—and began eating without ceremony.

Seeing that he truly wasn't offended, Yaral exhaled in relief, her tense shoulders relaxing. Then her gaze lingered on him with open admiration.

How could someone who didn't even appear especially muscular have annihilated an entire army of gray dwarves? It was beyond comprehension.

Lyle, catching her stare, twitched an eyebrow. He was quickly learning that the people of this oasis were terribly direct, often stubborn, and almost ceremonial in their reverence. He had tried multiple times the night before to get Yaral to drop the title of "Hero," yet she refused to call him anything else. Eventually, he had given up.

"How are your people's injuries?" he asked.

"Thanks to the medicine you gave us, everyone is already able to walk after just one night," Yaral answered quickly. Her hands came together over her chest as she bowed once again, voice thick with gratitude. "Even some who had been crippled were healed by your potion. We cannot thank you enough, Hero!"

Lyle nodded calmly, neither denying nor diminishing the praise. "That's good to hear."

Of course, he knew the truth. The potion he had crafted from troll blood was far from miraculous. It was no legendary elixir, but in a place like this where medicine was nearly nonexistent, its effect might as well have been divine.

[Item: Magical Alchemical Solution](Regeneration Potion)

Rank: Low-tier

Effect: Restores 20 HP. Accelerates wound recovery. May reverse certain negative conditions such as partial limb loss.

This batch, brewed from the blood of an ancient troll, was a step above the ordinary, especially effective for common folk with little stamina.

"Father has already begun training everyone to use the weapons and armor we captured from the gray dwarves," Yaral went on, her voice growing more animated. "Within two days, our people should be able to wield them properly."

Lyle gave a short nod. The chieftain, Dielon, was proving to be both practical and swift.

His eyes slid to Yaral. Sweat still glistened on her forehead, far more than from merely carrying a tray of food. "You were training as well, weren't you?"

"Yes, Hero!" Yaral admitted quickly. "My father and grandfather taught me that only strength can protect our people and give them a better life."

She hesitated, biting her lip, then glanced at him nervously.

"Hero… would you teach me? I want to become stronger."

Her slender fingers twisted together as she waited, eyes wide with expectation. Within the tribe, she was already their strongest warrior, yet even she knew her power was not enough to safeguard their survival. And as for reaching the realm of true Heroes—well, that seemed beyond reach.

Lyle studied her for a long moment. Ah, so this was what she had been building up to.

He knew very well his own strength was not the result of natural talent but of overwhelming attributes and specialized skills. Still, Yaral's determination was sincere.

Finally, he spoke. "Show me your strongest technique."

Yaral's eyes lit up. "Yes, Hero!"

Then she blinked, looked down at her empty hands, and laughed awkwardly. "Ah… wait one moment."

She dashed off at full speed, leaving Lyle sighing and shaking his head.

Moments later she returned, silver spear in hand, eyes shining with anticipation.

"Hero, I'll begin!" she called, taking a steady stance.

Her aura shifted instantly.

"Earth Charge!"

With a sharp cry, her body flared with a brownish glow. She launched forward like an arrow, vanishing from her spot and reappearing seven meters away, where her spear struck the ground with a booming crack that sent dust flying.

Lyle narrowed his eyes, quietly observing. His interface revealed fresh data, but he let her continue.

Yaral pressed on, spinning the weapon and thrusting in rapid succession.

"Precise Control!"

In the span of a single breath, her movements grew sharper and faster. Her spear became a blur, stabbing the air in a flurry of afterimages.

"Not a true combo skill," Lyle murmured, tilting his head. "More of a temporary speed buff. Similar to the Flow Acceleration technique."

Yaral continued through several more maneuvers before finally lowering her weapon, breathing hard yet still standing tall. She turned back, face flushed with anticipation.

Lyle gave his assessment. "Warrior, Knight, and… Earth Knight, a mid-tier class. Three in total."

He hadn't expected that. Most ordinary fighters never managed more than one class. To see someone this young wielding three, with one already mid-tier, was surprising.

"Not bad at all," he said sincerely. "In fact, quite impressive."

Her strength wasn't yet at level twenty, but around seventeen or eighteen—already enough to match a platinum-ranked adventurer back on the northern continent. That level of talent was nothing to scoff at.

Yaral's cheeks flushed pink. She lowered her spear. "But this still isn't enough to protect my people. I want to be as strong as my grandfather… and as strong as you. Yet… I don't think I have the talent."

Lyle shook his head firmly. "You do. You absolutely do."

"Really?" Her silver eyes widened in disbelief. If anyone else had said it, she would have dismissed it as empty comfort. But coming from him, the words struck deep.

"Yes." He nodded once. This wasn't a lie. He couldn't directly measure a person's innate talent, but he could see their number of classes. And class count spoke volumes about potential.

Someone with only one basic class might rise to a certain level but would inevitably plateau. Their ceiling was painfully low. Yaral, however, already had two base classes and one mid-tier. That alone marked her as extraordinary.

Whether she could one day truly reach the level of a Hero… that would depend on fate, opportunity, and relentless effort.

After all, even Gazef Stronoff, the legendary Warrior Captain of Re-Estize, had carried multiple classes and enormous potential, yet had never managed to take that final step.

Still, Yaral had hope. And that made all the difference.